Friday, July 29, 2005

Falling Down, Pedicures, Digital Film and More

It's Friday! And I am leaving work at 4:30 and going to the beach! And best of all, my Friday entries get to be long and rambling with no central theme because, come on, it's Friday!

But anyway, I am completely exhausted and my head no longer works, so I am just going to run down a quick high-low points of the week list. Because y'all care. I know.

- I had a VERY unfortunate incident occur on Tuesday. It was seventy-thousand degrees out, but I was all restless energy-y at work, so I decided I wanted to walk to Union Station and get a fashion magazine. Now... I don't read fashion magazines, really at all. I much prefer cheesy romances. And seriously, I have always found that fashion magazines just make me feel bad about myself. But I wanted a fashion magazine. So although I knew it was kind of silly, I was going to walk over to US for the sole purpose of buying a magazine. And karma? Karma GOT my ass for that one. I leave work, put on Daisy, and start walking to Union Station, lalala, lalala, SPLAT.

Do you know what SPLAT is? SPLAT is the sounds of yours truly falling to the ground in a truly spectacular manner for absolutely no reason. At ALL. I... I don't know, people. The nice man who had been next to me didn't know. His adorable small daughter didn't know. One moment I am walking, the next I am sprawled on the ground, bleeding from several surfaces, Daisy all scratched and halfway across the street.

So instead of a useless walk to Union Station for the sole purpose of buying a fashion magazine, I HAD to go to purchase first aid supplies for my two bleeding knees and one bleeding hand.

Thanks, karma. Fucker.

- Yesterday was fun, and I learned I am Really Bad at Being Pampered. I decided that I needed to get my hair done, and decided I wanted to be all girly and get a pedicure and go to the makeup store and buy shiny things. (See what fashion magazines DO to you?!?!) So I called Kate, and she decided to come play and be a girl with me. But I? I am a BAD, BAD girly girl. I mean, I'm good at it, in the sense of I know what I want and what works, but I'm bad in the sense of leaving all the sales people sort of feeling like, "the hell?" For example, my hairdresser, who is truely AWESOME, wanted to make my hair lighter. I wanted darker, with spin bangs. Hairdresser: "This was a really, really good idea. I mean, it was your idea and all, and not mine, but it was good". Same with the poor make up girl. I'm all, "What colors should I use?" She started to tell me, and I was like, "Ok, yeah, and what about this one, applied this way instead of eyeliner..." etc. etc. She was thrilled with the outcome, but again, it sort of ended up, "This looks really great, I think it turned out perfect, what a great idea... you had". The pedicure lady was ok though, since I know NOTHING about feet, but since it was my first pedicure (ever!) I was a little confused about the flow of things and there was some confusion throughout the whole thing- where the hell she wanted my feet on my part, and exactly how stupid I could be on hers. Pretty, though :).

Although there is one major problem. This is that I have itty bitty toes, and they have pretty much come together and formed a deep and abiding bond with each other. Especially my little toe, being that it is all alone on one side, really needs to feel connected to the fold. So the little toe separaters they give you in pedicures? NOT a good idea. The little one is all separated from the herd and angsty and afraid and EXCRUCIATING PAINFUL, so I CANNOT WALK. This was not good.

- The quote of the week, and possibly the month, by far, comes from E last night. I get out my digital (D.I.G.I.T.A.L.) camera and ask E to take a picture. E takes the camera.

I wait.

I wait.

I wait.

E: (utterly and hopelessly confused) "Do I... have to advance the film?"

Of course, E figured out how to use the camera just in time to take an excruciatingly embarassing photograph of me falling to the floor laughing at him.

Karma? I GET IT. (fucker).

Of course, earlier in the week E also guessed "tree" for one of the questions in Jeopardy (kids week), which wouldn't have been so bad, except the category was "animals". Jake, E, and I proceeded to have a long tutorial about how "animal" (Jake), was different from "tree".

All in all it has been a very good week, and of course I have the beach this weekend, which, YAY! Have a great weekend everyone!

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

If You Don't Know, Just Make It Up.

How or why this became the Theme of the Weekend, I do not know. While I do have to say it is generally a better Theme of the Weekend than some previous ones, (ie. The Get Drunk and Fall Down Weekend, or the Drink Champagne Until Your Feet No Longer Work Weekend,) I sincerely hope that it does not remain the Theme of the Weekend for very long. Because, y'all, nothing makes jumping out of a moviing vehicle at 70 mph more appealing than four hours of conversation where no one has even the faintest idea of what the Hell they are talking about.

This... this is actually probably my fault. Because as we were driving home from the beach two weeks ago, I looked out the window and noticed all the farms and crops we were passing. And my mind started wandering to private farms and aggrobusiness and the Estate Tax's effect on farms and all manner of things relatively uninteresting to anyone else, and then I realized that I was hungover and hey, those thoughts are far too complicated for my poor post-Dewey brain, and I decided to concentrate on the easy question of Identifying Crops.

Y'all? That is SO not an easy question.

A week, much conversation between K and I, and several google image searches later, we still did not have the foggiest clue what the hell these people in Delaware are growing. And we had come to realize the depth of our ignorance, in that we didn't even know enough to make educated guesses, or even ask educated questions, or even, for the most part, form complete sentences. It was all, "There! Corn! I recognize corn! And... cows. I know the cows. And the mule! Aw, the mule. Or, or maybe it's a donkey. Well.... not a horse, anyway. And, and, ooh. Look! The farmer is driving the... thing. And the thing is doing... something... to the... grow-y stuff. What could it.... OH! I remember in Little House on the Prairie they jumped on wheat!"

What we should have done is let this die. We did not let this die. Instead, we waited until a week later, when we had RockStar in the car with us, and decided to ask her what the crops were. This was a mistake for several reasons, the biggest one being, RockStar LIES. So we are in the car, having the following conversation:

Me: "Maybe RockStar knows about the crops!"

K: "Oh! Yeah, RockStar- what are they growing?"

RockStar: "That's corn."

K and I: "Yeah. Thanks. We knew THAT one."

RockStar: "Oh. Well. I do know that the big things? They are for water."

Me: "Big... things? Like, the big building things or the big oil rig like things or just the giant metal spiderweb things?"

RockStar: "What?"

K: "Yes! The Water Things! Now Rockstar, what is that?" (points to entirely unidentifiable field of crops that also look like they have mini pine trees growing in them).

RockStar: (in totally confident, I Am Not Making This Up Voice) "Those are strawberries."

K and I: "Oh. Strawberries?"

RockStar: "Yes. Haven't you ever been strawberry picking?"

Me: "Yes...."

K: "Well, I have picked strawberries before, but I never... I mean I never participated in like, an orgainized thing."

Me: "Me neither. I mean, with the organized. I just... there were strawberries once and... OOh! What's that?"

RockStar: "Hedges."

K and I: "Hed... HEDGES??"

RockStar: "Yes. Those are clearly hedges."

Me: (thinking... "But you don't... farm....hedg....")

K: "B! She is just making stuff up!"

RockStar: "No, no I am not."

K: "Fine then. What is that?"

RockStar: "Um... That? That is... Apple trees. Baby ones."


RockStar: "Well, I knew about the water thing."

K: "Look! They... plowed? Harvested? Took the crops away from this field. Maybe it was grain? Because, (points to squatty oval buildings with pointy tops in distance) isn't that a gran... a grainer... a grain... a SOMETHING with grain in it?"

Me: "Mmm, a grain silo? I don't know."

K: "What do you think is in that long whicte building with no windows?"

RockStar and I: .............................

K: "Chickens. I bet it is chickens."

Me: "I was thinking hothouse tomatoes, but... yes, there could be... chickens.... Oh THANK GOD. MORE CORN. MORE GLORIOUSLY RECOGNIZABLE CORN."

RockStar: "And sunflowers!"

K: "RockStar? That is... corn. Not... flowers."

RockStar: "No, no. Over there!"

K: "Oh, yeah."

RockStar: So, do all sunflowers make seeds you can eat?"

K and I: (confidently) "Yes!" (turn to each other) "Yes?"

RockStar: "But are you sure that is corn? Because where is the... corn part?"

K and I: "RockStar, for the LOVE of GOD, corn is the ONLY THING we even have the SLIGHTEST CONFIDENCE in our knowledge in, and that is CORN GODDAMNIT, and WE do not KNOW where the CORN PART IS but it HAS to be CORN or we will CRASH THIS CAR INTO A TREE."

RockStar: "Oh. Well. I guess when it gets riper the corn... silk... stuff... gets bigger?"

Me: "Bigger... corn silk?"

K: "We have No. Idea. what we are talking about."

RockStar: "Do you like pate?"

K and I: (Double take. But thank god we are on a new topic). "

K: "Yes, I purchase pate. And I enjoy it."

Me: "I don't like the goose liver kind."

RockStar: "What do you like?"

Me: "I don't... Just not the... goose liver kind? Maybe I just don't like pate."

RockStar: "Me neither. I think it tastes like cat food."

K: (opens her mouth to ask the question).

Me: (grabs K's arm and says quietly) "Please. I beg you not to ask. Just Let it go."

K: "Gooood call".

This type of conversation went on for literally four hours. I was tired when I got to the beach. Tired and very, very confused. So if any of you? Readers? Know what crops are generally grown around 404 in Delaware, on the way to the beach, and you actually know the answer and are not going to LIE about HEDGES and BABY TREES, please, PLEASE leave me a comment and let me know!

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

JK Rowling Is My Hero

No, really. No, REALLY.

This weekend... well, this weekend was comprised of one thing, and one thing only. Harry Potter. It began on Friday night, when my roommates and I turned 10. Kate needed a poster for something she was doing over the weekend, and as soon as I heard the word "poster" the small part of my soul that still remains a sorority girl perked up its chandelier earring clad ears and sprang into action. Suffice to say, what started out as a perfectly innocent poster (posterboard, crayons) became a 3 person project involving glitter, stickers, markers, etc. It was wonderful reliving childhood, especially since this time childhood comes with wine.

But we were not done yet folks! Oh no, we were going to the bookstore to get our Harry Potter books! And.. we may have gotten to the bookstore a little early. Which just meant more wine, so... ok. But then... well, we might have tied for first place in the trivia contest. And... the first prize of "first in line" might have been a little useless since we very well may have been the second people in line anyway. So we took the second prize.

And there is now a 5 foot Harry Potter and the Halfblood Prince cut out in our living room.

We? Are So. Cool.

Anyway, I literally spent the entire weekend reading, I reread book 5, read book 6, reread book 4, and am almost through 6. Again. And then I am rereading 5 againbecauseIreallylikeitandonlykindofskimmeditbeforeand Shut. UP.

And my apartment has turned into some sort of Law And Order: Special Wizards Unit, as Kate and I take defense and E takes the prosecution on a certain wizard, who will remain nameless here because I don't want to spoil anything. But if you want to write me comments and discuss, I am happy to. If you don't want a spoiler- don't read the comments.

Then yesterday, on my day off, I decided to be Mature and Reponsible and go to the Dentist. Which I hate. Violently. I never used to hate the dentist, but then I got braces. And my orthodontist was insane, and one week he forgot to stop the chair as it tilted back, nearly dropping me on my head, dropped one of his tools ON my head, and glued the paper napkin thing to my chin. And if you don't think that being in junior high and leaving at lunch for orthodontia and coming back with a paper soul patch is enough to scar you for life, you obviously have no soul.

So anyway, I really like my dentist, but I am reserving judgment on my dental assistant, who apparently thinks that the best way to clean teeth is to remove the gums entirely. It was like:

Me: (Opens mouth).

Dental Assistant: (with sharp silver hook) Poke. Poke. PokeyPokePoke. "You have healthy gums."

Me: "-Ank oo".


When my dentist finally came in, I felt like apologizing to him and swearing that I used to have gums, really, and they were healthy, and if he wanted to see for himself just check his assistants Death Hook of Dental PAIN.


Anyway, its a busy week, and then it's the weekend again. Life? Is rough. :).

Friday, July 15, 2005

It's TOTALLY Not Saturday. Oops.

Hi! It is Friday, and I am useless. Apparently, my ENTIRE APARTMENT suffered from some unknown affliction which caused all of us to feel like we really didn't have to get up for work this morning, and in my head I am all, "Well, if E is still here, I can't be that late", and I am turning over and cuddling the cat and then OH SHIT. Because oh yes, y'all, yes I CAN be that late, because E is ALSO that late, and it is not so much SATURDAY but very much FRIDAY and I had to be at work 2 HOURS AGO, thanks.

So after that stellar start to the day, I wasn't holding out much hope. And while I usually do not like to blog about work, I would like to make 2 points:

1. Remember how I have no experience whatsoever with websites, cannot even spell html (joke...) let alone use it, and think computers are run by angry gnomes, so they gave me the website redesign project? And how I have never had a nanosecond of database training, and use excel as a really boxy way to make a list, so they gave me the database integration project? Well, you know what else I have utterly no experience in????

PR and marketing.

Guess what my new job is?

Yes. I, who chose law school over business school because... hate, (also? Numbers. Business school has numbers. I don't like numbers), am now basically running PR for my agency.


2. For awhile it looked like it was going to be close, but I am proud to say that the final score was: Me: 1, New Foldy Easel White Board: 0. Take that.

But I think I'm ok, because even though I was late, my boss took one look at new foldy easel white board, where I have listed my current projects, and responded, "Oh, shit." Yeah, dude, you're telling me. But then he told me I was doing good stuff. Presumably when I actually show up, but yeah.

Anyway, I have spent the day running around in meetings and consuming basil pesto cheese toast, which is seriously the best food in the world, and I may or may not be on my third bag of it since I rolled into work at, you know, TEN this morning.

But no matter what happens today, it all ends the minute I get home, because it is HARRY POTTER DAY, and if you don't think I would actually turn down a date with an actual person to go stand in line and wait for this book, you seriously have no idea, ok?

Happy Harry Potter Friday!

Thursday, July 14, 2005

I Remember When All Wednesdays Were This Much Fun

So last night a friend of a friend had a charity event at my favorite bar. And I decided that I could totally take one for the team and drink a beer (or wine! Or.. a carbomb. Long story) for charity. And it was exciting because it would have been the night that my beach friends met my law friends except... they actually already know each other. But anyway.

The problem with the night was that the person whom I was supposed to go with? Not so much with the showing up. Or the telling me they weren't showing up. So here I am, at bar... alone. Now, I don't particularly mind being alone normally, I have gone to dinner by myself, seen movies by myself, and generally enjoy my own company. But... not at a bar, during happy hour. Luckily, I called The Peanut, who is awesome, and who instantly realized that me + alone in bar = Not At ALL Ok and she drove to meet me.

But... still had to wait for her to come. (I knew other people would eventually be showing up, but when was a mystery). Luckily, I apparently have REALLY GOOD bar karma, because another totally alone girl came up to me. We were both wearing the "charity" wristbands, so we knew there was some connection, and she also could not find her friends, so we became Instant Best Friends so as not to a. look like complete losers, or b. invite all the single sketchy guys to come over and bother us. And then another one of her friends showed up, and the three of us had a very fun conversation establishing the following:

The Not Alone At A Bar Because I Made These Great New Friends "Cool v. Entirely Inappropriate" List:

Cool: Telling a girl where in town makes really good, or really cheap drinks.

Totally Inappropriate: Trying to look cool by loftily telling a girl you only drink martinis "straight up" and then telling her that you know a bar that makes them "really strong". Dude? A martini is pure alcohol. It doesn't GET any stronger.

Cool: Dancing with a girl at a club, especially if you are a good dancer.

Totally Inappropriate: Coming up behind a girl who is dancing JUST FINE without you, thanks, grabbing her hips, and shoving her ass into your pelvis.

Cool: Touching a girl on the shoulder as you pass her in a crowded bar to let her know you are there so she doesn't suddenly turn around and end up with a drink spilled all over her.

Totally Inappropriate: Using the fact that you have to pass a girl in a crowded bar as an excuse to full-body grope her as you pass.

Ahh, When Guys Are Idiots, the conversation guarenteed to bring together all women everywhere, regardless if they have just met a few minutes ago.

So then The Peanut showed up, and I am NOT going to post details on the rest of the night except to say it was FAR more fun than it had any right to be. And there was a carbomb involved. And I am FAR less hungover than I have any right to be and have FAR more energy than I have any right to have.

And tomorrow? HARRY POTTER!!!!

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Maybe the Truth WILL Out

I just can't help it... this is one of the funniest things I have seen all week. As Jon Stewart said last night, "The White House press corps was secretly replaced with real journalists". It's about time SOMEONE called this administration out for the blatant lies and failures to back up previous statements. Scott McClellan- keep dancing, but eventually it will be an "appropriate time to comment on it" and you are fucked.

As long as I am on a semi-serious note, check out Jenny's blog comments for an interesting discussion of symbolism and ritual in the Catholic Church. Also? She calls the Pope "Pope Benny the Heretic Hunter", which is just hysterical.

Monday, July 11, 2005

My Life as a Bad After School Special

(We interrupt your regularly scheduled post to bring you this newsflash: My life is currently awesome, because a Wizard just called me- yes, a wiz.. YES, stop LAUGHING, he totally WAS, and he called to tell me I can get my Harry Potter book at the stroke of midnight Friday night. YAY! Now... I just have to learn enough magic to figure out how to pick up said Potter book while actually AT the beach. Anyway, we now return to our regularly scheduled update.)

Ok, so you know how in the late 80's and early 90's there would be all these movies on at about 4, the "After School Specials", and we would learn A Very Special Lesson about drinking or drugs or sex or smoking or fun in general or anything else we were Strongly Discouraged From? And these were HILARIOUS, because it always had the 32 year old actor playing the senior in high school terrorizing the underdeveloped 12 year old playing the freshman, and the Senior always wore black and was gravely menacing because my GOD people, look at the STUBBLE on that kid. And the Evil Senior was always like, "Drink, you know you want to drink, all the cool people drink", and if that failed and skinny wimpy my-voice-is-changing "freshman" managed to refuse him, the Evil Senior got in his face, because this dude had a mortgage and child support and the only way for him to survive was to get this freshman to DRINK THE BEER, so finally the freshman drank it, got instantly deathly drunk, and ran into a train and died and we all learned yet another Very Special Lesson. Namely, that After School Specials were stupid, because no one in high school ever has, or ever would actually talk like that.

And we were right, no high schooler talks like that. However, adults in their mid-twenties and thirties at the beach? Totally talk like that.

K and I worked full days and left for the beach around 7 Friday. Given the fact that we hit construction traffic while still in DC, we made pretty good time. However, we arrived much later than everyone else, which meant we were far more sober than everyone else, which was apparently Not Okay. We walk in.

Rock Star: "Drink a beer!"

K and I: "We have beer."

Rock Star: "Do shots. There are shots. Or beer bong it! There is the beer bong!"

K and I: :"We... we are fine".


K and I: "Christ".

Then we got to the bar, and I observe this exchange between King and POS:

King: "This is goldschlager. You will drink it."

POS: "I cannot. I cannot drink it. It will kill me. There will be death. Death and throwing up."


POS: "NO! I cannot..."


POS: (takes shot).

King: (To me) "Are you still sober?"

Me: "Um... yes?"

King: "We have to take care of that."

So, you see, when the 32 year old was playing the high school senior, it wasn't the wording that was ridiculous so much as the setting. Because 32 year olds? Do talk like that.

But it was a fun night, and K and I remained in the neighborhood of sober, or at least a short taxicab away, and the next day was spent chilling on the porch and drinking champagne and making new friends. Well, for me and Rock Star. K and J. Roget? Sort of... asleep. But anyway. And the guys played Matha-ma-ball, which.... I don't get. I watched for hours and I still don't.. get it. It is catch. With... math. And enough drinking to knock two guys down for the count before 9pm. Then we decided to go to dinner, which was great, although there were approximately 47 of us at the table and the food took until tomorrow to come.

K and I wanted to avoid going out, but our tentative plan of bottles of wine and movies was literally greeted with bellowing attacks. So then we tried... well, ok. We hid. Behind a car. Hoping everyone would leave, and just... fprget about us. But then we got bored. We are the Worst. Secret. Agents. Ever. So we went out briefly and then went to bed in the subzero Orphanage, where only the body heat of the four people in one bed made it survivable.

Sunday, after the beach, the four of us finally joined the club of people who have seen Eurotrip and understand how awesome "Scotty Doesn't Know" is. Because Scotty? He doesn't know. At ALL. (Don't tell Scotty). And that movie rocked.

And we left the beach in one piece and went to the outlet mall and I came home and watched Harry Potter with my roommates.

And we all learned A Very Special Lesson: namely, Dewey still rocks.

And Scotty doesn't know.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Random Friday Thoughts

It's Friday, and although I have only had a three day work week ("work" being used in a very loose sense of the word), I am fighting off a cold, helped a friend move last night which entailed lifting heavy boxes in the rain, and am entirely incoherent. Therefore, I will share with all y'all the lovely random thoughts I have had the past two days.

- Ok. Perhaps when I began this blog two years ago and wrote about tourists, I was being a little harsh. (Look! With the linking! Finally!). I am willing to say that now that I am older and wiser, or at least older and have had much of the optimism and goodwill and hope beaten out of me by the stupidity that surrounds me and now drift comfortably in cynicism, I take it back. SOME of it. Fine, tourists. Walk around in matching shirts. Sing in the mall. Take up the entire food court with those free meal coupons and only eat at Taco Bell or McDonalds because god forbid you eat anything new. Walk as slllooooowwwwlllyyy as you'd like- not like I really need to be anywhere. Drive like idiots, hold me up at the metro turnstyles, turn your nose up at various parts of my city. There is just one thing I ask. ONE. GODDAMN. THING.


Especially when you are on an escalator to a metro station prior to 8am on a work day and it is RAINING. I know you want to hold on to your precious children and make sure no one falls down this scary, newfangled staircase that moves, but I do NOT appreciate being stuck in the rain while getting progressively WETTER and LATER to work. It's extremely rare that anywhere in this city actually affords us residents a fully working escalator. Don't take all the fun out of it. Please???

- I realized today my relationship with a certain co-worker had really hit rock bottom when even after a great deal of talking to myself, soul searching, and walking a mile in so called persons' "shoes", the only place I could talk myself into from "loathing" was "pitying".

-Conversation from the move last night:
(In an elevator filled with boxes, me, S, and our friend Secret Agent)

Me: "This elevator is definitely going to crash and we are all going to die".

Secret Agent: "That's ok, we'll just haunt the place."

Me: "Um, sorry, but although I love the two of you, I am not entirely sure you would be the two people I would pick to spend eternity with."

(Few minutes later, S has been caught up talking to someone about the building, annoying Secret Agent).

Secret Agent: (scaldingly) "Did you get his number?"

S: (looks at us). "You're right. Eternity would be far too long".

- If you have spent the last few hours moving someone, and you have -by completely skewing the laws of physics -managed to fit everything he owns into an itty bitty Budget truck, ensuring that the truck is packed absolutely to the ceiling and absolutely no space remains between anything, and are feeling rather smug about it, the LAST thing the people you are moving with want to hear you say is, "Um, guys? Where... where did I put the van keys?".

- So you can't bring lighters or matches on planes anymore. O...k. I see this as a problem. Now, it's not the fact that I really don't think anyone could actually hijack a plane with a match or a Bic (I mean, come on people- can you ever actually get one lit long enough to light a damn cigarette, let alone bring down a 747?), because I am sure it is possible. But for me it is more a matter of risk assessment. To me, the number one way to increase violence on planes and in airports is to take a bunch of people who have been stuck in airline travel (just... don't get me started) and then TAKE AWAY their ability to have a cigarette as soon as they possibly can. Don't get me wrong- planned violence is terrible, but don't tell me that more random acts of violence won't occur by stressing people out and then denying their nic fit. I see divorces coming from this.

Anyway, only another hour and a half to go and then I can go home, where I will be for approximately a nanosecond, and then I will be on my way with K to the beach.

And this time, I will NOT fall down.

Happy weekend!

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Bad Plan Memo

Ok, so I am cheating. Years ago, long before my blog on D-X, back when I first started my job and found myself writing far, FAR too many memos, I sent out a series of "memos" to my best friends regarding various circumstances in our lives. They have just been sitting idle and useless on my computer, and to my surprise (not really) they are still rather pertinent to this day. Thus, I present you with the Bad Plan Memo.


To: The Girls
From: Citycat
Date: October 17, 2002
Re: Re-visitation of “Bad Plan” concept

It has come to general attention that in recent months The Girls have found themselves embroiled more and more frequently in what has been described as “bad plans”. In order to handle this troubling development, a meeting will convene at approximately 6:30 p.m. at the Malt Shop, before the concert of D1, to discuss definitions and procedures regarding these situations. This meeting will be accompanied by plenty of food and beer to facilitate conversation and numb the senses to possible bad plans which may in fact occur later on during the evening in question.


During their undergraduate career the Girls coined the phrase “bad plan” to refer to a situation in which the inevitable outcome was unpleasant, traumatic, stressful, and generally not ok. In the past, the phrase was often used as a reason why something did NOT occur, or as justification for a certain choice, (ie. “I could have done X, but that was a bad plan so I did Y). It was useful in determining the mental state of someone you were talking to. In addition, it was helpful in deciding appropriate action both for those involved in the plan itself and those on the outside who were asked to intervene. *Note: A bad plan is not something necessarily avoidable. Sometimes, due to circumstances, one must purposefully engage in a bad plan. However, other times it is clearly the result of temporary stupidity.


1. Definitions of a “Bad Plan”.
A. Bad plans involving other people:
- Situations involving your own ex’s (non-relationships included).
- Situations involving the ex’s of those you are currently involved with.
- Situations involving people who like you who you don’t like back.
- Situations involving people who strongly dislike you/you strongly dislike.
- Situations involving co-workers in uncomfortable circumstances.
- Any situation where you know before you get there that you don’t want to
be there.

B. Bad Plans Involving Acts of Nature/Inanimate Objects:
- Being hungover at inopportune times.
- Thinking one can function on 3 hours of sleep a night.
- Going out when ones bank account contains less than $20.
- Thinking one can drink more than is physically possible.
- Choosing to go out on the coldest/rainiest day in recent memory
- Choosing to go out when one is in uncomfortable work clothes with Monster
- Any time one ends up away from ones own apartment for more than 24
- Any miscellaneous situations not covered above.

2. How to handle yourself in a “Bad Plan”.

A. Bad Plans when with another one of the Girls.
- The importance of laughter and inside jokes.
- The importance of anyone not involved in plan to focus on aiding one in need.
- Remembering to allow for others to not realize severity to problem right
- Keeping a strong sense of irony.
- Avoiding tears.
- Theory of, “All nights, no matter how bad, must eventually end”.

B. Bad Plans When you are alone (ie. Performing without a net).
- Cell phones: a girl’s best friend.
- Ways to duck out gracefully.
- People who are acceptable to involve v. people who seem like a good idea at
the time.
- Warning others: how to explain bad plans when you know they are coming, so
people can be on red alert.

3. How to aid another Girl during a “bad plan”.

A. When you are with them:
- Implementation of new “Care Bear Stare” action plan.
- Bathroom breaks: why we go in pairs.
- When more alcohol is a good idea v. when alcohol is evil.
- Never refusing to provide a cigarette
- When to stay v. when to bail. Quickly. Before someone gets hurt.

B. When you are not with them:
- Frequent cell phone checks.
- How to exit a loud bar gracefully and have emotional conversation on street.
- What is appropriate to tell people you are with.
- How to keep everyone updated with least amount of nonsense necessary.

Of course, this is only a rough outline, and many more things may be discussed in the course of the meeting. Please add anything you wish to include and think about topics that may need additional coverage. Topics such as terrorism, anthrax, and snipers may be included, but only in the sense that they refer to bad plans- otherwise it will just be too damn depressing.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Lifting a Glass (or 12) for America


Welcome to my new blogspot. Isn't it pretty? Jenny rocks.

So this weekend we celebrated America's birthday in the old school American tradition of getting far too drunk and making asses of ourselves. Hey, I'm not entirely sure that wasn't what the founding fathers intended, so I don't feel too bad about it. I mean, have you seen the Samuel Adams ad where the guy is like, "When the founding fathers were in the tavern planning the revolution, they were drinking quality beer". Um... wow. I mean, that sort of says something about the chances of success of your revolution, doesn't it, when you conceived of it while sitting in a tavern drinking? I mean, I'm sure we ALL have sat around drinking and coming up with brilliant plans. Only... we don't actually do ours. So in the spirit of drunken, ill advised but surprisingly successful plans, I will tell you about my weekend.

I lost complete control over my weekend early in the week, because both Jenny and my friend PC, who just returned from Kyrgyzstan (don't ask) were coming to stay with me, and Jenny was throwing a party. In my apartment. That I... wasn't going to be at, because I had a kickball party to go to. And then Kate added guests, and her guests added guests, and THOSE guests sent out a listserve, until Friday there was basically a party in my apartment being thrown by someone who didn't live there and consisting of people no one actually knew.


So I had planned to be home around 10, but... kickball, so I stumbled (literally! Stumbling! Beer!) into my apartment closer to one. And there were a lot of people drinking there, some of whom I actually knew. And I was drinking a top shelf margarita because for some inexplicable reason we decided to have a classy party and buy really expensive liquor to make margaritas with. And then... well, then I am not entire certain what happened, because we were talking and sitting and drinking and then it was morning. And we were hungry, and I just barely managed to realize that the half forming plan of going to the grocery store and cooking breakfast ("Attention shoppers, passed out drunk on aisle 1") was not a good plan, so we all hiked over to the diner a few blocks away.

Kate: "B, do you have keys? Because I don't have keys."

Me: "Yes! I have keys. My keys are... my keys are... nope. Don't have keys."

We decided to deal with the problem later and went to breakfast, where we frightened the waiter a great deal with our singing. Because our milkshakes TOTALLY bring all the boys to the yard, and damn right, they are better than yours. But then something rather disturbing happened and instead of singing booty music on the way home we started singing... Christian camp songs. I don't... I don't know people, I just don't know. But Father Abraham? He had many sons. MANY SONS HAD FAAAATHER ABRAHAM! AND I AM.....

I am certifiably insane.

Anyway, when we got home sometime around 7:30 am we had to face the problem of the lack of keys. E was sleeping in the apartment, so we decided to call him. So I called him. And called him. And called him. Until Kate realized I was calling his home phone in Williamsburg, and he was probably not going to answer that. So we tried calling his cell. And calling. And banging (softly) on the door. No dice. At this point there were 5 people spread out in a zig zag pattern down the hall, fast asleep. Now, I'm not sure exactly was the textbook definition of "good party" is, but it either definitely or definitely does not include "guests asleep in hallway."

So even though the front desk is not supposed to give out spare keys, I went down and negotiated a blood pact with the man at the front desk wherein he gave me a key and I kept quiet about the fact that he was dead asleep at the desk and returned the key immediately. And we got in, and save on minor disaster with the inflatable bed ("This pump isn't working" "You have it on deflate." "...Oh.") we all got a few hours of sleep.

Saturday we all got up and trooped en masse to a BBQ our friend was throwing, where there was much good food and laughter and a viewing of Old School, and then we all trooped en masse back to my apartment where everyone continued to sleep, because... well, I honestly have no idea. Eventually everyone who did not A. Pay rent, B. Not pay rent but live in the apartment, or C. Not live in the apartment but had previously negotiated sleeping space for a few days left, and we spent a very, VERY quiet Sunday night napping through The Life Aquatic.

Yesterday there was ANOTHER BBQ, but this one had the slight hitch of not actually having a built grill. So... so we built the grill. With almost no help from the actual homeowner and party giver, but that is besides the point. And then we played flip cup. For... hours. And we realized that the fireworks are on TV anyway and they were testing the emergency evacuation plan from DC and bridges were closed and cabbing would be a disaster and wouldn't we all rather play flip cup some more anyway? So we did, until the wee hours of the morning when E, who is WONDERFUL, came and picked us up.

And guess what I did not do?

I did not fall down. At ALL. Well, ok, maybe once I tripped on the deck and ran into the door and scraped myself, a little, but I was still pretty much sober at the time so it doesn't count. Jenny? Jenny fell down. But much like K's mysterious injury from the beach, Jenny has no idea when or where she fell down. Heh. I think there is just so much falling-down mysterious injury karma, and now that Jenny is here, she gets it.

Jenny, do not go home.

But alas, Jenny is going home tonight, which is very, very sad for all parts of me except my liver, who right now would be throwing a GO HOME JENNY party if it had any energy left at all, but is instead probably sort of halfheartedly toasting with some of the leftover alcohol in my system. Sorry, liver!

I hope everyone had a great fourth!