RoarSavage

...Pssst!

2009-10-28T23:36:00.003-04:00

I'm back. But I'm over here now.

See you there?

Beginning Again

2008-05-02T00:40:00.002-04:00

Things are great. I've landed a job that I had previously thought only possible in my imagination. It's allowing me to use my (English) major much more than the HR job I was working when I was pumping my ideas into the blogosphere in 2006.

Now that I've had time to take control -- and choose a direction -- I find myself missing the blog world. But wondering how, exactly, to jump back in has me thinking about how it all started for me in the first place.

In all honesty, I began writing this blog because of a guy. In late 2005, I was dating Paul, a UVA grad that was addicted to DC Bachelor. He was friends of friends of his, and found him hilarious. Paul encouraged me to read DCB's blog, too.

At the time, Paul was one of the nicest guys I'd met. So imagine my horror when I actually finally read DCB's blog. This was what my nice guy was reading every day? How could a nice guy possibly find this hilarious?

I found myself reading Roosh's blog every day, too. Not because I liked it. But because I had to unlock the mystery of how the guy opening doors for me on dates could be reading DCB at work the following Monday morning.

My blog routine was set long before things inevitably ended with Nice Paul. (I'm too loud-mouthed for that sweet UVA grad.) Whatever his views, Roosh can be funny. And infuriating. And ingenious.

Temping cube jockey that I was, Roosh's boldness was inspiring. It made me want to lend my voice to the conversation. It made me want to be a strong, vocal, female counter-note. Click through 2006, and I think you'll find a few examples of when I was able to do that successfully (though never to the same degree of popularity as DCB).

If anything, as I settle into something that I really enjoy doing, and am beginning to master, I find myself yearning to be part of something larger than myself, just as I had back in 2005.

I'll be checking in on my old blog friends this week, and commenting. I'm still trying to decide whether I can translate my new life (sans bartending and the punk band) into a voice that I think is worth listening to (or reading).

I'll keep you posted.

Caribou-Comfortable

2008-04-04T15:30:00.002-04:00

I'm in hell. Or a very invasive version of shock therapy.

A man sat down next to me at Caribou, where I'm working b/c the internet is out at my office.

He's gabbing on the phone about his divorce, about how his kids are taking it, how he feels bad that his wife will have to grow old by herself, that he wishes he'd met his new girlfriend 12 years ago, only then she would have been 12.

"It's gonna take a while to deal with the kids," he just said.

"She'll be fine. She's strong, a survivor."

"She's gettin' fucking everything. My direct deposit from New York."

"That's a good idea -- I'll do that right away."

"Yeah, I mean I had to start a new life. I took Heather to Florida."

Is it appropriate to start crying in the middle of Caribou??

Workin' my *** off

2006-12-08T16:31:00.000-05:00

I'm back to three jobs now and I love it.

I'm tired...

but it's awesome.

And no, I'm not counting the band. Perhaps I should though. OK, fine. Twist my arm. You win. I have 4 jobs.

This time it's different though. I actually have a direction in life. It's awesome. I hope to get more and more directional... something I can attribute to the Republican, I guess. There's something about being with an accountant that makes you want to get your ducks in a row...

The gauntlet was thrown, and I couldn't resist. So, yeah, 2 of the 4 jobs pay my bills. And the band is my passion. But the other, the newest... it might actually lead somewhere. And I can't tell you how excited I am.

Now I just need to find the time to sleep.

Oops.

2006-09-03T02:36:00.000-04:00

I've been a bad friend this week. I've been ignoring more phone calls, completely unintentionally, than I'd like to admit. I swear I'm not trying to be rude. ...I've just been hanging out with the hottest guy I know. And the sweetest. And the most charming.

So, when I'm not working all night, I'm thinking about him all day, and it's a really fun feeling.

So... forgive me. I'll try to call tomorrow. Or Monday.

Mr. No-Game

2006-07-31T17:52:00.000-04:00

So I'm addicted to Facebook right now. I've been trolling my HS classmates, my college friends, my preschool-mates, and my sorority sisters. It's a numbers thing. Not that I'm comparing my number of "friends" to anyone in particular. I'm just addicted to making that one number grow. People with sitemeters may be able to relate with me: It's much like the numbers challenge you face every time you check your hits.

Anyway.

A close friend whom I rarely speak to these days (but we play a mean game of phone tag) has always had her own obsessions: Getting into heaven the old-fashioned Jewish way, by making 3 matrimonial matches (and you thought those bubbies did it out of the kindness of their hearts!); making me one of those "matches"; and converting me so that the resulting offspring will also be Jewish.

It's a sickness I'm not sure she'll ever get rid of, and until she does, I'm forced to be the Ace in her back pocket: the Shicksa for all of the Jewish boys that say they're not "into" dating Jewish girls "right now."

Facebook has helped this friend keep her obsession(s) alive with very little intrusion into my own life. Case in point: she recently IMed to tell me that there was a strapping young man who was interested in me. She had forwarded him one of the less-flattering (in my opinion) pictures of me that are on my profile from my birthday (remember the red dress?).

He works for some kind of defense contractor (get in line, pal!) and so could not talk to me directly that day, but had his obnoxious NYC friend "screen" me. And then the man himself and I played some facebook-message-tag. Here's a classic, a message that I think sums up his character, as he represented it to me:

"Tragic news. But as I always do, I will regroup and move forward. Life's road blocks are mere character builders for me: they make me stonger. Like wild chicken.

So your friend Amy is cooking up a little something for us Saturday, I think you should find time between all the heavy lifting to show your pretty face and corresponding sweat stains.

As for my busy schedule as a top secret intelligence official - I am not sure how I even have time to write this. It is tough juggling my online stalking, fantasy sports, g-chat and saving our asses from the terrorist enemy. Man I am good.

Oh - so my point is that i''m not busy and we should get drinks sooner rather than later before you fall for a cuter and smarter version of myself.

So here I lay in my queen size, midnight has struck, and the stomach has settled. It is finally time to turn it over to E, Turtle and the gang. My correspondance will have to terminate.

end"

Can't you see why I was subsequently unable to keep myself from banging down his door? I even politely told my friend that I kind of had my own nice, Jewish boy these days (that I'd found myself, thanks to DS) but she was un-deter-able. She gave the guy my phone number and then he proceded to text message me, too.

Some call it "witty," but I call it an obnoxious and failed attempt to channel Adam Sandler.

Facebook=Friends, NOT dating.

But that's just my opinion.

Acting the Girlfriend

2006-07-24T20:59:00.000-04:00

I've been single for a while now. Like, years.

I've found that single is most fun when I have a rotation going. Because I watch too much Sex and the City, I guess. Because I take the "eggs in one basket" saying to heart. Or because MamaRoar always stressed "dating around" back in High School when I was still too gawky for anyone to be banging down the door. (I'm over it. *Sigh*) Anyway.

It's been rare that I've come out of my usual MO: Rotation Mode. (Which, when you think about it, was just an insecure, defense mechanism more about hedging my bets than actually trying to attain intimacy). The instances were rare, but the reasons relatively simple. It was the kind of conversation that went on for hours. Or I really admired him. Or he ate it like a champ. ...but I digress. (Another post, another time).

The thing is, I've now found myself in a weird place. I'm dating one person who has respectfully requested that I not date anyone else. And I'm excited to comply. But MO-changing is difficult. I'm not sure enough people give that topic the lip service it deserves. Can that really happen over night?

Don't get me wrong. I'm not accepting any more dinner invitations. I'm not giving out my number and I'm not drunk dialing the fuck buddy. I like this guy. But years of being breezy, flirtatious Roar is a hard habit to shake.

I actually even considered not telling the people at my new job about this new thing because, well, it's new. But also: I wondered if they'd treat me the same way.

I guess the quandry beneath all of this is:
If I'm not "Available" who the fuck AM I?

And further, a process question:
How on earth am I now supposed to relate to other men?

Like I said: I like this guy. Any suggestions? Lip service, here we go...

Rerun

2006-07-24T02:06:00.000-04:00

I'm going to be glued to my computer today, from 2-4pm. And no, it's not cuz I'll be blogging (though I'll probably be reading then, too).

I'm going to be listening to the Local Lowdown at SACReD (don't worry, it's not Christian radio). Cuz local bands need everyone's support. Cuz that's just how I roll. O yeah, and cuz I was there helping to record it. ...and what a(nother) fun medium!!

Read me but never met me? Wanna hear my live-canned voice? Tune in!

Pussy Prerogative

2006-07-21T03:07:00.000-04:00

It's a saying I use constantly. And yes, I made it up. I'm brilliant with alliteration.

Now, you can't say it anywhere. I'm sure if you said it at the office you'd get labeled "cavalier." I'm (almost) over it. Anyway.

I say this before or after the first shot I take of the night. Because I can't take a full shot. And instead of being endlessly berated for being the only sorority girl that ever matriculated from the University of Maryland that can't slam a good, hard, cheap one down, like the nerdy kid on the playground, I came up with a witty one-liner to deflect the bullying.

Actually, though, it's more like a 3-liner. Cuz you can't just say "Pussy Prerogative" and expect them to know what you're talking about. I let the words sink in first, while they have that quizzical, goofy grin on their face before I follow it with:

"Because I don't take it in one, and I don't open my throat for anything."

Some people don't let me off the hook. Some continue to tease, but it's in a much less embattled way than it undoubtedly would have been. Most, though, are so tickled at my reference to deep throat (omigosh, was she kidding? she can't be serious!) that they let me take it in how ever many I want.

Think you've got your crowd? Follow the above with one of these classics: "As long as I can get it in me, what difference does it make?" or "It's all in the suction, anyway."

Take Pussy Prerogative with you to the bars and disperse it. Because, honestly, I've been saying it by myself for over a year and it's getting lonely. Just last night someone said they'd never heard it before, and granted, they were a new friend, I'd like one day to have someone I've just met chant it with me. (OK, I'd settle for a knowing little laugh).

; )

Peach of the Week

2006-07-20T14:33:00.000-04:00

A quickie:

Talking to one of the nicer guys during my shift last night about his music, etc, his friend came up behind him and said:

"Come on, man. Stop hitting on the help and let's get out of here."

Asshole.

MTV Halfway House

2006-07-19T14:33:00.000-04:00

So, I've moved. Kind of. More on that later... when I have pictures of the hulking men that helped make that day happen. But I digress:

The reality of the next two weeks is simple:
A Mid-Month Move-Out Date +
A Beginning of the Month Move-In Date =
Roar the Squatter

Big thanks to K for keeping this chick off the streets. While other people (that I know and love!) have loads of new junk in their respective APTs, I'm living downtown in the neighborhood's newest Halfway- I mean, Party-House.

4 girls in a 2 bedroom is soo Summer. It reminds me of college when I lived in the frat house. (OK, I did it two Summers and loved most minutes of it).

This situation is like a weird, dwarfed version of the Real World, where not all of us had to get the same job (cuz we're all holding down different degrees of a "real" one) and some of us are related. We even have the "Odd, Reclusive Chick" who hangs out in her room all day with the door closed reading papers that are strewn about. The last time I saw her was 1am on Monday night when she came out in a towel to adjust the thermostat.

And who am I in this little MTV-inspired reality show? The sassy couch bitch, of course! (Thank G-d it's comfortable!) Frankly, I'm just happy to have a roof over my head each night, and the chance to be part of the "Halfway House" Show. So, again, thanks to K for making it all possible.

2006-07-15T02:59:00.000-04:00

Blogger, Blogger, Everywhere

2006-07-14T12:19:00.000-04:00

Last night might as well have been a blogger happy hour. It was suprising and fun to see so many of them in my usual (and unusual) haunts. It should be noted that last night's debauchery was planned by Marge, to incorporate one of her newest friends who just won her the Employee of the Month Award. Read about it HERE.

Originally stopping off at Home Base (aka Citron, My Turf, etc), I ran into the first, yellow headband blazing. I even met the new intern and it seems as though she's no shrinking violet. Few voices can carry over the masses and music that is Citron after 11pm. Good for her. She yelled something and walked away, leaving our hairy friend to bask in the fact that whatever she was handling at that moment was something he didn't have to think about. He was then able to turn his attention back to me.

"...your blog is dead. You don't come to the Happy Hours anymore... Where have you been??"

I thought about mentioning being fired, moving, going home, D moving out, house hunting, etc but I just said:

"The blog's not dead. There's just some big things going on."
"You seem too sober."

Totally pleasant conversation. It was startling. He told me when the next HH is (no, I didn't know), and I went to the bar for my first drink.

After about 45 min, we walked with the manager of Citron to Play. DCB and New Intern were trying to pick up girls on the street in front of the old "Ben and Moe's" when Marge and I passed. We were almost victims, til we were recognized.

Gotta say: Play on a Thursday is not Play on a Tuesday. I love Tuesday Play. Thursday Play, at 11:45, seemed like a meeting of the fat, ugly club. The fat, ugly, bumping-and-grinding club. I was not impressed.

But things picked up: KAC finally arrived with The Senator in tow. They both looked just as charming together as when I saw them last Sunday for Marge and I's tri-weekly entourage viewing party. And then there was that other CPMC guy. He seemed charming too, though I didn't catch his name. I wish I could give you quotes, but Play is not conducive to much conversation. Too loud. O well.

It was a fun night. Marge, who originally said she wouldn't be drinking, ended up taking sips of champagne instead. As for me, I let myself imbibe for the first time in weeks.

...And now I have to finish packing. Life, for a while now, is going to be one big blogger happy hour (if it wasn't already).

Motivational Music

2006-07-13T19:39:00.000-04:00

This is my playlist while I try, desperately, to get some major shit done tonight. I have a fun night out planned with Marge tonight, and to justify the serious steam-blowing that will inevitably occur, certain things have to happen. Must. Go. Out. Tonight.

Maybe this combo will be as productive for you as it is for me. I recommend that the songs be played in exactly this order... though to be honest, the most productive thing I've done so far is write this not-so-imaginitive (let's be honest) post.

Rock the Boat - Aaliyah
I'll Be Around - The Spinners
You Don't Know My Name - Alicia Keys (Too bad about that interlude that now seems so-not-cool, huh?)
Put You On The Game - The Game
B.O.B. - Outkast
Aya Benzer (Royal G's R&B Mix) - Mustafa Sandal
Manhattan Groove - Mark Gorbeleu
Ama-Gents (Club Mix) - Brenda Fassie
It's A Shame - The Spinners
Parisien du Nord (Remix) - Cheb Mami and K Mel
Draggin' Days - Alicia Keys
Could It Be I'm Falling In Love - The Spinners
Higher - The Game

Enjoy.

VH1 Soul

2006-07-11T01:59:00.000-04:00

Who goes to Eyebar on a Monday? The person that's shooting a music video, of course.

Now, let's be clear: I may have, like, 3 seconds total on-camera, though I didn't leave the place until 12am. But that's not the funny part.

The funny part happened with the makeup artist.

"I've never done a white girl before...!"

I'm used to being the token in this crowd, but all I could think at that time was, 'Lord, Please don't let this woman make me look like a New York Avenue Hooker.' Turns out it was a valid concern, as I found out when I timidly asked:

"Is there really that much of a difference?"

to which she explained, as she shallacked my lips with the darkest plum that's ever been on them, that my skin simply soaks up much more color than the faces she's used to painting. I'm not sure she had come prepared to do any face similar to the one the boys had been calling "ghost" all evening. (I had, afterall, just walked in the bathroom and asked for a touch-up. I doubt my service had been budgeted.)

"See," she said. "This color would barely show up on me."

Comforting words when you can't see the mirror...

Then later, as she was finishing up, she said:

"I'm going to have to call all my girlfriends and tell them what I did tonight!"

I told her I was happy to have popped her cherry. ; )

Gotta say, though, it was more makeup than I've put on myself in a while, but I looked damn fine!!! Shallack, here I come! (For the club only, of course).

Check out Nimat's songs on this site. "Funny" is her first single off this album, and the one whose (correct word use if the video were a person, though I'm not sure what the correct use would be) video was shot tonight. Er, technically it was shot all of yesterday and that evening, which is officially the night before since it's 2am. Whatever.

Anyway: If VH1 Soul takes votes (and I think they do), vote for this song if you liked it, please. Same thing with any other music video outlet.

And... (I'm just curious) what do you think of the chorus??? : )

Goodnight, lovelies. See you on the flipside.

Cousin Comparison

2006-07-07T02:02:00.000-04:00

Needless to say, going home, back to into the fold of my Mother's loving, outstretched arms this past week was rejuvenating. (Not to mention cost effective). But there were some uncomfortable comparisons to be drawn once there. If my professional and romantic lives are at a stand-still (and they are), my cousins put me to shame. (I am one of the 3 oldest. I'm not counting the younger ones. I'm sure I look accomplished compared to a 6th grader).

The cousin that was born 6 days before me (because he was concieved on the same family reunion- go ahead, say it: 'EEEEW!') is going to medschool in the fall. With his girlfriend. Of six years. Who will also be studying to be a doctor. An OBGYN, to be exact. They have never done anything sexual. And they're getting married next June. If I didn't really love him, I'd really hate him, you know?

And then there's the cousin that's 5 months older. Professionally, she's at even more of a standstill than I am. But it's not a big deal, because though she's known for tearing through the wrong guys (it was a bonding point for us) she has now found one that's nearly perfect. It's been 3 months and he adores her. His family even owns a dealership, too. (What's the opposite of an Oedipus complex??) She's thinking she's not going to have a career. Grandmother thinks she might want to be his wife instead.

And then there's me.

The family wasn't told anything about why I was coming home on such short notice, but they knew something was up. I had never done that before, never pulled a PTFU (Pop The Fuck Up). So the first night I got there, one of my 7 cousins, a sophmore in college, ran up to me:

"Roar-y! Roar-y! Why are you home?"
I wasn't ready to tell anyone. So I lied: "I got knocked up."
She didn't even miss a beat: "O great! I'm gonna be an Aunt!"

I told her I was kidding, but I didn't have the heart at the time to tell her she was wrong on two counts: I cannot and would not make her an Aunt anytime soon.

That simple, untold truth led to another low point later that week: I began considering what would happen if I was actually pregnant. Maybe I shouldn't take certain decisions for granted. Maybe that would make my life simpler. At least then I wouldn't feel so aimless. Then I would have direction. Daydreaming, I began to wonder what specifically I'd do in that situation... move home... go to grad school at night... write for the local paper...

Don't judge. I said it was a low point. I may be lacking direction right now, but I refuse to let my story get tied up that way. Surely I can figure out what I'm doing. Surely.

That's what this Summer will be: Figuring shit out in what I'm now calling the "Summer of Roar."

Oklahoma Diet

2006-07-05T13:19:00.001-04:00

I stepped on a scale on one of the last days I was home and was shocked to see the number staring back at me. Though perhaps I should have been less surprised. After all, there are certain places that I simply must visit while home. Culinary must-hits, if you will. They range from fast-food to authentic barbeque-- but they all taste like home to me.

Braums. This was my first job in high school, and it still has the best milkshakes ever. Just ask for your chocolate dark and thick: they'll know what to do. Notice, if you will, that the "Nutritional Facts" for Milkshakes are, uhm, missing from the website.

Taco Bueno. This is a long-standing love affair that I'll never fully get over. Bell has never stood up to "Brain-o." At five, when Grampa pulled up to the wrong franchise, I just whimpered, "My OTHER Grandparents take me to Bueno." "Like hell!" he snorted, and around the car turned... ; ) This past week, I got my food brought to me, specially, cuz I announced that it was the 3rd time I had eaten there in a week. That's how you get VIP, baby!

Joes. This is an institution in my town. Not only do they have the best cheese fries, but it's the late night place to go, too. I have rubbed elbows with many an OSU student, while taking shots from the Joes bar. Incidentally, Ladies Night this past week was fun. I even bumped into the HS Sweetheart that night. *Swoon.*

Bad Brad's BBQ. This restaurant is the reason I refuse to eat meat in the Northeast. It just can't come close to what you get there. And don't lie-- you never knew where Pawhuska was until you saw that map, did you?

Last but not least:

Hideaway Pizza. YUUUUM! Love those fried mushrooms. They tout themselves as a Stillwater "Tradish" whatever that means. Still, I can't say no to Hideaway. Never.

Airborne Godless Absolution

2006-07-04T02:17:00.000-04:00

I thought I had it made, making my flight reservations the day before, finding one with only one "layover" each way and under a gazillion dollars. (As it turns out, Southwest seems to think that if you don't have to get off of the plane, it isn't a layover).

Yet to learn the SW "Layover" Rule and still in a grateful frame of mind, I boarded my "final" flight of the day in Chicago, the second to last passenger to do so, yet exclusively (I would imagine) loaded down with laptop, takeout, bottle of water, and hot chocolate.

I spotted a middle seat close to the front and went for it. This choice was more than inauspicious, as in so doing I had chosen to sit next to two of the stupider men on the plane. (Again, personal inference).

Precariously edging into this seat, I could sense the hot beverage about to fall.

"Help, please," I entreated the man next to the window.

Ignoring the steaming hot chocolate I was referring to and it's position teetering on my laptop case, the man grabbed the skinny black bag instead. I watched in slow motion as the hot, creamy liquid spilled all over my laptop bag, my pants, and both mine and the aisle seat. Interestingly enough, the hot chocolate didn't hit the dolt at all.

The man who had stood up to let me into the row just stood there.

"I am so sorry. I'll be right back," I promised as I ran towards the cockpit for paper towels.

Due to the incompetent boobery I was met with there, it took me a healthy 85 seconds to get back to the row with the napkins. The fat, unamused man was still standing in the same place, scowling. He continued to scowl down at me as I scrambled to wipe up his seat, and then my own. It seemed weirdly apprpriate to look up from my crouched position and plead,

"Uhm, is that OK?"

I didn't, of course. But I'm not sure I've ever had to fight a similar urge.

I was mortified. I didn't even take the used paper towels back to the front, I just stuffed them in the pocket in front of me. Mr Fat Aisle Seat seemed pretty anxious to sit back down.

It wasn't until much later, after take-off, that I began to feel less guilty and embarrassed. At that point, the Peevish Potbelly pulled out Ann Coulter's "Godless."

I suddenly felt absolved, somehow. No wonder he scowls so much.

Pharoh's Doesn't Exist

2006-06-22T08:20:00.000-04:00

I tried Connecticut Ave, Across the street from the Four Provinces, but clearly, it was not there like I originally imagined.

So I called information (411). They said it was Wisconsin and M St. #3222.

For the record, there is no 3222 M St. Just as, when I was connected to "Pharoh's" on M, I got a busy signal.

The meetup, I must then conclude, is a myth. Pharoh's doesn't exist.

Word Association (Co-op)

2006-06-21T10:58:00.000-04:00

I thought Sharkbait's Word Association was cute and fun. So I've co-opted it, amended it, and made it my own... You know what they say about immitation. Isn't it interesting, though this was a WORD Association, I associated nearly a sentence for each? Overactive brain, I guess.

Wanker- Funny *ish.

Blogger Friends- Make me smile.

Real, Old Friends Who Happen To Blog- Priceless.

Stop Blogging- Don't tell me what to do!

New Blog- Stay Annonymous.

Drama- Queen.

LSATs- MamaRoar's Dream for Roar.

Da Playaz- Crush a lot.

Blogger HH's- Drama Central.

New & Improved- Wisk!

Utility Bills- Ruining my credit.

Nestle by Jenny Craig- A gross abomination of the best food group ever.

Pay to Park

2006-06-20T12:19:00.000-04:00

I don't know how I always forget, but I do. Every morning, I tell myself that it's no big deal: I'll just save a 1/2 hr and drive in to work. What's an extra $5 for a little longer under the covers?

It isn't until I pull into the garage that I remember. It's a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Oh, Jeez. I have to talk to the Parking Attendant.

OK, yes, I have unlimited use of a very VIP "Reserved" spot that I never paid for. And it's nice. And he has let me use it for months.

At first, he just wanted to talk to me about the Bible on my way in to work. I'm from Oklahoma, I know how to handle those conversations. Now, these days, he refuses to take my money and asks me when we're going to dinner.

Now I'm annoyed. (Is that even fair?) How do I make it stop?

Where Was I Last Night?

2006-06-19T14:51:00.000-04:00

B Girl covers it best.

And no, I didn't pay the $20 cover. Can anyone guess why?

But ooooh, yeah. AFI and Julie Dexter are amazing live. What a priviledge.

I'm surprised I didn't get whiplash. My head hasn't rocked like that in a while, hehe.

Snot Rag City

2006-06-15T18:07:00.000-04:00

If you could have seen me for the past couple of days, you would know that I have been buried under a mound of dirty snot rags. I have camped out on my purple sofa and have already exhausted the cinematic reserves from Blockbuster and my neighbors.

As a result, I had some very witty things to share about "Old Gringo," a Mexican Western with Jane Fonda, Gregory Peck and Jimmy Smits. I'm sure you can guess the drift. (However, the movie might be worth the rental just to see Jimmy's butt as much as you do in the film. Ay, Caliente!)

In lieu of the above-mentioned wit, though, I thought I'd be real with you. More than my post-nasal-drip, and the headache that comes and goes-- more than the dirty dishes and drawn blinds-- something has bothered me ever since I caught this bug. The fact is, of all the guys that have asked me to dinner, or to "hang" or to "have a drink" etc, this past week, only one of those offered to come bring me something.

Daddy was the only one that even SUGGESTED that he might bring me tea. Give me a man that wants to clean my apartment, rent me movies from Blockbuster and bring me chicken soup, and I'll give you a truly loyal woman.

"Family. Redefined."

2006-06-14T13:15:00.000-04:00

The hardest lesson I've had to learn (& relearn) since being away from my family is that though you'll painstakingly put a pseudo-family together for yourself, most of those elevated friendships will never be as loyal or as solid as the relationships with your family. Many won't even pretend to be.

And it's fine. I'm fine. It's been over a week, and I doubt she's even noticed. She's busy.

Here's my question though:

If this is what it's like with your girlfriends, how can one ever create a more solid and real family with a man? What would make a man want to do the unconditional stuff that so few girlfriends will? Can you ever have unconditional anything with someone not related to you by blood?

Cad?

2006-06-12T18:30:00.000-04:00

DistrictSiren always tells the same 2 stories when introducing me in mixed company. They both involve music class. The second occurred on the first day of Sophmore year, when I shuffled into (class shall remain nameless), in my flip-flops, jean skirt and Sorority Billboards.

According to DS, of all the students that tried to get special permission to “oversubscribe” to the class (technically, I didn’t have the credits to take it), I was the last to ask and the only one allowed to do so. Supposedly there were others before me that actually showed up on time. Puh-leeze.

I spent the next 4 months killing myself for the ‘C’ our professor gave me; and DistrictSiren spent the 2 after that fighting to be bumped up the extra .5% points for an ‘A.’

I was then, of course, thrilled when the same professor waltzed into my bar Friday night. He waited for me to be cut and then we chatted between shots at the bar.

“I don’t like that story,” he said in response to DS’s version. “It makes me sound like a pervy teacher.”
“No. You’re the nameless, faceless teacher in that story. It makes ME look like a bimbo.”

The part of the story that DS doesn’t tell is what happened during and after finals that same semester.

I had filled my blue exam book first with the answers I knew (not many) to the questions he asked, then second with all of the other, random crap he didn’t. I labeled that section of the book:

Things I Know That You Didn’t Ask

Creative, I know.

“What is it about you, Roar?” he asked after one of our shots last week. “There’s always been something about you.”

During Christmas break after that semeseter, I bumped into the professor at Chipotle. I couldn’t help but ask.

"So, have you graded them?”
--“Yes.”
“Well…? What did I get?”
--“What did you need?”
“To pass.”
--“Well, then…”
“But-- Oh. I mean…”
--“You’re a major, right?”
“Yeah.”
--“So what’d you need?”
“Well, a ‘C’ but-”
--“Well, then…”
“Oh, thank you Professor! That’s great!”
--“No problem. Now what are you going to do for me?”
“Huh?” I didn’t get it. “Anything! What do you want?”
He could tell I didn’t get it. He just smiled. “See you later.”

Maybe my Professor was a cad. Or maybe he just has verbal diarrhea like me. Are they really mutually exclusive propositions?

It was so fun seeing him Friday that I brought the professor to Dragonfly with my group. He walked into the sterile first floor and all he said was:

“Oh, wow. I should have brought drugs.”

I’m guessing: A little bit of Column A, a little bit of Column B. Whatever. I still think he’s awesome.

No Hiatus

2006-06-12T18:19:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty sure that to actually have a hiatus it has to be planned. But you know me better than that. You know I'm too messy to plan anything beforehand. Were I Travis, or Larissa, or Velvet, I would have said something before or during.

But, alas... I didn't know this was merely a vacation until it was over. Forgive me for abandoning you.

There, there... Mama's back now.

Friends?

2006-05-29T20:54:00.000-04:00

The concept behind social networking is fundamentally flawed.
The premise being, you like your friends, they like their friends, and therefore, you should like your friend's friends.
Uhm, no.
On the ideological level:
It was just simply different way-back-when; when morality in America was more standardized, homogenized. But with the onset of social change, our tolderant attitudes toward those who believe in everything from premarital sex (I'm a fan), to interracial adoption (also a fan), to the death penalty (I vote no), our social networks are getting more confusing. Can't the people with opposing views carry cards, or something?
On the interpersonal level:
No one likes everything about their friends. And these people, being seperate human beings, can tolerate certain things that you can't. I cannot get along with people who are disloyal, dishonest or impolite. But even "polite" I'll bend a little on, and I happen to know that some of my close friends put up with things from their own close friends (putting them in dangerous situations, putting them down, being competitive, etc) that I would not tolerate.

Clearly, "mixing friends" can be a mixed bag.

Case in Point:
OC this weekend was lovely. I didn't go to Seacrets once, and didn't want to. I was staying in a beachfront condo wth K and her roomate, (let's call her Kristy). Kristy's long-time guy friend passed out on our couch Saturday night, then took Kristy, K and I to Bayside Skillet the next morning before spending the rest of the day with us. This concrete salesman and Salisburian was the perfect gentleman.

Alone on adjacent hammocks later that day, he and I began discussing the intricacies of life. Cuz that's just what you do on hammocks. (Or maybe it was the Dirty Bananas that we were using to "hydrate" our burning flesh).

"It's so weird, Roar. I know this guy. He's like a brother to me. He barbacked for me for years. Then, when he got into Maryland, we got him a job barbacking at Bentley's. But come to find out, he's in jail. Last year, some kids were taunting him, so he lit a broom and set the house on fire."
"Yeah, I know. I sang at the Memorial Service for the student who died in that fire."

I think he had expected me to sympathize. But obviously, I couldn't. I wasn't mean about it. But while our perfect gentleman wondered how his friend could have kept the secret so long, I couldn't help but verbalize:

"Maybe the court would have gone easier on him if he had confessed at the time. Someone turned him in, right?"

Zing!
We went into more detail, but the gentleman eventually left it at this:

"Well, Roar, I had no idea. I'm sure you have a different perspective than I do, given the people you know."

Toucher.

OK, so this is an extreme example. But it is also extremely true. Don't get me wrong, I don't think this guy was a bad guy just because he knows someone who's in jail. But the circularity of this scenario was uncanny. How does life happen like this?

And more to the (general) point: Is it any wonder that the friend-of-a-friend test, these days, is anything but foolproof??

Ghost Town

2006-05-21T21:22:00.000-04:00

I saw Scooter-the-Football-Player in Georgetown Saturday evening. I found out quickly one semester that the list of girls he'd made out with in my sorority was about an arm's lenth long. It made it less flattering somehow.

Later that night, after jumping in a cab near my place (that almost never happens) I spotted another ghost. He was sitting outside at Logan Tavern and though I just happened to spot him, I would know him anywhere. His face is exactly the same. He still cocks his hat exactly like that. I've never seen another body hold that position as naturally as his can. It was him.
...I considered having the cab stop, but that seemed a little shrill, especially considering I know exactly which doorway to find him in these days. If I really wanted to talk to him, I would have approached him by now. As it is, when in Adam's Morgan, already happening to leave a venue at the top of the hill (again, going too far out of my way would seem shrill), I make sure to walk past and catch my cab up there, at that corner. Because it's not about wanting to talk to him. But if I have to live knowing he's still alive, I want him to do the same...
But I digress. It was unnerving seeing this unfriendly ghost away from his doorway and perched in my brunch spot. It almost made me forget how nervous I was for the evening- for a minute.

Even later, I was braiding Woz's beard hair and checking my voicemails. That random Oklahoma number from earlier that day? It had been a very friendly ghost: the voice I'll never forget, my H.S. boyfriend calling to check in.

Clearly, for Roar, the ghosts come out on Saturday night.

Cuz I Said I Would

2006-05-19T10:49:00.000-04:00

D.D.

2006-05-18T20:26:00.000-04:00

There's nothing to say.
Each of the comments that were left on Wednesday's post were completely fair and accurate.

O, so you want more?

I was prepared for the violent reaction to Wednesday's post, and each concerned and even pissed comment was completely valid. I respect each of the strong feelings against drunk driving that people posted. Those commenters are, without a doubt, completely correct.

I've never lost anyone to a drunk driving accident, but I'm sorry for anyone who has. I realized as I posted this week: I was the villain in my own piece.

The guilt I mentioned in the title was not about thinking I was "bad luck," as luck clearly had nothing to do with what happened (or worse, what could have happened) to my friends; and could have very easily happened to me. Rather, I have continued to feel horribly guilty that I failed to protect myself and my friends last Friday night. I feel like I unfairly skated through that situation unscathed.

I considered "Lucky and Guilty" my pennance. An acknowledgement of what did and what could have happened. A way to also be held accountable, though not by my insurance company.

But to those that thought that this blog's topic was inappropriate, I've got to say one big "Fuck You." The blog did not glamorize an ugly situation. Nor was it meant to. Drunk driving is what it is: a stupid, incredibly dangerous thing that happens often and with serious consequences, as each of the commenters with personal stories proved.

The blog was intended to begin the discussion that it did, and I was happy to take the fall, because few of us are completely blame-free. Because too many people have IM'd me: "We've all done it..." And because I'm old enough to know better.

This weekend was the first time that the consequences of drunk driving hit so close to home for me, and I realize, that makes me very fortunate. I thought this was worth discussing HONESTLY and without rhetoric; admitting my own personal irresponsibility.

And that's just what I do here, and will continue to do. Cuz I didn't give the URL to my family, and I'm not putting it on business cards. I try to keep the drink/bar/club lists to a minimum (unless they serve the story at hand), but I'm only going to write about what I know (for better or worse...). I promise never to post pictures of people I've never met, and never, ever will you find videos of asian porn posted here just so I can say: "I'm doing something original."

What else can I say?

Lucky and Guilty

2006-05-17T00:22:00.000-04:00

Sorry I've been so preoccupied. This weekend, one of my very good friends wrapped her car around a pole.

I went out with two people last Friday night. It was a drunk night that began with shots of Jameson and Jaegermeister before I even got off work. I had more with a (guy) friend once I was cut, at 10pm.

My best friend, (a former sorority sister), then joined me at the bar, and she quickly caught up with shots of Patron. She was the reason I was out: I got a text from her around 9 that said she needed to blow off some steam. And "blow off steam" we most certainly did, complete with dancing on the bar.

Our banner evening ended with Kier (sp?) Royales before she dragged my drunk ass out of Science Club. Who knows where our guy friend wandered off to...

She took me back to my car, still upset with her boyfriend, and drove off in the rain.

After another pit stop at Citron, I drove home, too.

It wasn't until Saturday night that I got the news. She's OK, she's just bruised, but I feel horribly guilty.

Then last night, while waiting tables, I found out that my other friend, the guy we lost while in Science, had also gotten in an accident that night. He got in his car and ended up driving his Spidr into a road divider. Within 20-30 minutes of my girl friend's accident. He's also fine.

Though there's not a scratch on either of them, they've both totalled their cars on inanimate objects. It could have been much worse, but still.

I feel like bad luck.

I'd like to say that I'll never drive under the influence again (the way I promised never to have sex again) but I can't-- not completely, anyway. Driving wasted I'll clearly never do, but what about the gray area? I just drove home tonight after 3 drinks (and sushi) at Dragonfly...

UPDATE: MamaRoar (a lawyer) just put it all in perspective. That long Chipotle lunch line is soo useful! I've been preoccupied, clearly, because what happened to the 2 people that went out with me that night could have easily happened to me, too. Definitely a wake-up call.

And the Gray Area (aka 1-3 drinks in a night)? MamaRoar broke it down like this: If you've had more than one drink in the hour or less before you're going home, don't drive. Even if the accident wasn't your fault, if you're breathalized, you're screwed. (Did I mention she's a lawyer?) I thought it was an interesting perspective I hadn't considered, though. As was her next piece of advice: No matter what your friends think is OK at the time, you're the one could be maimed, and they can always be on to their next best friend...

But her Bottom Bottom-Line was this: If you think you'll drink at all, don't drive at all. And if you think you can't afford the cab, you're too poor to be going out anyway.

And just in case you guys thought you needed to rake me over the coals a little more (go ahead, I posted it afterall...) MamaRoar has this to say as well:

"I'm pretty disappointed that you're 23 and still doing stupid shit like this."

Thank you, AE

2006-05-13T01:32:00.000-04:00

Picture from my birthday (Cuz if Sharkbait can live in birthday revelry for a week, surely I can reminisce as well...):

This dress had an aura all it's own. So I decided it needed its own post. It made me do wild and crazy things-- like the salt-shaker-- on every raised surface I could find.

Not to mention, few could keep their hands off me when I was in this dress (as demonstrated by the picture, above). I'm never throwing it out, ever. (And to think, I found it in the back of my "dressy" closet!)

Thank you, Armani Exchange. Thank you.

Fan Club

2006-05-12T10:16:00.000-04:00

He did Britney better than Britney does. That sample comes on, and just when you think you're about to hear, "I'm a slaaaaaaaaaaave for you" instead here comes his amazing, insightful lyrics. And some cello.

I'm talking about Van Hunt, of course. And song #6: "Being a Girl."

Van Hunt and I have this long-standing relationship. Ever since "Down Here in Hell With You," it's been clear: this man gets me. "Singin' my life with his words..." Anyway. And then there was "Dust." How can you not like that song??

So yeah. I'm getting to know his latest "On the Jungle Floor," and I have to admit, I didn't like it at first. It sounded too... out there. But that's who he is. And when my man Van puts it down, it's lyrical mastery. "Being a Girl" is my theme song this week, 'cuz this girl is def

"...full of spectacle and charm like nothing else."

Hotness!

Slump After Hump Day

2006-05-11T10:07:00.000-04:00

District Siren celebrated her Birthday last night. My beautiful Taurus bff joined the ranks of the 23's yesterday, and a fun time was had by all.

BTW, HAPPY BIRTHDAY NEEZY!!! I wonder how many times I said that last night?

The burger was good, but our party was too big to seat in the Restaurant, so The Front Page (of Ballston) sat us in the hallway of the mall behind it. We were having such an echo-ing, raucus good time that we didn't even care that the $1 drafts ended at 7pm. The VA'ans (who were used to the cheapness lasting 'til 9pm) were bummed, but I was excited to get ANY drink for even $2-- it was like being in college again!!

And what birthday would be complete without Kareoke at the Royal Lee? This dive was deliciously bogus cornball. I treated DS's work buddies to my own (fabulous) renditions of "I Will Survive" and "Black Velvet," cuz Roar is a Diva and she rolls like that.

Too bad it's raining, but our hangovers needed the down time that the present gloom affords. Besides, I'm on mental rest until tonight's debauchery...

Roar, Reporting from Celibacy Central (a PA)

2006-05-09T19:04:00.000-04:00

A Scientist once told me that our bodies aren't meant to have sex with as many people as we, in modern America, do. I had no idea what he meant at the time.

But then recently, A Health Professional Said...

...Condoms only protect against HIV and pregnancy. And that's only when they don't slide off or pop. (EVERYTHING else can be transmitted during "protected" sex).

...Lesions, warts, sores or other symptoms don't need to be present for your partner to transmit them.

...(As an example): Someone with Asymptomatic Herpes can slough the virus from anywhere on their genitalia, at any time, and infect their partner. (Not sure if this is the same with other viruses).
The kicker:
(As I learned later, according to a Herpes website) 90% of people have Herpes and don't know it. The only way to know is through a blood test, and no one does them. Why? The Health Professional described the test as "a can of worms."

I share this, because I feel as though I've been lied to. The strong women I idealize as independent and fashionable role models on Sex and The City, (if the above facts are true) are not liberated, but most likely, (were they real people) are among the afore-mentioned 90%.

And Not-That-There's-Anything-Wrong-With-That. Evidently, as any quick google search will show, there's a very active online Herpes Dating community. (I'm sure it's the same for every other incurable STD). Clearly, life does not end once someone contracts an STD.

But the same way the medical community continued to tell women that mammograms were "lifesavers" when they knew they weren't (a 20-year nurse's study came out a few years ago discounting mammograms' effectivity), I think someone should have warned us, as our numbers climbed, that adding sexual partners to our respective rosters was only asking for trouble, period. Slogans like "Just Wrap It Up," and "Knowing Is Beautiful" seem to fall way too short, with the above information.

Imagine: what would dating be like if we saw the condom for what it was--(a HIV-Hat and Baby-Rejector)? Would we all be as randy as we are? Or would we date to get-to-know and trust that the sex would just magically be there after the vows?

Cynical Roar that I am, I've never believed that great sex would magically be anywhere, especially not in the marriage bed of a celibate couple. But my cynicism has been overridden by fear:

I'm never having sex again. Until I'm married.

Knee-jerk reaction? Perhaps. But for now, Roar is officially Prude.

***Proof that guys don't get tested as often as us chicks do.***

The Serbian Man Said...

2006-05-08T13:27:00.000-04:00

..."The word for ___ and fish is the same thing in slang in my country."
(Same here, buddy...)

..."American women don't shave here like they do there..."
(He was referring to, uhm, "fish." Which actually really suprised me since I didn't think European women shaved anything...).

..."Oh. You like to sing? I think you'd be a good manager. I'll lay out a step-by-step plan for you. But not in front of him," (nodding towards our bartender). "Who knows? He might want to be manager of the Ritz Carlton too..."

..."So what are you cooking for me?" (WHAT?!? I can cook pasta, pasta sauce, eggs, broil fish and roast a chicken. But I won't be doing any of that for you.)

Stuck- AGAIN

2006-05-07T20:04:00.000-04:00

How does this always happen?

My roomate and I made plans to drop by Lima tonight. Cuz it's a friend's birthday and he was supposed to be going. And it's the only night they play acceptable (read: non-house) music...
I was excited cuz I've been out-of-commission this weekend (with Mom in town), and I invited all the coolest party-goers that I had in my phone.

But our friend decided to do dinner and a movie with his guy friends for his birthday instead. And then roomie bailed. And all my chick friends are "sick," "have a cold" or are "tired." This is bullshit. I am going to Lima tonight to meet up with at least 5 (confirmed) dudes and offering up zero girlfriends. Like, can you imagine how pissed the guys are gonna be? I can. Been-there-done-that.

Picture this: Chi-cha lounge, November, me and 4 dudes, all of which thought I was coming to meet up with just them.... ugh. Can you spell A-W-K-W-A-R-D? (Lemme know if I spelled that right, cuz I'm tipsy from wine and cheese earlier with Smashley).

Back to tonight: What ever happened to taking one for the team?

Who gives a shit if it's Sunday???

Bald Guardian?

2006-05-05T11:01:00.000-04:00

The Universe wants me to date an older man. And you know how I feel about older men.

But why else would I see that newly-divorced guy from work out at Lima and Play in the same night? (Besides maybe the fact that he brought the girls and I to the second venue...)

Why else on the same night would I hang out with a mutual friend's boyfriend who is newly-divorced himself and plays "cousin" all night, busting the hottie's balls (and eventually letting me doze on his shoulder and then putting me in a cab at the end of the night...)?

But #3 is the kicker: Why else, when I leave my phone in the cab going home, would my 39-year-old work buddy aka Mr. "Why Are You Scared?" call, talk to the cab driver, have the cabbie drop the phone off with him, and hold the phone for me 'til the next night?
Who loses their phone in a cab and gets it back from a friend? That NEVER happens!

Older men are quickly going from skeezy assholes to my guardian angels...
WHAT IS GOING ON?

Mama Roar

2006-05-04T12:11:00.000-04:00

MamaRoar is in town this weekend!!!

Last night, her Gringa daughter shared with her her love of Salsa: I took her to the free Salsa class at Citron. Poor woman, it was 10pm after a long day of airports, and she still shook her thing. And had a mojito.

Tonight it's a girlie dinner at Acadiana. Yum!

...More later.

Skinny Bitches

2006-05-02T17:47:00.000-04:00

I'm only gonna write it once.

I was in line in front of two very skinny, very short, very preppy girls (who looked like they study at the beauty school near my office) at Chipotle last week. After I ordered my Burrito Bol con todo, I couldn't help but hear these girls' order: "Just one veggie soft taco please," they said in the highest-pitched, most annoying voices imaginable. I wanted to snap them like the twigs they were.

Wasn't it Mo'Nique, in the Queens of Comedy (no, I never saw it) that said, "Skinny bitches are *not* to be trusted."

Well I have my own version of that same rule: I don't trust bitches that are skinnier than me.

I understand that this is arbitrary and slightly judgmental: but the rule is not without its exceptions. Many of my very bestest girlfriends are stick thin. They've proven themselves (trust-)worthy and, therefore, have been granted their personal dispensations.

I understand this rule is subjective: my own weight has fluctuated since High School, as my Jr. Formal dress would attest (if I hadn't gotten rid of it). But just as I tend to feel taller than I am, in my head my body looks and feels the same. So yeah. Other women have the wiggle room between my own actual and self-percieved "skinniness."

But back to the point:
Like I said: I get it. Some women are naturally skeletal-skinny. Some women like raw veggies. Some women have mono.

It's not that I think they're evil.
...OK, that's a lie. I do think they're evil. How can you naturally have a lack of upper-arm fat? How does one naturally have a tummy that's concave? Or hip bones that protrude?

No. These women are denying themselves and it makes my skin crawl to look at them. I know they want a sandwich, they know they want a sandwich, everyone that can see them knows that their willpower has, somehow, busted a fuse and created a Nazi eating-regime in their head allowing their wrists to quietly get more and more brittle.

I don't trust these women because if they'll do that to themselves, Lord Jesus, what will they do to others???

Mature Love?

2006-05-01T22:41:00.000-04:00

We were in K Street Lounge and a mutual friend was bitching about her relationship. So I said it. Cuz no one else, who was closer to her, was going to.

"Then why are you dealing with this bullshit?"

She didn't miss a beat.

"Because I love him. I'm 26, and I'm ready to work through something. I'm ready to stop walking away at the drop of a hat."

She was completely earnest. It was enough to give this cynical Savage pause. She definitely shut me up.

Now, let's be clear: this is the same girl that gets black-out drunk and hooks up with guys who are not the man she "loves." (Clearly, she's being selectively mature).

Still, in that moment it was hard not to envy her. I can't remember feeling like that since...

Wow.

Yeah.

I'm Not Dead

2006-04-28T11:56:00.000-04:00

Or lost in College Park
...but I am having internet connectivity issues.

Not to worry, I've still been up to the same old hijinks:
Dancing on tables
Salsa-ing with anyone worthy
Eating Salmon (though slightly less...)

I miss you guys. If I have to sit in Starbucks (again) I will.

More later.

Back to School

2006-04-24T23:40:00.000-04:00

What's the weirdest part of picking your car up in College Park?
(Multiple Choice)

a- Being attracted to the Shuttle driver but realizing he's a Sophmore.

b- Almost not being able to finish your grilled portobello mushroom on 7 grain with lettuce, tomato and feta when you realize that the woman who made it is the same one that's been there since Freshman Orientation.

c- Really really really being excited to go back because it means you get to pick up a fozen hot chocolate with soy milk. (Fuck the walk of shame! This was where the Greeks paraded their previous night's hookups. It was Soffe shorts and flip flops EVERYWHERE).

d- Thinking that you recognize someone but realizing that that all the ZBT's STILL look exactly the same.

e- All of the above.

Quality

2006-04-23T15:43:00.000-04:00

I know I was supposed to devote the past week to answering my burning and unanswered questions. But I got sidetracked. By a shitty work week. And dieting like a fiend for my birthday party. I could just see it: me inviting all my nearest and dearest out to celebrate me and then looking like a slob. So 4 nights last week I ate salmon for dinner.

But there are side effects to salmon. I've always heard it's great for you. According to DistrictSiren, it's not one of the 3 fish you can't eat more than once/week, and my skin looked especially hydrated when I ate it for dinner two weeks ago... But yeah. Side effects. Omega 3's don't just hydrate: they help you orgasm according to another friend, Ashley, who eats it for that express purpose. STAY AWAY FROM SALMON IF YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANY.

The week wore on, and as anticipation for my big bash climbed, so did my libido. Which is why when my work friend said she was making it her "duty" at my birthday party to find me "Birthday Bootie" I was.... not.... that.... discouraging. She told everyone about her quest. Or maybe that was me. Which is why there were many times last night where I could be heard saying, "I'm not having random sex on my birthday!" I think I was affirming it just as much for myself, as I was for everyone around me who watched as I shook it like a salt shaker on every table we could clear off fast enough in VIP.

And speaking of the party itself: There are people that I have gotten to know through this blog thing that I've begun to consider my real-life friends... so posting their names would be weird. But I love them. And I love that they came. The night was very special, mainly because of the people that were there. We chose that place, not for its "cool factor," but because they play good music and we don't need a scene when we have our down-ass crew.

**EEEEw: A woman sitting across from me in starbucks just took a digital picture of her engagement ring. Now she's taking more. Evidently, she's not getting the quality she'd like... Now she's holding her hand in the window to get better gleam from her rock. *BLETCH* And she's wearing heels. Who wears heels on a Sunday afternoon??? Yuck Yuck Yuck.**

Back to the salmon: I may have been randy, (and though I may have joked otherwise) no part of me finds random *anything* appealing. Remember in college when the idea of meeting some hottie at a party and dancing and drinking and making out seemed romantic? Like you might meet your next boyfriend that way? I have no such delusions anymore.

So yeah. This is my own 23yo turning point: I'm now looking for quality. And salmon or no salmon, cocktails or no cocktails, that's just what I'm about. I have no idea what that means in any pragmatic sense. ...But that's my 23yo personal assignment. Last year it was "Date Nice Guys." This year it's: Quality Courting born of Libido Leadership.

Damn. I'm getting old.

3PO

2006-04-19T06:31:00.000-04:00

Hoping to Learn #2:
How do you accept a Pompous Person's Peace Offering without losing your own dignity?

Very rarely is it a real apology. And, typically, they've been an asshole themselves, perhaps even continued to be an asshole on more than one occasion. So how do you handle this graciously? (You can't ignore them, cuz then you'll look more mad than you are).

Back in September, I chose to be passive agressively combative in one such circumstance which resulted in being called a negro amid an email stream I'm sure my office's Big Brother *still* laughs about. (Lesson #18573: Don't shit where you eat).

Perhaps I'm being petty. It's true: I rarely forgive and forget. And when I do, it's because the friendship was more important than the offense.

But really. Are you supposed to bow down and thank Rah for his returned rays of sunshine?? Please.

Am I missing an option here?

Favorite 22yo Lesson

2006-04-18T09:59:00.000-04:00

Courtesy of a Venezuelan friend:

"Donde hay pelo, hay felicidad."

I miss that funny, hairy Salsa stud...

Rug Pull

2006-04-17T12:31:00.000-04:00

Let's get the Life Lessons started, shall we?

K and I have had the same experience with 2 different men over a span of 4 months (not necessarily the past 4, just the same 4). This makes me think that this is something of a phenomenon. And though supportive of one another we may be, helpful... is another story. Neither one of us can see the forest for the trees, and I'd hate to deal with this for another year.

So (with life-cramming in mind) Riddle Me This:

K and I, with similar "Father Issues" are most often the noncommital ones in relationships. Both men actively persued us, respectively (K and I don't share. Not like that. Not ever.)

This persuing took place for a month- 4 months (also respectively).

However, the minute K and I gave up the French Chick act and warmed up to them (on completely different schedules) both men completely flipped their (again, respective) scripts.

When the previous day they were spouting words like "pursuit" and "girlfriend" the next day they were "not ready." The rug was completely pulled out from under us.

So... what happened here?
For the record: Sex was not the catalyst for said Script Flipping. One relationship was already sexual, one never was.

The question is this: Why would a man talk himself (and someone else) into a relationship that he ultimately doesn't even want???

***I think I may have let my 23-Cramming and 66-Sweating get me into some Premature-Multiple-Posting trouble. This post seems to make K and I look slightly pathetic. Whatever. (As I told one guy who asked about my rejection ratio: "...in their defense, they usually get to know me first.") LOL. However, PLEASE don't let this deter you from helping us Double Deuces out.***

Cramming 23

2006-04-17T09:08:00.000-04:00

I turn 23 in a week.

I had previously had this idea that 23 meant something. Big. Like, viable adulthood or something. It's why I began freaking out about my job. I'm not sure if it was a life-long opinion, or one born of December '05, staring down the mouth of my 23rd year. Then again, does the origin of this idea really matter?

The point is: I had expected to have a few more answers than I currently do. And now it's crunch time.

I'm not one to accept premature defeat: In college, I could pull an all-nighter and emerge the next morning with 10 pages of A- quality BS on a book (or two or three) that I had read the same evening. Following this logic, there's no way I can't "cram" an equivalent amount of life knowledge into the next 6 days.

I'm devoting the coming week's posts to my as-yet unanswered life questions. And I want answers. Really. I do. So if you think you can shed some light... please give this double deuce a hand. Gracias.

Bittersweet: What I Left Behind In OK (A tribute to Faulkner)

2006-04-13T12:55:00.000-04:00

On Saturday night I was sitting in a bar called Roosters with my cousin, watching her boyfriend and his friends play pool. There were at least a dozen scattered people I’d gone to High School with also there.

Yeah. My *N Word* beater.
-Huh? What did you say?

His shifty, sideways glance gave him away: He’d forgotten he was in the company of an east coast liberal. His comment wasn’t directed at me, but he knew he was caught.

Uhm. I keep my bat at the front door.
-No you didn’t.

I leaned over to whisper to my host.

Did he just say ‘The N Word’?

She took a drag of her cigarette, but she decided to give it to me straight.

Yeah.
-…Oh.

The guy next to me was anxious to resume our flirting.

You don’t like that word, huh?
-No.
What, did you date one- a black person- or something?
-Yeah.
OK. Well, see. What you have to understand is, it’s not that bad of a word.
-What?
It’s not all black people, just some black people. Even Chris Rock said there’s a difference between the two.
-“Bigger and Blacker”?
Yeah. That was it. It’s like the difference between a white person and White Trash.
-Well, I don’t say that word either, and—
No, really. You’re missing the point. It describes a certain type of black person...

And thus began the 20 very unsexy minutes where the man that was hitting on me tried to justify the use of ‘The N Word.’ I sipped my beer hoping he might just disappear. He didn’t. Maybe I could shut him up:

It sounds like you’re describing a level of ignorance. Why not call those people ignorant instead?
-No. That’s way worse. Watch—-

He turned to his buddy.

Would you rather be called White Trash or Ignorant?
-White Trash.

Then he looked across the table to his half-Mexican friend:

Would you rather be called a Beaner or Ignorant?
-A Beaner.

“Beaner” tried to expound on his friends point.

Look. I have cousins in the largest gang in North America. The MS 13. And they’re fucking Wetbacks. And I tell them so to their face!

It was such a relief to see L a few minutes later.

You’ll never believe the conversation I just had...
-Yeah. There’s not a lot of opportunity for black people here. That’s why I left. I’m at Langston now. Business Management.
Wow. That’s great! You still talk to ___?

*****
Sunday, he chuckled on his couch:

So you date me way back when and you spend the rest of your life concerned about brown folks...

His Mom didn’t chuckle when I told her the story earlier that evening.

Would you ever move back?
-No, I couldn’t deal with the people…

Then she told me a story about how she had recently confronted a racist person.

…So I went up to her: Do I know you? Are you sure? Aren’t you that cashier at JCPenny’s? Sure? Well, lovely top.. And I touched her, and she cringed, but I just smiled…

A healthy 20 minutes later I walked out of her home, slowly realizing that in her own, long-winded way she had shamed me. And she had a point: If I really cared, wouldn’t I stick around and actively try to make things better?

*****

It was Sunday morning and Mom and I were driving to Daylight Donuts. She was less condemning.

I know what you’re saying. You want to be around people with the same value system as you. And it’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along about relationships; you can couple up across a divide, but you’ll spend your life fighting for the things you take for granted.
-But I’ve always enjoyed dating people that can teach me new things. I guess, thogh, there are already certain things I can’t compromise on, like last night proved.

*****

Saturday night L took me to the other side of Roosters. There was hip hop playing and a cluster of brown faces in the corner, but no dance floor like I’d hoped.

This is Roar, ____’s ex-girlfriend.
-O yeah, I remember that.
--You do? That was High School! Did you graduate with me?
-No, I graduated in ’96 with L’s brother. But I remember you two.

*****

I had been giddy to see him that evening. I had gone the entire day (Sunday) without makeup, my bra strap sticking out of my sweater while playing cards with my grandparents, but I had changed and primped to see him. I was wearing tight jeans. And pink.
It had been years, but there we were, on his couch, overlapping legs and holding hands.

What do you miss about us?

We reminisced about our first love, how pure and uncomplicated it was.

I’m not sure I could ever trust someone like that again.
-No one’s ever tried to understand me, who I am and what I come from the same way since. No one’s respected me at face value like that since you.
If I could have chosen, I wouldn’t have had a baby with her. But you always made me wear a condom.

O yeah. His kid. His daughter.

Earlier, in the car, I’d been indignant, as if she was my own:

You just can’t raise a strong black woman here. No offense to your Mom, cuz she did a good job with your sisters and all, but you want to raise a strong, intelligent and conscious black woman, and you can’t do that here!

On his couch that night, I was ready to jump his bones, kid or no kid, mine or not. He’s still so sexy, and the same sweet guy I’ll always love. I never said so, though I don't think I had to.
But he touched my hand.

These days, it’s so different. It’s just different being a Dad. I may see a woman I’m attracted to, and I may talk to her, or I may not, but it’s just not my focus.

I hugged him goodnight and he felt exactly like I remembered, like a puzzle piece fit snugly with my own. Still, it seemed as though we’d never stood in such different places, or further apart. It hit me, as I walked out of his front door: he may be less long-winded, but he’s definitely his Mother’s son.

As Promised: Dirty Plane Jokes

2006-04-12T11:57:00.000-04:00

Via my Cousin:
Eating sunflowe seeds is like giving head. U put it in your mouth, suck the hell outta it, get the nut then spit it out!

Via my Workmate:
A pirate walks into a bar with a wheel on his fly. The bartender asks why it's there. He responds: Aargh! It's drivin' me nuts!

Via an Old Flame:
Q:What did the penis say to the condom?
A:Cover me, I'm in!

Via a Guy I'm "Talking To" now:
(Actually, it was incoherent. *Sigh* ...NEXT!)

Via a Blog Friend:
Q:What's the difference between a husband and a boyfriend?
A:45 minutes.

...And they say Bloggers are less jaded...

Big Thanks

2006-04-11T07:14:00.000-04:00

Thank you to everyone who tried to make my time yesterday, stuck on an airplane sitting on the runway for waaay over an hour, just a little more fun by texting me dirty jokes. Some of them were really cute!!

A better post to come, later... but I have to get on *another* flight now.... GRRRRR.

Limbo

2006-04-07T11:43:00.000-04:00

All I want to do is go home. There's a wedding tomorrow, and I'm really trying to get there. I just want to go home.

But I left work at 2:30 for my 5:15 flight out of BWI. And then I had to get my bag at home. And then I had to throw more crap in it. And then I had to lug the 60 pounds into the back of my Escape. And then I had to turn left on New York Ave from Florida (note to self: never do that again). And then I had to sit in traffic on the BW Expressway, when there's NEVER traffic on the BWX'way. And then I had to park in long term parking and get on the slow ass buss.

So when I got to the counter at 4:44, I tried the doe-eyed approach. "Your flight is at 5:17," the ticket agent said, implying that there's no shot in hell. Wide-eyed: "Uh-huh."

Turns out the deal isn't that I was late. Not totally. The deal is that it's Spring Break and they've overbooked all of their flights. Damn Northwest overbooked ALL of their flights. By, like, 10 people. Which means that I was not able to get on standby for the 8am flight, and there would "be no point" in waiting for the 2:30 because I would just be in Milwaukee longer. There's no earlier flight out of Milwaukee than 9. Like.Fucking.Seriously.

So I came home and wasted 45 minutes on facebook.
**Melville-like aside: So, why is it that none of the guys I dated in H.S. or college are on FB? Everyone touted the FB's "stalking" potential: I just wanted to see recent pics of old flames, but still... I'm disappointed. OK, back to the discussion at hand...**
NOW what am I gonna do until 4pm? Should I go into work??

Because the Big Black Banana Told Me To...

2006-04-05T21:21:00.000-04:00

...I'm posting a pic of my latest celebrity encounter. (Do I look like a smarmy ass, or what?)

I was graciously extended an invitation to the Radio and Television Correspondent's Dinner (er, Pre- and Post- Parties) by a guy who will remain name- (and picture-) less until he signs off.

Anywho, I was flattered to be his evening's partner in crime, and I loved all the elbow-rubbing the evening afforded. And the dancing. And the free drinks.

Who knew Fox News producers could dance so well?? Who knew CNN could throw such a shindig??

I just love getting all gussied up...

Unhooked Generation

2006-04-05T00:50:00.000-04:00

aka- "I Want A Stick Figure of Myself"

I really appreciated Jillian Straus' publicist sending us free copies of her book, "Unhooked Generation." I really did. Not that I finished it. Miss Straus had some good points, but I'm not sure I was of her target demographic. For starters, I'm not even in Gen X.

Straus beat her point like a dead horse: that Gen X-ers are too fucked up to date. Which may be true. Lord knows I don't like dating them. But Straus seemed to construe certain situations in that specific vein, when they were not as obviously (to me)stilted in one direction as she would have her readers believe.

Take for instance page 115's story about "Marissa." IM did not kill this woman's relationship. Marissa, to my mind, was merely too much of a pussy to tell the man she liked that IM didn't seem formal or "real" enough to her. Given the chance, he might've changed or explained his attitude toward IM.

Or Susan on page 144, the woman that had flirted with two different men at a party, still undecided as to which she'd rather bring home, when they all hopped in a cab and ended up at a strip club. Personally, I think Susan got played. I think the men found out she had made herself available to either of them- isn't it possible that if they're both at the same party, that they're at least comfortable acquaintances?- and instead of competing for her attention, they decided to give her a reality check. Susan tried to play two men, and they played her back.

Or Liz's story: Sorry to break it to you, hun, but Adam has Herpes or Molluscum or some other catchy-kind-of-thing and waited forever to do the nasty until his outbreak subsided. As for the failed "DTR," all Liz accomplished by pointing out that other men ask her out is create a seed of jealousy in Adam's head. But, clearly, if you say something like that but don't ask for changes in the relationship, you're sending the message that things are cool and you just wanted to remind him of what he has. No wonder nothing's changed.

Honestly, it seems this "Unhooked Generation" is just that because they are incapable of being honest with themselves or anyone else. What's so embarrassing about asking, "Why aren't you trying to get in my pants?,' 'Why do we see each other only once a week?,' 'Why did you guys bring me to a strip club?,' 'I'm interested in sex tonight. Do you think you'd be worth my time?,' 'Would you mind calling me instead of IMing?.'

Why is this Rocket Science?

There are two things in Ms. Straus' book that I took major offense to.
First, the average marriage age of women and men was quoted as 25 and 27 respectively and referred to many different times as "so late." What's so late about 25???
Second, I don't care what disclaimer you put in the first chapter of the book: spending over a hundred pages of the rest of the book referring to the "Evil Influence of the Negative Effects of Feminism," is absolutely criminal. Like, Jessica Simpson kind of Criminal.

And then there was something just plain wrong:
Not all white women want small butts. That's, like, sooo '92. I'm working on a bigger one. "Red beans and rice didn't miss her..."

Like I said though, Jillian had some better points. One of which was that people make snap decisions while dating based on superficial stuff (page 112). That got me thinking. How many times have I ignored a man, outright, because he wasn't 6'0 or couldn't salsa? In response, I've created my own list. These are completely UNsuperficial concerns of mine. I am considering throwing out my old list of date questions (What do you do, How many siblings do you have...?) and just asking the following 8 questions on future dates. Were a man to answer all of them correctly, I might just throw my height/weight scale right out the window for him...

1- Do you go down? With what kind of enthusiasm? Do you enjoy it? How much? Why?
2- How close are you to your Mother?
3- What do you expect from me if you pay for this drink/dinner/ferris wheel ride?
4-When your parents get old, will you put them in a nursing home?
5- What is your idea of a life partner?
6- What was the highest level of education you completed?
7- How do you feel about adoption?
8- What is your experience with organized religion?

...These are the things that matter to me. Why didn't I think of this sooner? ....???
Wudda ya think? Would you ask a guy all this? Guys, would you run for the hills were someone this blunt with you?

Things I Learned In Tucson This (Extended) Weekend

2006-04-04T02:00:00.000-04:00

I am Exactly 1/64th Cherokee.

Hedgehog is the name of a cactus.

There is crazy on both sides of the family tree.

My Grandfather got kicked out of H.S. 3 times before he married my Gramma and joined the Army. The last time, he was expelled because he stole a school bus that was en route to a football game-- the bus with all the cheerleaders on it.

My Grandmother sleeps and eats better when someone else is around.

This may be the last time I get to visit my Grandmother. (She and I, however, think she'll bounce back).

Next visit, though, I may have to rent my own car.

My 11-year-old cousin is only one inch shorter than me.

My Grandmother has been a Unitarian since the 70's. Like, I didn't know the church existed back then.

There are still pictures of my Mother at my Grandmother's house.

There are more pictures of me in the "Main Family" box, mixed in with pictures of my Great Grandparents, than there are in the box marked "Matt's Family" which is already nearly full with Bubba pictures. (No, I'm not jealous...)

Unlike contemporary pics, you can't mark old prints from the 40's with Sharpie marker. I ruined a pic of Uncle Gene... at least Gramma and I went through the entire box and labeled the rest (in regular pen).

Spring Break

2006-03-31T00:11:00.000-05:00

I opened my yahoo mailbox tonight to find an invitation to join "Hi 5," evidently the newest facebook/myspace/friendster spin-off. I was invited by some random... Wait. I KNOW I know that email address.

Who is Richard X?
Denise, passing by my room: I don't think we ever knew a guy by that name.
Where is Manchester?
England!-- Her boyfriend screamed from her room.
--Boston! Uhm, I mean.... Massachussetts! Denise chimed in.

I was so intrigued, I had to join "Hi5" just to find out who this dude was.

Oh.My.G-d.

Uhm, Den-ISE!?!
Ye-ah?!
Manchester is in Jamaica...!

Half Price Pinot

2006-03-28T17:03:00.000-05:00

This place has 1/2 price bottles of wine on Monday nights and fish that's to die for. You even forget that you're in VA. Like, seriously.

DistrictSiren found her way out of the 'Burbs long enough to be my Sugar Momma last night. She took her best girl out for a good meal and some laughs. My Pimp Momma certainly has come a long way since those purple plaid pants on the first day of classes at UMD. Love you, girl!

Punk Roar

2006-03-28T00:04:00.000-05:00

Evidently, "There's no such thing as not punk enough."

Still, I was told it would be a good idea to pick up the Best Of's "The Pixies" and "The Clash."

Cue the makeover montage...

"Sticking" to Context

2006-03-27T00:08:00.000-05:00

There are things my Mother tried to teach me that never quite stuck.

I was taught, when I came of dating age, never to leave the house without earrings on. In fact, on the occasions that I came downstairs to greet my date without a pair, she sent me right back upstairs. It was her view that not wearing earrings for a date sent him the message, however subtle, that I did not value him, his attentions and/or his company. My Mother may have had a point. But to this day, it is hard for me to remember to wear earrings, date or none.

My Mother also tried to instill within me a sense of fiscal responsibility. Instead of herself, she used my Grandfather as the example. He started out milking cows in High School, running his own small dairy farm in the hours before and after school. He has since paid all of his down payments in cash, most recently, while buying a house in Colorado. Following the example of my Grandfather's work ethic, my Mother and I both worked at the same fast food restaurant while in High School. It was his complex checkbook-balancing technique, however, that my Mother could not pass on to me. And the system doesn't account for bank cards, my ever-increasing dependency. So I bounced another check to my landlord.

And Thank You notes. I cannot write them unless forced. I know this makes me an ungrateful cad and uncouth rube. I can't help it.

One of the things my Mother did instill in me was done rather unconciously. She entertained a lot, and each time she did, the house was scrubbed from top to bottom. I was not raised in a home with a cleaning lady. I was in charge of organizing my own room while my Mother scrubbed everything else from top to bottom, readying our Brooklyn apartment for the 20+ people she had arriving that night. This was alwas done, without question. While some of her other, older, more liberal friends might entertain with a dusty bookshelf, my Mother would not.

Now, I am a messy person by nature. I cannot breathe in too much organization. But before I let anyone I care about see my living space, I will do a Mother-Mad Cleaning-Dash. My roomate in college used to know, without having to ask, when I had a boy I liked coming over to study. I would be frantically throwing clothes in my closet, making neat piles of my desk. It was uncharacteristic enough to be noteworthy. Any date, then or now, who is able to see my bedroom floor should feel honored. I like(d) you.

I attended a party today thrown by a Sorority sister of mine. I had never met her Mother before, but sitting across the room from her I was fascinated. All of the sudden, Angela was put into context. Her mother made her make sense.

My Mother may have lost the Battles of The Earrings, The Checkbook and The Thank You Notes, but I have her laugh and smile. I have her veiny hands and pale skin. I have her vivacity and her argumentative streak. And I have her hang-ups about "company" and a clean house. My republican Mother is my context.

Did I mention St. Patty's?

2006-03-24T10:05:00.000-05:00

This could not have happened at an Irish bar. For so many reasons. That's why we didn't go to one.

I mean, if you can't have a quasi- lesbionic experience on the dance floor, it's just not my kind of place. This woman had curves I can only ever wish for. Seriously, you could have swum in them. I was more than a little jealous.

Finally, after a song or two, I looked her in the eye:
"Where's your boyfriend, honey?"
"Oh, he's over there." (Pointing)
"K. See you later."

23

2006-03-23T22:46:00.000-05:00

alternate title: Roar's Weird (Slightly OCD-esque) Obsession

Being stuck under this corporate rock, flailing, sinking, gasping for air (OK... enough whining already!) I almost forgot that I had been looking forward to this day for a awhile. Baceause it's the 23rd, and I had a special post planned.

The answer to Douglas Adams' Universe might be 42, but the answer to mine is 23. It's the day I was born. It was the day my accidental namesake died (and on my half birthday, no less). It's the birthday of my best friend and roomate. (Actually, we were born the dame day of the same year and never realized until we began planning our birthday parties!). It was the (not so fun) day I went to a police station in Silver Spring.

23 is a number that means 'change' according to the family psychic, Joe. (Because 2 + 3 = 5, because it's not a 'stable' even number, and the damn thing is PRIME, don't forget).

I see this number everywhere. It's in my car's license plate. It's in my bloglines ID. I'll check the clock, and it'll be the 23rd minute of the hour. Like, often. (Yes, I know it sounds weird). According to Joe, when I see the number a lot, it means things are about to change. And, I gotta say, I think he may be right.

Today, for instance, was a pretty big turning point. My heretofore condescending and unhelpful boss said, "Wow! You're on top of this!" She wasn't being sarcastic. It was definitely a 'Hells Yeah!' kind of moment. And the rest of the day wasn't so bad. There was breathing room. I even checked in on some blogs...
After work I had my very first Five Guys experience with some already converted (and very cool) bloggie buddies. Remember: no quotes, guys. Hehe.

So, yeah. What is your special number?

Random

2006-03-23T12:46:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to post a picture from St. Patty's Day for a while now. Blogger will not upload it. Damn blogger!

In the mean time, I have the following observations:

Evidently my mac and cheese thing is actually called Tuna Noodle Casserole. Like, my Dad is not the only person in the world that ever fixed the stuff. I am absolutely, without a doubt, stunned.

In corporate life, you can stretch a lunch out longer than is even appetizing. However, you'll be just as behind when you get back as you were before. Not surprised? Sorry, I was.

At our bar last night were wounded soldiers from Iraq. I wanted to be flirtatious, VFW-esque, but none of my friends would join in the fun. "Too vulnerable" one said. The Men were wasted. I doubt they noticed.

Game only works for guys who otherwise might not have a chance. It's like, 'Wow, maybe he has something to be cocky about.' Game on a guy you like is just off-putting. THERE IS NOTHING MAGICAL ABOUT WEDNESDAY!!! I've said too much...

Corporate (S)lacky

2006-03-21T22:43:00.001-05:00

I've been promoted at work. I am OFFICIALLY someone's lacky. Corporate lacky. (Did I mention I can't blog from my desk for a while?) I had a migrane by 4pm- what I call "corporate headache"- but I think they're giving me a raise...

I was running out of the office at 6:30 tonight. I missed yoga. K must be mad, too, cuz she hasn't returned my "Sorry-I-couldn't-jump-the-corporate-ship-in-time-to-meet-you-at-yoga" call.

By 7:30 I was in a chocolate-induced high. The best kind. I then made my favorite childhood meal. It's very cheap. Try it. Mix one box of (cooked) macaronni and cheese, a can of peas and a can of tuna. Enjoy. Repeat.

I should probably also mention that we now have TV in our home. D and I had been thinking about an antenna for a while, but it was D's boyfriend who actually got it done. (I've added that to the very short list of reasons to keep a man around-- my favorite being, to carry heavy shit). Thank you, D's boyfriend. Thank you for ABC, CBS, NBC and FOX.

Without D's bf, I would not be able to veg on my couch as successfully, as totally and as completely as I did this evening. I would have continued to be left out of the pop trivia that everyone else knows. And, as you know, pop trivia is all they talk about around the water cooler in Corporateville. Er, Migrane Central.

I'm so glad tomorrow I'll be able to make witty comments like, "Paula must've gotten back on the sauce," (a hunch) and "Simon is now a tone-deaf softie," (true) and "Damn, Kelly Rippa DISAPPEARS on the TV screen!" (like, eeew).

I feel like DistrictSiren. They're going to break me, people. It's 11pm and I'm going to bed...!!!

Appalled

2006-03-20T11:42:00.000-05:00

"I'm just appalled!" the voice on the radio shouted this morning.
"Was it the song itself, or was it cuz it was by the Dixie Chicks?"
"I would hate anything by them," the caller told the DJ. "But I hated this in specific."

Most people called in criticizing the Dixie Chicks' politics, and not their music. "It's like Larry the Cable Guy said," the DJ later commented. "Sometimes that girl doesn't know when to shut her mouth."

I can't help thinking how stupid these people are, criticizing these musicians for criticizing their own government. Clearly, they haven't seen "V for Vendetta." I saw it last night.

At Whole Foods afterwards, I fell into conversation with the Fish Guys while picking up my favorite. The man holding my filet turned to his buddy: "Ever notice how when they say Grey Sole in the movies, it means somebody got shot?" I told the guys I had just seen a kind of violent movie, and didn't need to be further freaked out.
"O yeah?" they turned to me. "Heard of it. How was it?"
"My friend didn't like it, but I'm not sure she got it. It was about each person's responsibility to stand up, you know? Like, fight the fuckin' man!"
I think there was a tear in the Fish Guy's eye when he handed me my grey sole.

I know K would have found the movie less boring had she heard 98.7 this morning. If she could understand the collective ear-plugging that is going on in so much of this country. Even Congress is in on it, as my League of Women Voters list serv reminded me this past week. It was a short email. It read: "Remind our representatives in Congress that each of their voices are powerful." Maybe if the members of Congress could do their jobs with Vendetta masks, no longer scared of losing their political lives, they would be less fearful of doing what is right.

In K's defense, she rarely hangs with a less than cosmopolitan crowd. Had I not stopped my surfing to hear one of my favorite Winona Judd songs, I might not have heard the McCarthy broadcast either. But I did.

Concluding nothing live was worth listening to, I flipped on my Death Cab for Cutie CD, while rolling along the Key Bridge. I looked up just in time to see War protestors on Key's Red side. Their signs read: "War Kills Children. Bring Our Troops Home." One huge sign had a picture of a dead baby in the arms of a woman in a burkah.

I'm appalled too, caller. Appalled.

2 Reasons

2006-03-17T05:46:00.000-05:00

RoarSavage: the only reason people date is cuz they want to have premarital sex
YoDaddy: yeah true
YoDaddy: hahaha
YoDaddy: that is so true though
RoarSavage: if they didnt, we'd still be being fixed up by matchmakers
YoDaddy: well although it also allows you to know what you actually like in a person
RoarSavage: fine. the lone valid point.
RoarSavage: you win.
YoDaddy: haha
YoDaddy: that was too easy

...Yeah. I just posted a funny IM conversation. Whatever. I'm certain I said this exact same thing to Kenny when he tried to wax all sappy about dating at the HH. That's nice and all, (and adorably sweet of him) but I'm 22 and I'm not republican (lower case on purpose). I'm not trying to get married. Not yet.

It hit me, after a particularly bad 3rd date a while back, were I to choose to continue to date under current conditions, it would be an act of utter lunacy. (Because, as AA teaches us, crazy is doing the same thing and expecting a different result...) Just when I was about to throw in the towel, I realized: no dating means no opportunities for, uhm, other stuff. The team and I remain cautiously optimistic (crazy, in and of itself), but no one's been "bed-worthy" yet...

And just one word (or 6) of advice: Most of you took off work today to party with college freshmen at Kegs and Eggs. I'm jealous. But just remember: not all freshmen are legal. Ask to see a *real* ID.

Tagged

2006-03-16T15:42:00.000-05:00

I got tagged. And I gotta say, it feels like finally getting picked for a team during a pickup game of recess dodgeball. (Or something like that...) So, thanks babe! Here goes...

My Nickname: Savage. My Dad calls me PeeWee. My Mom calls me Angel-Baby-Girl. Yes, they realize I'm 22. They still call me both in public.

My Hometown: Brooklyn, NY and Stillwater, OK

My Team: Anything UMD, Yankees, Rangers, and Giants (I had a pic of Tiki Barber in my freshman dorm room). I have a respect for any basketball team that doesn't default to the Zone D, though special hearts go out to UMD, OSU and the Knicks, Zone or not.

My Theme Song: "It's a Shame" by the Spinners. It just makes me happy, as does the new Kanye, "Touch the Sky."

My Drinks: The Belvedere Dirty Martini, Vodka COP, Washington Apple, Jameson, Jaeger, and if I have to sip a brew, it's Sagres.

My Spare Time: What spare time? I do music when I don't have to work. And I read each night before bed. Keeps your mind right.

My Hiding Place: My Car (a girlie SUV, the Ford Escape) and My Shower.

My Books: Currently reading Kate Chopin. Favorites are in the profile. Next up will be non-fiction cuz this fiction stuff is emotionally exhausting.

My Fake Heroes: Becky Sharp (of Vanity Fair- the BOOK, ppl!) and Elle Woods. Yeah, seriously.

My Real Heroes: I have a post-it on my desk that says "Dorothy Parker." And MalcolmX. (Again, seriously). I've read his autobiography multiple times and I really respect someone who can publicly change their mind like that. It seems like our leaders don't do that anymore, even when it's obvious they should. When was the last time you heard an American leader say, "I was wrong"?

My Tags: Nicole, CircleV, DistrictSiren (so she'll f-ing post already) and Kyle (same reason).

Happy Hour Thoughts

2006-03-16T11:24:00.000-05:00

But first, a lesson:
Clearly, this is something Jesus wants me to learn. When I created my Lent-olution, I thought sure I would be spending the 6 weeks sober. I am here to tell you friends- to testify!- that this is not the case.

2 Martinis with Belvedere + Saving Dinner Plans til After = Quite a Warm, Fuzzy Buzz.

Clearly, Jesus wants me to know that I don't need that 3rd (or 6th) like I used to think I did.
OK... now back to our regularly scheduled program.

This is long, but I didn't want to skip anyone. Besides, I'm proud that I got to talk to so many of you this time. It was, after all, my goal.

LOTS of 1st meetings:
AOL has obviously come leaps and bounds since 4th grade, annoying dial-up and bulky external modems. I liked meeting Jeff and Kenny so much, they almost made me feel guilty that I pirate "my" internet. Almost. Compliments get you everywhere, Kenny. I look forward to reading you both. (Ted Leonsis for President!)

Finally met DCOE, and it was a pleasure. Aspertame should always have a cute, blonde bob. It goes with your refreshingly straight-forward personality.

Another 1st meeting (& a pleasure): Countdown to V. Guys, this Virgin is hot! And sweet! And unaffected! And gracious! Someone do her already!!

EJ, darling, I think you're swell and I'd love to talk longer.

Tyler- A pleasure. I hope we see more of you at these.

KassyK (fellow UMD alum) and Sally were quite the dynamic duo at the bar. It was fun, girls.

Rock Creek Rambler hadn't been at the last 2 HH's, so imagine my suprise when I plopped down next to EJ and introduced myself to the dude she was talking to, and it was him. Sorry we couldn't chat longer. (Though your post today makes it seem as though you would have been hard to impress). Pablo turned on Salsa in the main room like he promised he would. When salsa calls, I answer.

And then there were the people I already knew:
I chatted with our gracious hostess-with-the-most-est, Kathryn, about my new obsession Blue Mercury, a spa she turned me on to. Did I mention I have appointments today AND tomorrow?
And our other host, 66, kissed my FUPA. Hells yeah!

I can't believe VK showed! His holla was on, hardcore, all night. But babe, when did you leave?

"They want to make me an admin," I told Martin. "O. No. You're better than that!" Martin gets it. Or me. This man is living the dream and I'm so jealous.

My fellow Lent-er, Law-rah was there. She, Nic and I were the only ones holding down the afterparty crowd. Nanner's excused. Where was Travis?

I just really like CircleV. She's even cooler in person. *Girl Crush*

I also really enjoyed talking to Heather. Good, down-to-earth people. That's you, dear.

Barzelay- aka, the new AUA, with all of his dcblog citations. Twice in one week did you say? Don't let his baby face fool you. He's quite funny and a little impish...

Scott- Cool seeing you. When are you starting your own blog?

It should be noted that the famous K graced the blog scene with her presence. And then woke to say this morning in an email, "I had fun at that blogging thing…people are cooler then I thought they would be." LOL!

And lastly (but way far from least-ly) Nic. It's weird blogging about our blog-related encounters, b/c this girl is a regular on my social calendar. Like, she is most of it, lol. Actually, once you've met K and Nic, you've met the down-ass girls that rarely miss a night. And speaking of social calendars, Nic had a great idea, which I guess I'll let her debut on her own blog. But remember: many of you already said you'd be interested... And since I'm sure you're all dying to know, Nic and I had Julias Empanadas before going home.

What a lovely (and only tipsy) night! Thanks, guys!

***ADDENDUM: I tried to get everyone. Can't believe I'm such a boor! Ghettodev was there last night, and SUCH a great addition. I'm really glad Nic and I have roped him into this bloggie world. It should be noted that I have known this man since we attended Alcohol Summit during our Sophmore year at UMD. Which consisted of brainstorming ways to dissuade our Greek communities from binge drinking. Is that irony, or what??? He was also a mutual friend of Nic's before Nic and I realized we had mutual friends. O, the tangled web we weave... Anyway, thanks for the call out in front of all our friends, dear. They didn't have to know that I made out in public on the regular in Bentley's. Whatev. I was DATING the BOUNCER!***

Ides of March

2006-03-15T13:52:00.000-05:00

I wonder if both blogger Happy Hours were planned on this fateful & ominous day on purpose. (And, hopefully, the ominousness of the day won't affect 66's DMV trip).

I know I'm no veteran to the blog scene, but this being my 3rd HH, I thought I'd openly share some of the qualms I've been sharing privately with some of my blog buddies. But perhaps this needs set-up:

I walked in about an hour and a half late to the last HH. I ran to Nic & some others I already knew. Still, I found myself standing in a gaggle of people that (mostly) I didn't know. And it fell silent. For like, a healthy 20 seconds. A silence broken only by my declaration: "Time for a drink!"

I know that even though I read many of y'all everyday, you're still basically strangers. And some awkwardness is to be expected. But please don't misinterpret my drunkenness at the last 2 HH's: it's not you, it's me. (I have a very low threshold for social awkwardness). But I really do want to know you all better.

I want to see if 66 (formerly Mr. Smile Ambassador) will be enacting his new, freaky-deaky alter-persona.
I want to know how Travis' pee wee softball season is going.
I want to know if Heather's brother is single (& I figure asking in person is less creepy).
I want to know if DCOE ever got her watch fixed.
I want to know if Kemph will show this time.
And I really want to chat with strong Momma Chase (who can lecture me about female self-esteem any day!).

I haven't broken my Lent-olution yet, so the drinks-as-social-lubrication won't be an option for me tonight. I look forward to moving past that awkwardness and having some cool conversations. See you there!

Why I Feel Bad for Straight Guys

2006-03-14T11:02:00.000-05:00

One of the bankers at my office showed up 2 hrs late for work one morning last summer. His was the open cube in front of mine and he plopped down in his chair that morning, eyes bloodshot. It took a while, but he finally told me what was up. "Maggie (his wife, who was 6 months pregnant at the time) "came home last night and told me she quit her job." According to Tom the banker, Maggie was not taking maternity leave, she just left. She didn't want to work again- ever- now that the baby was coming and she hadn't even thought to consult Tom, who maintained he had no previous idea his wife felt that way. He tried to laugh about it, but I could tell by his red eyes that he had been up all night worrying.

I feel bad for heterosexual men. It's just not easy being a straight guy. Money, Sex and Power are all riddled with double standards for the average heterosexual man. As Tom's story proves, they're supposed to be eager default breadwinners yet equally unthreatened secondary earners and content equal-earners. They are expected to harbor no negative feelings should their partner and equal provider, a woman, one day up and say, 'I don't want to work anymore.' And these financial double standards start way before cohabitation and marriage.

On dates the man is expected to pay. Especially if he likes his date a lot, he usually ponies up the dough. Men are supposed to see paying for their dates' time as a priviledge. He's not allowed to resent the fact that he just paid for 2 dinners whether or not it was a 'good date.' And he's definitely not allowed to be disappointed if his dinner-paying doesn't broker sex. Not to mention the glaring double standard that should he consistently choose to invite a lady friend to do things that are cheap or free he would be considered a SCRUB.

And then there's sex. I knew one man 'got it' when he whispered to me, mid make-out: "We're just talking dirty, but still. I really want, wish I could... (insert lewd act here)." He really didn't want to rush into getting busy, but he understood some lip-locks need some hot words, too. Not every man 'gets it' like he did.

And how can you blame them? Men are raised to cultivate their sexual libido- the more insatiable, the more "manly"- with the only words of warning during their adolescence being, "don't get anyone in trouble." They're taught that women never want it as much as or in the same way that they do, so sex and dating become a complex game of "kidnapping the pu$$y."(-Chapelle?) Is it any wonder then that many men are confused?

Case in two points: A bartender friend of mine once told me, (while my date was in the bathroom), "My women love it when I give it to them hard. Their lips may say 'No' but their other lips say 'Yes.'" (Insert horrified face here). Another time, a very frank date candidly told me at the end of our date that he was surprised we hadn't had sex. Why? "Because usually if you fool around long enough, they give in."

And then there's power, or control. Men are supposed to see power, as it regards a relationship with a woman, as an illegal sublet. They'll take charge or "own" a situation until she says she wants the control of x, y, or z, at which point Mr. Man is expected to acquiesce. If he doesn't take to not wearing the pants? He's an unevolved, Neanderthal control freak. But if he never had the reigns in the beginning? He's a whipped, push-over pansy.

And then there's the other power, self-control. Men are supposed to be evolved enough to know that sometimes their women just need to cry or vent and they're supposed to simply listen, knowing that, usually, giving advice would just piss her off. But men still aren't allowed to cry themselves. Not really. Not unless someone died or their woman is leaving (and even then, only if he thinks it will work to bring her back).

A heterosexual male's existence seems riddled with no-win situations. People lament all the time about the difficulty of raising a girl, but raising a well-adjusted man must at least be equally challenging. Or maybe people accept (however erroneously) that the well-adjusted millennium man is a myth. Instead, they choose not to try- arming their boys only with the phrase "don't get anyone in trouble" each time they walk out the door- making raising them "easier."

Spring Fever

2006-03-13T10:45:00.000-05:00

81 degrees today! I'm so excited!!

The polar ice caps may be melting, but I got to wear my pretty, vintage skirt today. Momentous occasion. It's still 7 days before the first day of Spring, but that didn't keep me from having a Spring-ish weekend.

Friday- The All-Seasons Favorite: Drinking. Only, not really. D, Nic and I did 6 spots and I managed to only have 2 drinks. Granted, they were dirty Goose martinis and I hadn't eaten much that day (no time). But still. Unlike the previous week where not enough alcohol made this girl cranky with her cohorts, this past Friday, we stayed out til 3:30 and it wasn't until the next morning that I realized I wasn't as intoxicated as my friends. Must have been the company. *smile*

Saturday- Spring Cleaning. D and I have a constant battle with our bathroom, so I prefer the hands-and-knees scrubbing approach. No matter what, though, it never stays clean. You'd think two chicks would be less messy... I spent most of the day, though, walking back and forth to and from the laundromat across the street. Some guy stopped and introduced himself. "You look like you're on your way to a pool party." O Lord. Damn Soffe shorts.

Sunday- Eastern Market. I was homesick for Oklahoma yesterday. It started when I was told Friday night that the Pope was allowing Irish Catholics to eat meat for St. Patty's Day, even though it's technically a Friday during Lent. I immediately missed my Mother's Corned Beef and Cabbage (and I never really even liked it all that much). An afternoon at her favorite DC spot didn't help, either. But at least I was able to pick up a couple of presents for her upcoming birthday. She was born on the Official First Day of Spring. (I have a feeling she wouldn't want me to say which year).

I love Spring Time.

Tourrette's

2006-03-10T13:50:00.000-05:00

Two runners slowed down from a jog right in front of AB and I as we were walking back from Baja Fresh. One man in particular was built. Great upper body. Some grey in his brown hair. Not even winded from his run. His arms might as well have been racks of lamb.

All my ogling made me feel icky (it IS Lent, afterall...) But two feet ahead of us, it was hard for me to get a good look, that is, until he and his friend turned to go into a deli and I was able to see-- "No ring! No ring!" I blurted out, relieved. (I do not, on principle, lust after married men).

It didn't even occur to me that the racks of lamb might have ears as well. When I turned around for one last glance through the deli window, LambChops was looking back at me and smiling as he put his shirt on.

I am so immature.

Then AB and I had this conversation:

Wow. That would have been embarrassing if he heard me.
Yeah.
And I think he did.
(Snickered).
O well. So I have Tourettes.
But then you would have been cursing.
No, they don't curse. They just can't hold in what they're thinking.
That and twitching.
Hey, that might be a good type of person to date.
I feel like some things you don't want to know, Roar.
Hehe. Maybe. Like, 'I think you're being manipulative right now.'
Yeah, only it would sound like 'Manipulative. MANIPULATIVE!'
Do you think there's anyone with Tourrette's that doesn't twitch, cuz that might be the only downside.
Why don't you just date loud-mouthed, honest guys?
Well, see, I've done that... but they end up being too much like myself.

Deal Breaker?

2006-03-09T10:46:00.000-05:00

I just had a date with a man whose apartment reminds me of "Silence of the Lambs." I can't decide if this is a deal-breaker...

And one related question: How soon do you tell someone (that doesn't already know) that you blog? 3rd date? 5th? Never?

Cravings

2006-03-08T11:42:00.000-05:00

I crave this once a month. I can't help it. The Fish Filet is awesome.
Mmmmm... delicious Tartar Sauce!

Kicking & Screaming: And Hit Over the Head

2006-03-08T10:51:00.000-05:00

I had just a week prior given job #2 my notice when DistrictSiren came over to teach me how to make a budget. We opened an excel sheet on my old iBook, keyed numbers into boxes and... found out why I'm broke.

"If you get job #1 to give you a $2/hr raise, you'd only be $300/month in the hole."

THUD.

A week later, my Supervisor at job #1 (and long-time college friend), AB, announced she was leaving to go be a missionary in Azerbaijan at the beginning of April. The shock was not that she was going, but that she was leaving a month early. Even more importantly, she informed me that with her vacancy, my Permanent Temp status followed.

THUD.

If you noticed I was blogging less last week, it was because I was stalking the WaPo classifieds. And CraigsList. And Monster. I talked myself into moving to New York. Then I talked myself out of it.

**My first thought was not the financial difficulty of NYC, but instead the network of close friends (whom I prize) that I'd be leaving behind. DC has Ashley, Denise, Kara, Koryn, Maggie, Margot and Nicole to thank, lol.**

Oh yeah, and I'm still at job #2. They never wanted me to leave anyway, so I "gave in" after my DistrictSiren pow-wow.

Nice idea...

2006-03-07T13:42:00.000-05:00

...(and though I appreciate the sentiment) how's about I save my $40 and buy the Hanes version, in the mean time correcting anyone that should call it a "Wifebeater."

Read about it HERE.

Kicking & Screaming: But Tired of Plebian

2006-03-07T09:17:00.000-05:00

I'm bored at my day job. That's why I can spend so much time on the blog. I suspect I'm not alone, because my sitemeter tells me I'm read more during the 9-5 on weekdays. Our jobs, dear readers, don't fulfill us.

For a while there, the two low-level job thing was fun. Especially this past Summer, after graduation. For those few months I actually had 2 restaurant jobs and the temp job. That's right: I was living in a Frat house and holding down 3 jobs, and I thought it was Oh-So-Cool.

Until I started dating. (Ah, the ever-present mirror for ourselves).

Frantically trying to find a place to live in the District, the guy I was seeing at the time (whose day job was in real estate) suggested I apply for low-income housing. The poor Moroccan man had no idea his suggestion would trip one of my bourgeois nerves. "Because I can't spend more than $700 a month you think I'm po-or?!?"

And my plebianism has kept coming up ever since.

So why DO you have two jobs?
Because I can't really afford to live on the one.

So what do you really want to do with your life?
I want to be a rockstar.

And most recently (not even a question):
Just go back to school.
I don't think they'd take me.

So, I'm tired of being plebian. And, worse, I'm not challenged by either of my jobs. Clearly, I've been a little misguided since graduation: I thought Not committing to one full-time job would leave me more free, flexible time. It doesn't. It keeps me working to pay the bills.

...At least I eventually got there on my own...

Kicking & Screaming: One Girl's Quest for Health Insurance

2006-03-06T13:06:00.000-05:00

-a novel by RoarSavage

When I met you, I told you I had been flying without a net for a while. It's now been another two months without Health Insurance.

I've come to ignore the dread that must still be lurking in the back of my mind. It's been an unseasonably healthy winter for me. I've been uncommonly vehicularly lucky, as my vehicular luck tends to go. My face has even taught itself to clear up on its own.

Now, I could never prove that my skin decided to act its age, my speeding became more calculated and my immune system has hung tough this winter all simultaneously because I don't have health insurance. G-d knows, my skin has no idea its being deprived of its usual PPO dermos, my driving remains staunchly more offensive than defensive and it's not like I've been resting up and sucking down the Golden Seal. No: I have no idea why I have been able to go so long without health insurance without my usual hiccups. It's as if the road, my skin and the rest of my body took a meeting and all decided to chill the fuck out 'til conditions improved. I should send them each a fruitcake.

It's not like I haven't tried. I have. Job #2 offers insurance but because everyone there smokes, drinks and has whatever else, the rates are ridiculous. As for Job #1, if you find a permanent temp job with bennies, please: lemme know.

Though repressed, the worry has begun to get to me- albeit slightly. And I promised I would take care of this in my first post. I don't want to be a blog-welcher. I applied by myself to Blue Cross Blue Shield. Still waiting. I would doggedly follow-up, but that seems like a lot of work when I'm already sending fuitcakes because I'm so problem-free right now.

It's a symptom of a larger whole, anyway. More on that tomorrow.

Morning Song

2006-03-06T09:49:00.000-05:00

aka- I sweat I-66.

This song made me happy this morning, on the drive in to work:

I started to give up
But love wouldn't let it
Then you walked into my life
And we began to...

Totally random. This must mean it's going to be a good day.

Punk Rock Chick

2006-03-03T14:31:00.000-05:00

I spent my Thursday night after work at the Black Cat with a Greek contemporary of mine from College. Who else could appreciate it but a Frat guy?

I love Chuck Taylors. Punk, baby. Punk.
(Except for the only-drinking-2-drinks thing).

Who's hardcore? THIS girl!

I have a new toy : )

2006-03-02T10:54:00.000-05:00

If looking for one yourself, might I suggest the Powerbook G4?
Yes, I'm a mac person. Get over it.

F.U.P.A.

2006-03-01T11:29:00.000-05:00

It's an acronym for Fat Upper Pu$$y Area. Please tell me you've heard of it. It's the paunch/pouch/poodge that every woman has to some degree, just below her belly button. Some more than others... but I digress.

My FUPA is what gets me to the gym (when I go). It's a love-hate relationship really, cuz I love that that bit of fat is what makes me ovulate every month. I sometimes just wish that it would be less... *sucking in*.

I don't feel this way about any other part of my body. I actually wish my butt were bigger. I love my thighs and hips. But it seems as though I will have to accept that to have those curves, a FUPA comes with the package. No: I know it's not huge, but it's not J.Lo's curves-and-6-pack either. It's a path. I'm getting there. Still, I sometimes wonder: in more intimate settings, when 'sucking in' would be too much of a hindrance (or distraction or interference) for the, uhm, activity at hand, if anyone else notices my FUPA and wishes it weren't there.

Last night, my bar celebrated Mardi Gras in a BIG way. We had Brazilian dancers in Carnivale costume dancing on the main bar. Of the two of them, the best one was this beautiful black girl with an ass that wouldn't quit and- to my delight- a FUPA, too. She worked the crowd, she kicked, rolled, shook-- Damn! I want to BE Brazilian!

She reminded me of a High School choir trip I took to Europe. We were bussing everywhere, always looking schlubby, but how could you help feeling beautiful? The men screamed it everywhere you went. I had never felt more comfortable with myself or more beautiful. I have often wished I could capture that feeling, bottle it somehow, and bring it back to have with me always in the States.

I found myself staring at the dancer and wondering, 'OK, how is she moving her legs to make 'it' shake like that? I wonder how I can get my butt that big...' Not once did I think, 'If only that FUPA wasn't there.' I know no one watching her thought that of her very womanly shape, either.

Fast forward to the dance contest-- I eMCee'd. (Can you imagine?) It was a 4-round elimination kind of deal. Of the 9 that began, by the 4th round, we were left with 4. The screams of the crowd determined the winner. Come on, guys: it was Mardi Gras. There was boob.

More interesting, though, was that the clear winner was a regular of ours-- a Transvestite. Her boobs were, of course, the perkiest of all, and she shook them pure pride; without any of the tinge of guilt the other girl that bared herself seemed to harbor. Being (at least originally) a man, he doesn't have to worry about his sinewy body wanting to pack cushion to his every corner. She had no FUPA. And the men cheered for Her as loudly as they had for the beautiful Brazilian dancer.

Whatever. You win some, you lose some.
Still: I want to BE Brazilian.

Mardi Gras!

2006-02-28T13:35:00.000-05:00

Happy Fat Tuesday!
I hope you all get drunk, get beads and have fun.
...I'll be working.

I'm actually excited about Lent coming up, though. It's my favorite Christian season. Seriously.
I usually give up chocolate or swearing or soda, but I think this year I'm giving up alcohol.
Er, drinking more than 2 cocktails a night.
Er, drinking more than one drink per venue.
Or...
No. I can do that. I can. It's 40 days. Just 40 days.
The whole point is to strive to be more Christ-like. And I'm sure the more Christ-like version of Roar involves less alcohol. Actually, I'm positive.
Perhaps this will also help with the budget crunch of late. We'll see...

Daddy Savage

2006-02-27T15:17:00.000-05:00

Daddy Savage was in town on business last night. It was a pleasant evening. My Father and I have our *ish, but I have to give him his props. (Credit where credit is due kind of thing).

He was the youngest and most handsome Dad in my elementary school. (New Yorkers wait 'til their 30's to have puppies and Dad was 26 when I was born). Bubba won't ever know him like that.

Dad was nicknamed 'Daddy Savage' by my sorority sisters on my 21st birthday. He stayed at the bar with us, paying for shots and playing bouncer while I took my 21. Girls wrote in my shotbook that night: "Daddy Savage is HOT!"

He's cooler than I am. Dad bought me my first Death Cab for Cutie CD this Christmas. I had never heard of them. We'll both be going to the concerts when they come to our respective cities.

Dad's Quote of the Evening:

"Why don't you wear more turtlenecks?"

...He may be cool, but he's still a Dad, ya know?

"Munich"

2006-02-25T10:44:00.000-05:00

Instead of the bars, last night I saw "Munich." The movie had a real affect on me.

I'm remiss to admit that I had not ever heard about the Israeli hostage massacre at the '72 Olympics before the movie hit theatres. There's a NYC public school education for you...

But a month ago, while I was still shaking my head in horror each time the trailer came on, my Jewish friends were almost excited.

"O that? O yeah. EVERYbody knows about what happened in Munich."

I got the feeling that their information didn't come via their public school teacher.

My Mother was a Junior, my Father a Freshman in High School when it happened. They both lived in different cities in Oklahoma. I doubt that the massacre affected their lives much. I doubt they knew a Jewish person at the time.

My Grandmother had her second of 4 children in 1957, my Mother was 2 at the time. But it was 2002, when I was a freshman in college, taking a contemporary American History class, when I came home excited to talk to her about what I was learning.

'You were there, Grandma. Living one state away from the Little Rock 9. What was all that like? What was the country like?

She stared at me, blankly.

"I didn't even hear about it."

Earlier that year, in the halls of my freshman dorm, I watched girls crying, frantically trying to get through to New York. Even 9 miles outside of DC, it was all so close and so real. But I went home to my family that Christmas and no one felt much about it- not the way I did. It was as if 9-11 created a palpable hole- but only the East Coast coast could feel it. Everywhere else it seemed to be an empty excuse for... something. It was clear to me, though, that the people listening to Toby Keith's "We'll put a boot in your ass..." didn't get it.

It's just interesting.

I know my parents, in Oklahoma in '72, never would have guessed that a mere one generation after their own would be so familiar on a daily basis with people of a culture they had yet even to discover. It never would have occured to them to pay attention at that time, as it didn't for my Grandmother when she was 23, because whatever was happening, however far away, might directly affect the lives of the people their children would become intimate with. And through them, their children's lives would be affected, too.

American ignorance is nothing new.

I just hope I can open my eyes enough now so that I don't forget to teach my own children things about the world I live in, the world that I'm bringing them into. Because I'd hate to have to stare blankly at any of my progeny and say,

"I didn't even hear about it."

This movie had a real and powerful affect on me.

The Peanut Gallery

2006-02-24T13:04:00.000-05:00

The nosey cooks at job #2 always have something to say to make me feel so... hot. Forgive the broken Spanish. It's the only way we communicate. I should learn more.

"Gorda!"
"Que?"
"Tu. Gordana. Aqui." (Pointing to their hips).
"No. ... Si? ... Pero solo un poquito gorda...!"
They shrugged. I think they thought I would be more combative, affected, whatever.
"Si?"
"Si." They're both nodding.
"Yo gusto." (Now I'm holding my own hips). "Quiero mirar como una mujer."

I woke up for the gym at 6am the next morning. Iris (pronounced Eee-reese) just loves that she can get to me like that.

I swear I'm not Jenna Bush. Really.

2006-02-23T13:38:00.000-05:00

...and other thoughts from & about last night's Happy Hour.

Having a condom named after you... and it's "for her pleasure," well, I think this settles a few things, don't you? I used to want a "Welcome to Savage" sign that I could hang (uhm, above my bed, perhaps?) but no one wanted to steal if for me. The condom, thankfully, is legal. Thank you to Nic for finding this treasure. That I ultimately lost mid-after-party. Just have to go back, then, I guess.

If a future Doctor thinks you can eat random fries, who am I to do anything but join in the fun?

I loooved talking to Circle V last night! (And her rendition of an Okie accent was WAAY better than mine. I just think hick accents are so hot!!) I'm setting up my appointment at Blue Mercury as soon as I get paid, hehe.

I will break 66 of his Jaeger beef. Jaeger is the nectar of the gods. When mixed with Goldshlager it's heavenly. I call it a Starry Night. BTW, 66, why do I always scowl in pics with you? I promise to work on this. I looked at one pic and I was like, "Gawd! It doesn't even look like I like him."

Fave quote of the evening(not telling who said it): "I'm straight-ish."

Marci and I are the spanking-giving queens. And DAMN, is this one Down Ass Chick or what?

Greg (non-blogger) totally came through with the car bombs for Nic and I. He followed us to 2 of our 3 after party venues (you guys remember 18th St?) but peaced out at Citron. He must've gotten the hint that no one was feeling him that much. Sadface.

Steve's. Isn't it so speak-easy-ish? All I had to do was walk up to the DJ and say, "I told my crew this was an 80's place. Will you play 80's for me?" And just like that, we were boogie-ing to Michael Jackson and Madonna. Score!

And last but not least: Who was the last girl standing at the after party? THIS GIRL!

...Now you guys have seen Nicole and I in action. As she's already mentioned, if this had been a weekend night, we would have been on the main floor of Citron, dancing on that bar (or one of the booths).

But I maintain: I am not Jenna Bush.

World's Smallest Violin

2006-02-22T14:14:00.000-05:00

I hate whiney blogs.
And I find those bloggers (and people in general, really) kind of insipid. 'Where's the empowerment, people?'

Which is why I don't have a lot to say today.

Except that I really feel like I deserve a chauffer on days like these, for the walk between my apt., the metro, my office and back. Or, at the very least, an umbrella.

**Pouting to myself**

Huge Sigh of Relief

2006-02-21T15:19:00.000-05:00

3 days ago, I thought my trip to Midas would be as pleasantly uneventful as it has been in the past. The last time a light came on the guys said it was the coolant. They checked it and filled it- no charge. Saturday, I had been seeing a different light, but I figured the boys would take care of me all the same.

Do you know how much an oil change, diagnostic, tune up, coil pack, labor and fluid flush run you?
Me neither.
I went deaf when Midas Michelle told me.

Do you know what the basic have-to cost is of a misfire, aka- what is happening when your engine light comes on?
More than it would be couth to share. And a hefty chunk of my savings.

I called Mom, panicking.
"I thought you were putting 10% of your savings away." And an unrelated, "What do you mean they wanna see your passport at the DMV?"
I went deaf again.
Primo Panic Mode. Meltdown in Roar's cube. Yes, there were tears.

Then I called Grampa.

My Grandfather owns the oldest family-run FORD dealership in the state of Oklahoma. He was already looking at the file on my car when I called.

This is not the first time Grampa has helped in a pinch. Two months ago, after seeing Pride and Prejudice by myself at the E Street Cinema on a Sunday night, my car wouldn't start. It was cold, I was alone, but I figured I could handle it myself.
Thought bubble: 'I'm Roar! I'm a strong woman! I come from a car family!'
I called Triple A. Then, while waiting for my tow truck, I called my Stepdad's auto parts store and talked to one of the NAPA guys. "Sometimes cars just die in winter," he told me.

Third time's a charm. "It's yer bump button!"
Can you hear an Oklahoma accent in your head? It's mostly twang, very little Southern drawl. We're not that dainty. I'll do an impression for anyone who needs clarification at the HH tomorrow.
Grandpa had me crawling around the passenger side of my car to find the button below the glove box that would deactivate something that was set off when another car tapped mine, trying to get out of their parking space. No damage, but my smart FORD turned off anyway. I called Triple A and canceled the service. Grandpa had fixed it from 1500 miles away.

And he did it again today. After a short phone call, Grandpa instructed his Service man to call Midas' Service woman. Thank G-d for Grandpa! Now I can breathe again.

I may still have to pay a huge chunk of change, but at least this time I called the right person first (er, second).

NYC

2006-02-19T21:02:00.000-05:00

I feel bad for all the schlubs at their desks today (Monday). (Even though I went into the office both Saturday and Sunday...)

I'm in NYC right now. Actually, most of the day my butt will be on Greyhound. Cuz I'm bussing up and back. Cuz I'm cool. Er, cuz my car's in the shop. But mostly, cuz it's called determination, folks.

Talk to y'all tomorrow.

Mwah!

VD Answered: One man's flipside

2006-02-17T10:48:00.000-05:00

So, The Man has me working pretty hard today at job #1. And then it's immediately job #2. And then it's K's birthday in Adams Morgan. (Happy Birthday, you sexy, sexy girl!)

Needless to say, I have very little time to pontificate. Why don't you check this out instead? One man I respect in the blogosphere took the time to do a flipside to my own "5 Types of Guys." It's amusing. Which one of his types are you? Which ones have you dated? As you'll see, I've already labeled myself...

Have a lovely weekend!

One more thing: according to my sitemeter, someone at the Pentagon thought that my last post was entertaining. For, like, a WHILE. Between all the work I'm doing today, I think I'm gonna call my lawyer...

Firecrotch & his Red Friends

2006-02-15T21:39:00.000-05:00

Only in DC.

I'm a huge liberal. And though I can respect others' opinions, I also really don't like republican men. Here's why.

I used to wait tables at my bar on Wednesday nights. Management would let me come in at 6pm, after my day job and before the dinner rush. Even though I was 2 hours late I was still able to make decent money.

It was one such Wednesday a little after 6 when I met Mike. It was busy that night and I was standing around waiting for some tables to turn over so I could take them over. He asked if I could help him get a drink. I gladly cocktailed for Mike and his friends, picking up a couple extra bucks. Then Mike made a play for me.

Can I get your number?

He was a medium-height, medium-build guy with red hair. I wasn't particularly attracted.

No, I'm sorry. I can't give out my number at work. I can take your card, though.

This is my stock response. I like it cuz the ball's then in my court (so I can drop it). A bitch may not call, but you seem at worst flaky if you lose someone's card. "I'm in government," he said, handing it over.

Which branch?
Executive.
What? So you're a republican.
Yes. I work in the White House for the President.

I rolled my eyes and looked away.

A compassionate republican. I'd still love to take you to dinner.

I have to admit, besides the bullshit line, my enemy had me intrigued. His eyes looked genuine, sincere. Besides, 2/4ths of my parents are republicans. You can't make blanket statements about people. And then, from deep down inside, my inner Gold Digger began wondering if I could use him to finally go to Butterfield 9. Then for added measure, my less-inner Industry Whore shot me a fast-forward of years later, being able to tell my grandkids about my date with the White House Staffer: 'Before I married your grandad...' (Come on, at least I'm honest!)

Mike and his other Red friends ended up having dinner in my section that night. They ordered at least 2 pitchers of mojitos, and the conversation got more and more inappropriate.
As I cleared their plates, my hands already full, they tried to put a pen that was left on the table in my mouth.
After bringing Mike the dish of whipped cream he wanted for desert, he tried to feed me the cherry.
When I flirtingly asked him if he were metrosexual, Mike replied:

I'm so metro, I could fuck that guy's dog!

(Comparing homosexuality or even metrosexuality to beastiality is no way to win points with me).

And then it happened.

Mike was drunk at this point. He insisted on getting his card back so he could give me his cell number.

When do you get off? You need to meet us out!
How about, instead of dinner or drinks later, we do lunch tomorrow. Right after I get done picketing.

The Red guys laughed.

What will you picket?
Oh, I dunno. Judge Roberts?

More laughter.

Oh, you know about Judge Roberts?!

(I guess the skimpy shirt and tight jeans don't scream 'intelligent.')

Mike raised an eyebrow.

But do you know his first name?

I didn't.

I dunno. Judge Dickhead-Who-Won't-Let-Me-Get-An-Abortion Roberts?

The Red boys roared. Then Mike leaned over, closer to me, so I'd be sure to hear him:

Roar, after tonight, I WANT you to get an abortion.

I froze. I knew it was one of those defining moments that I would one day look back on. I could either kick myself for continuing to ingratiate myself for their tip, or I could do what I did.

I dropped his card on the table and walked away. Within two minutes, I was back to drop their check. I was done with them.

I had known before they sat down that, on an ideological level, I did not get along with these guys. But the fact that a representative of the President would suggest he wanted to pork me raw so I'd have to have my insides scraped out, well, that really drove the point home for me.

And ps- I now ignore the Gold Digger and Industry Whore in my head. They're only trouble, anyway.

S.A.D., Schm-A.D.

2006-02-15T14:14:00.000-05:00

Valentine's Day got it's ass kicked!

Official night's tally: 5 venues, 6 drinks, 2 shots, 4 girls, 3 guys & 5.5 hours of debauchery with this girl.

Things learned:

Whenever possible, begin an evening out by having dinner with two really cool chicks, AB and K. (No, this wasn't included in the above tally. But I did have some sake...)

They don't do kareoke on Tuesdays at Cafe Japone. They do have lame-ass amateur stand-up. To the only person we heard before turning to leave, I have two tips: 1- No one thinks jokes about how skinny you are are funny. 2- It would've been funnier as 'labia majora.' I left saying, "They're gonna draw her hmm-hmm candle-holder??

All the hottest places don't have signs.

"Oh, right. Yeah." is a British thing. Judging by Phil, they say it all the time.

Whenever possible, step down from the table you're dancing on to take a shot and pass the unfinished half to the guy who's been watching. As he's holding it, lean over and say, "I don't know why guys hit on girls who dance like sluts." Then climb back on the table.

I still need to come up with a response to: "Where did you learn to dance like that?" But honestly, what do they expect? Jamaica? Cape Town? Strip Club?

Citron on Tuesdays is a good place to quickly scratch the Salsa itch.

It's hard to stick to my resolution cuz I want everyone to find Steve's as fun as I do. Even if there is a vicious rumor that it's the White House.

Play will always be packed, no matter what night it is (and evidently filled with married bankers sans their wedding rings. All I'm sayin').

By boycotting dating, i've wasted too much time (aka this past weekend) already. It's time to get a new rotation going. I like Puerto Rico.

And finally, Ash reigns supreme in bathroom pow-wows. Nicole and Maggs hold the title for best cab-huddle.

Happy Valentine's Day!

2006-02-14T11:15:00.000-05:00

For the record, though the Countdown was very cathartic, I know that there are good guys out there. I've even dated a couple of them.

Pictured is Eric, a guy I dated Freshman year. He is smart, sweet, funny, and could always keep up on the dancefloor. He even stayed up all night with me to box up my entire dorm room to send home after finals. We're still friends. He's been a permanent fixture at all of my birthdays and I'd do anything for him. He's now a teacher and getting his Masters at Hopkins in Special Education.

(A close runner-up would have to be my High School Sweetheart, Tyler. He's a Dad now, and getting married soon, but he's such a part of the family that he still calls my Mom on Mother's Day. He's one of the kindest people I know. He was even studying to be a minister at one time).

Cynicism aside, on Valentine's Day (if I think about romance at all) I think about those two great guys. I know there are more like them out there.

Countdown to VD: 5 Types of Guys

2006-02-13T00:00:00.000-05:00

Zero hour is upon us. Tomorrow will be Valentine's Day, and I will have fulfilled my obligation to K-- the week-long "Countdown to VD" will be over.

I thought I'd take the opportunity to stop complaining about the state of things and dispense some wisdom-- cuz Lord knows, you can't get through all those scrapes without *some* insight (or, at least, you'd hope).

My experience has led me to formulate the theory that there are 5 main types of guys out there. (There are definitely more, but I find that all of those that I have come across are just variations on the same basic themes. Secondary colors, if you will, to the primary that are the following five). Which of these have YOU come across?

The Prep: His crisp, popped-collar and perfectly creased dockers are telling you something about his personality- and no, it's not that he cares enough to pay attention to detail. The man is anal. Whether he won't let you touch his keyboard, his car stereo or his hair, he has control issues. He feels the weight of the world on him- pressure to be successful, intelligent, built. He's holding his sanity together with Scotch tape- so get used to the quirks, they're the tip of the iceberg.
The Downside: In the extreme, this anality even manifests itself in their sexuality. After 5 weeks of dating one noteably preppy boy in college, he would do no more than kiss me. I later found out he had been scarred for life on his first sexual encounter: the sex was fine, but the day after she was seen sporting a cold sore.

The Playboy: You heard he dates Redskins cheerleaders, but you only ever see him out and about with his boys. He's fun, polite and even great with the email banter.
The Downside: It's going nowhere. He sees girls in 2 categories: ones he wants to screw, and ones he wants to talk to. You got an email, right? You know which one you are. Many of these guys have "that one girl" from their past that encompassed both for them. That was a while ago. Now he's either waiting for her to come back or he's looking for her duplicate. It's not you (and why would you want it to be?). Stop crushing NOW.

The Loser: You invite this guy to hang out cuz he's nice and non-threatening. The problem is his verbal diahrrhea. In his un-socialized mind, he thinks his "straight-forward" approach is witty, when it's really just unnecessary. Classic: You mention your friendship and he quickly says, "Whoa! I'm not trying to date you!" Yeah, sure buddy. Or, "I can tell you like to be persued, but I'd like to see your interest in me now." (I've gotten this a few times, actually).
The Downside: he might not be so grating if he'd play his cards a little closer to the vest (and stop pretending his lack of internal dialogue makes him original).

Mr. Narcissism: No question, while dating in DC, you'll more than likely come across a man who has generated some hype for himself. It's sexy, it's fun, and both of you buy it. Just make sure your own ego is big enough to handle it when he books that Disney movie. (Yes, this has happened to yours truly).
The Downside: Don't take it personally when he's not eager to get to know (or even talk about) you. In fact, speaking of eager, if you like that can't-wait-to-have-you feeling a good, passionate bedmate can give you, look elsewhere. Sex with him is more like mutual masterbation at best. These guys have never had to be good in bed- (cuz there's a line behind you, Sister!)- so he's never tried to be (he thinks he already is). By all means, close your eyes, pretend he's not there and go for yours- cuz he will.

The Workaholic: He loves his job and he's probably successful. He's intelligent and has a great work ethic. He even wants the picket fence- eventually.
The Downside: He's looking for his Queen to complete the dynasty that he's so doggedly trying to create (and she's not necessarily an equal). If he begins regularly breaking dates for work-related obligations and doesn't seem all that apologetic, he's decided you're not that girl. Have fun while it lasts, but don't stop building your own empire, either. You may not end up combining assets.

Countdown to VD: Dan Savage, my Sense

2006-02-10T16:40:00.000-05:00

(Thoughts for the weekend)

Speaking of casual sex:

In one of my favorite books, Dan Savage's "Savage Love" a man wrote in:
"I know there is passion out there, but what prevents them (straight women) from acting upon it?...In fact, the entire gay communiity seems more relaxed about sex! Why can't straight women be more like gay men?"

After calling many straight men "slimy shits," Dan explains to the writer "...straight women might be more like gay men if straight sex was more like gay sex."

He explains: "To be penetrated is to assume most of the risk, not just of pregnancy and disease, but the psychic risk as well. Letting another person in your body is sometimes as big a mind-fuck as it is a body-fuck, and not something everyone can be casual about."

In case you didn't know, Savage continues: "When a guy goes to bed with a guy, penetration is never assumed. It has to be agreed to, and very often, isn't even on the menu. And, unlike most breeder sex, both the participants in gay sex have most likely been penetrated themselves, so both understand why someone might not want to for some reason, and are willing to 'settle' for hand jobs or head instead."

Right on, Dan!

(I personally think the Advice-Seeker lived in the Washington Metro Area. Just sayin'.)

Countdown to VD: Disillusioned

2006-02-09T12:49:00.000-05:00

He still teases me about this. It was a couple of summers ago. I was still in college and was crashing in VA with DistrictSiren. I was talking on the phone to a good friend and ex who had graduated 3 years ahead of me. He and I were making plans to see each other that evening.

With our friendship in mind, wanting to keep everything on the up-and-up, I said:
"OK, I'll come out. But I'm not gonna hook up with you."
He just laughed.
"Roar. I've graduated-- I'm an adult. We (adults) don't hook up. We have casual sex."

I at once felt very naive and silly.
Once that wore off I then had a sinking thought: "Is that really all I have to look forward to?"

What has ~~poignantly~~ disillusioned you?
***After a trip to dictionary.com, I decided Daddy was right: the above wasn't SO poignant afterall. But I can't help my grandiose language. I score "very high" as a Histrionic... (root word, hysterical??).
What are YOU?

Countdown to VD: Horrifying Date Quotes

2006-02-08T12:12:00.000-05:00

My friends (nearly all of whom are attached) tell me that my (mis-)adventures in single-dom allow them to date vicariously through me. I can't help thinking, however, that my stories only serve to keep them holding onto their own relationships for dear life.

In the spirit of the CVD, I thought I'd share some of the highlights. After all, why should only my close circle of friends benefit from my horrifying experience?

Keep in mind: each of the following were uttered by someone I was interested in while on a date with yours truly. And, for the most part, unless it had to be condensed (or unless noted otherwise) each of these are quotes, verbatim. A few are the same person. Many, however, are not. (There's a lot of duds out there, what can I say?)

What I think you'll find the most astonishing (at least, my friends do) is that I always manage to pick myself up, dust myself off, and head out the door to hear another horrifying quote. Er, go on another ill-fated date.

I graduated the University of Maryland in May of '05. We'll pick up the month after.

June:

What do you mean you don't want to be my girlfriend?
What I need to see from you now is an interest in me.
All the women in my family wear traditional muslim garb.

July:

I'd love to see you when you're sober.
The little man under my desk needs to get out more. (Yes, he was talking about THAT little man).

August:

I'm moving to Prague.

September:

I sleep around cuz I'm good at it.
Paraphrase: I called him a diva. He called me a negro. (!!!!)

October:

I used to weigh 300 pounds.
Are you always this sensual?
I'm really terrified of confrontation.

November:

I'm a Republican. (I cancelled the date).

December:

I've never been in a relationship before. My boys are my life.

January:

I live with my parents, and did all through college, too. My Mom makes my lunch for me every morning.
Can our next date be a sleep-over?
I'm divorced.
His favorite book? "Goosebumps."

February:

I'm not a nice guy. I have a lot of hatred built up. (Dude, look at this list. I'm getting there...)
I haven't been on a date in a long time.
I get hit on by gay men every time I'm in Dupont Circle.
Actually, I'm 36.

So... yeah. How scary is this? Have you ever gotten any of these?

Countdown to VD: There are no men

2006-02-06T23:54:00.000-05:00

It's true. There are way over 100,000 more women in the District than there are men. And not even 200,000 of those are in the 25-44y-o age bracket. (Rather wide, don't you think? This might explain why those old dudes have been hitting on us with straight faces...)

Being single in DC is like always being the odd man out in musical chairs. No wonder there's so much UGC here. People are just happy to be coupled up.

But back to me. Do I really have to move to a red state to get a decent date?

Announcing: The Countdown to VD

2006-02-06T23:48:00.000-05:00

K suggested that I write a post about how much Valentine's Day sucks. A natural go-getter, I'm gonna do one better.

Welcome to the week-long Valentine's Day Countdown, aka,
Why Dating In DC (or anywhere) Sucks.

I figure I have LOTS of material. And notice the appropriate title? It's what dating inevitably gives scads of unsuspecting schmoes each year, anyway.

So check back with me this week to let my tales of how cupid has fucked up entertain (or scare) you til Tuesday.

It Gets Worse

2006-02-06T14:16:00.000-05:00

"She's off her meds."
I was jolted out of my Monday Mope by a huge dose of reality that put it all in perspective, so to speak.

My close work buddy, AB, told me during lunch about a breakup a close friend of hers was going through. She'd been updating me about this guy's love life for a while between our lunch breaks and trips to our shared yoga class. Last I had heard, AB's friend was trying to end it with a girl who was terminally ill and who had no support system-- evidently, she came from a dysfunctional home (who hasn't?).

AB's friend has finally found his way out of that relationship, but the girl has now very literally decided she wants to give up on life. (Every dumper's fear).
"There's nothing the doctors can do. The meds make her sick, and she wants to live her last few weeks not sick."

If that wasn't bad enough, now this girls ex, AB's friend still had to meet with her Father to fill in the blanks for him in her medical history-- things the Father had missed due to the family's dynamic (absent).

This didn't happen to me, but I'm shaken all the same. If you were her, would you go off your meds, ever? I'm a Kevorkian fan, but I'm also an optimist. What ever happened to the hope of a medical breakthrough? Am I heartless for thinking (even a little) that her timing spells less of a proactive choice and more of a passive agressive personal vendetta? And, in this guy's shoes, how do you ever get over something like that?