Waking Up to Clear Skies, Fuzzy Head

Finally! After about a week of rain, the sun is finally out. Seriously, that was insane. If you live here in DC, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I was almost ready to call up my good buddy Noah and load up the animals. Save the monkeys! Haha.

Side note, if that actually did happen, and we had to choose which species to save in order to prevent their extinction, can you imagine the chaos that would ensue? Don’t let the dirty monkeys on the ark! No homosexual monkeys either. We only have room for a few select Hispanic monkeys (but only after they undergo a time-consuming and expensive ark admittance process). And if you’re a Muslim monkey, forget about it. But if you’re a Christian monkey, extra bananas for you!

In any case, we are all very grateful that the Great Deluge has seemingly ended.

It was a gorgeous morning. And even though I was hungover, and awakened too early by my noisy upstairs neighbors, I felt refreshed by the change in weather. I was so happy, in fact, that the swarms of tourists did not affect me. I barely noticed the uptight businessmen and the unnecessarily fast-walking businesswomen. I barely even noticed my hangover. I took my time in the crosswalks. And my ipod provided a fun beat. Yeah, I’m that girl dancing on the corner. Life is good today.

Wow

In a way, I feel like this photo sums up these past few weeks...














Simply absurd.

Life throws curveballs all the time. This I knew. I just hope that like Connie's performance, my life will somehow show an inkling of humor amidst the craziness.

We shall see.

More to come soon.

I am Geisha

Although I've never seen Memoirs of a Geisha, I am fascinated by the scene in the teaser that shows her walking down the street, staring into the eyes of men passing by. She is proving her Geisha prowess by trying to completely overpower them with her stare. One man is so distracted that he falls off his bike.


So this has been my new mission. Over the last several weeks, I've been trying to perfect my "stare" and get men to fall off their bikes. It's not so easy.

DC is the perfect venue to practice though. Bike messengers are all over the place. And Rolling Thunder was this past weekend. I tried what I like to call "the spell" on a few Harley's, but no luck. I think I need to own the regular bike market first, then perhaps graduate to motorcycles.

Once there was a little man on a little bike. You know, the bikes with wheels half the size of normal wheels? As a side note, I never understood why someone would choose wheels so small. It takes you twice as long to get places. In any case, I figured this would be an easy target. But no. The guy was wearing headphones and I couldn't make eye contact. Either that, or the little wheels made his bike more stable... closer to the ground... therefore incapable of being thrown off balance by my geisha stare. Yeah, that must be it.

One time I came so close, I swear to you. Regular bike. Regular guy. He was coming up the sidewalk and I was walking down. So I turned on "full stare mode." We made eye contact but I think the sweat dripping from my face was a turn-off. It was a really hot day. I don't think geishas sweat. Oh well.

Another time there was a cute bike messenger in my elevator at work. He was a foot taller than me, dreads, headphones, body odor... the works. I knew it'd be harder to make him fall over from a standing position, but I tried nonetheless. My fantasy is that my stare would be so incredibly strong that he'd just lose all function in his knees. Then I'd help him up and say, "I'm so sorry. I can't control it." But he must have been listening to a really good song or something. 'Cause I got nothin!

So life must go on. I'll keep trying. I'm not giving up. Some day, years from now, you'll see a story in the Post that reads, "DC Bikers Can't Stay on Bikes: Plague Sweeps the City." That'll be me... geisha power perfected... but without the dominant controlling element. I will be the cool independent liberal geisha. Watch out.

Porkchops

I was reviewing myspace profiles for work (I SWEAR it's part of my job) and I was reminded of how wonderful a porkchop tastes with a little applesauce. Porkchops and applesauce... it's just so right. And definitely not done enough.

Summer Happy Hour Series - Just Do It People

How can you resist the Madam?

RAINN is hosting happy hours at Madam’s Organ this summer that will help raise money and awareness for the fight against sexual assault. Plus, you get to hang out with cool people at one of the coolest bars on the strip.

Madam’s Organ is generously donating $1 from every drink purchase and 20% of food sales directly to RAINN’s programs, including the National Sexual Assault Hotline.

The first happy hour will be from 5 to 9 pm on Thursday, May 18.

Other dates include June 22, July 20 and August 17 --- all are Thursdays.

Going out anyway? Go out for a great cause.

See you there. Don't be a loser. ;)

More info about RAINN can be found at www.rainn.org.

More info about Madam’s Organ can be found at www.madamsorgan.com.

Madam's Organ
2461 18th Street, NW
Washington, DC 20009

Books Are Cool

I did it! I finally read a whole book, in its entirety, cover to cover, yes sir, finito!

It's been a while since I've read a real book that wasn't about Buddhism or Clay Aiken. Haha. Yes, gotta love life's extremes. I used to blame my lack of reading not on illiteracy or failure to comprehend complex themes, but on lack of time. "I'm in PR. I read all the time you know. News online, news in print, press releases, research. I'm sooo busy reading all day that all I want to do is drink a beer and watch some TV when I get home at night."

I now realize that all that is pretty much... um... bullshit.

I realized this when I turned on the TV one night to find Let's Make a Deal on NBC. Howie Mandel, what happened to you, man? Really. Walk Like a Man was such a good movie. Pure quality. Ha!

So I decided to read my book for a new book club I joined. I was hoping originally that the act itself, of joining the group, would inspire me to read. Not so much. I didn't even attempt to buy our first assignment. I was such a slacker.

But I did manage to read The Year of Magical Thinking, our most recent selection. I definitely recommend it. Kind of geared toward the female reader, but a great story. Especially if you've experienced loss in your life, it's an excellent examination of the human mind in a state of mourning. If you've never experienced such a loss, and I don't believe I have, it's a little harder to relate, but still interesting.

Anyway, I finished the book. Yes it was an easy read. Yes it was a chick book. But I did it. And, by god, I will do it again! No longer will I hide behind a cloak of poor excuses. No longer will I "spin" my lack of reading and blame it on my job. And, finally, no longer will I quote this...

- Am I supposed to be a man, am I supposed to say it's okay, I don't mind? I don't mind. Well, I mind! I mind big-time! And you know what the worst part is? I NEVER LEARNED TO READ!!!!
- Is that true?
- Yes, everything except the reading part.

ps: Seriously though, props to Howie Mandel. He deserves all the credit in the world for Bobby's World. For real this time.

Smelly Elliptical Man

Most of the time I'm ok. Most of the time, I avoid what has, on a few occasions, forced my face into a look of disgust for an entire evening... or longer. But tonight, I had no choice. I had no other option. If I wanted to stay at the gym and complete the workout that I had looked forward to all day, I had to do the unthinkable. I had to... it's almost too painful to relive... I had to work out next to... dun dun DUN... smelly elliptical man!

I've done it before, one time. But that was before I knew the horror. And I kid you not, it's pretty frickin' horrible. I've been camping, I know what normal body odor should smell like. This is beyond that times a really high number.

I arrived at the gym, some good country music on my ipod, just about ready to switch over to the dance genre, and I spotted him from the corner of my eye. A short little hairy man. Actually kind of cute. But looks are deceiving!

So I do my ladies room routine, take off my fleece, all that stuff. And I return to the cardio area. Prime time at the gym. God damn it. Not a treadmill or elliptical in sight, except, of course, the one free machine next to... dun dun DUN... smelly elliptical man!

I waited 10 frickin' minutes. Nothing. Oh god, I thought. Not again. Please, god, no. I'll do anything. I'm sorry I curse. I'm sorry I'm not a good little Catholic girl anymore. And I'm really sorry I organized a family karaoke party on the day of your son's resurrection, the holiest of all holy days! But why this? Did I really deserve this?

Reluctantly, I boarded my machine for what was sure to be 30 minutes of grimacing. And it was, no doubt. I tried to distract myself with some Cher, a little Madonna, DJ Sammy. But I couldn't stop the waves of his god-awful scent from filling my nostrils. I thought, well maybe he's European. Perhaps. Maybe he can't afford deodorant.

But you know, after all my over-analysis of this incredibly smelly man, I took a closer look. And he was smiling. Very jolly guy. And despite the fact that he could clear a room after five minutes on a cardio machine, he was loving his life. And then I thought, good for him! Wouldn't want to share the sauna with you, but, smelly elliptical man, you keep smiling. Be proud of who you are. 'Cause you know what, even though I'd rather hang out in the elephant pen of the National Zoo in the dead of August than be next to you in the elliptical line on a cool spring day, you rock. Amen.

The Simple Life

I was speaking with my cousin the other day over instant messenger. For the sake of anonymity, let's call her "Lana."

We started reminiscing about the good 'ole days growing up on our grandparents' lake. Playing regular hide and seek. Then playing our suped up version of hide and seek (which was pretty intense) and inventing all kinds of things. As Lana recalled our genius idea to sell skipping rocks, I was reminded of how simple life had been.

We were probably between the ages of 8 and 15, collectively, at the time of these adventures. We created a club called the BDC (I will not reveal what those letters stood for as I took an oath). We had club colors, and a club song. We - my cousin, my sister (whom I shall call "Schmadri") and I - were the primary members. Occasionally, we'd let in an "honorary member" such as my grandfather or Sister Whatshername. Yes, there were nuns in my childhood. Lots of them.

We conducted intellectual experiments such as bug collection and classification. I don't remember what book we used to "classify" the bugs, but there was definitely a system, no doubt.

Our advanced version of hide and seek included a series of clues, each one leading to the next until you found the hiding BDC member. This took a great deal of patience on the part of the hidden person, believe me. Those games would last a loooooong time. I remember one game when my grandmother was a special "real life" clue. She got a kick out of it. And so did we.

We had planned to sell drinks at a slightly cheaper rate than my grandfather's restaurant. The concept of putting him out of business of course never crossed our minds. We were just proud that we thought of the idea.

And the skipping rocks? Apparently Lana had a bag full of them, which we individually tested for smooth and long-lasting skipping capabilities. Our slogan - "Pre-tested. Guaranteed to skip." Who in their right mind wouldn't buy something with that solid of a guarantee?

We had it made. Those summers were some of my most fun times ever. And then we grew up.

I've been thinking a lot about the complication of everyday life, now that I'm older. What changed? Was there a turning point? How did I go from selling rocks to paying rent? How did I go from feeling free and secure... to feeling free and really really worried?

Recently, I've come to realize that it is useless to stress about things out of my control. And that's really comforting. I've been able to let go of a lot. And my body feels calmer.

But I can't escape the fact that life is frickin' complicated now! Back in the day, there was no rent. There was no "life plan." There were no relationship issues, no long-distance friendships, no deadlines, no major heartaches...

I would eat Cookie Crisp for breakfast and mac n cheese mixed with Chef Boyardee for lunch. Diets? Never heard of 'em.

We would dive for golf balls in the lake, over by the golf course. The concept of tan lines wasn't even a thought. Just good clean fun. Oh, and an occasional angry man in pastel plaid.

I wish I had some great conclusion, but I don't. I guess life changes, and we change with it. Lana, Schmadri and I grew up, at least a little. :) We have a new bond now. We are the young women of the family. It's an exclusive membership. And we pretty much still rule. For real.

Love Notes? Or God Notes?

I write this post with some hesitation - not because of what I will say, but more because, in doing so, I will have to admit that I listen to "Love Notes" on the local soft rock station. Yes! It's true! I like soft rock! Please don't judge me.

Anyway, after rockin' out to some quality Bryan Adams, Delilah, who is the host of "Love Notes," interjects with an on-air interview. You all know Delilah, I know you do! I am NOT the only one. That soft, melodious, reassuring voice... haha. Little did I know that she had an agenda.

A woman calls in with, of course, a dedication. She wants to send a song to her husband because their marriage is falling apart. She says that her husband is never home. He's always out with the guys. He comes home very late and he's always drunk. He doesn't spend enough time with his wife and their young child.

Sad, right? You know what Delilah's advice is? Pray. Yep, pray. These are rough times, she says. But surround yourself with people who love you, see a counselor if you can, wait... and pray. He'll grow up. It'll get better. I'm like, what the f***?

Keep in mind I had just listened to Goodbye Earl on my way home, so I'm in a completely different frame of mind. Praying is great, don't get me wrong, but I think there are some other, possibly more effective, solutions. At least she got the word "counselor" in there.

During the same broadcast, in between some Shania Twain and some classic Phil Collins, she comments that she is here for us to find "our path" and our meaning in life. How do you wake up in the morning? What do you live for? Live for HIM. I'm thinking, for who, exactly?

Upon further research on her Website, I learn that she's not so much an outward religious fanatic, but rather somewhat closeted. A 16 year old girl wrote in, asking what do because she was pregnant and she was scared. Delilah's first tidbit of advice, "Take care of that baby!" Seek medical attention, and then decide if you want to consider an adoption service. I'm thinking, yes, adoption is wonderful, but there are other options - other "choices" - before that step. And this girl needs to at least be presented with them.

I have no problem with God. In fact, this past year, I've found great inspiration in the music of Yolanda Adams and Kirk Franklin, who, by the way, is a self-proclaimed Jesus freak. I'm not against spirituality. I'm just against the misrepresentation of choices, and the truth.

But I still support soft rock.

There She Is, Your Ideal

What does it mean to be a princess? Is it a good thing? Or a bad thing? Does it mean you are of a noble class, a lady? Or does it mean you are of the spoiled kind, a pompous brat? Why do little girls want to be princesses? Is it because they want to feel special and adored? Or is it because they just... want?

Odd questions, especially coming from me. I was a tomboy and a nerd (actually I prefer the term "dork" because there is, at least, some element of cuteness there). I played with legos and blocks. I liked the occasional stuffed animal. But Barbie? Ewwwwww. And princesses? Um, yeah, no.

So, 20 years later, I'm walking to work. It's a great spring morning. I get my coffee and yogurt loaf and I'm about to enter my building. Then I hear the popular DC sound of sirens. Police cars. The motorcade. Again. I'm a little curious, and not in a huge rush, so I stop. Is it Cheney? I hope not! I'm wearing my camouflage bag and I forgot my bullet proof vest today.

No! It's not Cheney! It's not Rumsfeld. It's not Dumbshit. It's... the Cherry Blossom Princesses? Holy crap, it's totally the Cherry Blossom Princesses. In a bus that says, appropriately, "United States Cherry Blossom Princesses."

FYI, according to the National Conference of State Societies Website, "the Cherry Blossom Princess Program is a weeklong cultural and educational opportunity for young women from across the U.S. and around the world. Women between the ages of 19 and 23 are chosen by the 50 state and 5 territory societies and the international embassy community for their leadership, academic achievements, interest in social, civic, community and world affairs... the Princess Program continues to spawn women of accomplishment."

Haha... spawn.

Anyway, it's like Miss America invades DC. Miss American dignitaries. Women "leaders" who are told to wear certain attire, certain colors. They all look the same. They all promote an image. They are our "role models." Role models in high heels and pastel gowns. Ha. The next Laura Bush? Condi Rice? Actually both of those women would be honored by the plastic hair styles.

Well, who am I to judge? I am friends with a former CBP, and she rocks. Shout out to Oregon.

But is this the image we really want to give our children?

I have a friend who is getting married and she refuses to be treated like a princess, even though we all insist she deserves it. No special treatment though. No silly crowns. No extra attention. Got it, ok. But in this case, I want to treat her like a princess. The good kind.

It's funny how we can accept something's good qualities and ignore the bad ones. I want to be a princess! But not in any bad way, of course. I will be a "good princess." A Princess Diana princess, if you will. But how do we separate? Maybe we just shouldn't judge at all. Who knows, maybe underneath all the hairspray and pastel there lies a princess who will change the world with a radical thought. Or maybe she'll just wave and make all the little girls smile. Or hurl. You know, whatever.