DCist recently reported that 25% of Americans would like to live in DC. To that I say, aaahhh-psshhkawww?! Only 25%? You know my love for DC burns like chlamydia, so obviously I'm not satisfied with 25%. Now, I could sit here all day and talk to you about our cherry blossoms and the energy of precious freedom and democracy, but you've probably felt and seen all of this on your eighth grade class trip, and clearly that did jackshit to sway you.
So allow me to point out some things about DC that you may not know in an effort to convince 100% of you that Washington, DC is the greatest place to be:
We have: 1.) Ugly People! DC is referred to as "Hollywood for ugly people," and politics as "show business for ugly people," for a reason. Because we're not the prettiest bell at the ball. Actually we're not even at the ball. We're at home eating an entire sheet cake with a spoon, wearing a self-heating acne mask, crying to our mother's, wondering why no one sees our special inner-beauty. But that's good news for you, out-of-towner! Come here and watch your self-esteem fly through the roof as your "mediocre" good looks suddenly skyrocket to supermodel steamy-sex-bomb status. You're going to get so much ass you'll have to retire your genitals in an ice bucket for at least an hour each week. And that's exciting!
2.) Black People! To answer your question, yes, yes I am a blatant self-hating white person. But the better question is, why aren't you? Black people do everything better—food, music, dancing, religion, presidents—everything! Thus, I am honored to live in a city that is 55% African American and only 39% White. This statistic has also earned DC the nickname "Chocolate City." Becca and Rachel for quite some time were considering making t-shirts that said, "White Chocolate." After weighing the pros and cons, I think they decided the inevitable beatings weren't worth the irony. I, however, am still unsure about that.
3.) Readily Available Drugs! Some out-of-towners think that just because an overwhelming amount of the population in DC works for the government or a non-profit, there must be drug testing posts at the corner of every major intersection in the city. Well, guess what? You're fine, you can cross the street without having to pee in a cup. We're not all narcs! We know how to have a good time! Shit, I'm at work writing this post and cookin' up some heroin as we speak! Don't worry about the city's straight-edge factor, I know a guy. And that guy knows a guy who has a membership at Costco. We'll get you an eighth and a 46-pack of cranberry juice in one felt swoop.
4.) Homosexuals! It seems like you can't swing a dead cat in this town without hitting a gay guy in the well-moisturized face. And that's a good thing! A large gay population = good shopping, good restaurants, shopping partners, drinking partners, a large choice of gay boyfriends for you ladies, large amounts of sex to be had for you gay out-of-towners, and the list goes on! Just don't be that girl from Minnesota in the khakis who keeps falling in love with the "fancy man" in your office only to be heartbroken when after six months of obsessing you find out he's dating the only other attractive guy in your building. Oh and out-of-towner, if this is a major turn-off for you and you're all "sick dude, I don't want to have to look at that shit!", don't worry, I got you covered. Just get in a cab and ask the driver to take you to Third Edition in Georgetown. Get out. Look around. These are your new friends. You'll be fine.
5.) Colleges! DC is known for being home to the government, but let's not forget it's also home to quite a few number of colleges: American, GW, Georgetown, Catholic, UDC, Trinity, Gallaudet, etc. I know this initially sounds like a turn-off. No one wants to watch a fat sorority girl cry on a curb in front of the bar in a broken tiara screaming, "I JUST::sniffle, sniffle:: MISS::sniffle, sniffle::TRA::hiccup::VIS!!!!" (In which case don't go to Adams Morgan on any given Saturday night.) However, there are some perks to living in a college city. My strongest argument is the Georgetown men's athletic department. Get a trench coat, get a pair of sunglasses, park yourself on M street and watch 'em run by shirtless. OHHHH-YEEAAaAaAa...My weaker argument is that it can be sort of kind of fun to party with college kids. They're so full of hope and wonder and can get shitfaced with you because they their paper isn't due until Tuesday. Also, partying with them distracts you from the fact that you've already graduated and are working an entry-level, dead-end job in a field that you no longer want to work in because you've seen first-hand what a crock of bullshit it is and everyday you show up and pray that hell has frozen over so you don't have to go into the office to use your $130,000 education to staple invoices, put pamphlets into a folder and avoid your co-workers who you fear more and more everyday are what you will turn into in 20 years. What? Am I still typing?
6.) Accents! We don't have southern accents in DC. Nor do we have the oh-so-god-awful Baltimore accent. Teresa was recently discussing the DC accent with her co-workers in Baltimore and nailed it on the head—we have valley girl accents. We put like three extra syllables into every word and lots of unnecessary U's. (Apparently her co-workers mock Teresa by saying, 'I'm from Day Say. I only know two letters: Day pair-ee-odd, Sayyy, pair-ee-odd.') But our native accent is good news for you, out-of-towner! In the tropical heat of the summer, you'll think you're in LA without any of the added pressures of needing to be thin, stylish or wealthy! What more do you people want?!
People never cease to bewilder, shock and amaze me. I don't know why I'm wasting my time with this "graphic design" crap because I think anthropology is my true calling. I could sit in my bed, curled up in the fetal position, rocking ever-so-gently, making "pfffwhhaaaaa?!" faces all day long trying to figure out why people do the socially retarded, super retarded, what's a term I won't get sued again for using?unacceptable things that they do.
Before I die, I'm going to publish an anthology of my experiences with these characters who routinely ruin my day and boggle my mind called Interesting Decisions and the People Who Make Them. This weekend provided me with material to add yet another chapter:
Chapter 7362349: People who invoke the "YOU STARTED IT!" Principle.
It all started at Axis bar on U street Saturday night, where I was ready to give my liver another round of good old fashioned hazing in honor of Jodi's birthday. I should have known something was up the minute I talked to the bartender. The bartender (a dead ringer for Harry from Sex and the City who was playing Seal on his ipod,) came over and asked, "Thup? What can I get you ladeeth to drink?" TEE heeHEEheeee, he had a lisp! I don't know if I've made this clear or not, but what babies are to normal people, lisps are to me. I think they're effing adorable. Like kittens and puppies and rainbows and sunshine.
In an effort to hear the bartender talk his silly talk some more, I asked him what beer he recommended. He all but rolled his eyes and exasperatingly handed me a menu. Thinking maybe he hadn't heard me, I asked him again what he recommended. "There'th a menu," he deadpanned. O...K...now I've only been a bartender for all of 12 hours, but I'm pretty sure when someone asks you what beer you recommend, you recommend a beer. Any beer. Just say the name of a beer. I didn't ask because I'm wildly fascinated by what beer you like guy, I asked because I'm lazy and all I want for Christmas is to hear you say "ThamAdamthith pretty thweet."
I pushed this little mishap out of my mind and continued with my good time. An hour or so later, I was a few cocktails deep and had a nice buzz going. In honor of my new job and feeling a little sassy, I snuck behind the bar and posed for a picture with a bottle of vodka and a beer pitcher. Just as the flash was going off, I got bitch-slapped in the face with seltzer water. Looking down at my now wet shirt and wiping my hair back, I looked to see who had given me this lovely little hose down. I looked up at the culprit and was met with the stony, upper-middle-class, dockers wearing, black eyes of a White Cap. A random White Cap shot me with seltzer water. (Dramatic Double Dare Re-enactment)
Now, that alone not enough to send me into full What's The Matter With Society? mode. Don't worry, I'm not that snarky. I have a sense of humor and understand that rowdy things happen when people are drunk. Ergo, I decided to give the White Cap a chance to LOLZ it off and make it right with me. Because...you know...you don't just go around spraying random people in the face with water and then not say word one to them when they're attempting to dry themselves off with cocktail napkins while looking at you like "what the fuck was that for, guy?" ...Right?
"Hey. So you just sprayed me with water there a second ago. You should probably buy me a drink to make it right," I said in a light-hearted and friendly tone as I wiped mascara from under my eyes.
"No. I'm good, actually," the White Cap said back to me with the same tone and look in his eye that one might give a hunchback after they ask you if you want a rim job.
WOAH, WOAH, WOAH, White Cap! Now I'm not asking you to buy me a drink because I want to go to the prom with you or go steady and wear your varsity Letterman jacket, you jackass. I'm asking you to buy me a drink so I don't punch you in the nuts for dousing me with water. I realize you don't know me, but here's an intro: I'm a house cat. I sleep a lot, am fascinated by balls of twine and hate getting wet (that's what she said.)
This is where my inner rage started to boil. What the fuck was this guy thinking?! Of all the interesting decisions to make, why would he act like such a little douche bag and not only spray me with water (which is slightly Three Stooges of him and kind of just a lame move on it's own) and then refuse to buy me a drink or even offer the slightest little piff of an apology?
It was at this point that I was feeling like a rejected, washed up, sad sea hag when my family motto came echoing into my mind: "Don't fuck with a McBlogger!" I could hear my forefathers cry out. And you're damn right. Don't fuck with a McBlogger. It's not an interesting decision, it's just an all-around horrible one.
I figured this White Cap needed to be taken down a peg or too, and I would be more than willing to do it for him. But I didn't want to do it just for myself; I wanted to do it for society as a whole. White Caps need to learn that you can't go around acting like a flaming douche bag to everyone you meet and not suffer the repercussions. I can't just declare a War on Social Terrorism and be too scared to drop a few bombs. What kind of leader would I be?
I slyly wrapped my hand around the beer in front of me and slowly slid it towards the White Cap, ready to knock it into his lap in an effort to make it look like he had pissed himself. However, White Cap whapped my hand away, grabbed the beer and turned his back to me. OH. HELL. NAW.
Having lost my drink when I went down with the seltzer Titanic, I looked around for a liquid to shower this douche bag with, to no avail. That's when I turned around to see the cocktail waitress' busing station and a little light bulb went off above my head. If beer was out, then Tabasco sauce was in. I unscrewed the top and acted like that White Cap's back was the juiciest steak in town and doused him in Tabasco. As she had been watching this all go down, I tossed the Tabasco to Anna so she could get in on the fun. (PS: I wold like to take this time to publicly apologize to Jilllian who sadly got in the Tabasco crossfire and deserved none of it. I am so sorry for that civilian casualty!) Feeling like maybe he wasn't spiced up well enough, I got greedy and unscrewed the lid of a pepper shaker and tossed it to Anna, who promptly spilled it down Dr. Douchebag's polo shirt. Whenever Anna and I are getting away with one of our pranks, we inevitably get caught. And that is exactly what happened.
The White Cap realized what was up and took off his jacket to discover the spicy Jackson Pollack I had created on the back of his pea coat. I gave him a look that said "eesh, that sucks" and took out my iphone ready to text what had just happened to Talia across the bar. The White Cap turned red with anger, grabbed my wrist and shoved me back with not exactly Ike Turner force, but enough to be completely uncool.
My jaw hit the floor and I began to have a little conversation with myself: "Holy shit. That asshole just pushed you!" "I know, right?! Punch that asshole in the mouth!" "No, no, no! Do not punch him! To be fair, you were acting like a total cunt face and he's rightfully mad." "But dude, pushing a girl?!" "Yea. Good point. OK punch him." "Seriously? Do I even know how to punch someone?" "You took kickboxing. Upper-cut, jab, jab, upper-cut and then grapevine your way outta there!"
Unfortunately by the time I talked myself into punching him, he had already turned around and was cleaning Tabasco sauce off of his jacket and the moment had passed, so I looked over at Anna to see if she saw what had just gone down. And indeed she had. In the grand tradition of getting in a physical fight for the sake of having for your drunk best friend's back at Christmas time (what an oddly specific tradition...) she went to grab the White Cap's beer to throw in his face. Unfortunately this enraged the beast even more and he stopped her mid grab and proceeded to full body, two hands on chest style, full force shove all 100 lbs of Anna off of him. Now, I realize that it probably was a dick move on my part to douse this kid in a delicious pepper sauce, but hitting a girl is about as cool as a pair of denim shorts. Anna went to shove him back and it was clear this guy was about to deck her in the face so I jumped in to separate them and it turned into a bonafide scramble before out of nowhere Meredith, or as I now refer to her, the Beast from the Northeast, stepped in and threw her full beer square in the face of the White Cap like a fuckin' champ. It was brilliant. Then the shit really hit the fan and old LispyMcLisperson had to grab the White Cap to keep him from pummeling three girls to the ground.
A few minutes later, the bartender came back and said, "Alright look you guyth, now I kicked him out, but to be fair, he did have a fair amount of condimenth on him stho the next time I catch you guyththpillingthtuff all over people, I'm kicking you guyth out too! Alright?!" What?! HE STARTED IT!
And to the White Cap: YOU STARTED IT, YOU BIG CRY BABY! This boggles my mind and makes me feel like I'm five years old again. You wouldn't have gotten sprayed with Tabasco if you hadn't sprayed me in the first place! Take a physics class! Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. You spray me with water and I'll spray you with Tabasco. Sure mine is slightly worse, but as my favorite comedian Keith Malley once said, "You start it with a BB gun, I'll end it with a tank." Sorry man, If you didn't want to get sprayed with Tabasco, you probably shouldn't have sprayed me with water with no apologies. I don't go around blowing on dead dandelions and then beat the shit out of them when the seeds blow away in the wind. CAUSE AND EFFECT. And when you go shoving girls around like they're rag dolls, you have no excuse for your behavior because YOU STARTED IT! Did you expect me to just stand there and let you be a dick to me? LOLZ! I think not. I'm sure that's what you're used to because girls rarely stand up to White Caps (because frankly they're kind of scary and intimidating) but as General in the War on Social Terrorism, I'm willing to take a few hits for the team. And so is Anna apparently. And Jillian. And Meredith. Purple Hearts for us all!
Sigh...interesting decisions. Interesting decisions all around.
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