In the Middle of the Work Day Try Not to Eat Like It's Your Last Day on Earth: Payday Edition

At this point in my life I've learned a few things which will undoubtedly help me continue my journey through life. Some of these lessons are rooted in personal experiences. Others I've learned from complete idiots/friends. For instance:

1. Aluminum foil doesn't belong in the microwave
2. Pay parking tickets. Meter maids don't forget and they will find you and boot your car
3. Don't hook up/get involved with someone you work with.
4. Carry a hankerchief when walking around humid-ass DC. Yeah, you take the risk of looking strange, but it's better than showing up to your destination looking like a cross between Whitney Houston in concert and that guy in your office who always has the huge pit stains (during Winter).
5. Just because it's payday doesn't mean you should gorge yourself at lunch and practically fall asleep at your desk.

This final lesson has really been hammered home as of today. I'm often guilty of going all-out every other Thursday to make up for the malnourishment from the previous week. I usually go from eating normal meals from places like Trader Joe's to eating peanut butter off a knife and drinking a ginger ale. To bounce back, I stuff my face.

This current habit precedes me by several years. At one point when I was 14 I went to the hospital because I swore I was having a heart attack. The summer before my freshman year of high school I worked at a summer camp with a bunch of my friends. It was the final week and we received our final paychecks of the summer. To celebrate we all went out to dinner and I decided to order practically everything off the far-right flap of the TGI Fridays menu. Hey, it was one of the last weeks of the summer and I was PAID!

Fast forward a few hours and I'm lying in bed feeling like someone just poured bleach down my throat. I told my mom and she said to take some Tums and go to bed. I did, and when I woke up the pain was still there. At this point, I was convinced I was having a heart attack/had a stroke and suggested I go to the emergency room before my parents no longer had a son. At the emergency room I was asked what I had eaten in the past 24 hours to which I listed:

Breakfast: Nothing
Lunch: A turkey sandwich with chips
Dinner: A mint chocolate chip milkshake, supreme nachos, Jack Daniels glazed shrimp and steak and an ice cream sundae.

I was told that I had SEVERE heartburn and was sent home.

Today, as a result of a visit from the direct deposit fairy, I made the mistake of getting takeout from Bertucci's with coworkers. Later (i.e. now) I realize eating 5 pounds of Tortellini in cream sauce, a Caesar salad (just because it was $1.99) and two rolls (because you can't eat at Bertucci's and NOT eat one of their rolls) is not a good ideas especially if you're expected to be productive for the rest of the day. Needless to say I'm am currently feigning productivity and feel like I just ate Thanksgiving dinner.

However, to those who qualify, happy payday!

Random Thoughts

1. Why has metro been so frakkin slow this week? The floods were on Monday, and according to all news reports, they were cleared up by noon that same day. So why is metro still moving so slowly? On Tues, Wed and today, I've gotten on the train at Eastern Market and we've just sat there.....and sat there.....and sat there. Then we jerk along slowly to the next stop. And then we sit there. At about L'Enfant, I have whiplash and have almost fallen over 6 times. This game continues until we reach McPherson Square. Usually my commute takes me 25 minutes door-to-door. Its taken no less than 45 each day this week and I might have to start wearing a neckbrace. What's causing this?

2. Also, they need to hire "drivers"* who can form coherent sentences when speaking over the train intercom. Today my "driver" made some long announcement that sounded like "This train umgkdsjg'skgj'pwrug 'jnvkldnvckdjcnrium........thank you." Then everyone on the train looked around at each other and went "What?" Maybe he was telling us why we were sitting at each station for 6 hours but this is unconfirmed, as I don't speak Metro Gibberish.

3. When I left my office this afternoon and crossed the street to Franklin Square Park, I noticed a bus sitting in the middle lane of I Street, NW at a dead stop. There were passengers on board and the bus wasn't anywhere near a bus stop. Some cabs honked and went around it. I thought maybe it had broken down, but when I was walking back from the park it was still sitting there. I stared for a minute and then it drove halfway down the block, made its stop on the corner, picked people up and kept going. Is this WMATA's new way of keeping the bus on schedule?

4. I've just realized this whole post so far is about metro, so I guess its not that random.

5. I'm really sad that the World Cup hasn't been on for two days now. It was so great to have 2 games on per day, b/c its so much more fun to watch soccer than work. I'm really excited for the Germany-Argentina smackdown tomorrow. My boss isn't going to be in, so I am going to get a coffee, sit in his office with the door closed, and watch the game. I may make some phone calls, too. Obviously, none of them will be work related.

6. Monday is Blesus' birthday. We have many activities planned, including but not limited to a baseball game, a martini night and a party. Even though its a 4 day weekend, do you think it would be inappropriate to also take Wednesday off for recovery?

7. Speaking of martini night, is it ever smart to let your friends make your martinis? Once, Roommate and I did wine and martini night with two of our friends and we ended up at JR's and then Annie's Paramount Steakhouse. Anytime you end up at a gay bar and a gay diner that you didn't actually know existed in one night, you know your martinis were too strong. I'm afraid that if Blesus or the Turkish Delight make my martinis, someone may find me passed out in the middle of Dupont Circle sometime next Thursday.

*In this age of technology, does anyone actually drive the metro train anymore? I think the only reasons those people sit in the front near the controls is to make sure we stop if we're going to hit anything. Though, this "don't hit anything" rule doesn't apply to humans, b/c apparently metro assists in suicides on a regular basis.


A Few Things...

Hi, yeah it's me, Blesus. I know, it's been a while but things have been quite busy. Just to keep everyone updated here goes:

1. I (clearly) made it back from Mehico. Thanks to Kelly's Pulitzer-quality reporting and overall journalistic prowess I'm sure most of you were fully apprised of the unfortunate situation in which I had been placed. As you know, I almost ended up being the equivalent of a Mehican street dog, roaming the alleys of Cabo San Lucas with my duffel bag and the neck of a broken tequila bottle which I could jab at anyone who got too close.

Due to the fact that our brilliant friends failed to show up at the correct airport and subsequently were not ensured a spot on any outgoing flights, "British Diva" and I had fully resolved ourselves to the fact that we may be homeless in Mexico our first night. Seeing as we are practically on welfare ourselves and probably couldn't afford a last-minute hotel room, we were fully planning on going to Sammy Hagar's club Cabo Wabo to see who we could drunkenly charm (read: con) into giving us a free hotel room. Of course all of this would be done while carrying our luggage and the bottle of Bombay and carton of Marlboros I got at Duty Free.

2. This past weekend I went home for a friend from high school's wedding. I'm getting a little nervous here because I'm 24 and I've already been to 4 weddings for people my age. I hope they know what they're doing because I can barely share a cab with someone let alone a life or whatever.

A testament to married life:

Blesus107: Hey Dad...I was calling to see what you want for Fathers Day.

Dad: Hold on, let me ask your mother...She says I want a Tommy Bahama shirt.

Blesus107: What?

Also, I'm' sick of the expensive gift registries. Since when are you in the position to demand All-Clad cookware from Williams-Sonoma? Last time I saw you we were eating Campbell's clam chowder out of tainted Glad-Ware and you weren't complaining a bit! Can someone please help out the broke singleton friends and register at some place like a dollar store or TJ Maxx.? Just kidding (but seriously is a McDonald's coupon okay?).

Further, since my friend's wedding had to compete with the Sea World-like conditions of this weekend both my flights were delayed. In fact, I was delayed in Connecticut because my flight, which was supposed to go to Philly before flying to Connecticut, was STRUCK BY LIGHTNING and had to be practically thrown away. Happy Spring!

3. My birthday is on Monday and my office will not be open. I will most likely be of a questionable mental state from Friday through Tuesday. Holla!

4. Picked up a cool CD today: Jenna G "For Lost Friends." If you like good riotous drum and bass you should check it out. Great to run to.

5. Also, seriously people c'mon.

That is all


Ode to Old Friends

Roommate and I just blew back into town after a 36 hour stint in New York. We went up there so I could say goodbye to a very good friend and help her celebrate her 27th birthday. We'll just call this friend Pantz. Spending the weekend with two of my most favorite friends - girls who I have spent the majority of my time with since moving to DC over 4 years ago - made me think about how great it is to be reunited with old friends. They know all the stories and they know all your quirks and they don't judge you for it. While I could talk about all the sentimental stuff like loyalty and uncoditional acceptance, instead I just want to talk about the random and funny incidences that can happen with old friends, and how comforting it is to know that you will never, ever be judged - no matter how ridiculous the sitatuation.

When girls get together, we tend to do a lot of shopping and this weekend was no different. As Roommate pointed out, only long time friends will share the world's smallest dressing room with you, and as you're smashed up against each other, help you put on the new clothes b/c you can't actually move enough to put them on by yourself.

During tremendous downpours, old friends will laugh at you when you keep slipping on the wet sidewalk in your flipflops and then hold you up like you are an elderly person who cannot walk independent of someone's arm and guidance. And then she'll still laugh at you.

You can always borrow an old friend's clothes and not lie to her about your size. Since she's been in the smallest dressing room in the world with you and helped dress you, she knows the real size of those jeans. And she'll tell you when you are making poor fashion decisions, even if its with her clothing.

When reminiscing, no matter how psycho you were once upon a time about an ex or how horribly you handled yourself one night at the bar or how embarrassing it was when you threw up in the alley next to Tortilla Cafe (I'm looking at you, Pantz!), old friends will always retell the story in a way that casts you in the best light - you were not psycho, the asshole deserved it when you called and hung up him 7 times in a 10 minute period; its not your fault you were a bad drunk, it must have been the allergy medication you took before you had 8 vodka tonics; you were not throwing up in the alley b/c of said 8 vodka tonics - you must have had food poisoning.

While discussion of these bodily functions is usually reserved for men, it must be said that its really nice to know that when you're drunk or hungover or neither, you can always fart, burp or hiccup in front of the old friends and they'll just laugh and say "Good one!" Yes, ladies do this, too fellas.

Only with old friends can you stop for an afternoon glass of wine and end up consuming 3 bottles at lightning speed and then proceed to hijack a pack of cigarettes from the girls - probably old friends, as well - at the next table.

Most importantly at this point in our lives, old friends will not judge you when you drop half a box of Q-tips in their toilet and flush them, causing the toilet to back up and then eventually overflow and so when you start throwing up from the previous night's shenanigans, they're ok with you using their kitchen sink.

I love my friends, old and new. Miss Pantz, though, holds a special place in my heart, especially b/c she is one of the least judgemental people I know and has remained a loyal and true friend despite incidences just as ridiculous, if not more, as described above. It was a great weekend with her in New York, and I will miss her terribly when I move to Spokane, even though her family lives there. But its not like I will ever see her b/c she has focus and stability issues and instead of going home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, she travels. Boo. If I have to live in Eastern Washington, so should she.


A Letter

Dear Stinky Man Next To Me On The Elliptical at Gold's Gym Tonight,

Mr. Stinky Man, I feel bad for you. You must not own a television set. For if you did, you would be like every other Washingtonian and have checked the weather forecast every 10 minutes on the morning news and known that the weather today was predicted to be in the low 90's and humid. And if you had seen this, you would have known to wear deodorant.

Perhaps you are an intern who had not yet figured out that it does in fact get very hot and very humid in DC during the summer months. Perhaps you just moved here and the moving men have not delivered your television. Perhaps you are blind and deaf and were unable to see or hear the weather forecast today. None of this, however, excuses the fact that you were not wearing deodorant.

The foul stench that emitted from your body the minute you stepped onto the elliptical machine right next to me - despite 4 others being open in the row - was enough to suffocate a small country. Since I was halfway into my workout, I told myself that I could ignore the smell and complete my last 20 minutes. Little did I know how much worse the odor would get as the minutes ticked by. On top of being a smelly man, you are also a sweaty man. Three minutes into your relatively easy workout (I know b/c I watched you enter the settings b/c I wanted to know how long I had to prepare myself to endure your offensive fumes), you looked like you had just taken a swim in the ocean and I think every drop of perspiration that covered your body must have contained millions and millions of cells of stink.

I could not breathe. I had to turn my head to the left and stare at the person across the row from me, who must have thought I was some sort of gym stalker and quickly became very uncomfortable with my head turned directly towards her as I breathed heavily through my workout and your odors. Eventually, I also noticed a different fragrance mixed in with your stink, and it closely resembled Glade Apple Cinnamon Air Freshener. Now, on top of being unable to breathe, all I could think about was where one would use that type of spray and the only reasonable answer I could come up with was a restroom, as most normal* people would not subject themselves to that horrible $4.99 spray unless absolutely necessary. This was too much! The abhorrent, heinous stench of body odor combined with wiffs of nasty bathroom air freshener had my head spinning. I had to get off the machine and run, run, run away.

Mr. Stinky Man, please go purchase some deodorant. There is a CVS on every corner and I am sure you can find something suitable. But for the love of Christ, please do not enter Gold's Gym - or any other place with people who have a sense of smell - until you do.

Kelly Taylor

*Normal, in this context, means people who own and use deodorant on a daily basis


"Detox Weekend" Recap

You will note the use of the quotation marks up there. All week, my roommate and I discussed what a great weekend we were going to have - come home from work on Friday, have one glass of wine, watch a movie, get a good night's sleep. Spend some time at the gym on Saturday and Sunday, run some errands, see Spamalot at the National Theatre. Essentially, have a restful and relaxing weekend, involving little-to-no drinking and definitely no hangovers to impair us from achieving our goals.

I'm sure you can see where this is headed.

It all started with an email from our friend K-Dizzle on Friday afternoon. Did we want to go listen to jazz in the sculpture garden? Well, the weather was nice and it would be a shame to miss out on such a lovely evening, so sure. We'll be there. We met K-Dizzle and her partner in crime, K-Shizzle, at the sculpture garden. Of course, upon discovery of the beer, wine and sangria stand, I should have known the evening was on a quick descent into debauchery, but I wanted to maintain my innocent ideals for at least a little while.

Well, 3 carafs of sangria, multiple cell phone pictures of a "box" sculpture, Roommate chatting up several innocent tourists and offering her Capitol Tour Guide services (well, those of her interns), quizzes about US Senators, girly confessions made only after consuming 3 carafs of sangria and the accosting of many people's small children, we decided it best to take our antics elsewhere, under the guise of "getting dinner." Which, technically, we did if you count us sharing the 4 olives in K-Shizzle's and my Grey Goose martinis. I think there may have been a cheese plate in there somewhere, but this has yet to be confirmed.

11:00pm found this lively (read: wasted) group of young ladies in the last place we expected to be on Friday night: Adams Morgan. For those who live in DC, you all know what I mean when I say Adams Morgan is the black hole of drunk 20-somethings. You never really know where you'll end up, who you'll find, or how you'll get home. Basically, the only likely outcome of traveling to Adams Morgan under the influence of alcoholic beverages is that you'll drink too many strong drinks, end up in bars you didn't plan on going to, dance like an idiot to too many Madonna/Beyonce/Journey songs, encounter a plethora of interns and spend way more money than Bank of America would like. With the exception of the interns, we managed to achieve all of these outcomes.

We'd always heard of Zucchabar, but had never been, so when the cab driver dropped us off right in front of it (and not Havana Village, which was our initial destination), we decided it was fate. Or our feet hurt too much to walk down the block. And it helped that when we entered, the bar was empty and we quickly discovered what this meant: getting our orders filled in a timely manner, free shots, and a bartender who bankrolled our music selections on the circa 1987 jukebox (you all know the kind: you have to flip the pages to look at old, worn-out CD covers and then punch in a number, vs. using the touch screen and the option to "make mine first." How people existed before the Internets is beyond me). We had free reign on the dance floor, we had our choice of plush zebra-striped couches, we had a table, and we had VIP treatment. Needless to say, this spells trouble.

Approximately an hour and a half later, we were four VERY drunk young ladies who desperately needed to go home. The following may or may not have happened on the way back to our homes on Capitol Hill and in Virginia:

- Someone may or may not have thrown up on Rock Creek Parkway. Pulling over on the parkway is a very dangerous feat in and of itself, but getting out the car? It may have never been done before.

- I may have lied to the cab driver and said that the person who may or may not have been throwing up on the side of the parkway had food poisoning. This was definitely followed with the cab driver becoming a cheerleader and chanting "Just let it out! Just let it out!" and offering us his collection of paper napkins from every fast food restaurant in the city.

- Someone may have actually taken the metro home.

- That same someone may have passed out on the metro and missed their stop, finding themselves at the very end of the Orange Line and then having to wait 20 minutes for another train.

- Someone may have drunk dialed every one in her phone book, except the west coast friends, b/c "It was too early for them to be out and think this is funny."

- Someone may have tried to smoosh a giant bug in their front doorway by smashing their flip flop against the wall repeatedly, despite complete lack of hand-eye coordination and a sleeping neighbor. The giant bug is still on the loose.

The majority of Saturday was spent playing the Very Still Game (which one plays when one cannot move for fear of vomiting), moving only to make the long trek from the bed to the couch, complaining, wondering what happened, and checking and then re-checking the bank accounts to make sure that we did, in fact, spend that much money on Detox Night. There were no gym trips. There were no errands, at least on Saturday. And while Spamalot was very funny, it would have been a lot better if we weren't passing out from exhaustion and dehydration. All in all, I would say that we had a successful evening.


Breaking News: Blesus To Be Stranded In Cabo With No Crash Pad......Developing

Washington, DC - Blesus 107 and his travel companion, The British Diva, departed Reagan National Airport this morning for Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Travel plans included staying in a luxury condo owned by the co-worker of another friend, Bad Flyer, who was scheduled to be traveling with Blesus and The British Diva.

"It is with great sadness that I report that Bad Flyer has missed his flight to Cabo San Lucas," said Blesus, via cell phone communication. "It appears he thought his flight was departing from Baltimore-Washington International Airport, but was mistaken, as he was actually scheduled to depart from Reagan National Airport."

Spokespeople for Bad Flyer have not returned calls addressing why Bad Flyer would not double check his flight itinerary before traveling 40 miles to Baltimore-Washington International Airport.

National Airport is reporting full flights to the country of Mexico, no doubt a result of President Bush's sweeping immigration reforms and the government's efforts to send all illegal aliens back to their homeland.

"We have heard reports that Bad Flyer and our one other travel companion will not be able to board a flight to Mexico, specifically Cabo San Lucas, within the next 24 hours. This creates havoc and chaos for British Diva and myself, as we are without house keys to the luxury condo where we believed we would be staying."

Blesus and The British Diva, undeterred by this development and determined to cash in on their plane tickets, boarded their flight to Cabo San Lucas, despite the missing condo key and appropriate contact information.

An outside source, Turkish Delight, has reported that she did advise Blesus and The British Diva to find refuge in a $20 hostel.

"I don't really understand why they're freaking out. I mean, yeah it sucks to have made travel plans to Mexico with the expectation of staying in a luxury condo on the beach and then, through no fault of your own, actually end up staying in a dirty hostel, sleeping on the floor with no blankets and your luggage handcuffed to your body to prevent theft and having bugs crawl on you in the middle of the night and be without a shower or toilet that is not a hole in the ground. But its not like the beach isn't 15 miles from that hostel."

Story Developing.....


Out of Office Reply: Where is Blesus?

I will be traveling to Mexico on Thursday and will (not) be checking email and will (not) be cell phone accessible. Please contact my (unauthorized and non-existent) assistant for any urgent matters. I will respond to your requests upon my return.

PS: Every time I travel somewhere my parents always have some sort of late breaking news that may or may not (emphasis on "may") damage my destination's reputation. I don't know if this is just their way of contributing to the marketplace of ideas or if they're just jealous I'm going on vacation.

Me: Hey guys, I'm going to Jamaica!

Parents: Ohhh...you know, we just heard this story about some kid who, on his way back from Jamaica, was found with 3 bricks of marijuana that had been placed in his luggage by some stranger...UNBEKNOWNST TO HIM!!!

Me: That is not true. You just made that up.

Parents: He's in jail for the rest of his life.

Me: I have to go...

Parents: Ever see that move "Brokedown Palace?!!"

Me: Hey guys, I'm going to Cancun!

Parents: You know, kids die there.

Me: Hey guys, I'm going to Cabo!

Parents: You know, 60 Minutes just had a special about how Olivia Newton-John's husband ran away to that place and they just found him living in squalor.

Me: Morley Safer is lying.

In reality, 2006's response could have been far worse:

Me: Hey, I'm going to Cabo

Parents: Just as an FYI, we hear they have terrible gypsies down there who throw rotten fish at those who don't bow to their demands to hand over a) a small child b) a piece of salted pork or c) pistachio nuts (unshelled).

*But seriously, can anyone confirm this ludicrous-sounding Olivia Newton-John story? According to 60 Minutes, also known as a televised AARP town hall meeting, Olivia has found her long-lost husband in Cabo. I get the feeling he wasn't "lost." People don't get lost in luxury resort towns.

*I want to go parasailing but I'm afraid that, during takeoff, I may begin running, bust my ass in the sand and end up getting dragged down the coast like in one of those America's Funniest Home Videos clips.

That is all.

I shall return (maybe), surely with some sort of story to tell.



Congrats, Blesus 107!

Dear Blesus 107,

Congratulations on your recent publication in the *ahem* award-winning Washington Post Express this morning. Your work on SpoKompton 90210 is to be commended and I thank you for bringing in a new readership with your outstanding commentary on life in Dupont Circle. You are a valuable addition to this blog team, and I look forward to even more successful endeavors and entries in the future.

Best Regards,
Kelly Taylor


Breaking (Fabulous!!) News!

I just caught this article on MSNBC.com and could not be more excited, since I love alcohol and I love coffee. I'm sure my mother is thinking "Like she needs another reason to consume cocktails!" But I think that since most of my binge drinking is followed by a much-needed latte (or iced coffee, once the humidity settles in), this must mean that my liver is in good shape and I have nothing to worry about!! Who's up for cocktails tonight????

Its Intern Season!

Its official - my favorite time of year has arrived. No, its not my birthday. No, its not winter. No, its not Fall TV Lineup Premiere Week. But it IS Intern Season. I know you male readers out there are thinking "YEAH!!!! Interns!!!! They're so hot/young/available! (take your pick)" And you're right - they are oh so young. Which makes them a perfect target. I would just like to take this opportunity to highlight some of my most favorite parts of Intern Season.

The Scandal - As those of us who have lived in Washington, DC since at least last summer know, Intern Season holds endless potential for intern scandals. Who can forget the infamous Paul Kelly Tripplehorn Jr., the intern who broke up with his girlfriend, a fellow intern, over an email that was inevitably leaked to, oh, just about everyone on Capitol Hill? There's also that other famous intern, Jessica Cutler. We all know what she did in great detail, and that she was actually a mail room staffer at the time, but its still worth mentioning b/c it was so scandalous and fabulous when the story broke. I am just really hoping that a juicy story breaks before I leave town in early August - I would hate to miss out on a pathetically overconfident email or a blog detailing someone's dirty, slutty and overly entertaining sexual conquests!

The Outfits - This topic specifically refers to the women. Now, we've all had interns in our offices, whether we're located on Capitol Hill, K Street, or the White House. And I think that hands down, we can all agree that each summer, all of us have that one intern who apparently thinks that working in the office is the same as being in a Britney Spears video. You know the look - thong sticking out of the too-low slung pants; the bra showing out of the top of the shirt; the short skirt that may give the older men in the office a coronary for a multitude of reasons; the shoes that she did in fact wear to her senior year prom in high school. While all of this sounds classy, it actually is not. Being an intern is not an audition for America's Next Top Stripper. It is a place of business, and if I have to wear an Ann Taylor twinset, so do you. However, I wouldn't actually want these young women to change their outfits, b/c then who would we make fun of in the office and roll our eyes at when they walk past our desks??

The Intern Hook Ups - In one of the Capitol Hill offices I worked in that shall remain nameless, I specifically remember two incidents of the Intern Hook Up. One was between interns who both worked in my office. Being the little smarty pants that they are, these two would take extra safety measures in trying to hide their relationship. One of these measures invloved walking the 17 steps around the corner from our office to have their afternoon make out sessions. Needless to say, when they got caught, they figured out how to use the elevator. The second incident involved a high-level staffer in the office and an intern. Granted, they did not start hooking up and then dating and then living together while they both worked in the office, but I think we all knew they were thinking about it. This is despite the almost 8 year age difference, the fact that she just graduated from college and he is nearing the 30-year-old mark, and that no one in their right mind actually dates the interns. But again - if these young, impressionable men and women were not exercising grossly inappropriate judgement, who would we make fun of?

Getting Wasted and Making A Fool Out of Themselves - I'm sure that years ago, when I was an intern, I was guilty of this. In fact, I know I was and I have the pictures to prove it. However, that does not prevent me from enjoying every minute that I am at happy hour/the bar/a restaurant/a party and have first row seats to the debauchery that is the alcohol-consuming intern. There is nothing better than watching these kids, away from home or college and in a big city with plenty of social opportunities, take full advantage of a generous staffer or an open bar or $1 beer night at the Pour House. The outcomes of this include, but are not limited to: obscene dancing (by both men and women, usually some combination of both), drunken makeouts (I do not need to see you licking eachother's faces, thank you), throwing up (I'm not holding anyone's hair back this summer, even if I do feel bad for you), outrageous comments to co-workers and/or bosses (these are generally priceless and I desperately want to start carrying around a tape recorder to save these gems for prosterity), and of course, the next-day hangover which, if we're lucky, includes last night's outfit reeking of smoke and spilt beer and some puking in the office bathroom.

I have six weeks left in town, and the interns arrived approximately 2 weeks ago. Its been a slow start, but I am really hoping things pick up soon. This is an aspect of DC that I will miss greatly, and I'm hoping that when I'm gone you, my friends, will keep me apprised of any developments and/or scandals, as I have a feeling that Spokompton won't have much to offer that could stack up to this form of summer entertainment.


Once More, With Tongue

One's mind is never at rest in Dupont Circle. Seeing as I live and work in the Dupont neighborhood I've seen a lot of things: the guy decked out in his man-pri, mandal, man-purse combo wearing a bright pink baby-t that reads "Plow Boy" (the whole thing just makes me nervous), the overly clueless tourist family and lastly the crazy, (possibly) homeless people.

It appears that the crazies flock to Dupont like college kids to an open bar. Perhaps it's the laid-back demeanor of this neighborhood - the fountain in the middle of Dupont Circle is a virtual Statue of Liberty beckoning your smelly and borderline senile masses. I've become familiar with many of these characters:

1. Fat Reading Man: This guys looks like a cross between Chris Kringle, Peter Jackson (pre gastric bypass) and Wolfman Jack. He barrels down the street with one of his arms swinging like an elephant trunk, practically knocking over children. The other arm fervently holds up a book that he reads while walking. He ALWAYS reads while he walks. Additionally, he only reads really small books (like the tawdry harlequin romance types), which make him seem all the bigger. I've only seen Fat Reading Man from my office window; except for one time when I was at Fudruckers and he walked in (reading). I felt like it was Christmas.

2. Tony AKA "Face": Tony AKA "Face" often hangs in front of the McDonalds on 20th and M streets. He and I are actually buddies. I was going to be a reference for him when he was "applying to work at Ruby Tuesdays." I never got a call from Ruby Tuesdays. The only thing about Face is that he's very loud and often doesn't know when and when not to talk about certain things in public. One time he found me in front of my office building and proceeded to tell me about his lady troubles:

Tony AKA "Face": Yeah, she used to be a ho but I'm like whatever, I like her anyway.

Blesus107: Oh, that's nice of you.

Tony AKA "Face": Yeah, but I haven't seen her in a while

Blesus107: Hello Mr. "Johnson" (CEO of my company)

Tony AKA "Face": But, you know what? f**k that ho, if she wants to sell her ass and act a fool then f**k her!!!

Mr. "Johnson": Blesus107....

PS: Tony AKA "Face" doesn't have teeth and has haphazardly-executed cornrows.

3. Limerick Man: Limerick man is another denizen of Dupont Circle and is often seen aimlessly wandering about asking for cigarettes and the like. The reason why I call him Limerick Man is that he has a penchant for speaking in the way that a medieval minstrel would have. I really want to get him a Mandolin for the holidays. For instance, if Limerick Man wants to bum a cigarette, he doesn't say "You have an extra cigarette?" Rather, he says "Perchance for me a cigarette you have?" I used to oblige him, until I heard a rumor that in reality Limerick man has quite the fortune and the reason why he sticks to this neighborhood is because his attorney works in my building. Is he homeless "by choice?" I didn't believe it until one day, in CVS, I saw him purchase something with a debit card. The homeless don't have checking accounts!

4. Crooked Wig and Jumpsuit Guy: CWJG is the newest addition to the cast. He can be spotted wearing a dingy blue jumpsuit (like the ones worn by mechanics), but to compliment this choice in attire he has slapped on a nappy, crusty and dusty blond wig. He also wears plastic slip-on house shoes. I'm scared of him.

The reason for this rambling is today I stumbled upon a new addition to the cast. While in line at Chipotle I witnessed something truly astounding. As it was after the lunch rush the line was reasonable, but not out the door. Within seconds of entering I could tell that something was not right. A woman was majorly holding up the line. For those in the city who know, holding up the line at Chipotle (especially if there's a major line) is grounds for immediate ridicule and possible revocation of Chipotle rights.

The manager had been pulled over and I heard him yelling "we have steak, chicken and carnitas!" The woman (who was probably in her 60s and was wearing what looked like the original costume worn by Poison Ivy in "Batman & Robin") mumbled something to which the manager repeated (this time, turning around and pointing at the overly simplified Chipotle menu) "We have steak, chicken and carnitas!" This time, the woman again said something and I made sure to listen. To my horror she said "I want tongue." TONGUE!!!!!!!!!!!! I gasped and the manager, practically petting Poison Ivy on the head, said "ma'am, we don't have tongue..."

"Oh" she replied. "Well, make sure I get extra cheese."

Obviously we're dealing with a whole new echelon of Chipotle customer here, but what would make her think that tongue would be on the menu at a McDonalds-owned Mexican eatery?

I would like to introduce you to my newest friend, "Chiptole Tongue Lady."

That is all.
Happy Weekend


Top Ten List: The Workplace Edition

I am especially cranky/tired/annoyed/fed up with the work situation today. The pace has actually picked up around the office and now instead of being bored out of my mind, I currently have more work than a sane person can handle in an 8 hour workday. The upside of this development is that I now have enough fodder for a my favorite type of post - the Top Ten List. Here are some of the thoughts that have run through my head in the past through days:

10)Why is the phone always ringing? How do people get their work done when they are on the phone all day long? My phone is linked to the extensions of all the people I work for, so at any given time there could be 4 different lines ringing. The combination of each person's ring tone, the flashing green and red lights and the blinking list of incoming phone numbers is enough to make a person hear voices in their head and go postal. My favorite part of this ridiculous phone situation? When a client calls for someone I work for, speaks with them, hangs up, and calls back for a different person. Have you heard of a conference call? I hear they are really effective.

9)Do most of you have that person in your office who just won't stop talking to everyone? Every office has one - the person who isn't your friend and you don't necessarily like, but will come to your desk and just start telling you their life story. Well, be jealous, because in my office we have three of these people. I know their entire life histories! And what I can't figure out is why they keep talking to me. You all know that look of contempt/complete annoyance I get with people I can't stand - I throw this look out at least twice a day in my office. But these people - they're like teflon! They don't get it. Seriously, I don't care about the woman on the metro who took your seat even though you have a brace on your leg b/c you injured it at soccer practice on Saturday after you went to the craft fair and got stuff to make matching mongrammed towels for your white trash neighbors who you don't really like but feel sorry for b/c their kids were recently taken away by Child Services. Stop talking to me.

8) To continue that last thought, does everyone also have that person who always wants to know what you're eating and how many calories it has and if you are on the low fat or low carb or low cal diet? These are also the people who want to share their entire daily workout with you. Really, I am not interested in how long you were on the treadmill, or how many sit-ups you did, or if your upper thighs/butt/arms/back are sore. I'm pretty sure that since you are telling me this while muching on your fourth donut of the morning none of it counts.

7)I open the mail for the three people I work for. They all have letter openers and their hands/fingers are in tact. This task annoys me, and on a daily basis, I ask myself if I learned the mail opening skill in my Political Philosophy or International Political Economy class. Because you know, I did go to college and get an education and am capable of completing some pretty challenging tasks and projects. But I guess none of that matters if you need to have your mail opened for you. When you are operating in the upper eschelons of the Washington, DC lobbying world, you are definitely too important to stop and rip open an envelope.

6)Even though our parents tell us to say "thank you" as we're growing up, I think once someone receives the title of "Director" or "Manager" or "Person who works in an office," this simple method of showing gratitude escapes them. You answered my phone all day? Great. You opened my mail? Ok. You listened to me go on and on about how wonderful and important I am? Fantastic. But not one thank you. Why is this so hard for people to say? The next time someone doesn't say thank you to me, I am going to hang up their incoming call/set their mail on fire/remind them that they are not, in fact, God's gift to the oh-so-important lobbying world. You guys know me - you know I'll do it (except the fire part - arson is grounds for arrest and I don't think my roommate would enjoy me calling from the DC Jail and asking her to come and bail me out).

5)My hours at work are 9:30 - 5:30. Weird, I know, but it works well for the people I work with. Or something. I don't really get it b/c they are never in before 10 and always leave well before 5. But anyways, there is of course that one person who always has to make comments such as "Well, someone's early today!" on that rare day when I get in early. Or that person who says "Did something happen? You're 7 minutes late today!" See this thing on my wrist? Its called a watch. But thanks for the update. And why are you timing me? Go open some mail.

4)Don't you love when you take a few minutes for yourself and check out a news site or an online chat or *ahem* a celebrity gossip site and OF COURSE that's the point in the day when your boss decides he/she needs something and actually comes to your desk instead of buzzing you? My boss caught me looking at a site yesterday and a picture of David Spade and Heather Locklear was up (sidenote: what is that???? talk about dating down!). Fortunately, I think she was so traumatized by the picture of David Spade with his shirt off that she didn't have the capability to say anything.

3)Work hangovers. I don't think we can talk about work and not talk about these moments of complete professionalism. I haven't had many weekday hangovers since taking this job, but the few I've had have not been fun. And once again - of course these are the days when you are swamped. I always lay in bed on these mornings and think "Should I go to work? I have 17 million sick days. I should use one." But I never do! And then I get to work and I'm miserable. Why don't I use common sense in this situation? Throwing up at home is so much better than in the office bathroom. But if I'm lucky, the calorie counters are around to remind me of the deficit I'm creating by spending most of the day running between my desk and the bathroom.

2)Is it bad that the highlight of my day is going to get lunch and checking out all the hot, young lawyers that ride down in the elevator from the upper floors? Either I am completely boy crazy or my job is not challenging enough. Or some combo of the two?

1)Currently, though, one of my favorite parts of the day is when any of the lawyers from my firm come by my desk to share their pearls of wisdom re: law school. Today there was the Harvard grad who stopped by to tell me that law school isn't nearly as competitive as people make it out to be. He was second in his class and had no problems getting a job! Thanks, buddy. Did you get the memo that I'm going to Gonzaga? Its a good school, but we're not talking Ivy League here. Or there was the guy who came by to tell me I really need to pay attention in Civil Procedure. I believe the direct quote is "If you miss anything in that class, you're pretty much screwed for the rest of law school." But no pressure!

I think its time to start the countdown to the day that I can escape this madness: 7 weeks, 1 day.


A Pirate's Booty

So, if this blog were a sea vessel carrying golden nuggets of intellectual wisdom, I would be on the rogue pirate ship that pulls up along side it. I wouldn't doing anything hostile, I would just ask the captain "Can I ride wit cha?"

As such, Captain Taylor has crowned me as a Spokompton 90210 "contributing editor." To some, my role is a bit unclear as 1) I am not currently in nor am I planning to attend law school 2) I have never been to Spokane 3) I'm not from the West Coast 4) I wasn't necessarily the biggest fan of 90210. Nonetheless, as one of Kelly's friends I promise to bring valid points and anecdotes to the table. Before you know it, we'll be family. Perhaps (when Kelly eventually moves to Spokane) I can be the Washington correspondent for this bi-coastal pairing.

Below is a list of other high-profile duos that have also contributed to American culture. Kelly and I will make it our goal to model ourselves after these trail blazers:

1. Martha and George Washington
2. Asheford and Simpson
3. Regis and Kelly
4. Dave Letterman and Paul Schafer
5. Bobby and Whitney (actually...bad idea, scratch that one)
6. Peas and Carrots
7. Ja Rule and Ashanti
8. Peaches and Herb
9. Vodka and breakfast
10. P. Diddy and Mase

Thanks again Kelly.


Bushlandia Redeems Itself

This blog was brought to my attention today by a friend who works for the esteemed gentleman from Idaho, Senator Mike Crapo. At least we now know that Idaho has one resident with half a brain. Maybe I'll invite him over for cocktails when I arrive in neighboring Spokane, WA. Well, probably not.


My new neighbors: Bushlandia

Imagine my excitement when I came in to work today and was greeted with this article on one of my favorite "news" sites. These people are going to be my neighbors!! I'm really hoping that the Bush Immigration Plan for Building Large Fences applies to state borders.....I don't want these people and their backhoes coming into my little SpoKompton neighborhood. There's enough trashiness without them.


My Friend Paul

I just heard the worst story ever about my friend Paul and a recent run-in he had with the Commonwealth of Virginia. Being the social-life whore that he is, he foolishly agreed to attend the party of an ex-co-worker in Arlington, VA this past weekend. But even more foolishly, he attended this party after attending another party in the lovely and oh-so-convenient District of Columbia. This DC party - which Paul referred to as a "rager" - was filled with Paul's friends, most of them in his same age range and of his same ideology in regards to consuming alcoholic beverages. Which is - as much as you can, as fast as you can. Most of us, being selfish and unable to bring ourselves to travel across the Memorial/Wilson/Key bridge, would have stayed at the DC party and told our Virgina compatriots to have fun without us. However, as I mentioned above, Paul is a social-life whore who could not bring himself to miss out on what he expected to be a fun party. So, being of unsound (read: drunk) mind and body, Paul traveled on the metro to East Falls Church, AKA the end of the world.

Upon arrival at the home of the Virginia residents, Paul realized that this party was not a continuation of the rager he had been attending in the lovely and convenient District of Columbia. It was, in fact, a "demure" party. A "demur" party is one that consists of people 5+years older than Paul (who is 25); it is quiet and mellow and does not have the twenty-something staple "Livin' On A Prayer" playing at full blast in the background; people are drinking nice red wine in expensive glasses and not jungle juice from the beer bong; the conversations you may overhear are along the lines of "We just remodeled our kitchen" or "When is the baby due" or "Where did you get these delightful centerpieces" and not "Please don't throw up in the kitchen, the bathroom is right down the hall" or "I had to sit behind this family on the metro today and they had THREE KIDS!" or "Hey, can I light my cigarette with the candle on your coffee table?" Now, I am all for demure parties here and there, but this was not the mindset of Dear Paul. So you can imagine that when he burst into the party, drunk, obnxious and smelling like your drunk grandpa, people were not pleased. Except secretly, they were. He quickly became the life of the party, relegating guests with his tales of parties in "The City" and of life without mortage payments, baby diapers and a savings account.

But then it all went sour. Despite the demur tone of this party, Paul proceeded to drink himself into oblivion and promptly pass out on his ex-co-worker's couch. When he woke up the next morning, he realized he was hungover, dirty, stinky and could quite possibly throw up in the newly remodeled kitchen. So, he did what any hungover and desperate person would do - he started walking. Now, for those who don't know, the Commonwealth is not convenient like the District. There is not a metro/Starbucks combo on every street corner. You do not have to walk one city block to get somewhere. No, in the Commonwealth, there are only freeways, pikes (whatever those are) and parkways. Paul, forgetting this, proceeded to walk in one direction along a "street" called Columbia Pike, in search of the Pentagon City Metro Station, which some unkind person had told him was "close." After walking several minutes in one direction on Columbia Pike, Paul realized the only landmark he could see was the freeway. He runs into some bicyclers on the side of the road, and mistaking them for competent, intelligent people, asks them for directions to the nearest metro station. The bicyclers, who actually turned out to be completely helpless morons, pointed at the freeway. No, folks, Paul had not acquired a skateboard, Vespa or other form of motorized/wheeled transportation along the way. He was in fact still on foot. And hot, as it was approximately 500 degrees and humid.

5 miles of walking later, Paul finally reached not the East Falls Church (which he used to arrive at the demure party) or the Pentagon City (which he was wandering in search of), metro but in fact, the Ballston metro station. He departed the demure party at 9am and did not return to his home in Dupont Circle until 1:00pm - hungover, still stinky like your drunk grandpa, and swearing off The Commonwealth forever.