XXX-III=Me

I went out to dinner last night for a friend's birthday. She was celebrating her XXX birthday, an important lesson to us all that roman numerals can be used for more than stealing back your town's lemon tree. She chose one of our kickball bars for dinner, which may seem like a surprising move to some. That's understandable, as kickball bars are usually dive bars that smell like heavy amounts of bleach on a good day and beer-soaked, vomit-encrusted bad decisions on a bad day. This one, though, has surprisingly good food on the menu, and amazing food if you're lucky enough to be offered something off the menu.

For our party last night, the owner made us a six-course feast that was one of the best meals of my life. For hors d'oeuvres we had fried brussel sprouts, smoked salmon, prosciutto, and chorizo. The first course was a seafood bisque with scallops and shrimp, followed by a cabbage and radish salad with pupusas. For the third course, we had halibut with a spinach reduction and tabbouleh. The next courses were osso buco so tender the marrow could be eaten like soup, and then a rib eye with fried potatoes. Finally, there was a chocolate soufflé for dessert.

Now, I've never run a marathon. But I think that my experience last night was as long, difficult, and ultimately rewarding as one, if not more so. (This point was proven when our resident marathoner could not finish the rib eye, though perhaps she had begun her sprint to the end too soon when she cheered enthusiastically for the mass consumption of baby cow) And more exciting than the wonderful feeling in my stomach was the reminder that there is damn good cooking in this city, and not necessarily in the most recognized places.

They still make you?

Labor Day weekend was a great break from not laboring. I went to Dave and Busters for the first time and scored a sweet Jonas Brothers locked diary for 375 points.

A great addition to my life, I think.

Saturday was extra special, because I was left dumbfounded and speechless, something that does not occur often, let me tell you. I made an innocent comment about how my laffy-taffy fruit roll up thing looked like bacon, when one of my companions remarked, "eww...I hate bacon."

I may have spent the rest of the night staring at him and asking things like, "ALL bacon? Bacon bits? Turkey bacon? Why do you hate life? Are you suicidal?"

Seriously! Bacon! God's perfect food!

Now, let's talk about your commercials

I woke up at 7:30 today, researched and registered for classes, then slept from 10:30-1:30. And I'm beat.

This past weekend was a blur of orientations, driving, crab feasting, and kickballing. The annual crab feast was as good a time as ever, and even included a random fireworks show from the next town over (and not from my aunt's yard, as is sometimes the case). I drove back to Wilmington in the worst rain ever, so bad that I had to pull into the parking lot of a CVS for 20 minutes. It made me miss brunch the next day, since I had to get up early on Sunday to drive back to DC. I hate missing brunch.

Anyway, I need to go to bed. But enjoy this informative link: http://iscaliforniaonfire.com/

No...just, no

Changes have been afoot here at the M Slash compound, as last Friday was my last day at work and this Friday is grad school orientation. I have spent my free time bedazzling shirts and hanging with kickball kids, so I feel it's been a good few days.

I head reffed a kickball game yesterday, and was flattered when someone on the losing team said I did a great job, "except for that one missed call." Wanting to know about any mistakes I made, I asked what it was.

"Well, bases were loaded, and I was on third. When I was running home, the catcher never tagged me, he just touched the base, so I should have been safe."

I kept asking him to repeat this, thinking I had misunderstood. "But, bases were loaded, right? And you were on 3rd? And he tagged home plate?" His answer: "Yeah, but since it was a force play, they had to tag me, not the base."

I, obviously, started laughing hysterically and telling everyone on the patio. A bitch move, yes, but if you don't know a rule that's taught in T-ball, dude, I can't help you.

Fun with graphs!

I spent Thursday night at a bar. Guess when I found out that the Eagles had signed Michael Vick!

OK, MARK!

I hate having to entertain myself on Sundays. Luckily, kickball starts again next week, so I'll have something to do from 3 on (12 on, if we do bottomless mimosas at the bar beforehand!).

I did nothing today. Watched a movie, napped, and then watched TV. It hasn't been as lazy as a normal non-kickball Sunday, though, since I have to keep my apartment in order so my landlord can show people around this week. Yes, I am moving! To Ballston! I am excited to live so close to the As Seen on TV Store. Although the last time I was there, they didn't have a ShamWow, just fake ShamWows. It was disappointing, as I need the branding for the full effect of owning a ShamWow.

Score one for the girls!

Tonight was flipcup championships for Thursday kickball. A few of us got to the bar early, and decided to practice a bit. We asked a group of six guys if they wanted to play us, 6 on 2, and they were horrified. "Are you SURE you want to do that?" "We can't do that to you! Take some of our people!" "We're really good; I don't think you want to do this." "Blah, blah, blah." Erin and I insisted that, yes, we wanted to do three cups each and take them on, regardless of their supposed skills. What happened? We kicked their asses, that's what. I wish I had photographed the looks of astonishment and then embarrasment after the first ass-whooping.

Then they looked at our hands and claimed we were carnies. Foiled!

GOTV!

Go here and vote for Looking to Score! We're the lime green team, and I'm the one with the ball.

Did I?

You know you play a lot of kickball when you wake up, wonder if you left your credit card at the bar, and think, "Eh, might as well leave it there for now."

I joked on Wednesday about starting one of those tabs that Norm had on Cheers.

Old fogey

I partied with high schoolers this weekend! Not intentionally.
I went to a house party Friday night, and we started playing flip cup in the garage with the door open. A random guy came up and asked if he could bring some friends in (they were clearly looking for a party). Since he looked like he could be about 19-20, the hosts said yes, figuring he meant 4-5 people.

Then came the onslaught.

About 15 kids crashed the party, rolling in with cans of Schlitz and 40s of Miller High Life. They were a friendly group, one of them even offering to share his Schlitz with me when I had to refill my cup for the game (I glanced at it and said, "Ha, no. Pass me the Beast." - No one said we were classy). We knew they were younger than we first thought, but didn't know HOW young until I mentioned that I'd be turning 26 this month. One of the kids said to his friend, "Whoa, she's 10 years older than me."

Yes. I wish I had gotten a picture of the face of one of the residents after this statement. My shoulder hurt for hours after his death grip of panic. After some freaking out, we threw them out of the house, save for one poor kid left in the bathroom, for whom we made a human wall stretching from the bathroom door to the exit.

I'm so old high schoolers think I'm old! At least they know people in their mid-20s still party! Some of us, at least.

FINALLY

I went to a DC United tailgate today organized by NAKID. And by tailgate I mean I did not leave the parking lot for the entire game. Why would I, when there was free food and beer? Who needs a soccer game when you've got that?

The highlight, though, was not the five kegs of Coors Light. Two tents down from us, someone had hung the flag of Cordoba province with the words, YO AMO RIO IV. I quickly spotted someone in an Argentine national team jersey, and kept my eye on him. About an hour later, I got a chance to talk to him, and, sure enough, he was from Cordoba. He complimented my Spanish (a bit generous of him) and, surprised that I knew of the town from which he came, gave me a free t-shirt. It's an XL, but who cares? FREE.

After the game ended, and Rob finished cooking burgers, we headed to H Street and hung out at The Pug, where I got free cheeseballs and saw a homeless man passed out in the men's room. It's an up-and-coming neighborhood.

VICTORY!

My Thursday night team won yesterday, an amazing feat when you consider that we only won one game during the winter season, and that was due to a forfeit. As one of my teammates said, we were always an outdoor team trapped inside. Also, we only played two and a half innings due to a delayed start and darkness, and the captains on the other team didn't show. But our victory stands!

That was a good end to an exhausting day. There was a major round of layoffs at work yesterday, and even though I strongly suspected my job was safe (it was), it was still stressful. Luckily, my friends made it through unscathed, but our floor is going to look very different next week.

Two Things

First, my friend the DJ had a good observation tonight, when he said that he never thought he'd see the day when the President had more rhythm than the people he DJ'd for. We had an especially good evening of songs tonight, with not one, not two, but THREE Michael Jackson hits, the Humpty Dance, and Ghostbusters. Enough to make Toast proclaim her love for him even though she was 150 miles away and has never heard him DJ.

Second, someone found my blog through a search for "A pozole is a traditional Mexican stew made of hominy, pork and chilies."

AND PEOPLE.

Bitchin

What did I do this weekend?

Well, I joined Toast, her parents, her boyfriend, and HIS parents at the first meeting of the four older people. Much fun was had by all, especially my aunt. I then slept on said boyfriend's couch, which was cool, cause there were cats there (not as awesome as my buddy, but pretty sweet nonetheless).

I'd like to forget the events of Saturday night, except to say that I hate DC cabs. And I love breakfast.

Sunday was spent outside on the Mall, in a fun kickball game, and then at a bar. It was at this point that my fortunes turned. I ate what I thought was an excellent sandwich, only to fall ill about five hours later. I'm not sure that's what it was, but since my body has associated this nausea with it, the mere thought of this food turns my stomach. Yay.

So I spent today sleeping and drinking Gatorade.

Question!

What does one wear to a monster truck rally? I'm thinking jeans, sure; my American flag hat, obviously; but what else? I'm trying to find the perfect t-shirt.

This may make me late for work.

ALSO: story.
There's a team in my kickball league called "Kickstart my Heart". Last week, I asked someone from this team why no one ever requests "Kickstart my Heart" from the DJ. His response?

"Is that a song?"

Kids today.

70-0!

Well, we won our first game last night! Yes, yes, thank you. In the spirit of full disclosure, however, I am forced to admit that we won by default (yes, the two sweetest words in the English language) as absolutely no one from the other team showed up. Yes, out of I'm assuming 15-20 people, NO ONE came to the game. I could understand if only a handful had come, as it was rather frigid outside and the game was kinda late, but, seriously? How the hell do you have such an unorganized team?

Not that I'm complaining, of course.

Later, I had Eggs Benedict

SO! A few weeks ago, at the bar after kickball, I became BFFs with the DJ, thanks to my request of "In Your Room" by the Bangles (which, BTW, he downloaded on the spot).


Anyway, I was pleased with this turn of events, as he was always willing to play some Big Country or Kim Wilde. (After requesting Big Country from the DJ at KIT in the fall, and having him respond with, "Sure! That's rap, right?" I was a tad relieved to deal with this gentleman)

Tonight, however, we had a bit of a spat. You see, SOMEONE requested "Rockstar" by Nickelback. AND THIS WISH WAS GRANTED. All of a sudden, the pleasant music I had been enjoying turned into nails against a chalkboard. I immediately approached my buddy and we had the following exchange:

Me: "I thought we had an agreement?"
Him: "What's that?"
Me: "That you wouldn't play music that sucks."
Him: "Don't be rude."

Friends, I thought this was the end. Fortunately, we made up by the end of the evening, and all is well. I am willing to forgive this lapse in judgment, as he does aim to please his public. Fight on, DJ Rizzo!

54-13!

"What are you doing?!? He's on the team that beat us! You can't flirt with him!"
Those words were accompanied by a strong tug on my arm to get me away from the bar (I didn't know that exchanging 10 seconds of conversation could be considered "flirting") and a sharp rebuke. Let's just say that if we can't talk to people from teams that beat us, we'll be having many conversations amongst ourselves by the end of the season.

Also, varsity flipcup is hard work.

I can't wait for my letter

I was never a great athlete. So it was with great pride yesterday that I accepted a spot on a varsity team. Yes, I was named to the starting lineup of a flipcup squad. I didn't believe it at first, stepping aside to let others take their places. It wasn't until the captain asked why I wasn't joining them that it sunk in. We had a strong performance for a newly formed team, going 2-1. With some practice, I think we could be the team to beat this season. Fingers crossed.

Some realizations I've had lately

Searching has been much more fun ever since I discovered the "Elmer Fudd" language setting

Captain Kirk was better because he finds us cheap airfare and hotel rates

If someone you've just met refuses to get you a glowstick, he will eventually give in if you keep referring to him as "guy who wouldn't get me a glowstick."

McDonald's used to be racist against the Irish

My ode to silly hats will never make into our departmental newsletter (I even left room for it this quarter!)

Green apples make an excellent addition to a turkey sandwich

I am much better at trivia nights where the average age is under 35

Anyone who asks, after an hour of playing flipcup with no other drinking, "How does one know when one is drunk?" is NOT someone you want to be hanging out with later in the evening

I wish the Heat Miser were real, and that he'd save me from this damn season