Tuesday, November 27, 2007

"She Makes the City Seem Like Home"

Best thing I've evereverever heard, spoken by a male Starbucks employee in a slow Jamaican drawl: "If I don't get another job, I'm gonna make another baby. That's what I'm worried about." I almost spit out my grande skim chai latte when I heard that one; he didn't seem to find humor in it, which, of course, made it that much funnier.

I was worried today that I'd found a mouse pellet on my hardwood floor... I was, however, quite relieved to find that it was only a rather large fuzz from my new brown sweater. Speaking of rodents, though, I saw an undetermined species of rodent skittering across the sidewalk this afternoon. Is it disgusting if I thought it was sort of cute? I swear it wasn't some big Shredder-style sewer rat; just a waddly little mouse.

I know the city's starting to feel like home: I spent Thanksgiving in the boondocks of sweet Lima, Ohio, & after fewer than 24 hours, I pined to be back in the District. As soon as I got home I indulged in some Sala Thai spicy fried rice & the comfort of my solo apartment. That's not to say that the travel experience itself wasn't a trip (no pun intended) (that's a lie; it was totally intended). Let's recount, shall we?
  • On the way to the airport, my cab driver was listening to a sweet-voiced, Nora Jones-sounding female guitarist strum an acoustic ballad with the lyrics, "Child molestation isn't funny - HA!" and "Open access abortion in every city - but no gun control!"
  • Later, sitting in Reagan National Airport, I chuckled to myself as the USAirways folks announced, "Paging passenger Landon Bridges. Mr. LANDON BRIDGES, report to gate 36A." Sneaky parentals on that one, huh?
  • In other incredible name news, the guy who took my order at DCA's Cosi was named -- and I kid you not -- HAMLET. I swear on my life. The receipt even said it. That guy's parents effing despise him.
Life, my friends, is so good.

(just not to that guy)

Friday, November 16, 2007

Playing Visual Chicken with an Observant Redline Scribbler

Have you ever played that game where one person holds out both hishands, & the other person holds hers right below? The person whose hands are on the bottom tries to smack the person whose hands are on top, while the top person tries to be quicker & pull his hands out before he can be smacked.

That made zero sense. Please tell me you know what I mean.

Anyway, I played the eye-contact version of that game yesterday night with a woman on the train. I noticed her as soon as I got on, mostly because she was wearing a fringed coat... & who does that? But I also noticed her because she had huge, unblinking eyes & because where most passengers listen to iPods or read books or newspapers, this woman was holding a notebook & pen.

I think she must have been just observing, writing down whatever she noticed about whoever was sitting around her. Every time I sneaked a peek, she looked away & stopped writing, her crazybig eyes freaking the heck out of me.

I wonder why she was writing.

And more interestingly... I wonder what she wrote.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Slum Lords are Not an Urban Legend

On Saturday evening, I fell off a chair in my apartment & when I hit the floor, the whole place went dark. Apparently the force of the fall shook something loose in the electrical arena - something the weekend repairmen couldn't fix. "Someone will be in to fix it on Monday while you're at work," they promised me.

Today, I received a note in my mailbox from the receptionist. "Dear Kate," it reads, "Thursday will be the earliest anyone can come to repair electrical problems. Cleon repaired one outlet & that's what you can use until Thursday."

Ignoring the blatantly amusing fact that the repairman's named is, of all things, CLEON (Cletus Judd goes Klingon?), I want to know: Why in Jesus' name it should take five whole days to restore power to my breadbox of a studio?!?!

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Overheard on the Redline

Dead-Serious Girl: "But I've never kicked anyone in the balls after sex."

**********


Woman on Platform:
"The train is here."
Her Sassy Male Friend: "Wow. Your cat-like observations really astound me sometimes."


**********


Somewhat-Intelligent Twenty-Something: "Dude, you're not going to get lead poisoning from holding a fucking pencil."
His Less Fortunate Friend: "I'm not taking any chances, man. I'm using pens from now on."

**********


Befuddled Woman on Blackberry:
(to me) "How do you spell cognizant?"
Me: "C-O-G-N-I-Z-A-N-T."
Woman on Blackberry: "That's what I thought, but that Z looked errant."

Sunday, November 4, 2007

The Winter Warm & Fuzzies

Boy, do I love happy graffiti. This is on the window of a consignment shop near my apartment.



On second thought, this might not meet my definition of "happy graffiti." It's sort of depressing, & not actually graffiti, assuming the store owner put it up there herself for customers & passersby. Either way... I love it.

Saturday, November 3, 2007

Queens, Queers & Quitting All Urges to Ever Drink Fanta Again

“This will be my first gay experience!” Jonah told us excitedly.
On Wednesday, we left work early to watch the District’s Annual High Heel Drag Race, a one-minute sprint down a stretch of road off Dupont Circle. The entire scene felt ridiculously like Halloween at Ohio University (which makes it onto PubClub.com’s “Top Party Schools” solely for its town-wide holiday bash), only a little more adult — the drunk folks were mostly in suits, straight from their 9 to 5’s, or else they were in extreme drag.

Dozens of queens paraded down 17th — Condi Rice & Hillary Rodham Clinton both made somewhat masculine appearances (not so far from the truth, I suppose), as did the real-life Mayor Adrian Fenty, sporting a snazzy black fedora & waving to the crowd. Politicians weren’t the only ones in attendance: glittery Flinstones characters & a dozen Renaissance ladies were there, as were the Washington Monument & a slice of grapefruit. The costumes ranged from typical drag (dresses, wigs & boas) to the outrageous (hair as high as my torso is long, etcetera).

I stuck around for pictures, & the Latina queen I first approached was more than happy to oblige. Then the Fanta girls passed, chanting, “Fanta’s sweet and oh-so-fizzy, but what you need is something jizzy!” I requested a shot, but only Lemon took notice, screaming for Strawberry, Orange & Grape to return to her so we could take a full group photo. “They love this!” she insisted.


Heyyyy, Miss Lemon: I do, too.
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