"Even in Australia..."

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Today I stepped in a puddle of vomit on a P Street sidewalk, which pretty much sums up my day.
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Size Does Matter

Monday, October 27, 2008

One thing I can safely say of MoveOn.org is that they're clearly not particularly concerned about the environmental effects of excess packaging. This observation is based on the Obama button I received from said organization this week &, more specifically, on the envelope it arrived it. A size comparison is as follows:
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A Redline Carnivore Makes His Mark

Sunday, October 26, 2008

I forgot to tell you that when I got on the redline today to head to Chinatown, this was sitting on the floor:

A CHICKEN BONE!!! If you know me at all, you know that I loathe meat on bones with all my being. I had to expend a lot of energy in making sure my easily offended eyes didn't look at the purpley, gristly bone any longer than necessary - save, of course, to take this blurry, indiscernible photo.

And most importantly, who eats chicken on the Metro???
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Halloween Hatefest

Halloween in Ohio, for me, meant drunken, costumed festivities at both of my alma maters, Ohio University & Kent State -- far & away known as the two best Halloween celebrations in the state. Halloween in Ohio is passing out candy with my mom on Trick or Treat night, wandering the Akron Zoo for the widely enjoyed Boo at the Zoo, visiting every haunted house within a 15-mile radius (& there are, surprisingly, tons), carving extravagant jack-o-lanterns for the front stoop, visiting Lake Farm Park for the occasional corn maze & attending friends' ridiculously memorable costume parties.

Halloween in Washington, D.C. means absolutely nothing. Everyone despises it but, it seems, for yours truly. Everyone here is too serious, too adult, too formal to let loose while dressed as a pair of dice or a gaggle of pirates, as Quailman or the Keebler Elf or a giant pink crayon (all of which I have been, for the record). Everyone here would rather pretend like Halloween doesn't exist. And everyone here would rather ridicule me for loving this holiday (THE BEST HOLIDAY EVER) & for wishing the District wasn't so devastatingly disappointing come every October 31st.

Really, what's not to love? What's not to adore about the one night a year when it's perfectly acceptable - nay, encouraged - to dress up as anything you want? It's like a college sorority party times 1,000 - no theme, no boundaries, no rules, just whatever you feel like being. It's the only night when creativity is both welcomed & warranted.

I have a sweet, witty costume planned for this weekend, should any plans come my way. But more than likely, no plans will. More than likely, I will spend All Hallows' Eve wistfully recalling my days as an Ohio Halloween goddess extraordinnaire, the girl with the cool costumes, & I will drown my sorrows in brown-bottomed candy corn & ghost-shaped marshmallow Peeps. And I will vow, yet again, to go home for the holiday next year. And I mean it this time. I cannot spend another October 31st stuck in the Halloween Hatefest that is Washington, D.C.
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Goodbye, Beverly Hillbillies; Hello, Mob!

Saturday, October 25, 2008

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Lest you think that hillbilly tendencies only exist in the 'burbs & in them good ole rural parts of the country (also known as the "pro-America" parts, I hear), here's a snapshot of the hallway outside my apartment as my next-door neighbor moved out. Mind you, this was a day-&-a-half-long process - as in, that sofa sat in the hallway for 24+ hours. I've been missing Halloween back in Ohio, but who needs suburban corn mazes when I can experience this furniture maze right here in my own dwelling?

In actuality, the old neighbor was a young cop, a really nice guy, & I'm bummed that he's gone. Now living in his place are a few Russian chain-smokers who come & go at all hours of the day & night, which is really great for me, considering my headboard rests right next to their often-slamming door.
Based upon their frequent foot traffic, I have concluded that they may or may not be the mafia or a drug cartel, with an accent on "may."

did think my old neighbor (yes, the cop) was secretly a serial killer based on weird bumps in the night I heard from his place, so it's entirely possible that my new neighbors are perfectly upstanding individuals with some really legitimate explanation for the crazy hours they keep. Who knows. I've been reading too much Bret Easton Ellis, & I'm sticking with the criminality theories.
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Problems in Voting: A Write-In Wrong

Thursday, October 23, 2008

So, it's election season & all, which you're probably aware of because, I mean, I guess some people have been talking about it a little tiny bit. But for all the discussion of our Presidential candidates, it's important to bear in mind that you'll be voting for state & local politicians in this election, too. If you're living in the District of Columbia like me, you may have seen signs advertising candidates for City Council. I pass approximately seven of these puppies on the three-block walk from my apartment to the Metro. Can you spot the problem?

No, the problem is NOT the cheesy slogan (incidentally, I used to own a shirt that said that. Seriously). No, the problem here is that this write-in candidate has not told me what LAST NAME to write in.

In all fairness, her full name is on the other side of the sign (the one stuck in the bush), but why isn't that side facing out instead of jammed into the foliage???
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Pavement Poetry

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

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You don't see sidewalk chalk too often in the District -- it's more of a suburban thing or a sorority-girls-on-a-college-campus thing. Yet as I crossed Dupont Circle this afternoon, I was pleased to see chalkings around the fountain:

This one reads "D.C. GUERILLA POETRY INSURGENCY," which sounds both prosaic & violent at the same time.

This one reads, "URBAN_ISOLATION" on two sides of the squares. The other two sides say the same, but with a drawing of an eye + "SOULATION."

Deep, right? Or something. Eye only sort of get it. Leave it to me to discover crazy hippie peace chalking.
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Workin' for the Weekend (For Our Future President, That Is!)

Monday, October 20, 2008

I canvassed for Obama in Burke, Virginia, this weekend, knocking on the doors of undecided or unreported voters. Although it pained me to awaken at 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday (I'm a noon+ kinda gal myself), the overall effect was one of adventure & social justice. Highlights:

  • A middle-aged couple drove two friends & I into VA, getting lost both on the way to the DNC headquarters & again on the way to our neighborhood destination. It was a bit like a family road trip with people who are not only not your family but actually complete strangers.

  • Before we even hit up our first house, a hilljack loading a pickup truck asked us, "Who are you out for?" When we answered, he replied, "That's too bad." It's too bad you're a Republican, dude, but I won't insult you -- Barack Obama can do it himself on November 4th.

  • Lest you think that the Great Commonwealth of Virginia is all tobacco farms, cotillions & class, I snapped this photo of a Beverly Hillbillies-style lawn ornament to clarify.

  • A really, really enthusiastic & apparently lonely Obama supporter ushered us into her home, offered us glasses of water, tried to give us a donation, told us she was calling off work to provide people rides to the polls & roped her 14-year-old son into promising to help her do it, too. She practically begged for the names of her neighbors who had also pledged their support for Obama, & sent us on our way with warnings about which houses weren't going to be amenable to our Democratic ways.

  • I scored an Obama/Biden yard sign from the DNC headquarters in Springfield. I lack a yard, so I instead hung it in my apartment window, which faces the other side of my U-shaped building -- including the home of some neighbor whose unsightly McCain/Palin sign stares directly in my bedroom window. BOOM, sucka.
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City Musings: All in the Family

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In case you were concerned that my penchant for photographing strangers & city surprises was a hobby unique to me, I want to inform you that it is, in fact, a genetic trait. Case in point? My little cousin, Emily, moved to the Big Apple a few months ago & diligently catalogs all the weirdos she encounters. A few of her latest & greatest are as follows:

Exhibit A: Not just the hair, but the lashes, too! Work it, guuuuurl.

Exhibit 2: Spontaneous hula hoop competition? Colorful!

Exhibit the Third:
Contortionist street freakshow, complete with neon animal print

Exhibit Cuatro:
Scary old man playing music with weird dolls

Exhibit Awesome:
For those of you who eagerly await the day I'm caught by a photographee, I present to you this photo, in which my cousin was clearly busted snapping a shot of this maze 'do. The girl knows her friend's hair sucks, though, so she's not even gonna argue it.

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My Blogskillz Bring All the Boys to the Yard...

Thursday, October 16, 2008

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The glory that is Google Analytics allows me to browse the Google keywords that cause people to stumble upon my little blog. Some of them are, frankly, incredible. I love it. Ready? Commentary included, of course!
  • "jdate" (Lonely, single Jews searching for their soulmates.)
  • "sara jay" (Fans of the porn star I met on my birthday hoping for nudie pics)
  • "1 br dupont circle" (Folks looking to move into one-room shacks like mine)
  • "bar-b-quin with my honey" (Someone looking for Rap Snacks!)
  • "bow tied men" (A lady interested in classy gents)
  • "bow to men" (Some subservient woman?)
  • "buckeyes for boobies shirt" (I HAVE NO IDEA. How is this relevant to me?)
  • "cinematic concepts in goodbye lenin!" (College film major)
  • "city wife" (How did you get to ME? My apologies.)
  • "class of spiders daddy longleg where dose it hange out" (Some poor arachnophobe)
  • "day time hooker" (Governor Elliott Spitzer)
  • "feel the power between my legs" (Armageddon fan... or huge perv)
  • "four and a half punctuation" (A grammarian led astray)
  • "glenmont metro and tow" (Some sad Marylander with a broken down vehicle)
  • "is there a city name sweetheart" (Someone hoping I constitute an entire city)
  • "metacarpal contusion" (Some sad sack with a broken hand who hopefully has quieter neighbors than I had)
  • "musical metro" (Not sure... but they no doubt ended up with the story of my attempted murder last autumn)
  • "my sweet babe" (Sweet-talker)
  • "navy wife" (Again with the wives flocking to me for reasons unknown...)
  • "ohio porn stars" (More Sara Jay seekers?)
  • "palin" (There's no way I'm even in the top 1,000 results for this, so someone was REALLY dedicated in terms of vetting their Google results on this one.)
  • "porn star jan b" (PERVS LOVE ME)
  • "sex" (See my comments for "Palin," incidentally)
  • "she makes the city seem like home" (Anberlin fan! Emo kid!)
  • "sole decision" (Someone looking for shoes?)
  • "sweetheart coffee cincinnati" (Beats me.)
  • "sweetheart cupcake i'll be there for sure" (Beats me, part two.)
  • "the machinist schizophrenia" (Christian Bale fan. Or someone with a mental illness. Whichev.)
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Text of the Month

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"So I have decided, given the current f*cked up state of planet Earth, if McCain/Palin get elected, I am going to start preparing for the end of times... because I am pretty sure all of the shit that is going on right now is stated in Revelations as signs of the apocalypse. I double-checked: It does in fact state, 'If a redneck moose-hunting Alaskan becomes VP, prepare for the end.'"

-My lovely best, Sam

(OBAMA-RAMA, folks!)
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A Smorgasbord of District Dislikes

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

1. Fanny packs. I've blogged about fashion faux pas in the District many a'time, but the fanny pack issue remains one of my favorite offenses. And this dude riding the redline, (who by the way was around my age) (which is, by the way, less than a quarter of a century), totally owns the fanny pack look. Which, frankly, is not the best look to take ownership of.

2. Tacky undies. This is what I get for attempting to shop at A.J. Wright, which is T.J. Maxx's skanky little cousin (& that doesn't bode well, because the Maxx is not always the cleanliest of locales). These intimates were $.99, which still feels like an unforgivable ripoff.

3. The Management. I'm guessing you can't actually read any of this sign, but it details the new security measures my realty will be installing in my building. The last line is, "Thank you for your continued residency & patience during this process," as though I'd quit living there because they're making it more secure. And as though they'd let me break my lease even if I wanted to!

4. Public Displays of Affection. Hold hands on the escalator, fine. A little peck on the cheek on the bus, OK. But when tired on the Metro, must you rest your weary head in your boyfriend's crotch? You could just as easily lean against the window as against your significant other's junk. Thanks in advance. or, in this couple's case, "Yuck."
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The Opposite Sex and the City

Monday, October 6, 2008

Things I do not like about the District include the level of difficulty of meeting people in "the real world" that is this city. Don't get me wrong, I'm blessed with some really great friends -- but I'm mostly a hermit in my small, kitchenless apartment (the Unabomber's shack is looking more & more luxurious every day). I mean, how's a girl supposed to meet anyone, much less a suitable suitor (redundancy?) in a city like this?

In typical Jewish mother fashion, my Jewish mother says I made a smart choice in moving here rather than to the Big Apple because some news article (that I've yet to read, so it may not exist) told her the District is a better place for young adults to meet their soulmates or something. Now, while I agree that I am not a New York City kinda gal (for many reasons, not just its inability to provide me with the future love of my life, but including & not limited to the presence of the Mitzvah Tank), I've gotta say -- this is a load of crap. Who wrote that? And how did they research it? And what uber-social, well-connected individuals were they interviewing? Because as a D.C. hermit with questionable social skills, I find the results of this poll or experiment or whatever it was to be highly unbelievable.

As a sidenote, if anyone responds to this post by telling to join JDate, I will kick you in the fingers so that you can no longer leave comments here. Seriously.
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And Bimbo Was Her Name-O

Friday, October 3, 2008

I watched tonight's Vice Presidential debate at a friend's place, where he & his friend had assembled to play Palin Bingo. I was skeptical of my bingo sheet, positive I could never win with it -- but win I did, friends! Check that left-to-right diagonal!

And as a point of interest, playing this game resulted in our noticing that throughout the course of the nuclear Iran/unstable Pakistan question, Gov. Sarah Palin NEVER SAID THE WORD "PAKISTAN." My friends who preemptively bubbled in their Pakistan squares as Gwen Ifill asked the question were sorely disappointed - &, frankly, shocked (or not?) - that the GOP's sweetheart somehow managed to answer the question without ever answering the question... a pattern that would continue throughout the night.

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Wednesday, October 1, 2008

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While standing at a bus stop with friends sometime just after 10 p.m., a drunk dude in a suit meandered by, leering all the while. He passed us & literally turned around to stare five times before he reached the next crosswalk. He crossed, & I forgot about him.

This is, until he magically appeared on our bus about 10 minutes later. That's right, he returned to the bus stop to hop on with us &, apparently, to continue with the leering. I was doing a good job of ignoring him until he chose to chime in on our conversation. As Ben advised, "You need to approach new people!," I whined, "The last time I approached someone new it was that guy with the restraining order!" In retrospect, this is an admittedly amusing sentence, but still - I didn't need the peanut gallery butting in with, "Isn't that always the case?" (also because no, it isn't!).

I feared he'd get off at my stop, but luckily Joanna & I hopped off together & didn't follow -- safety in numbers & all that Jewish mothers' bullhooey. But lest you think "Well, that's that" and assume that the Drunken Suited Leerer was simply carried away down Connecticut Avenue in his trusty L2 steed, I assure you that he stared at us for a good 15 seconds before his ride recommenced.

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