Go Nats!

So I took Tuesday off. It was pre-planned - on Monday, I filled out a leave slip and everything. I just wanted a day - not a weekend day - where I could sleep in, watch crap daytime TV (the price is wrong, bitch!), and finally get my lazy ass to the DMV. And then go to the Nats game that night. I love how everything went according to plan...

Boring TV, blah, blah, DMV, blah... the walk around the city was nice, though. So many tulips! Too bad the sun repels off of me. I mean, I have got to get some color or things will be scary come beach season. All the white-legged tourists here will make me feel less self-conscious, I hope. Especially because I won't be wearing shorts, black socks, and bright white New Balances.

So we hit up Tortilla Coast for a swirly margarita before heading to the game and then head on down to the stadium. We were super early, so we got our hot dogs and Miller Lite (what in the hell is with these plastic bottles with the screw-off tops? Yuck) and commenced with the people watching. Observations:

--- Guys, please resist the urge to tuck your shirt into those jeans or khakis. The only time it's really acceptable is with dress shirts and polos. Because you look retarded. Thanks. Love, Heather.

--- Teenage girls dress like they are trying to win Miss Skankwhore America. This needs to stop immediately. Especially when they are with their fathers. EW. I know I wouldn't have been let out of the house wearing twice the amount of material that these girls were wearing. My dad might have even had a small stroke when I got my first bikini (which was extremely modest. Besides, it wasn't like I had anything to show anyway). I think his exact words were, "What? No. No. No, not until you're eighteen."

--- No one needs to hear your commentary, Mr. Jackhole Who Sat Behind Us, especially when you don't know what you're talking about. Hell, I called more pitches than this joker did, but he was extremely confrontational to no one in particular: "Ball... WHAT? Strike? Oh. Strike. Oh." And: "It's 2 and 2. If he throws a strike, that's it. If he throws 2 balls, then he walks." And of course: "Full count. It's a full count." Really? Is that what 3 and 2 means? I felt bad for that poor girl with him, as her attendance was probably the reason for his narration. Ugh. I wanted to hit him.

--- The mascot... Screech... what? I'm sorry, but that fat seagull-looking thing is not an eagle. Eagles are beautiful, fierce predators with hooked beaks and sharp talons. They are not cartwheeling buckets of fluff. I get that they didn't want to frighten the kids with a ferocious talon-monster, but that damn thing is such a caricature that it pretty much belongs on The Simpsons.

So after a few minutes of fuming and realizing that these people are most likely not out to get me, I forced myself to ignore the slutty teens, the tucked-in tee shirts, the lovey-dovey mascot, and the assface sitting behind us and had a blast! I can't wait to get to another game - too bad the Tigers are in the wrong league.

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Also, on a completely unrelated note, the new Ben Folds CD, Songs For Silverman, is fantastic. It's got less punch than his amazing last effort, Rockin' the Suburbs, but its softness is intoxicating. Highly recommended! It's been on repeat since I brought it home. Loves it!

The DMV

I want to tell you a crazy story about the DC DMV. I want to tell you that it took hours and everyone was rude. I want to tell you that people were nutters and swinging from the ceiling. But I can't.

I walked there, it took less than an hour to complete forms, talk to people, and take the picture. I got my license, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. That's not funny!

During my walk there, I did get stuck in the middle of a protest against privatizing social security. So I got the hell out of there -- fast. Ah, the protests... it was like being in Ann Arbor again!

Either way, my picture looks nice.

Here's Hoping...

So I'm heading to the DMV this afternoon to convert my MI license to a DC license. Even though I don't have a car here anymore... but whatever. If I don't have something to post here later, I am going to be very disappointed. I mean, I am expecting to wait in line for a while, and I'm sure that they are going to find something wrong with one of the peices of identification that I bring. And I am hoping upon hope that there are some crazies there to keep me amused.

Don't get me wrong - I don't want to wait in line for hours, and I don't want to have a creep-o behind me in line, and I don't want there to be anything wrong with my identification. But if there is, I am hoping for a good story to accompany it.

Besides, when I think about the DMV, the only thing that comes to mind is the Dane Cook skit, "I'm gonna go... early! I'm gonna get there at 6:01!"

The Ghetto Factor: Union Station vs. Ballston Mall

So if the Ballston Mall is the original ghetto mall, what is Union Station?

If it was just a mall, then Union Station would win the ghetto title hands down. The damn kids are so GD obnoxious, and they seem to be everywhere ("I have no respect for people with no shopping agenda.") And the multitudes of tourists aren't much better. That was one good thing about the Ballston Mall - no self-respecting tourist would ever set foot there, that's for sure. (Pentagon City? Well, that's another story altogether). But Union Station is not just a mall - it's a freakin' train station and apparently the most-visited landmark in Washington, D.C. It has pretty architecture and high ceilings and people coming and going. It's fun and exciting.

Union Station has stores from which self-respecting people would actually buy things like Express, The Body Shop, and Ann Taylor. Ballston Mall has several sports stores and a Wet Seal - the trashiest of trashy teen stores. They both have a Victoria's Secret, because let's be honest, every woman needs $62 bras with sequins and fringe.

They both have a movie theater, but I think that Ballston wins the ghetto prize for this one because of the constant stream of teenagers running from one theater to the next. I love how they think they invented the whole "sneaking out of one movie to see another movie."

Restaurants - now here's a tricky one. Union Station has a better food court and interesting eateries, but is constantly flooded with tourists. Ballston lacks the obnoxious tourists, and has the fabulous Bailey's Pub and Grill, home of the Black Forest sandwich. Union Station also has an Auntie Anne's Pretzels (yum) and a Ben & Jerry's. Ballston has that awesome cookie place. I don't know, I think this one is pretty much tied. There are more options at Union Station, however...

At Ballston, a woman is stared down by members of category B and the comments she hears are disgusting and inappropriate - that is, if they are even in English. At Union Station, out-of-state teenagers hit on you and follow you around, and Awesome Roommate is asked if she "dates outside her race."

I have yet to see mall walkers at Union Station. The walkers at Ballston have matching red sweatshirts.

Ghetto verdict: Ballston wins.

Sketch Bomb

Right. So our living room is totally cute. I love those paintings SO MUCH. They make me happy :)

So we've been trying to find a roommate for the minuscule third bedroom in our fantabulous rowhouse. It's been interesting. Any girl who came to visit wasn't interested because, let's face it, it's a freakin' 8 x 8 foot jail cell with no closet. But we didn't want to live with a girl anyway because we are basically drama-free, and we aren't about to voluntarily invite in some new ridiculousness.

Luckily for us, the majority of the respondents were guys. Most were dismissed (in our minds) the minute they walked in the door - there was the "I just left my girlfriend whom I've been living with for two years" guy, the "I don't have much, but is there room for my rice cooker?" guy, the "my ex-girlfriend lives two doors down so there might be issues" guy, and the "I heart Karl Marx" guy. Seriously. But the BEST - and most worrisome, honestly - was Kristopher.

Kristopher (whose last name, incidentally, also begins with a "K." What parent would do that?) just showed up without warning this past Sunday, when I was fighting the upper respiratory crap by napping - unshowered - on the couch, and Awesome Roommate was at work. He just showed right up. In his defense, I hadn't gotten back to him, but in my defense, I hadn't invited him. So he's 23, from Oregon, and has been staying in a hostel way up in the ghetto. I explained the situation, showed him around, and asked him to come back Monday to meet Awesome Roommate.

Monday. He's back. Awesome Roommate catches my eye after 30 seconds to let me know that she's creeped out. "So I work for Save America's Forests. I'm here trying to save trees in my hometown." Great, good for you, we say. Silence. He stares at Awesome Roommate. "Does that offend you?" I thought she was going to laugh in his face, "Yeah it offends me! I work at the zoo where all we do is protect endangered animals and encourage awareness. Of course I'm offended. I hate trees! I wish loggers would cut them all down! Who needs trees?" Instead, she says, "No, I think that's great." Silence. He turns to me. "Does that offend you?"

I swear.

So then we go back to the living room, and we explain that we've technically offered the room to someone already, but we'll get back to him. "When?" Well, tomorrow, we suppose. "What time tomorrow?"

What?

He is seriously trying our patience at this point, and we just want him out of the house. We tell him that we'll call around 8. He leaves. We laugh.

Fast forward to Tuesday. Awesome Roommate and I went to Union Station and waited in line for free ice cream at Ben & Jerry's (oh, the tourists!), had dinner at some restaurant, shopped around, and headed home. We're walking up to the back of the house, and there's Kristopher walking down our back steps. What? We slow down and look at the ground as we walk, hoping he won't see us.

"Hey, good timing!"

DAMMIT.

Why is he here? We told him that we'd call him. At an EXACT time. "Oh, well, I lost your number." Like HELL. So we bring him in, explain that we are waiting on that other person. I check my email. Other guy hasn't responded, but I knew we had to get this creepo out of the house, so I tell him that other guy has accepted, and I'm sorry, but we did offer it to other guy first (and never technically offered it to Kristopher, for that matter), so good luck in your search and we'll let you know if it doesn't work out!

"Yeah, well you have my number." He throws his backpack on his back, and bumps into Awesome Roommate as she holds the door open for him.

Should we be scared of this quasi-psycho treehugger freak? Because we are.


In unrelated news, I got a new bra while shopping today. It is a racerback, won't fall off my shoulders, and is AWESOME. Just so you know.

Here Comes the Sun

Oh holy deliciousness. It is 76 degrees out there. Seventy-six! The best part - the humidity hasn't weaseled its way here just yet, so it is LOVELY to be outside. 84 tomorrow. Do I scare my fellow red line riders tomorrow morning with my blinding white legs by sporting a fab skirt? I think that I shall, as the weather for Wednesday is going to drop down into the 60s. It's now or never, people. Maybe Awesome Roommate has some kind of self tanner - she should, as she is addicted to products. Addicted.

I do have to say that in this weather, my favorite accessory has got to be the cheap-o pair of Audrey-esque sunglasses that I found while rummaging through the bins at H&M. (Ah H&M, how do I love thee?). They don't have those annoying little nose thingys that get caught in your hair whilst on top of your head being employed as a stylish headband, they don't give me a headache, and I haven't managed to break them yet. And for that last point, they are the miracle sunglasses!

Last summer, I think that I went through 7 pairs of sunglasses. Why? Well, I don't actually lose my sunglasses. I just somehow manage to sit on them, step on them, or crunch them in the bottom of my bag. Which is why I cringe every time someone mentions paying $100 for sunglasses. The most I think I ever paid for a pair was $14 -- and those were the ones that lasted less than a day before I accidentally stepped on them. Now, I refuse to pay more than $10 for a pair. The H&M pair? $4.90. I should have bought more...

It's a wonder that I haven't broken my regular glasses just yet. I do tend to leave them all haphazard-like on my nightstand every night, so you'd think that I would somehow swat them onto the floor or knock them off with the duvet in my sleep. Maybe this is the time to be knocking on wood...

ER

Hospital Emergency Rooms are nothing like on TV. For starters, there were NO CUTE DOCTORS. I mean, had I known that there were going to be NO CUTE DOCTORS, I might not have fainted and hit my head. Or gotten a fantastic upper respiratory infection. And this is after I visited two different ERs in five days.

Last weekend, I was visiting the fam in Michigan. I thought that I would milk one last doctor's appointment out of my parents' enviable insurance plan before they got wise and realized that I am almost 25 and no longer in school (and probably should have my own insurance, but whatever). After the exam, the doctor left so I could get dressed. So there I am, sitting in the chair, holding my coat, waiting for the doctor to return. I immediately knew that I was going to faint. Stars, blackness, nothingness. So I got up and thought I would lie down on the examining table. I didn't make it that far.

I woke up on the floor - don't know how much time elapsed - and I had NO idea where I was. Why am I kissing the carpet? Where is my pillow? Am I naked? Why does my head hurt? I peeled myself off the floor and leaned on the counter. Why does my GD head hurt?!?!

In the mirror, I see blood streaming down the side of my face. AWESOME. So I grabbed some kleenex and that's when the doctor conveniently decides to come back in.

"Yeah, so I think I just fainted. And hit my head."

The entire staff is soon in the examining room, FLIPPING OUT. Eventually, my dad shows up. Who the hell called him? Perhaps I was still a smidge out of it. And off we went to the Henry Ford Wyandotte Hospital. I immediately thought that this was pretty damn funny, even though I was still lightheaded and woozy. It could always have been worse. Like, I could have fainted before getting dressed. Hilarious!

Now, I had never been to the ER before, so the only comparisons I had were from ER and DOOL. Let me just tell you, this hospital wasn't half bad! Clean, efficient, and shiny. Very shiny. Six stitches later, I was all better. They determine that I most likely fainted because I had a) driven to MI from DC on Thursday, b) not gotten enough sleep Thursday night, and c) hadn't eaten breakfast Friday morning. Also, blood scares me for some reason. Never has before! Apparently it does now, and I picked a fine time to let this phobia take over, didn't I?

The flight back to DC on Sunday morning was fine, but I had developed some sort of coughy-coldy thing. I wasn't very impressed with myself. So I called in on Monday. Tuesday, I woke up with this PAIN in my chest and I thought that I was having a flippin' heart attack. 24-year-olds have heart attacks sometimes, right? Awesome Roommate drove me to the ER at the George Washington University Hospital. I wasn't expecting the goodness of Henry Ford Hospital in the suburbs, but I sure as hell wasn't expecting what I got.

Receptionist is immediately snippy and bitchy. Having no personality is apparently the number one requirement for working at the ER front desk. It took forever to get called in. Test after test after UGLY doctor after ugly doctor. Hospital gown. No food. No sleep. No blankets. Freezing. IVs and x-rays and CAT scans. I was there from 9:30 in the freaking morning until 5:30 in the evening. They determined that I had strained a muscle COUGHING and prescribed Robitussin. ROBITUSSIN. The doctors were rude and unattractive (I mean seriously, if there is anything more unrealistic than the cleanliness of the hospitals on TV, it is the idea that doctors are sexy and caring).

Everyone kept "apologizing" for taking so long, but they had a few traumas come in that needed immediate care. "It's an abnormal day today," said ugly resident with glittering fake teeth. What are you talking about?!??! It's the fucking ER in the middle of Washington, DC! Of course there were traumas - it's a HUGE CITY. And of course they need immediate treatment! I wouldn't have cared if I was there overnight if someone had just had the courtesy to come and tell me what was going on!

Yeah. So. I'm fine, but this cough is RIDICULOUS. I probably kept half of the block up last night with the constant, NEVER ENDING coughing. Gosh I hope it goes away soon. If I don't get sleep soon, I'll probably faint again.

Fly the Friendly Skies!

That is, unless it's 6 in the morning and everyone gets out of bed all cranky-pants like.

My flight was at 7:06 in the AM. In the AM! I was flying on a one-way ticket from Detroit to DC, and was assuming that I would get flagged and searched. So I decided that going to sleep Saturday night was for wussies and stayed up and made the most of my friends. Got to Detroit Metro at 5:30, breezed through security, got some lovely green tea, and headed toward my gate.

Everything is just fine. Just fine! I board the plane, and once at my seat, I realized that I had the entire row to myself! Always a fabulous discovery. So I have my crap spread out all over the seat next to me, trying to finish my taxes, and here comes a Land Monster of a woman...

I know that this story would be funnier if she plopped down next to me, squishing my papers and hand in the process, but I have to be honest and tell you that she parked that magnificent ass one row up and over. And then proceded to open the world's largest bag of breakfast food from McDonald's. So much greasy food. And you can imagine how the smell took over the plane immediately. Like sideways gophers, heads start popping into the aisle trying to locate the asshat who brought the Egg McFuckingMuffins onto the plane. McDonald's breakfasts usually make me want to vomit, but not that morning. I was calculating a plan to try to get her forced off the plane. Then I could steal the jumbo bag of cholesterol-ly goodness and perhaps share it with the cute guy in front of me.

But alas. No grease bombs for me that day. But I did get a super duper granola bar from the flight attendant! Wow, thanks! This is exactly the same! I wonder if Flabby McDumpTruck asked for a granola bar...

The Prettiest Floor In All the Land

You know you wish this was your kitchen floor. Isn't it just beautiful? Doesn't it look clean enough to eat off of? Don't you want to walk around barefoot on it every day?

Luckily, we are allowed to replace it - and thank Jebus that the rest of the apartment is way better and prettier.

The 80s... Strikes Back!

Friday night, we drove to Baltimore to see an 80s cover band called The Legwarmers. Oh my gosh. Best. Show. Ever.

Say you have a favorite band/singer, and you are lucky enough to make it to a show. There is bound to be at least one or two songs that you might not be that fond of or don't know by heart. So you sway along, try to enjoy it while you pretend to sing and really just make up words. But the whole time, you're thinking, "It's almost over. It's almost over. Hopefully the next song will ROCK and I will KNOW IT and I won't have to feel like an ASSHAT."

Not so with The Legwarmers. They played all of the best songs from that wonderful decade and even dressed the part. By the end of the night, we were hoarse from screaming along to Material Girl, You Give Love a Bad Name, and Hit Me With Your Best Shot.

The funniest parts of the night were: the parking garage attendants (this thing is broke and shit); S screaming "FALCO!" each time a song ended; the guy who looked like Goose; the ginormous guy in the Hawaiian leaf shirt who kept standing in front of everyone; and Joshy trying to put money in the machine in the parking garage.

They're playing again in May at some place in Falls Church. We'll be there... will you?