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My New Haircut

November 22, 2009 1 comment

My friend, the reigning queen of Match.com, came into town a couple of weeks ago for a visit. It was the first time in three years I had seen her, and not much had changed, except for the last time we were together she was on the verge of finalizing her divorce.

Years later, and a few relationships later, she was back on the prowl. A smart, sassy, gorgeous girl, she has no problem whatsoever striking up a conversation with anyone she pleases.

On Friday night, while another girlfriend and I were brutally beating some poor baby-faced men at shuffleboard, my visitor met a sweet, young musician. At the end of the evening, my friend got musician guy’s number and told him he could meet up with us the following night.

Twenty-seven hours later, we were on our fifth bar and the friendly musician was having a hard time keeping up with us seasoned party-ers. After a shot of rough whiskey, he and my friend went outside for a smoke. They started kissing, and moments later, he tumbled to the ground. Just straight up fell with no good explanation.

Before the bar closed, the bartender bought my friend and her clumsy beau another shot. Down it went. And down the musician almost went on our walk to the subway.

Once on the subway, a pattern emerged of the musician falling asleep on my friend’s shoulder, and then lifting his head to make out with her, and then falling again. Four stops into our ride, he said he had to run and sprined off the train. As we pull away I see him throwing up along the side of the subway stop. All I could think was good for him for having the sense to get off instead of puking all over my friend’s lap.

Meanwhile, a 21-year-old bold Catholic University kid had managed to find his way into the seat next to my friend. Brave as he was, I am certain he regretted that decision.

You see, drunk or not, my friend is a quick lady. And she very soon called him out, loudly, for coming over because he thought he could slide into the musician’s place without her noticing. But somehow, between the introduction and the call-out, she learned this young chap was from Jersey. So all of a sudden my drunk, brilliant friend, was yelling, over and over again, “Heineken! Jager Bomb! Heineken! Jager Bomb!” with the best Jersey accent she could muster.

Sitting diagonally from her, I thought she had lost her mind. Why was she screaming drink names to this poor kid, in between telling him he had no chance with her?

Lil’ dude didn’t shy away quickly. So when he asked what was so wrong with making out with him, she quickly replied” “Well first of all, what is with your hair? That’s terrible hair. And those shoes are gross. Get some new shoes…”

And on it went intermixed with cries of Heineken! and Jager Bomb!, and something about a new hair cut. Until the young man, finally retreated to his original seat, next to his very embarrassed friend.

But not before the whole front of the subway car was shedding tears from laughing at my friend’s antics. Two people told me it made their night.

Turns out the cries of Heineken! Jager Bomb! and New Haircut! were from this clip, called “My New Haircut,” which makes quite a lot of fun of Jersey guys. Please watch. I promise you will laugh.

A sidenote to this story is four days before my friend arrived in DC she had so badly broken her toe, she had to wear a giant grey robo-boot her entire trip. A sight to be scene as she hobbled along, holding up drunk musician guy. The boot also ended as a prop in the subway scene. My friend railed it against the metal siding of the train every time she was making a point, or screaming Heineken! Jager Bomb!, to the pitiful young man beside her.

To the young man’s credit, he did perform a full-on bow prior to exiting the train. I was surprised he had enough manhood left to pull that off.

Cheers for the friends in life who never fail to make an evening memorable.

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Categories: Bars, DC, Friends

#4 Quarry House Tavern

On August 12th, I posted a list, provided to me by friendly Bocce-ers, of the Top 5 Places to Meet Decent Men in DC. On Friday night, two childhood friends and I got ourselves down to #4.

The Quarry House Tavern, in downtown Silver Spring, passed the test with flying colors, except that I didn’t meet any men. But there was such potential!

First off I must say the bar Jedi Mind tricks you into being a little bit afraid with it’s sketchy entrance on the side of an Indian buffet restaurant. The set of steep stairs are covered by a rectangular black box that has a door cut into it. There is no sign, except a white piece of paper with The Quarry House scribbled on it and taped to the top of the black box.

Once inside though the bar has everything anyone should ever want in a bar. Amazing whiskey list. Even more amazing beer list. Dark walls covered in metal beer signs. A fantastic juke box with a varied CD collection including The Smiths, U2, Van Morrison, Elvis, Otis Redding, Run DMC, and Johnny Cash. Two kinds of tater tots (get the bacon and cheese over the Old Bay).  Friendly, well-versed staff who are required to buzz around from table-to-table on a busy Friday, but will still stop and help you choose one of the 20 beers you have it narrowed down to.

The kicker: the place is a revolving door of decent-looking, decent-acting men! Without having spoken to any of them, they seemed like the kind of guys who get together on a Friday night and drink good beer and pick decent music on the jukebox, and don’t have a desire to go to a “meat market” bar and hunt for women to take home with them. They instead leave it to chance that a girl will be impressed with their chosen jukebox song and strike up a conversation, that could turn into a date, that could lead to a second date, and maybe even a third, upon which they may get laid.

I spent the evening drinking whiskey and catching up with my friends. I didn’t have a strong desire to spend time near the jukebox and commend men on their picks. When you only get to see friends a couple times a year, it seems more important to enjoy a shot of tequila and two large orders of tater tots together. But now that I know how spot on the Quarry House is, you can bet I’ll be back, with a wing woman in tow.

Categories: Bars, DC, Friends, Silver Spring

Bad Day To Do List

August 26, 2009 1 comment

The last two days have been frustrating professionally and personally. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time diving into why. Instead I’m going to create a list of the somewhat quirky things I did to cheer myself up. Maybe you can find inspiration to be used on your next bad day.

-Sit in Dupont Circle. People watch. Engage in the conversation with the pleasant, if not odd, young man who offers you a slice of his pizza.

-Scroll to your favorite song on your i-Pod. Hit play. Repeat.

-Apologize to the people you snap at as soon as you realize you snapped at them. This will greatly improve any chance you have at preventing a frustrating Day 3.

-Finally learn how to play flip cup at the age of 27.

-Eat Chipotle Barbacoa soft tacos.

-Don’t shop at the GAP.

-Pick up the latest issue of National Geographic magazine. Flip to the article on Somalia. Realize how lucky you are.

-Compliment someone. And then compliment someone else.

-Participate in a lot of high 5s.

-Show your co-workers the latest routine you learned in Hip Hop class. Share in their laughter. Then show it to your Bocce team. Teach them how to cross their arms “street”.

Categories: Bocce, DC, Work

21 Again

August 22, 2009 2 comments

Last night I joined seven others in drinking out of an octo-bong–a wide plastic funnel with eight clear rubber tubes. The master of the ceremonies at this particular house party held up the octo-bong, and we all took a tube. After removing the plastic top that held back the beer in the tube, the funnel was raised and we all bent our knees, put our heads back, and drank up. As a virgin octo-bonger, I’m proud to say I was the first to finish my tube of beer.

My friend, who kindly agreed to join me for a happy hour, a birthday party at Fado’s in Chinatown, and a house party in Dupont, got quite the kick out of the news that I had never even seen an octo-bong. To my credit, she is a graduate of a Big Ten school and I went to small liberal arts colleges for my two degrees. We had other kinds of bongs around, just not the octo-bong.

My bong hit of Bud Light capped off a night of Blue Moon, Hoegaarden, a Lemon Drop shot, a Red-Headed Slut shot, and Blue Point Summer Ale (a Long Island ale I had never had before. I would recommend to anyone who likes summer ales).

And though the hangover was a little rougher then I’m used to, it was totally worth it.

The word I would use to describe last night is free. Not free as in no cost. Free as in I was single and truly loving it. I smoked two cigarettes at the party (my mom is going to read this and kill me). I was never a smoker, but during and after college, every once in awhile I enjoyed a Marlboro Light from a friend if I had been drinking. I stopped doing that because my boyfriend said he wouldn’t kiss me at the end of the night if I smoked. I thought that was fair. Three years later, and on my own again, it was a strangely amazing feeling when I was offered a cigarette and could say yes. I don’t think it’s a habit I’ll pick up again, but I savored that moment.

When I was 21 I would have been back at it again tonight. But I’m not 21, and I don’t want to pretend to be. So instead I watched a movie with my roommate and wrote in my blog. I will be in bed by midnight so I can go to yoga at 9 a.m.

But next week my childhood best friend and her sister are coming to town. The Quarry House and the Piratz Tavern await. Let the adventure continue.

Categories: Bars, DC, Friends

The Logistics of a Compliment

August 16, 2009 3 comments

I put on an above-the-knee silk dress and brand new heels. I applied eyeliner, eye shadow and mascara and hurried out the door into the warm summer evening. I arrived at the Columbia Heights Metro stop and a kind woman pointed me in the right direction of my final destination. And so it began.

On the way to the bar, only two honks. But it was still daylight, and not yet 6 pm. By the time I said my good-byes to friends and friends of friends at the Wonderland Ballroom, it was 9:45 and night had fallen. That’s when the fun really began.

It started with a man on a stoop who pushed his lips together and created a squeaky noise that I believe he meant to be an air kiss. Next it was a very loud whistle from a passenger in a white car who I avoided eye contact with. After two blocks, I was greeted with an enthusiastic, but polite “hello” and “nice dress” by another man on a stoop. Then a quick and dirty honk. Finally the walk climaxed with a car speeding past, and a deep voice yelling, “In those heels, I’d do anything to you girl!”

While I enjoy the attention of men, especially when I’ve put the effort in to apply paint to my eyes and stilts to my feet, I am perplexed as to why it feels not-so-nice when I’m shouted at by passing cars. The man who said “nice dress” went over much better than the dude who was going to dirty things to me because of my heels. But I have to admit none of any of the various sounds that came at me walking four city blocks made me feel comfortable.

As a single girl, I love a compliment, but where’s the line? Am I discriminating against the men who decide the best way to tell me I look pretty is to honk or whistle? Why do I feel more threatened by them than I do by the guy who comes up to the bar while I’m waiting and buys me a drink?

It can be a terrifying world for a single 27-year-old female. I’m not naive. I have heard the stories, some from friends. I understand the importance of being self-aware and safe. But on a busy city steet when a man on a stoop greets me and compliments my outfit, even if he is overenthusiastic, I can take the compliment with a polite smile and maybe even a hi back. I’m not sure I want to live in a world where I shouldn’t do that.

Categories: Bars, DC, Flirting

Top Five Places to Meet Decent Men in D.C.

August 12, 2009 5 comments

Tonight, after a brutal Bocce loss, my team gathered at the bar and started ordering pitchers. It’s fuzzy how it happened, but the conversation meandered it’s way to where I should go to meet quality, available men in D.C.

To start, a teammate informed me I needed to move to Denver. According to him, Denver has more available men than women, unlike D.C., which has a plethora of attractive, career-driven ladies and not enough men to satisfy them all. Sadly, I have a good job here, and in these economic times, it didn’t seem realistic to move to Colorado just to find a good man.

So he, and the others, including the team drinking next to us, started zeroing in on there version of the Top Five Places to Meet Decent Men in D.C. Keep in mind this was done in thinking about what I was looking for in a “decent man.” Qualifications were nice, smart, sense of humor, has a job, at least semi-attractive and likes sports.

1. RFD, Chinatown (near the Verizon Center) — A sports bar with forty beers on tap and quite a few more than that in bottles. The rule was to wear a low cut shirt OR a team jersey. My instructions were to watch games at the bar and strike up a conversation with whoever strikes my fancy. According to my three male sources, not all guys have the balls to talk first at bars.

2. Public Bar, Farragut North/Dupont Circle — A new sports bar with “fresh meat.” Low cut shirt and standing by bar apply here.

3. Tryst, Adam’s Morgan — My directions were to show up in a low-cut shirt on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon with a crossword puzzle. Find a couch seat next to a cute guy. Ask the guy for help with 15 across.

4. Quarry House Tavern, Silver Spring — This suggestion was amusing because it was prefaced with if I wanted to meet guys on the slightly “punk-ish” side. For those of you reading this who know me, the image of me with a punk rocker should make you giggle softly to yourself . That doesn’t mean I won’t try it. Punk rockers can be nice guys, too. Oh, and they like low cut shirts.

5. Meridian Hill Park — A nice change of pace from the bar scene, both guys and gals confirmed Meridian Hill Park is the place to be on Sundays for meeting people. One guy suggested I attend the free 5 p.m. yoga session wearing a low cut shirt. I’m unsure yoga on Sunday evenings in a park is where I’ll meet my next boyfriend–or even a rebound guy–but free yoga outdoors sounds like fun, so hell, why not try it?

Number one take away from this night: I need to buy more low cut shirts.

Update August 13, 11:30 am: My teammate was right about Denver. It seems I live on the wrong coast!

Categories: Bars, Bocce, Dating, DC