Two Elon alumni (2002) have pooled their talents to bring excitement and joy to your day. One is a classy woman who combines her Italian and feminine powers to influence men of all shapes and sizes. The other is a tall blond man who relies on wit and boyish good looks to impress women, especially when they're drunk. Join them in their epic pursuit of the phenomenon known as adulthood. NoSalesTax side effects may include addiction and abrupt laughter as colleagues look on in confused jealousy.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

A Weekend in DC (Part Two)

I awoke Friday and realized I had nothing to do; everyone was already at work. I’d planned to have lunch w/ Tiller down in my old ‘hood (he works at 7th and K), so I gave him a call. It was around 1030am and he sounded in pretty rough shape. He said he wouldn’t be able to meet me for lunch cuz there was a “situation” at work. Before I continue, he works for a nonprofit that mentors HS students in an attempt to prep them for college. So anyway, he couldn’t meet me cuz he instead needed to meet w/ one of the students he oversees. Interning for the summer, she’d tried to break into the safe at her internship the night before. Whoops.

I spent the afternoon walking around DC, including a stop at my old employer, Experience Corps. My former supervisor, Lois, is a 69-year-old sparkplug who remains grateful for the hours I spent teaching her the convenience of creating files on the computer rather than paper. The director, Ann, was also thrilled to see me. She is still hot, but now very pregnant. Everyone in the office said they miss my sense of humor, fun personality and incredible good looks. OK, I made up that last one.

My friend Kern picked me up at 7pm, just before my stomach started eating the surrounding organs. We ended up killing a pizza and a case of beer w/ a lil help from a few Ameri-friends, including her roomie Crazy Jen. Aside from climbing a tree outside the girls’ apt., nothing really stands out. I’ll just say we all got plenty drunk before stopping at Pizza MAAAAAAART on the way home.

I was up at 9am the next morning to catch the 945am Metro. I wasn’t hungover. I was still drunk. My friend Joe and his wife (scary, I know) picked me up at Shady Grove, the end of the Red Line, up in MD. After a brief stop at their friends’, 10 of us headed to the wine fest., the main reason I flew to DC for the weekend. The year before, back in the foods stamps days, I’d achieved legendary status amongst Joe’s and Erin’s friends (when you’re married, you share everything, even friends) by passing out three times over the course of the day. I ended that day passed out on the grass as Joe poured beer on me, yelling, “You’re a disgrace!” We’re very good friends. I’m proud to say there were no embarrassments at Wine Fest. 2005.

My frustrations w/ flying continued the next day as my flight was delayed. The reason? The pilot was late. I’m not kidding. Don’t pilots have a phone tree of other pilots so they can find someone to cover a shift? So anyway, I didn’t get on the plane till 4pm and, just as we were ready to take off (only three planes ahead of us in line), the pilot announced tstorms in the northeast would keep us grounded for a while. After and hour and a half, we returned to the gate. Then the pilot left, telling us his shift was over, he’d flown the max amt. of hours that day, so he was going home. Seriously. Keep in mind the plane’s engines had been shut off a while back, leaving the cabin a lovely 100 degrees Celsius, or so it seemed. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the two guys next to me started talking about fantasy sports, their crowning draft picks and monumental trades, both of them oblivious to me tightly wrapping the headphones cord around my neck.

Around 630pm the new pilot allowed us to get off the plane, enabling passengers to buy dinner, poop in a real toilet or just start walking to Boston. We were warned before leaving the plane, however, to stay near the gate in case he got the go-ahead to depart. I assumed he meant depart for Boston, but he may have meant depart for his house and leave us w/ a third pilot. I quickly grabbed a couple Snickers bars (pronounced “sneakers” by my French mom) and returned to the gate. For some reason the employee at the gate wouldn’t let anyone back on-board until the pilot was cleared to take off. Needless to say, the gate-check person was unable to re-board 150+ passengers in a timely manner, resulting in everyone getting back on the plane just in time for the captain to say we’d again been delayed and would have an update in a half hour. The 340pm flight eventually left at 845pm. How’s that for an Independence Air commercial???

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Where have all the Snoop Doggs gone?

Where is rap music GOING?!?!?!

song heard on my lunch break:
You like it more than I like it,
I'll put it all up in your face,
But don't bite it.

Just One More..

I realized last night that dancer didn't make my list yesterday. Maybe "Vegas Showgirl". Or maybe "Ballet Teacher".

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

In another life, maybe

I was thinking about spending a few hours alone tonight in front of the TV, and I blurted out that I could only hope and pray that I could find re-runs of “Blow Out”…possibly even a “Blow Out” marathon. (In case you have no idea what I’m talking about:
And Greggster said to me, “Why didn’t you go to school to be a hairdresser? You’d love it.”
In fact, I would. Doing hair, doing other people’s hair, seeing a look and trying it, the feeling of accomplishing perfectly straight hair, none of it is lost on me. I LOVE doing hair. I love painting my nails, I love making myself look better and making other people feel good about themselves.
My answer to the Greggster: “Being a hair dresser has a negative stigma. It means you’re not smart. And I was always very concerned with being smart and having a really smart job, like being a research lawyer.”Coincidentally, I do neither research nor law. I picked communications, that trade off, in-between sort of field, where people aren’t known for being super smart, nor super dumb. It’s better than saying PR (Because I’m like, a people person!) and cooler than saying “I’m an actuary.”
My dirty pleasure, my secret life fantasy revolves around opening a salon, wearing hip clothes to work and making people feel comfortable, beautiful and fabulous. I could have my own product line like Jonathan and maybe even do hair for fashion week in New York.
In case you are wondering, here are my top 5 “Careers I kinda wish I could have”:
-Hair stylist/goddess
-Food critic
-Press Secretary for an extremely liberal association, dealing mainly with civil rights and all the stuff that pisses republicans off the most.
-Journalism teacher...or maybe even an art teacher...
-Purse Designer

Monday, August 01, 2005

Get it out of your system

What is more important, I keep telling my friends, is that I am making a commitment to spend the rest of my life with someone. Sure, right now the decisions concerning red or gold or roses or steak seem intense and immediate, but I assure them there is something much deeper going on here. I am, after all, getting married.
J-Mazz likes to tease, doesn’t he? Last night he said, after talking on the phone for a few minutes, “I’ll let you get back to married people things now, like spooning.”
Interestingly enough, "married people things" include much more. This weekend we hung a pot rack, bought shelves, took friends to a baseball game, made arrangements for out of town guests, cooked, ate, talked and fought.
Maybe the last item seems trivial or shitty, even, but right now it almost seems important. Not because we disagree, not to hurt each other, but to release some of the stress built up from moving in, throwing away, making changes and making them rather quick.
I haven’t shared a room since I was 11. So yes, it’s going to cause some friction. Sometimes we don’t understand each other, sometimes it’s hard to grasp what it is that is so important to one of us, yet so inconsequential to the other.
I say it’s better to get it all out now, than to wait until we are old and have trouble hearing. If you think things don’t come out too clearly at 24, imagine what it’ll be like when were 75.
Me: “For the love of God, take your god damned wet towels off the bed! It’s going to mildew!
Greggster: “What? Bowels? I didn’t shit on the bed! You’re the one who’s incontinent!”
Me: “How dare you call me incompetent! I have a Master’s degree!”
Greggster: “Yeah well, you’ll be masturbating a lot more often now! I want separate beds.”