I Don’t Want to be a Traitor to My Gender and All: Women and Our Crazy Showers

Ok ladies, it’s time for us to have a sit down.  Our tradition of throwing showers for each other for our weddings and our babies has spiraled out of control.  They’ve taken a turn from what I imagine was once pleasant, to obligatory but tolerable to creepy and painful.    Allow me to explain.

First, I just do not understand the point of wedding showers.  I’ve attended them, I’ve thrown them for friends (and I’m more than happy to throw them because then I can ensure the booze is quality and plentiful and absolutely no games are played) but the idea of getting a bunch of women in a room to “ooh” and “ahh” over crystal and placemats is bizarre to me.  Seriously, the purpose of the party is to sit around and watch a friend of yours open gifts.  Woo.  Of late, some couples are trying to cure the boredom of a wedding shower by throwing a co-ed shower.  I’ll give props for the creative thinking; Lord knows I love me a cocktail party.  The point however, is still the same: watching people open dishware.   Only now you’ve thrown disinterested men into the mix.  As I was told earlier this year, “Don’t make a guy feign interest in a china setting because it will be painfully obvious he doesn’t give a shit.”  Can we all agree right now instead just to get together for some drinks, throw some gifts in the couple’s car and just enjoy each other’s company and a karaoke machine (I’m just going to throw that out there—it makes a party happen)? 

Second, ladies, why oh why do we play games at these showers?  The games are lame.  End of story.  It is not my idea of a good time to play “How Well Does the Bride Know Her Groom?”  I don’t care.  Obviously she knows him well enough to be marrying the guy, why must we turn it into a game to win handsoap?  Don’t get me started on “Toilet Paper Bride.”  The name alone is gross.   Guys, just so you can get a glimpse into how crazy women really are, the game involves us dividing into teams, picking someone to be the bride, then we dress that poor woman in toilet paper creating a dress.  She then has to model that dress and the actual bride picks her favorite.  It’s a cruel game of torture and humility and usually has me scavenging for the last bottle of champagne to I can tolerate this nonsense.  Baby showers are even worse!  The worst offender there is the “Poopy Diaper Game.”  Yes, our gender plays a game called Poopy Diaper (BTW, woman who invented this game, if I ever meet you, you probably have a bitch slap coming your way).  You melt different candy bars into diapers, then women go around examining the diaper and guess which candy bar is which.  Seriously.  This is an actual game women play.  LADIES!!!!!  THE MADNESS MUST STOP!!! THESE GAMES ARE EMPHATICALLY NOT FUN THEY’RE GROSS! 

Speaking of gross, we have to talk about lingerie parties.  Some genius decided that the way to make a bridal shower fun was instead of giving the bride useful gifts, like a waffle maker, it was a good idea to have all the women at the shower buy the bride lingerie.  Then of course we all have to sit around and “ooh” and “ahh” over lingerie.  That the bride will wear.  On her honeymoon.  Listen sisters, I just don’t want to know what kind of lingerie you’re wearing.  That knowledge belongs firmly in the “TMI” category.   And if I don’t want to know what kind of lingerie you’re wearing, I certainly don’t want to buy this lingerie for you (this is why my recent purchases for these parties have included grandma pajamas with showercaps).  I also then don’t want to be in a room full of sex-starved women all ogling over these outfits.  It crosses all sorts of boundaries I’d rather respect.    

Finally, along the lines of cross boundaries, I have to spend a few lines talking about the worst offender of them all.  The sex toy party.  Ladies, please, no.  We don’t need to get together in a room and have a “sexually liberated” woman hawk us products en masse.  God invented the Internet to keep purchases like these private.  Seriously sugar, you can have a whole arsenal of amusements and I applaud you for it.  I just don’t need to hear about every toy in existence described in detail, see women giggle with each other over these toys, talk about which ones they are going to buy and then buy said toys.  To quote Cleveland, “That’s nasty.” 

In conclusion, it does not say RSVP on the Statute of Liberty!  No for real, in conclusion, ladies, can we please get a grip and just throw regular parties without a gimmick that everyone will enjoy?  We’re better than this.  

Rules of the Road for Roommate Living

Inspired by the parable of Craigslist and the Untruthful Canadian, I decided to craft my own rules for the road for roommate living.  Living with roommates is almost a necessity and, in some respects, a rite of passage in your twenties (cue the Friends theme music). Sometimes you hit the roommate jackpot and sometimes, well, you're lucky to get out alive.  

1.  Don't be a storage hog.  

In D.C., you're often compromising on square footage to live closer in to work (and play).  For some people, sharing space is very natural and comes easily but not so much for others.  Bottom line, if there's empty storage space in the apartment, don't assume that gives you free license to grocery shop for one at Costco every other week.  Leave some room for everyone else.  

2.  Our place is not your boyfriend's place too. 

Look, as reasonable people, I know we're all totally cool with your boyfriend coming over to hang out.  And hey, maybe he's a cool guy and we like him.  But when your boyfriend is (a) not of legal age to drink and (b) throws a party while we're not home with all his underage friends who (c) park in the parking spot that I pay for, that's where we're going to run into a problem.  

3.  A roommate is not a live in petsitter.  

As an animal lover, I'm super excited to have a dog running around.  But don't assume that because I occasionally get home from work first, that means I'll be taking on puppy walking duties in the afternoon.  If you need dog walking help, get a dog walker.  And if you're going on vacation, board your dog.  There's a reason I don't have a dog.  I don't have time for one.  

4.  If you want to be responsible for the cable bill, be responsible. 

I have no problem with putting the cable bill in your name.  But you need to have control over that, have control.  Don't email me because you forgot about the direct withdraw from your account for three months and then tell me what I owe you AND that you need that money in less than 24 hours.  I don't respond well to that.  

5.  Respect space (and privacy).  

This, one would think, would be common sense but apparently it is not for all.  When I'm on the phone, chatting with whomever (my mom, my friends, my dentist) I don't need your loud and overly boisterous commentary on my end of the conversation.  You don't need to comment on what I'm saying.  

6.  Don't be a takeout hog.  

I'm one of these people who really hates to dicker over bills.  So usually, I like to go back and forth with paying for takeout.  I'll get it tonight, you get it next week, no big deal.  On the weeks I pay, do not also order your lunch, snack AND dinner for the next day just because I'm paying.  Takeout hog.  

7.  Just because you're louder doesn't mean you're right.

I recognize that we may differ from time to time on some opinions.  And that's ok, I'm really cool with that.  But raising the level of your voice does not make you right.  Nor does citing "some people" as your source.  Who are these people? The people in your head?  

8.  If you're going to borrow clothes, give them back. 

I love sharing clothes with roommates, it can be fun to have 3 different wardrobes to choose from.  But if you spill ink on my work pants that you borrowed (first, why are you borrowing work pants, that's VERY different from borrowing a cute going out shirt) I expect that you'll take care of the situation and give them back.  

9.  Passive aggressiveness is for sissies. 

If you have a problem, tell me.  Don't leave me a post it note.  Or casually leave things around the apartment.  Or decide not to say anything for months until you blow up over something minuscule.  Be an adult, put on your big girl panties and deal with it.  

10.  Keep your judgment to yourself.  

If you clearly have different ideas, like what is an appropriate amount to spend on an item, judgmental comments ("I would never spend X on an Y") will get you nowhere. 

Adventures in Dating: Life Lessons from a Bad Date

Recently a few of us around the office were telling bad date stories and I feel it is incumbent upon me to share one of mine as a precautionary tale.  As a preface, you have to know that I’m terrible at dating.  I do give it the old college try but you know, this just isn’t my forte, as it were (unlike doing accents, which I am awesome at). To be fair, baby has come a long way from high school (where I, ahem, stalker called one poor guy all afternoon/evening/into the nighttime because he said he’d be home and we’d hang out!...oy...), and am getting better every day because dating, like anything, gets easier with practice and through your missteps, and those of the person you’re dating, you learn what not to do.  Though always game to share tales of my own jackassery, in today’s story, for once, I was not the bad actor!  

Here’s the deal.  I met this guy at an afternoon after-party following a rugby match in DC.  We hung out for the rest of that day and in my beer-induced haze the whole thing was seemingly charmed.   Yeah it wasn’t.  So here’s lesson number one:  You’re probably not going to be able to make the most accurate judgment about a person during the course of a day spent day-drinking followed by night drinking.  I’m no scientist but that’s seems pretty sound to me.  

A few weeks later, Shooter and I went on date number two (I’m calling him Shooter because like the infamous Shooter McGavin, he was super arrogant, but really only had one or two things going for him so was much more cocky than he had any right to be).  Shooter had very graciously already bought the tickets when I arrived.  After the movie we headed across the street to Rocket Bar for a nightcap.  

We order some drinks and I made the grab for my wallet to pay for the drinks.  I know for a lot of girls this is an empty gesture, (and not gonna lie, I swoon when my date tells me to put my wallet away), but I’ll follow through and pay (I’ll probably make a note of it to my girlfriends later, but I’ll do it).  In this case, he had paid for the movie tickets, and buying a round of beer was my way of saying thank you.  My parents didn’t raise an ungrateful lady.  I can’t say the same for Shooter’s parents because you want to know what his response was to me making the grab for my wallet?  

“Fair’s fair.”  

That is a verbatim quote.  Not, “I got this,” or “That’s so nice of you, you don’t need to,” or heaven forbid, “Thank you.”  Nope.  “Fair’s fair.”  SERIOUSLY?!?!?  Who says  that?!  In the two years since this date happened, I’m still trying to figure out in what universe that response would be ok in lieu of thank you, and the only things I can come up with is like Tourette’s or severe head trauma.  (If you have any other suggestions, I’m open to hearing them because I still need to figure this out!)  He was an ass for saying that, but I was an even bigger one for not leaving right then.  So here is lesson number two: Be fucking gracious when someone buys you something.  Lesson number three is: If the person you’re with is impolite about something as simple as this, it’s probably not going to get much better.   

So I open a tab at the bar and pay for the booze.  We’re talking and during the course of the conversation, I’m struck by two thoughts:  1) This guy is kind of a jerk and 2) I’m pretty sure I don’t like him.  For example, I misspoke about something...maybe I did math wrong...I don’t really remember what I said, I just know it was incorrect.  Shooter’s stone-faced response to me? “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”  He wasn’t teasing, dude was actually serious.  There are a lot of ways to characterize me, but “Has to rely on looks to get by” really isn’t on the list.  “Idiot”, however, could probably be on the list because I stayed even after this!  So lesson number four:  When the insults come, just leave.  For real.  It ain’t getting any better!  

Finally, I decide to put this date out of its misery.  I’m tired, insulted, dejected, and just want out.  I ask for my tab, get the bill, calculate a tip and sign my name.  Nosey bastard that he was, Shooter is looking over my shoulder at the bill and watching me.  I kid you not, fucker then proceeds to criticize the tip I was leaving for the lovely and attentive bartender.  Yep.  On top of ingratitude and insults he took issue with how I paid for his drinks.   “Oh, Sugar, Please, you DID NOT just go there,” ran through my mind as he got “the look” (similar to the look Metro Man received when he slapped me across the face).  Finally, at this point, I wished Shooter a good rest of his life, requested he delete my number from his phone and high-tailed it out of that bar.  This brings us to lesson number five: Don’t look at the tip someone else leaves on a bill and make comments about it.  That is per se dickheadedness.  Lesson number six: If it’s bad at the beginning, it for shiz isn’t getting better.  Cut your losses and move on to the next one.  

So while I still harbor some sour feelings toward Shooter, I have to say that I’m grateful for the SIX whole lessons in dating that came out of this experience.  I know I’m a better dater for it and ladies and gentlemen, I hope you are too.  

10 Rules of Churchgoing Etiquette

Look, I don't pretend to be the best Catholic on the planet.  But I think there's a few rules of church-going decorum that we can all agree on.  

1.  Put your cell phone on silent (or better yet, turn it off) before you ever enter the church.

This is quick, simple and easy.  Do it on the way to church.  No one wants to hear your "Baby Got Back" ringtone while they're trying to atone for their sins.  

  

2.  Do not, under any circumstances, take a call while in church. 

You would think this is a rule a commonsense.  But, as I learned this past Sunday, it apparently is not.  I was sitting in church, waiting for Mass to begin when I heard behind me "Hello?  Yes yes I'm a church [insert five more minutes of conversation here]."  Our offender hung up right before the service began.  While technically service had not begun, you're still in a house of worship and, at least in the Catholic faith, those moments before Mass are intended to be spent in prayer.  Don't disturb everyone else.  

3.  Absolutely no texting in the pew. 

You may think you're covert, but it's still disrespectful.  Johnny B can wait until you get out of church to hear how you are still "ROFLing" about your antics at the bar.  

4.  Keep your children under control.  

There's a theme with my posts.  Look, there's a nursery in lots of churches.  Use it.  And if you don't have one, use this opportunity to teach your children the quiet game where the loser's house falls of Santa's map.  

5.  Ladies, cover your shoulders.  

You're not at the club.  You're not even at a garden party.  Cover it up.  

6.  If you just wore it to cut the grass, don't wear it to church. 

Yes, yes, yes I know some of you may say that "isn't it more important that I'm there?"  And yes, the fact that you're there and trying is important.  But it takes less than five minutes to change your clothes.  

7.  If you don't know the words, don't make up your own.  Loudly.

I fully support attending other faith services to explore what the other communities are doing.  But if you're unsure of the words (even though they're printed right there in that handy book in the pew), don't make up your own.  It's distracting and, quite frankly, it makes me giggle.  

8.  DO NOT bolt after Communion!! 

This may apply to only my Catholic readers, but look here.  It is absolutely ridiculous to look around after Communion and notice that half of the people are gone.  I love a good champagne brunch as much as the next girl and I can't wait to get there either.  But I'm pretty sure those extra five minutes in church won't cause you to wither up and die of champagne withdrawal.  

9.  PDA is not OK.  

Another real life story:  I'm sitting in Mass one Sunday morning when a young couple sits in front of me.  The man proceeds to caress (the word gives me chills just typing it) his fiance's (?) neck and back throughout the entire service.  Add in lots of massaging, awkward nuzzling and a kiss of peace that last entirely too long and you have the makings for one uncomfortable morning.  I get that you're in love, but behave! 

10.  If you know you're going to be late, cut your losses.  

It happens to the best of us sometimes.  Despite all of our type-A attempts to nail down our prep routines to the very minute, sometimes we take a little longer.  If you're pre-Church prep (brava for prepping) took so long that you will actually be rolling in just as we're all about to receive Communion, cut your losses and come to the next Mass.  Catholics have them on the hour all Sunday long.  Salvation is just as good at the 10:00 mass as it is at the 9:00.  While maybe that will cut into your afternoon wine, cheese and nap schedule, you'll avoid disturbing everyone else.  

A Parable: Craigslist and the Untruthful Canadian

Finding a new roommate is a pain.  It really is.  In DC, living with roommates is kind of a necessity as housing prices are so expensive that I drop every month what would constitute a mortgage payment on a home back in the Midwest to live with three other people in a townhouse in the ghetto a questionable neighborhood.   


To find new roommates, most of us use Craigslist.  Overall the results are great.  The process however, (and there’s no other way to put this) sucks.  You have to get the house in viewing shape, you have to block time to meet people, you have to deal with the inevitable no-shows (side-note: this is fucking rude—the least you can do is send a text or an email with a little bit more than an hour’s notice saying you’re not coming; common decency people!), you have to tolerate weird people who come to see the house and then refuse to leave (see e.g. the girl whose pet peeve was people flushing the toilet), and the like.  In all of the Craigslist roommate misadventures I’ve been through, my roommates and I just suffered the worst breach of Craigslist etiquette that gets to take the cake.  Grab your Snuggie and a beverage because boys and girls, it’s story time. 


In search of a new roommate, my roommates and I were looking for the best fit, (as in any relationship) and we didn’t think we had found that yet.  In walks Connie the Cannuck.  (This obviously isn’t her real name, but she was Canadian and I think it’s clever and if you don’t well that’s your problem not mine.  So there.) Connie seems very cool—she’s fun, we bond over Labatts Blue and Windsor, Canada (a rite of passage for all 18 year-olds from the Great Lakes region). Indeed, it seemed like we had found our match.  A few days later she invited us to happy hour to get to know her better; it truly seemed meant to be.    But, as seems to be par for the course with me, once things were looking good, suddenly, they took a turn for the worst.


Connie the Cannuck dropped off the face of the earth.  She wouldn’t return our emails, wouldn’t return our texts, and wouldn’t return our phone calls.  In short, we were confused and jilted.  


Then, eight days out from the first of the month, when our rent is due (in full) I get a call from our landlords. Connie the Cannuck had lied about having a full-time job and instead of owning up to us like an adult over email or a text or a phone call (God forbid!) that she could not afford to live in our house, bitch chicken scratched some note to our landlords, drove out to Vienna, VA and dropped it in their mailbox when they were out of town, telling them she wasn’t going to move in.  


A handwritten note?!  Seriously!?!?!?  PLEASE!!!!  You want to know the last time I put together a handwritten note with bad news on it?  I think it was in middle school and I was dropping it in a girl’s locker telling her she couldn’t sit with us at lunch anymore.  And that was immature even then!!!  I expected more out of a person and even more out of a Canadian (though as a friend pointed out, after the Vancouver riots, I don’t think I know them at all anymore!).  


Like an episode of Glee, I like to end with a moral of the story.  Here, the moral is: act like an adult when you’re dealing with other adults.  Don’t lie and if you do and are caught, own up to it.  If you don’t, you getting a nasty-gram courtesy of yours truly and I write them for a living, so believe me, you’ll be crying.  

Ten Rules for Tourists

1.  Avoid travelling on the Metro during rush hour. 

Tourists, you are on vacation, why are you on the metro, ready and raring to go at 8:00 a.m. with all the other commuters?  I understand you want to get the most out of your vacation, but I’d also like to get to work without being crammed in a train car, sandwiched inbetween Joe from North Dakota who’s sweating profusely because of the humidity and Cindy Loo from Texas who’s texting pictures of the train back to her boyfriend.  Sleep in for a hour.  Then go see the city.  I’ll be happier, and so will you. 

                2.  When travelling on Metro, please keep your children under control. 

Holy Hannah.  Once those kids hit the Metro, they think they’re in Disneyland and the handlebars magically turn into jungle gyms.  And once they’ve worn themselves out from their play, those kids sprawl all over the Metro seats like it’s the couch back in Miller, Iowa.  It’s not cute.  They’re in the way.  Hold their hand and sit them in your laps.  And if they talk/scream/make noise, quiet them down.  Some of us have had very long days. 

                 3.      The Metro is not a horse and buggy. 

I hear it at least 6 six times a day - “WOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH” just as the Metro lurches forward or stops in its tracks.  We all get it.  The Metro doesn’t have a nice easy flow to it.  But guess what – that train conductor, s/he’s a real person and hitting those tracks are not horse hoofs, but wheels connected to motors.  Yelling out “WOAAAAAAAAAAAH” isn’t going to slow the train down. 

                  4.      Never stand on the left side of the escalator.

This is a mortal sin in this city.  While you’re taking a nice, easy ride down to the monuments, I’m running into work. My morning routine is down to an exact science and you’re wasting my time.  Don’t make me yell at you before I’d had my coffee.   

                 5.      Dress appropriately. 

Look, I’m not asking for a suit and tie here.  You’re on vacation (in a swampland in summer, nonetheless).  But those Tevas, cutoff shorts that show your derriere and ripped tshirts don’t exactly scream “I’m about to go see a monument to some of the greatest men and women in our country’s history.”  There’s a lot in between there – how about a casual sundress for the ladies, and perhaps some nice shorts and a golf shirt for the gents.  Just try it.  You’ll like it.    

                  6.      Do not hold the Metro doors open.

The Metro is not an elevator.  The doors will not stay open because you REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY want to see Smithsonian Air and Space Museum and you have to see it ON THIS TRAIN.  Look, buddy.  It’s simple.  If you hold the doors open so your whole posse from Indiana or wherever you’re from can make it on the train THE TRAIN WILL BREAK.  We will all have to get off and I will not be a happy person.  And nobody wants to see that. 

                  7.      The Map.

For those of you who haven’t seen this yet, the Metro map is about as large as humanly possible.  And they are all over the Metro stations.  Before you buy cards.  While waiting for the train.  In the train.  In the pamphlet that your Holiday Inn gave you with your continental breakfast.  I really don’t think you need to press your nose to the glass to see where you’re going and run your clearly unwashed hand along the lines to count your stops. 

                  8.      KEEP. MOVING.

Believe me, I understand being in a strange city and not knowing where you are.  But it does not help anyone for you to come to a dead halt (again, with your whole posse from Indiana) to figure out where you are, particularly if you’ve just gotten off a train car at rush hour (see topic #1) or if you’re right outside a Starbucks between the hours of 8am and 10am.  I need to keep moving, along with the rest of this city.  Plain and simple. 

                 9.      Farecards:  Plain and Simple. 

For some reason, using a farecard seems to elude many of the people that come to visit my fair city every year.  Not only do they not understand how to use machine to purchase it, but they’re also completely lost when it comes to actually using the card to get on the train.  It’s really quite easy.  Have your card ready to enter AND exit the gate.  That’s how the machine knows how much to charge you.  And again, if you need to fumble for your farecard (which, while I do not condone, I understand will happen from time to time) move off to the side until you find it so other people can pass by.  Not difficult.  Just common sense. 

                 10.  Pentagon City Mall is Not a Tourist Attraction.

I happen to frequent Pentagon City Mall from time to time and am constantly amazed at the sheer volume of young tourist groups gallivanting through the Mall as if they’ve never seen a Nordstrom’s, J.Crew or Juicy Couture before.  YOU HAVE A CITY FULL OF HISTORY RIGHT THERE!  Get your kids out of the mall.  I’m pretty sure they have one of those in Montana (although who knows).    

Assault Before My Coffee

It's a typical Thursday morning, meaning, I'm running late.  By Thursdays, my energy level and tolerance for the workweek is at roughly zero.  On Thursdays I’m usually depressed it’s not yet Friday and therefore my casual Friday outfit that I’ve been planning to wear since last Friday is still sadly hanging in my closet and I’m bitter I’m in a suit.  So, to give you the Cliff’s Notes version, I’m not a happy person on Thursday mornings.  Due to other work and personal crises, on this particular Thursday, I was extra defeated. 

I try to use the Capital Bikeshare as often as possible for my commute, but of late, Mother Nature has decided August has arrived in June, so I’m using the air conditioned Metro instead.  Since it is dangerously close to 9am, the Metro is packed.  I squeeze into a train car and find a spot right by a safety pole, find a spot for my hand to hold on to and I hang on for dear life.  If you haven’t had the chance to ride on the DC Metro, let me explain that the trains are super jerky, stop in the tunnels all the time and if you’re not holding on you will fall. 

The “gentleman” (I’m prone to use foul language but while we’re getting to know each other, I’ll keep it clean) next to me I guess never got the memo on the nature of Metro trains and their jerky nature.  How did I come to this conclusion?  Well, the asshole "gentleman" (must remember, clean language!) lifted his hand off the safety pole to do only God knows what and shocker of shockers, the train jerked.  As he flails about to try to get his hand back on the pole, he straight up slaps me across the face.  Yep.  I was legit slapped across the face on my morning commute. 

 “Oh sugar, please!  You did NOT just slap me across the face,” is what I would have said had I not been in such a state of shock.  “Oh sugar, please!  You did NOT just put your hand on my shoulder as a gesture of apology,” is what would have followed once he decided that one type of bad-touch wasn’t enough and another was required.  Instead he got a death glare (if you know me, you know it’s scary) and an emphatic, “Don’t TOUCH ME.” 

So I guess the moral of the story is: Sugar, if you’re on the metro, hold the fuck on.  If you do happen to commit assault and battery before 9am, sugar, do not attempt to apologize with more assault and battery.  Nemaste.

Welcome to Our World

We've all been there.  Your coworker says something absolutely ridiculous.  You're out at happy hour and you overhear the most nonsensical babbling you've ever heard in your life.  You're out and about and see an outfit that quite literally stops you in your tracks.  A friend tells you a story and you think to yourself either your friend or the subject of your friend's story makes you for real laugh out loud because it just doesn't make any sense.  You think to yourself, "What are these people thinking?!"  Well, we don't just think that.  We say it out loud.  Because that's how we roll.


You may ask yourself, who is "we?"  Well, we are two twenty-something young professionals living in our Nation's Capital and believe us, we've seen a few things.  Bonding over our mutual inclination to tell it like it is, we've decided the time has come to share our musings with the world.  We hope you enjoy our mini-rants because we know you're all thinking it, we're just saying it.