Oh Danny Boy

This past Saturday night, Lisa, Jon, Ron Forbes, Gdowik, Greg, and I went to an American University party in Friendship Heights. The attendees at this party were all in the graduate film program, so they were a little indie, awkward, and very random (apparently also very sexual as there was a bowl of condoms-- her pleasure-- on a table in the dance room). Greg and I were tearing up the dance floor, and SPOTTED was a a little person, dancing by himself outside of the circle. Greg dared me to dance with him. I took on this dare.

I danced with wee man, and it was quite enjoyable. I don't know what I enjoyed most, the fact that he came up to right below my breasts, or his tiny, delicate little hands -- hands that were merely half Aljaj's size (and quite soft too). He had little bitty ears and a facial hair, that gave him the appearance of a leprechaun. I was enamored. We danced for a while. I then encouraged him to bust a move, solo, in the middle of the dance floor. An eruption ensued when everyone at the party began chanting his name -- "Danny". Oh Danny boy! He whipped out moves that only a person of his build could hit perfectly. Lisa got to dance with him for around 25 seconds until Danny boy set his eyes on me again. Me, with my 5'10 stature (without heels), towered over his 4'7 body. Soulmates, one wonders? I believe he might have thought so. 

On our way out, Danny boy tells me to wait. Lisa told me the next day that he ran from person to person, asking for a pen. Apparently, he found one. When he said his farewells to me, he handed me his business card. I thanked him and departed. Upon further review of said business card, Danny wrote me a message: "I would love to dance with you again". Oh Danny boy. What a charmer he is! 

On Monday, Lisa and I spent a good amount of our work day searching for Danny on Facebook. Unfortunately, I didn't have the business card with me, so we had no clue what his last name was. I found a random Danny from American that might have been him.  Lisa friended him instantly. We were quite enthralled with this profile, as he was listed as a firefighter who was interested in jigs, smoking, and ambling (for those who have no previous equestrian experience, ambling is a gait of a horse, in between a walk and a canter (Google cantering if you do not know what this)). Imagine our excitement that Lisa would soon be friends with a little person firefighter who rides horses. I mean, I used to teach horseback riding. Never in my years did I see a dwarf riding a horse. Is this even possible? How would he mount it? How many times would he have to wrap the stirrups for his tiny legs? Not to mention the fact that the horse might not even feel his heels for commands and control! We presumed ponies were his thing. Also, if a little person tried saving me from a fire, I would soon say my prayers and goodbyes, as no one with Danny's midge hands could carry my "thick white woman" frame, as so said by Brandon Smith. 

Unfortunately, this was not the correct Danny. After reviewing the business card, I realized we had the wrong last name. Fortunately, we found his profile. Lisa jumped on Facebook and friended the real Danny boy. I, on the other hand, have felt restraint as to adding him. As much as I adore Chelsea Handler, I do not need a little person shadowing my life. Nor am I like Elise's secretary, who has a midget fetish and frequents a bar in DC called "Hawks and Doves" for it's lure for the little race. 

After Danny accepted Lisa's friend request, he sent her a message inquiring about how she found him on Facebook when they had no mutual friends. She pretended to be interested in his film production, but he had remembered meeting her at this party. Read the below correspondence for insight into Danny's life:

Danny

Lisa, how did you find me on Facebook? Not that I was hiding, but we have no friends in common.  

Lisa

Hey Danny!

I remember you saying you did your own production and I think that is awesome! I was asking my friend who is in the film department at American about it and he said you had some good information about your company on your website.... soooooo that lead me to your facebook! Sorry if it creeped you out! haha. Not my intention.

Hope you are doing well!  

Danny

Oh I see. Very cool. Yes, I'm well. Please let me know if I can be of help to you in any way. Since you've already checked out my website, I hope you have a good idea of the kind of work I do.

I went to a big house party last weekend and was going to make the offhand assumption that I had met you there. As you might imagine, my memory of that particularly evening is not perfect...   

Lisa

hahaha! yes, as a matter of fact that is where i met you! I wouldn't have expected you to remember me... we spoke only briefly.   

Danny

See, that's totally what I thought - but I wasn't going to SAY anything for fear of guessing incorrectly and coming across like some kind of man-whore. Right?

Lisa

haha yup!

Danny

Did I dance with you?

Because... I really think I did.

Lisa

haha yeah, we did but only for a short time

Danny

Great. That was exactly what I thought this morning.

(when I saw your friend request)

See, I have over 1,600 friends and most of them are initiated by me. I'm a consummate networker. For work and for play. So I actually admire the fact that you found me here because frankly that's what I usually do.

Lisa

haha yeah, i am the same way

so when i wanna find someone, i will

- hope thats not creepy hah

Danny

Precisely. You have even more friends than I do! But I'm older... so in theory I've had more time to meet people.

Anyway, I don't usually go to parties like that but one every since months or so I feel the inclination to cut loose.

Lisa

yeah, i just moved to the area a little ago and it was fun!

Danny

I see. You graduated from V-Tech? Where'd you grow up?

VA Beach! Sounds exotic.

Lisa

haha yup!

Danny

So what are you doing up here in DC? Or where do you live? (I live quite close to Jeremy/Jai's place on Ingomar St.)

Lisa 

i work for the govt as a contract specialist

and i love in arlington

live*

but i also love it haha

Danny

Well, if you're flexible enough you can love in anywhere. (bah-dum pshhh)

That's cool, though. So how'd you get invited to that house party? I went to school with most of those hooligans.

Lisa 

my good friend from VT (the black guy if you remember) is good friends with Jay from childhood

Danny 

Well I saw at least two black guys other than Jai but I get you.

Lisa

it was the one who was a good dancer, and super skinny

Danny

Hey, thanks for dancing with me, by the way. Sometimes it feels like middle school with everyone lined up around the sides. Obviously the solution is to drink more and get on the dance floor.

Lisa

haha oh yeah! i LOVE to dance so i am always willing to throw myself on the dance floor

Danny 

Most women are... tough for them to find a dance partner.

Now once I become a master chef and seamstress, I'll be the most eligible bachelor with less than a six figure salary.

Lisa 

haha touche!

Danny 

Well, thanks again for looking me up. I use my Facebook wall to post on issues that interest me... but I still use chat and messaging to stay in touch.

Lisa

sounds great!

Danny 

... and if you're headed to a DC party and want someone to dance with, now you know who to ask.

Lisa 

it was nice talking to you

haha you got it!

Danny 

Adieu.

Lisa 

 goodnight!

Lisa has also provided us with a good visual reference. He has limited pictures, so this will have to do in justifying his height. We are unsure as to his classification for Dwarfism. If anyone can give us some insight, we would be quite gracious. 

B*tches

On the same night I encountered Dick, a group of friends decided to indulge in a 4th meal at Goody's. Knowing me, I was left behind. Thankfully, I located JFed. We walked up the street to Goody's and found our friends waiting in line.

Upon approaching, I smelled something very familiar. It's a scent I love to hate, as it draws great memories of FWI (fighting under the influence). The smell was none other than b*tch.

For reference, please understand that there are various types of b*tches. According to the most educated DC 3rd grader on Earth, I am a combination of #2, #30, #39, #41, #88, and most definitely #16. I suggest you open this and print out the list, as it is vital to the story.

After smelling b*tch, I see my group of guy friends (refer to Dick to recall my circumstance as the lone vag this night) had began a quarrel with two girls in line in front of them. Nothing can describe these girls better than b*tch #18. Seeing this opportunity for advanced messing with B*tches, I approached this pizza line pretending to be a lone bystander.

I approached B*tch A, who was the shorter (#89), not cute one with nappy blond hair and a voice that makes you wish she was Hellen Keller. I maneuvered my way into the line by just simply taking their side and pretending to stick up for them. I was instant BFF.

"What did they say to you!?"
"ThEy CaLlEd Us SlUtS!"
"oMG! Criminals! Why on Earth would they do that! Why did you call them SlUtS!?! JeRks!"

An eruption of laughter occurred after the guys clarified that these b*tches #18 started this verbal fight by calling my friend, who we shall call Ush-Yo (the Puerto Rican version of Ne-Yo and Usher), and Bock's roommate, Big Omelet Boy (BOB) -- he had a large omelet the following morning, but like, in all seriousness, this was a large omelet, like something out of a children's book or something the Big Friendly Giant would eat --Mario and Luigi. They also instigated with poor Vinny, the lone wolf in line just waiting for some pizza who happens to own some shops in Tyson's ($$$$$). In response to the Italian references, Ush-Yo called the B*tches sluts or whores or something along the lines that they are trifling.

There is just something about calling girls sluts that gets them going. Of course, they had to defend themselves, but I was not there to see it happen. I walked in on this trying to resolve it. As it turns out, I was able to wedge myself peacefully between the males and the females, as the females ended up being b*tch #5's and b*tch #6's. It was at this time I realize I had more in common with B*tch A than I ever imagined. She was ALSO a b*tch #30. Her hair was wack. I think she tried to do the beachy, natural look for that night, but epically failed as it had turned into an eagle's nest ready for eggs. Being on my honor code for the females, I tried to fix a few of the stray hairs flying around making her look like a beat mess. Out of nowhere, B*tch B (#89, taller than me by like 3 inches, brown hair, very skinny, needed to eat, prettier than the nappy head) slaps my hand away.

"OHNOUHHUHNOOO DON'T DO THAT TO MY SISTER OH NO! DON'T TOUCH HER! LKJ:FS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EIYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE CAW CAW SATAN"

Err, ok. I was a little taken aback. I think it was at this time I became a #21 b*tch.

"Her hair needs fixing. It's nappy."

The B*tches began consoling each other because they think they are being assaulted. It was at this time one called me a b*tch, and we started a verbal brawl. The two B*tches were then told to leave by Goody's workers. On their way out, they had to pass through the group of us. B*tch A butt attacked me, shoving me into BOB, who then fell into the table behind him. I think I called her a b*tch at this point, BOB restrained me, and JFed did not stand for this.

"BYE SNOOKI"

Guess what's worse than being called a slut? I mean, Snooki is a great girl. Anyone would be lucky to be in the same genre of human being as her. Were they not the ones who started with the Italian references?

Suddenly, the B*tches start bawling.

"AHHHH We JuSt WaNtEd PiZZaaaaaaaaa AHHHh WAHHH WAHHHH PIZZA SOBBING TEARS"

Shut up. You could have gotten your pizza in peace. It was your bad life decisions that led you here.

So everyone (not the B*tches) gets their food, and heads outside. I was praying they were still out there. We were standing outside doing something that seems plausible while intoxicated, and we realized, there the B*tches were- standing on the street corner, looking all b*tch #11's , being consoled by some guys, who we assumed were taking a predatory advantage on the opportunity of a lifetime- crying hooker-ish girls outside a pizza place.

We were laughing at all this, and I hear B*tch A mention something about me being a b*tch, and I'm like whatevs. Then, one of the predators came up to the ONLY black guy in our group, BOB's friend, and confronted him.

"I hear you started something with those girls over there."

This was very funny. BOB's friend had no contribution in the fight. He laid in the cut, observing it all as it went down, rather than participating. The only reason one would assume he partook in such activities is because he is black.

BOB called the predator out for this. The predator was most definitely was a b*tch #86. The predator vehemently denied anything racist, and turned towards the rest of the guys to confront them. Helloooooooo you are surrounded by like 8 dudes. N-word please.

After further explanation of the B*tches, the pedator understood. He tried to be the cool guy just "caught in the middle of it all".

All the while this is going on, I grabbed JFed's iPhone and took two pictures. The first picture was an accurate representation of the two:

 

Please note the stank.

The second picture was of the hand of the body guard, protecting these poor B*tches from the paparazzi (me):

I don't exactly know what happened after all this. I do remember PoPo pulling up to the side of us in his car, yelling at us to get in, but we were all having too much fun with these horrible B*tches, that we dared not leave just yet. He sped off in a fit of Asian rage.

Eventually, JFed, Bock, and I walked home. It was around the distance to Mecca, but no big deal, Bock met his soulmate named Shanaed. When I first heard this name, I instantly thought of a Maenad, the perfect mythological creature for Bock. This is how Wikipedia defines a Maenad:

 "Their name literally translates as "raving ones". Often the maenads were portrayed as inspired by Dionysus into a state of ecstatic frenzy, through a combination of dancing and drunken intoxication. In this state, they would lose all self-control, begin shouting excitedly, engage in uncontrolled sexual behavior, and ritualistically hunt down and tear animals (and sometimes men and children) to pieces, devouring the raw flesh."


I mean, I think I hit the nail on the head with this one. Match made in heaven.

The End.

Ode To Richard

Ode to Richard:

"Well first off, Dick, you're a Vagina. A scared, unkempt, little pussy. You clearly changed your name from Richard to Dick just so people would find you more humorous and daring. Well, Dick, it seems that the world doesn't find you humorous OR daring, but instead just agrees with you. You're a dick, Dick. You march around on your little dick-Dick legs meeting girls and trying to impress them with your razor's-edge-wit and good graces...that is until, in this case, you got the Razor's edge. The better edge. The sharper edge. The edge that comes with me as back up. Chances are that you're still a virgin--a lonely one--and therefore lash out at the so-called sluts...the sluts that STILL won't sleep with you, or touch your dick, Dick. Putting a dick in your mouth doesn't make you a slut or take away your virginity, Dick. Dumbass dick. Maybe you should just hire one of these sluts to sit on your dick, Dick, so you aren't such a DICK. You don't recognize beauty or talent when it tap dances to Rachmaninov on your ignorant, tiny, wrinkled, little dick, Dick. Your insecurities over your failing self image have festered for so long that you have been reduced to basic, elementary attacks on those whom you find superior to you in every way. Dick. Apologies that the only woman you find attractive, Dick, is your mother; those were probably the last tits you ever touched...let's be real here shall we, dick? Dick? 

So, Dick, shall we play nice from now? Try thinking about keeping your dick in your pants, Dick, and maybe one of these sluts will actually be your friend one day and not suffer from your lashing out against your mother. Let's go from there and see what happens, dick."

-Sassy

This past Saturday, I was at Clarendon Grill with my crew. My crew happened to be all male. Great chances for meeting men when surrounded by sausage. Luckily, three srat sisters found me. Unluckily, I was alone when I stumbled upon my toolbag Facebook stalker. To explain, I will need to back track to about a year ago:

I was in DC. I was with Julie at a bar with a group of friends we had just met through kickball. They all went to the same college, so no Techies were around to talk about the football game we had that day. All of a sudden, I see a dude in a Virginia Tech T-shirt. At this time, Julie was off flirting elsewhere. I decided to approach this Tech dude. I went up to him and asked if he saw the game. His face instantly lit up because, I guess, well, he thought I was going to bang him? Right... So he was all excited, but fortunately for me, he was in line for the toilet and it was his turn to enter the bathroom. Whew, I thought. Whew. I was going to be able to get out of this scot free. Urgently, he asked for my full name. He whipped out his BlackBerry and Facebooked me on the spot. Instant red flag. 

I regretfully accepted his friend request. His name is Rich Carpenter. Over the past year, I've received no less than 340 Facebook messages from him asking me to meet up. Asking me to come over. Telling me I am sexy. He even gave me a nickname like we were best pals: Ra-Zah.

At first, I answered his inital questions of where I worked, where I hang out, etc... After the first 3 messages though, I stopped responding. He gave me his number multiple times, to which I did not reciprocate. He has "Liked" multiple pictures, statues, and wall posts, and tried (emphasis on tried, as he failed when I did not respond) Facebook chatted me numerous times. At one point, he changed his Facebook name to "Dick Gustafson". How fitting.

Sassy ended up hating Dick after Sassy left a Glo-Zell  video on my wall. The douchebag commented "Is this Sassy's girlfriend?" Excuse me? Do you know Sassy? Are you on friendship terms in order to address him by name and taunt him? No sir. That is my job.

One Sunday morning, I was on Facebook. I had a notification that he "Liked" and commented on one of my pictures. This picture was of Julie and myself. Her large breasts were very cleavaged. His comment was "Boobies". At the very same moment, I received a Facebook chat from him "You are so hot" "You are so sexy". What exactly do girls say to this?

"You are so hot"

"Omg baby you too" (even though you have one picture tagged of you, it's clearly the best one you have taken in your lifetime, it's cropped and probably stretched, so I really don't know what you look like)

"Come over" 

"Ok... what size are you? Magnum, super magnum, or golden penis magnum?"

"Oh baby we don't need that... I heart pulling out"

"MMMmmmk. I'll be over soon. I'm going to 7/11, do you want a toquito?"

"Yeah get me dat jalapeno and pepper jack one"

"Ok. I'm getting a slushie"

"Do they have Crystal Light?"

"I can check"

"Cool. I'll see you soon!"

"Omg yes! I can't wait to bang you. What do you look like again?"

"I have a weird smile that reminds people of a child molester"

"Great! I'll be there soon :)"

So back to the story, this past Saturday, I am at Grill. I am wandering, and I hear "Hello Sarah (lastname)". I turned and see Dick. Now, I am surprised I recognized him. I, of course, played dumb because you can't  creepily say "Hello [ Insert First and Last Name]" to someone you have only met once in real life, and expect them to welcome you with open arms. I asked if I knew him. The fact that I "did not know" Dick, wounded Dick. Dick was pissed. "You can leave now" Oh no you didn't, Dick. I demanded Dick tell me how he knew me. I mean, I knew who Dick was, but I would obey his servant orders. 

Dick explained to me, in a very flippant manner, that he was "the guy in the Virginia Tech shirt about a year ago who you approached". The way Dick said "who you approached" made it seem like I did indeed want to bang him. Immediately, I faked enthusiasm for seeing him again. Out of nowhere it seemed, Dick went on a tirade about how "girls your age don't know what they are looking for." Ohhhh mannnnnn. I WISHED I had Sassy with me for this conversation:

"Girls my age? What age is that?"

"21-26"

"Well what are we supposed to be looking for?"

"All girls right out of college like you, are sluts. On average, they sleep with 20-30 guys a year because they don't want anything serious."

"Excuse me? You do not know me. You cannot make a brash assumption that I am a slut because you have had bad experiences with girls. How old are you??"

"28"

"Well WHY are you talking to 22 year olds anyways?! What are you looking for when you meet a girl at a bar, a wife?!"

"No, you don't understand. You can go now."

I do not know much of what I said after this. I blew up at him, and tried to make my point. I was very, very civil considering the fact that he was ignorant. To make matters worse, the whole time, he was smiling. Dick's smile is god awful. Visualize this:

Our conversation fizzled after Dick called me a liar and whore. I am pretty sure I wished him luck in life and walked away. I saw him later on in a line for another bar. He smiled and waved condescendingly. 

This was NOT the end of our quarrel. The day after, I uploaded the following picture:

"Jon hit me"

When PoPo gets drunk, he hits me. No biggie. I uploaded this evidence, and within 20 minutes, Dick commented.

"Wow PoPo got you good, but I bet you deserved it Ra-zah ;)"

What the eff. 

Didn't we have an unspoken mutual agreement last night that you were never to contact me again?  I THOUGHT I had blocked him from all of my Facebook at this point. I then checked his profile, and his status upped his douche-baggery by 10 points: "number of hot exs i saw in Arlington last night: three"

Now, I am neither hot, nor an ex of this microphallus, but I do know I am one of this "three" Dick speaks of. 

I asked Sassy comment back to Dick. The first comment Sassy posted was something about me being a liar and that I am actually a slut that I deny myself to be (blatant sarcasm). This made it very apparent I had told Sassy about Dick and my conversation the night before. I instantly deleted it. Sassy then commented again with a brilliant line of "get some extenze, Dick, your jokes keep comin up short". I liked this, and kept it.

Dick didn't like this attack.

10 minutes later, I received a message in my inbox with a subject title of "So predictable":

August 1 at 6:22pm

nice slap tat... ironic that came moments our convo. who woulda thought? dumbass slut.

lastly, you arent very attractive and you badly need to lose weight. peace

I would like to point out Dick, that your grammar is poor. "Ironic that came moment our convo"? I do not understand you, Dick. If I were to attack me in writing, I would proofread and use proper punctuation, capitalizing the first letters of my sentences and inserting apostrophes in my conjunctions. Also, I do not know what does "nice slap tat" means. It is a slap, and it is quite nice resembling the Wilson ball from Castaway and everything, but it is not a tattoo. And please, regarding my attractiveness and weight, do not insult me by cutting to the soul of all women. I see myself in the mirror everyday, Dick. I know what I am, which is neither unattractive nor corpulent. If you really wanted to hurt me Dick, criticize my wit and humor. Call me boring. If you called me a poor writer, I would instantly take up a self destructive habit of cutting or meth. I would turn into Lindsey Lohan, getting really skinny and having people talk about how cute I was "before". Man Dick, I wish I could give you a lesson on written abuse. You could have really scarred me there, Dick. And so, to give you a lesson on a well thought out, poetic justice, Sassy has written you an example of something you could maybe use in the future to victimize women:

Ode to Richard:

Well first off, Dick, you're a Vagina. A scared, unkempt, little pussy. You clearly changed your name from Richard to Dick just so people would find you more humorous and daring. Well, Dick, it seems that the world doesn't find you humorous OR daring, but instead just agrees with you. You're a dick, Dick. You march around on your little dick-Dick legs meeting girls and trying to impress them with your razor's-edge-wit and good graces...that is until, in this case, you got the Razor's edge. The better edge. The sharper edge. The edge that comes with me as back up. Chances are that you're still a virgin--a lonely one--and therefore lash out at the so-called sluts...the sluts that STILL won't sleep with you, or touch your dick, Dick. Putting a dick in your mouth doesn't make you a slut or take away your virginity, Dick. Dumbass dick. Maybe you should just hire one of these sluts to sit on your dick, Dick, so you aren't such a DICK. You don't recognize beauty or talent when it tap dances to Rachmaninov on your ignorant, tiny, wrinkled, little dick, Dick. Your insecurities over your failing self image have festered for so long that you have been reduced to basic, elementary attacks on those whom you find superior to you in every way. Dick. Apologies that the only woman you find attractive, Dick, is your mother; those were probably the last tits you ever touched...let's be real here shall we, dick? Dick?

So, Dick, shall we play nice from now? Try thinking about keeping your dick in your pants, Dick, and maybe one of these sluts will actually be your friend one day and not suffer from your lashing out against your mother. Let's go from there and see what happens, Dick.

Live long and prosper, Dick.

CARE

I left work Monday afternoon, placed my ear phones in, and made my way to my Jetta parked in a parking garage about 6 blocks away. Walking there is a fun, interesting walk... usually. My building is located next door to the City's Probation Office, so the riff-raff that usually builds up in outside of it (especially since there is a bus stop right in front: bus stop = public transportation = not white people friendly) is typically worth noting. There were various different colors of dark skinned people, pets, and insects. 4 female employees, all appearing to be divorced and miserable, stood out front having their hourly cigarette break, most likely bonding over how their pre-pubecsent teenagers recently discovered RedTube and YouPorn and there are no clean towels in the house.

I walked by them, head high, music loud. I passed Banana Republic, a staple brand in any white girl closet, and reached the stoplight where there are two options for me to reach my destination. I could either cross straight or turn left and cross. The turn left and cross was the most viable option, as the light was green. Now, while crossing the crosswalk, I saw two young white men in black polos and khakis standing in front of Popeyes holding literature. White people do not go into Popeyes, so I knew they something was off. I was about 100 feet away when the taller, more attractive one started smiling and waving excitedly. A few things crossed my mind: A. I met this smiley boy, but did not remember his face so I was going to have to pretend I remember when he tells me we met at Wendy's one fateful night, OR  B. He was a Jesus (a Jesus = a dumb, religious person attempting to convert all non-Jesuses) OR C. He was related to TCB, because he sure as hell reminded me of him and had the same mannerisms. Also crossing my mind was that I had my f*cking retainer in and this random boy is about to talk to me and I am self-conscious. I walked a few more feet and instantly started sweating because Waving Boy looked more and more like TCB and he hadn't texted me in like, 3 months, and he is supposed to be in some country Europe where I hope he gets the plague.

I got closer.

Waving Boy: WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?

Me in my head: Is this really happening? Am I going to be converted to a Jesus today? I actually don't know what I'm listening to, just some indie music I downloaded two nights ago so I have something added to my iTunes that isn't Lady GaGa or Glee, so when people look through my iTunes they say I have great taste and I want me to burn them a mixed tape 

Me aloud: WHAT???

Waving Boy: What are you listening to?

Me: (Stopped in front of the two black polos boys and stare, wondering if I should speak or not because I DO have plastic in my mouth, along with a really bad speech impediment because of this plastic so I dunno if they really want me to speak): I am really freaked out right now.

Waving boy and friend: Why???

Me: Are you associated with Popeyes?

Waving boy: (laughs) No, no, we are with CARE. Defending dignity. Fighting poverty.

Me in my head: Do I have 30 minutes to spare? This is entrapment. I wonder if I should be rude and keep walking. I mean, really though, I just worked 9 hours saving children and I want to go for a run before it starts raining even though it feels like a swamp outside and I am already sweating in my pits. This boy is cute though...

Me aloud: Oh I thought you were with Popeyes. You guys shouldn't stand out front. People will get the wrong idea.

Black polos laugh.

Me in my head: Thank god he didn't pursue the "what are you listening to" question. I would have to look at my iPod and tell him I'm listening to the new Twilight soundtrack.

Waving Boy approaches me closer to get more intimate, obviously about to give me his CARE schpeel. 

Waving Boy: Do you like to travel?

Me in my head: He looks like TCB. I am nervous. 

Me aloud: Yes.

Waving Boy: Oh you do?! Where is your favorite place to travel to?

Me: Japan

Waving Boy: Oh wow Japan! What is your favorite thing about Japan?

Me: The food.

Waving Boy: Haha actually that is my favorite answer. I love the food too.

Me: I like sushi.

Waving Boy: Haha! So why were you there?

Me: My parents.

Waving Boy: How long were you there?

Me: Four years. Then I came here.

Waving Boy: Talks about CARE. Talks about women and children dying from childbirth, dying from starvation, dying from dying.

I listened intently.

All while this is occurring, I tried to appear as attractive as possible with a retainer in my mouth. I learned somewhere that arching your back is a mating call as is fluttering your eyelashes. Someone also once told me that when females touch their hair, they are sending off sexual signals, but I don't like my hands (man hands, gorilla like) and I didn't have mittens to cover them up with, so I didn't touch my hair. I sucked in my stomach, and tried as much as possible to smile without showing my teeth. I did that thing you do when you have braces where you cover up your teeth with your upper lip because you are embarrassed and think no one can really notice your orthodontia if you cover it with your upper lip when really everyone knows you have a metal mouth. I laughed as little as possible, and when doing so, I cover my mouth with my hand. Typically, my flirting is a cross between being a menstruating b*tch with a lot of wit and charm, and lots of laughing. Since I couldn't laugh freely, I tried my hardest not to be appear like a humorless b*tch because this kid was talking to me about dying people who I really did feel sorry for. 

About halfway through his speech (about 45 minutes later) it starts to rain. We had to move under the Popeyes awning to seek cover. 

Waving Boy: You see this woman here? (Points to picture of black woman on his literature) She was given two dollars and created a life by herself by creating a banana farm and sells bananas and employs her daughters to sell bananas. She paid for her education....

Me in my head: I would love a banana right now. I really need to go for a run. It's raining right now and I'm getting wet. Do you think I should say I'm wet? Would that turn him on? He has hazel eyes and freckles. Our wedding should be outside so our eyes catch the sunlight and people would say our children are going to have beautiful eyes.

Waving Boy: .... We try to encourage people to donate every month by cutting back on things. For example, we tell people to not drink bottled water...

Me in my head: Oh he would love me. I love my Camelbak waterbottle but F*CK where is it? Dammit left it on my desk. I wonder if my salmon filet is thawed out at home. I will have that and my leftover veggies for dinner. I could whip up some rice too.

Waving Boy:  I am a student. I have to pay rent and tuition. I've made sacrifices. So for only 30 dollars a month....

Me in my head: WTF WHITE BOY. Your DADDY pays your tuition and rent. You live in the DC area. If you really wanted to help out, transfer to an instate public institution and donate the money you would have spent going to a private school to the starving Africans. I  know your tricks.

Me aloud: Omg. I cannot afford that. I am going to have an anxiety attack paying $30 a month.

Waving Boy: It's totally worth it.... more babble I don't remember.

Me in my head: If I sign up, he will have my phone number on file, meaning there is a chance he'll call me and possibly Facebook me. What a cute way to say you met your fiance.

Me aloud: I'll do it.

Waving Boy: Really?

Me: Yes. Sign me up.

Waving Boy: Ok! Whips out iPhone.

Me: I enter it in there?

Waving Boy: Yeah!

Me: Ok.

He takes my information and I am nervous someone on the street knows me. There I was, standing infront of Popeyes, getting shuffled around by the Latinos trying to get in and out the fried chicken stand, getting wet and giving my credit information out to a stranger on the street with a folder with a large Indian woman head on the cover. My reputation and street cred were at stake.

After the exchange of my name, address, phone number, credit info, etc... we said farewell. I walked away, placed my pods back in my ears, and marched away feeling good I did something great for society. I got in my car, and did a drive-by, just in case black polos saw me and would think I was cool and outdoorsy because I drive a graphite grey Jetta with roof racks. 

It was only while I was running eventually, (swampland, I live in swampland hell; it rained on me during this run, just as I was passing a church - a church I used to go to - a church I was Confirmed at - a church my parents still attend - karma.) did I begin to think this was a scam and I needed to cancel my monthly plan. I called Julie and Kaye on my ride home and they freaked because, essentially, if this boy was not attractive, I would not have donated. I guess, in short, I paid $20 because I prayed there might be a possibility Waving Boy might call me. Then I thought to myself  I wear a retainer. I then started planning my life - alone.

Lacrosse Final Four

This past Saturday, a group of sorority sisters and I went to the Lacrosse Final Four in Baltimore. Baltimore is ghetto. I'm not talking about ghetto like you walk to 7-11 and you see some homeless man drinking a Hurricane asking for a Black and Mild. I'm also not talking about the ghetto you see in Northern Virginia high schools where, one cannot walk through a hallway without getting pegged in the face with an ice ball on the way to class, and having to be rushed to the security and nurse's office in order to file a police report, while everyone knows the perpetrator will not be caught because even though everyone knew who did it, the hoodlums are the mafia and keep quiet about who did the wrong-doings to the poor innocent white girl walking down the hallway.


No I am not talking about that kind of ghetto.

I am talking about the straight out of Precious ghetto; something you would reference to Biggie ghetto.

Our journey began when we met Maggie at her cousin's house in the first ghetto neighborhood of Baltimore I had experienced. Her cousin goes to UMBC, and strolled out of his townhouse dressed in a sombrero, board shorts and his UMBC lacrosse jersey. We were headed to their family's tailgate at Raven's stadium, and had to figure a way to get there. With us on this trip were Maggie, myself, Kathleen, MDav (our current Virginia Tech Homecoming Queen: see Sassy),  Maggie's boyfriend Ebs, Maggie's cousin who we will call Sombrero, and Maggie's cousin's friend who is unimportant because I don't remember him.

Our first obstacle this day, was figuring a way to get to the stadium. Our mission was to find the "Light Rail". Sounds like something out of Indiana Jones, and it should be considered into being made into a feature film starring Blake Lively as me (she would play me in a Window's 7 commercial for my imagination... FYI Steve Jobs thought of Window's 7), and I don't really know how Indiana would play a role in this mission, but I mean, I guess we could write him in.

Anyways, we decided that, since there were only 7 of us, we would just pile into Kathleen's Passat. No biggie. MDav sat on my lap in a crouched position mimicking a rollie pollie, and Maggie sat on Ebs' lap. It should have been a straight shoot to this Light Rail, but it was not. Sombrero had Kathleen drive to his friend's house who he thought might know where this Light Rail might be. There are a lot of mights in this story. The friend was not home, as Sombrero proved after patrolling the house for any life forms.

We ended up getting on various different highways, going on a ghetto safari. It was fun getting a tour of a place I will certainly never end up again. We pulled over at a gas station, and I peed because it's me and I always have to pee. Even though I didn't touch one thing in this bathroom, I do think I am infected. Don't worry, I'm getting tested next week. The bathroom surely gave me an airborne disease, and I really don't want to risk it.

After we finally found this "Light Rail", we bought our tickets (which we ended up not needing because apparently they don't check tickets? Only in Baltimore) and we waited. This Rail track looked like a Busch Garden's ride for the pussy kids who think it's fun to ride on a fake train, when in reality it's not fun going 5 mph in a straight line with the "conductor" faking enthusiasm while he regrets his felony assault charges back in the 80's that brought him this low life of conducting a fake train for 6 year old niglets.

While waiting, another Light Rail customer showed up. Low and behold this wigger had an ankle monitor, and shouted at us to see if we had change for a five. B*tch please. I am not giving you five ones you will go and use on some clapping stripper. I know your tricks gypsy. Us non-wigger white people can see your bracelet and we know it's not something you get at Claire's.

Wigger.

So after getting on the "Light Rail" I made a note to myself that the title makers for this mode of tranportation got it wrong. It should have been called the "Dark Rail", if you catch my drift.

We saw every life form imaginable. There was a man behind us with two tear drop tattoos, and various other urban stereotypes. Fortunately for us, we sat behind three white people, all lacrosse fans, on their way to the games as well. Oh white people and their outdoor field sports.

Kathleen and me.

We arrived at the tailgate, and I for one, felt underdressed. This was not a place for the ugly, fat, or non-WASP population. Everyone was beautiful. Everyone played lacrosse. Every girl had a dress on, and every boy had their school's lacrosse jersey on. I wanted to film my interactions with these people, because frankly, the were all ridiculous. The most pathetic thing all day was the sole non-white person there was a black toddler, about 4 years old, running around with a lacrosse stick. I'm pretty sure he was lost, but I was not at work, so I didn't help.

Maggie's uncle, aka Sombrero's father, brought this large portable bar/trailer type thing, and we paid $25 for endless amounts of beer, wine, and food for the rest of the day. It was a very nice get-up. What tickled me silly was that, no matter what beer I chose, no matter what tap it came from or how they poured it, the beer was foamy. Slightly frustrating when all you wanna do is get drunk. We learned our lesson and started taking two beers at a time. We switched to wine at one time, but in all honesty, I didn't want to be that fruitcake drinking wine at a tailgate.

At one point, we were sitting down under a tent to avoid the sunlight (vampires) and from a distance, I see this short nugget of a man/boy/child. The only reason I noticed him earlier is because he was topless. Topless as in, he was walking around, showing of his perfectly lean, injected abdomen/shoulders/arms. Some might find that attractive -- I do not. I wanted to mess with his head. Obviously something was wrong either upstairs or downstairs -- compensating for a lack of mind or lack of peen. He started walking over to our tent because he knew someone in our circle. I kept staring at him. I had to get a picture. I went up and asked him. He laughed and said yes. I am 5'10. He was 4'10. Poor thing probably thought I was obsessed with him if I asked for a picture. Because of my downward angle view of his body, I saw his shaved back stubble. D.i.s.g.u.s.t.i.n.g. Funnily enough, I had purchased a coupon the previous day for 6 treatments of laser hair removal I will be using on my legs. I should have given it to him. After the picture, he started pissing me off.

I cut myself out. I am a beached whale. He is flexing, obvi.

Maggie has braces. I wear a retainer. Good for us for fixing our teeth. Well, Nugget Douche Bag (NDB), attempted conversation by flat out asking us "You guys look young. You still in college?" And we all shut him down. He then started on about how we all look young, listing Maggie as the youngest because of her braces. He then started bashing the orthodontia. All the while he was doing this, I had MDav's camera and snapped no less that 89 pictures of him. He then showed her his "beaver teeth" and told her he needed braces as well. From wearing a retainer, I know how people respond when you tell them you are fixing your teeth. They get self conscious. They then vent to you about how then need to fix this or that about their grill but they "don't want to get braces/retainer." Pretty sure having a perfect smile for the rest of your life is worth the money and time you put into it. That is just me though. Obviously NDB's priorities fell upon his body, whereas mine are my mouth. Our conversation dissipates and he goes to mingle with the lacrosse barbies. I catch him a few times looking over at me, pointing probably telling his bros I'm the piece who wanted to make his peen wet or some foul, boy talk word for me wanting him. Ha, what a fool.

The beaver discussing his teeth with Maggs. 

Hours go by, and instead of going to the game, we get hungry for some real food, so we venture into Baltimore. The nice parts are nice. After dinner, we walk back, but along the way we see these poor, helpless Chic-Fil-A workers trying to give away the new Spicy Chicken Sandwich. They had a cooler filled with them, but we had already eaten, so all of us were polite and turned them down. We started to walk away and I realized, they didn't want us to take them, they needed us to take them. By this hour, all the tailgaters had gone into the game. They were stuck in corporate pit of free giveaways. If they didn't give that whole cooler away, they would have to stay until the real vampires came out. Being the kind, generous soul I am, I told them I would help them out. I got all of us to take a sandwich, but I went further and took no less than 16 of the sandwiches and shoved them in my purse. I know they were grateful. I just increased their chances of survival by 50%, as I ended up taking half the cooler. I told them I would help give them away, but that idea got shut down by the Chic-Fil-A Nazi of the group who said that was illegal or some nonsense about corporate. I was tempted to put each sandwich back in their cooler because apparently, if I can't give them away, I would have to eat them. Is that their logic while I was shoving my bag with fried poultry? That I would eat every single one? I have the right mind to write a letter-

"Dear Chic-Fil-A,

I am a long time consumer of your products. I love your breading on your nuggs, and the pickles you put on your Grilled Chicken Breast sandwich. I love your signature Chic-Fil-A sauce and the way your fries resemble this weird necklace my friend JFed wears. But, all this aside, I do not like one of your employees. She was dark skinned, medium height, I think she had large boobs, and black hair. It is quite possible she is obese She works for you in promotions in some restaurant close to Baltimore. I tell you this because I am a good citizen. On Saturday, May 29th, I attended the Final Four Lacrosse Championships at Raven Stadium. This woman, along with 4 other employees, patrolled tailgates offering free Spicy Chicken Sandwiches. We encountered them at the end of their shift. To be kind, I offered to take 16 sandwiches off their hands. They obliged, and graciously gave us 79 free Spicy Chicken Sandwiches coupons in return. Upon walking away, I told them I would help hand them out. This worker in question, snapped and told me I was not allowed to do this. I am here to report to you Chic-Fil-A, that an employee of yours forced me to eat 16 sandwiches. How is one to do this? I do not know. Binging is an eating disorder. She encouraged me to be obese. I have two courses of action you could take for you to possibly, avoid a lawsuit. Fire this employee or open up on Sundays so we can enjoy your your goodness on God's day. You have been warned.

Sincerely,

Fat Patron"

I ended up taking those sandwiches to the tailgate, where I handed them out against evil woman's wishes. The largest, sweatest, loudest girl there took one, and asked me "Where is the mayonnaise?" I was speechless. NDB kept looking at me, and came up to me. I confronted him "You keep looking at me" he replied "THAT'S BECAUSE YOU KEEP LOOKING AT ME" Again, speechless at the douchbaggery. The same large, sweat girl kept telling me that he was her "best guy friend" or whatever and he is a really "good guy". That really just means she wants his D, and he won't give it to her. The same sweaty female came up to me 10 minutes later asking if any of us girls had cover up because she just "went to town" on the zits on her face. How nice of her to share.

After UVa lost (there was a game going on this whole time, Duke vs. UVa, I do not need to tell you who I was rooting for... it is a given), we went home. Same "Light Rail" ride (given we were coming from a lacrosse game, the "Light Rail" lived up to its name), different ride home. We were all very thirsty. Since I paid for Maggie and Kathleen's meal, Maggie decided to make it up to me by buying my drinks at 7-11. I bought three: 2 liter water, 1 liter Vitamin Water, and a Diet Pepsi. I downed that water between 7-11 and the 7 minute car ride home. On the way though, we stopped at a stoplight. There was a sign on the right side of the road that said "House 4 Sale 14K Call ###" Hrm. That sounds like a quality investment.

We get back to Sombrero's place, and we PTFO'd. The last thing we did before sleeping was munch on "Burger Cakes" that Kathleen bought. Going to bed with WASP-y memories from that day, while having the aftertaste of Burger Cakes ecstasy in your mouth really is underrated. You should try it sometime soon.

The End.