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Monday, October 31, 2005

Detox the Bitch

"When the wine goes in, strange things come out." ~Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller, The Piccolomini, 1799

This is Scott. Scott plays for the Panthers. Scott is a loud motherfucker at 4AM. I know this for a fact, because he spent the weekend in my apartment, while I was too hungover to freak out that he plays for the Panthers and that he may have tackled a Barber (speaking of Barbers ummm 36-0. Awesome. Major digression there) Yet, hungover enough to be a complete whore, the entire weekend. Because that’s what a hangover does.

I’ve been irritable, restless and uneasy. It happens in times of change and this “change” has hit me like a big yellow school bus. I’ve coped by eating copious amounts of carbohydrates, pumpkin spice lattes and attempting to workout whenever I could get my lazy hungover ass to do so. I’m a fucking mess. Sad and pathetic really and not something that one should own up to. But I’m learning to deal with my faults and instead of getting more upset I’m trying to figure out how to change them.

Not only do I drink on a regular basis (and by drink, I mean an entire bottle of wine to myself in one evening) I do so in a way that’s unhealthy and I do things that I’m not proud of. I say things I shouldn’t have, I’ve punched friends, cried, fallen out of a shower, cried some more, and been your basic idiot. Wednesday night was awful and Thursday morning I felt it. Thursday night I drank more (obviously I no longer want my liver) and then almost fell in Union Station. Friday I gave blood (the poor poor individual that gets my blood also will end up with a blood alcohol level of .18) and after being warned to NOT drink for five hours, I had two glasses of wine before bed at 8pm. In turn, I was a surly bitch for most of the weekend.

Saturday evening, meant parties, including one with a former interest, that only proved to me that he tells everyone, EVERYTHING. As my reputation proceeded me, upon entering that apartment. I wanted him shot. Saturday evening was also full of “witches brew” and “jungle juice” that left me a hungover mess once again on Sunday. And ready for a change.

I am detoxing. Not just because of this past week, which while bad, I’ve had worse. But because I need it, my body needs it. I drank more alcohol last week than water. I ate more complex carbohydrates than fruits and vegetables. Do we see a pattern of complete self destruction here?

I realize that none of these things are that severe. But it is to me, and once I start worrying, then no one is safe. A detox, not just from alcohol but also from crappy foods. I’ve said it before, but my God do I mean it this time. This is ridiculous and I’m writing this completely furious that I’ve been so completely stupid. And we all know that nothing screams stupidity while driving while semi-intoxicated and eating crap food at the same time.

I need this. I’m smiling (albeit furious) because I’ve told myself that it’s time for a little change. I’m hoping (and praying) that the next three weeks help things improve. Because really I’m not feeling all too hot and I’m sure my diet of French fries, pasta, and cabernet sauvignon isn’t helping.


I walked into work today, with plans to see Rosa Parks (after getting a talking to by my parents) this evening after standing in line with thousands. I even brought my In Style with me to read while in line. I get to work and find out that yes, there will be Rosa Parks but at her memorial service. With actual dignitaries. Important people and me (with my boss, who is also important, but I’ve gotten out of the “oh my god, you’re you and I’m freaking out” stage with my boss. But actual famous (like umm possibly Oprah and ummm, the cabinet) and me. And I have muster up whatever acting skills I may have (or not) and play adult. I’m not good at playing adult. Trust me, I have witnesses.

Excuse me while I flip my shit and do breathing exercises. Seriously.

*Ok I met-more like my boss forced me to say hello to-Cicely Tyson and I had to keep from quoting Fried Green Tomatoes...ummm and today has been so freaking random and just weird. And I've been a very bad blog reader, because I haven't been in my office the entire day and now I will be here until 8 doing work. blah.

Friday, October 28, 2005 least for us

It would be difficult for me to be any more miserable right now, I feel like the worst person ever. First, let me start be saying that I am truly truly sorry, and I hate myself for hurting you. Of all the people in the whole entire world, you were honestly the last person that I would ever want to wrong in any way. There is no excuse at all for anything that happened, so I won't even try other than to say all of us had WAY too much to drink, and I did a stupid thing. I can handle you being pissed at me, I absolutely deserve it, I can even handle the ugly words that were exchanged between us, what I can't handle is thinking that you see me as a different person. It is weird, I feel like I just went through a horrible break up or something. The world looked funny yesterday, I couldn't crack a smile if you paid me, there are songs I can't listen to, and I just feel beyond crushed. I don't know if you meant everything you said to me, and I am also hoping that this is something that we can deal with. I know it sounds totally crazy and stupid, but you have come to play such a significant role in my life, I can't imagine my days without you. It is totally strange and weird to say that, and you could say that my behavior didn't reflect that, and you would be correct. I hate feeling like you hate me, and I hate feeling like all of your friends think I am a terrible person, because I am not. I know there is nothing I can say nor do to take back what happened, but I just want you to know that fighting with you was just about the worst thing I could ever imagined. It was right up there with one of the ugliest nights of my life, and I would give anything in the world to rewind and fix it.
I am not sure if you will respond to this, part of thinks that you won't. If not today, then maybe some other time. Also, thanks for getting my stuff together, although I think my sunglasses are still at your house, if you could keep your eyes peeled for them that would be great. I can't even focus or work today, I can't eat, I seriously feel it was an ugly break up, and I am hoping against hopes it was not that and you are not done with me. Please don't cut me off, I really don't think I can handle that.
I am so sorry.


Dear Elizabeth,
Thank you for your concern. I'll be sure to file it away under "L" for "Long-winded diatribes from drunken whores I couldn't care less about."
You did a stupid thing huh? No…doing long division and forgetting to carry the one is "a stupid thing"; Mixing in a red sock with a load of whites is "a stupid thing"; Blowing some guy in a bathroom for 45 minutes while I sit at the bar wondering if you're taking so long because you ate too much bran that morning isn't as much a "Stupid thing" as it is grounds for permanent removal from my social calendar.
To be honest, I'm not sure if it was more amusing that you went and degraded yourself in a public toilet not once but twice in a 2 hour span, or that you seemed to think that by saying "Well, I didn't fuck him" somehow gave you a clean slate.
So forgive me if I couldn't care less if the world "looked funny" to you yesterday. Since your world revolves around blow dryers, golden retrievers, Prada Bags and Jelly Beans, I'm sure it must have been most unsettling to actually have to consider someone else's feelings for 24 hours straight. The good news for you is that my friends don't think you're a terrible person, they just think you're the average run of the mill cum-guzzling blonde who commands about as much respect as your average child porn collector. I could be wrong but, it's pretty hard to respect some B&T chick who comes out to spend the night at my place even though she's seeing someone else in New Jersey and winds up tongue-bathing the taint of anyone who decides 30 minutes of droning commentary on Colin Farrell's new haircut is worth putting up with for a hand job in the men's room. The good thing about being a guy is that when I eventually bump into the young lad who finger-blasted you on top of a towel dispenser last Saturday, we'll have a shot and laugh our heads off about the time it happened.
By the way, for the amount of time you claim to spend in spin class you really must be doing something wrong to sport the thunder thighs you do. Watching you parade around my bedroom in a thong was a little like watching sea lions mate. Thought you might like to know.

PS. I BCC'd about 100 people on this e-mail.

Talk to you never,


"Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at? " ~W.S. Gilbert

Titanic: The Titanic DVD is coming out with a (wait for it) Alternate Ending. Which means that there is no ice berg and the boat doesn’t sink. Glad that Paramount can change history.
The hell?

Buses: Specifically the circulator. At first I loved that mother fucking red bus, now, not so much. Especially when there are about eight of them chilling at union station and yet all of the drivers are on a break. Break, my ass. Drive. Oh and the passengers, we’ve been waiting (in the cold rain no less) for about 20 minutes, in that time, I think that you should have checked out the little map, figured out your stop, and (gasp) figured out the fare. No need to make the driver wait for 30 more minutes, while you figure out how far K street goes. Oh and driver, GREEN MEANS GO.

I still have a fucking hangover. This might be because I drank last night as well (two glasses of shiraz with a little water on the side-and the best camembert ever!). Then almost busted my ass in union station, because my shoes were slippery. Note to self; stop drinking! Tonight will be a brief hiatus, but there are a few beers, that could stand to be had in my fridge. Sunday will begin my detox. Seriously.

Eyeballs: I think my eyeballs may get stuck in the back of my head if I continue to roll my eyes this frequently. Note to all: no need to tell me something I’ve done wrong 18 times, I got it the first 17 times. And you need not need to speak to me like I'm an idiot. Thanks.

Friday. Man, FRI. DAY.

Read last week's Bitches Are Whack Fridays

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Over hung

I thought I would be able to come up with something. I felt ok on the walk to work, but sitting down now, I'm reminded of my purple calamari. You see, calamari turns purple, when mixed with eight glasses of pinot noir in your stomach.

I really wish I could remember how I got home.

Nothing says Happy Birthday, like a good ol' hangover and arriving to work at 1:45 PM.



Things that are difficult to do while so fucking hungover you might die:
  1. stand
  2. walk
  3. send a fax
  4. scroll up and down on the computer
  5. move the mouse
  6. look into the cabinet above my desk
  7. move the flowers on my desk that are blocking the cabinet
  8. speak
  9. not use the word 'fuck'
  10. eat
  11. drink
  12. work
  13. book a flight
  14. answer the phone
  15. keep my eyes open
  16. attempt to not die

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Birthday Suit

"Birthdays are good for you. Statistics show that the people who have the most live the longest. " ~Larry Lorenzoni

Surprisingly enough I love birthdays, not just my own, but everyone’s. I like that it’s the one day a year where one is treated like he or she is special. It’s not like Christmas where everyone and their Christian brother is celebrating that day. No your birthday is just for you.
I’ve had the pleasure of having some very nice birthdays and lovely gifts bestowed upon me.

For my 16th birthday, my aunts and mother, took me to Chicago. To not only visit the University of Chicago (at the time my first choice school) but also to see Oprah. Seriously, Oprah for my 16th birthday. And a suite on Michigan avenue. And shopping, oh the shopping.

Every year, one of my aunts sends me flowers. For my 21st birthday she called and asked for my work address. I told her to have the flowers sent soon because I’d be leaving early. But there were no flowers. Just a lovely blue box with a lovely new platinum diamond bracelet (for the record, I’m severely allergic to silver so all I can wear is gold or platinum). It was truly lovely and a wonderful surprise.

I’ve also had the requisite terrible birthdays. Like my 13th birthday, when I had a sleepover and invited two friends who had grown to completely despise each other. I had been friends with these girls for years and they had been friends prior to meeting me. But one of these two girls hated the other so much that she covered her pillow in cat hair. My friend Mo, is deathly allergic to cats. So you can see that it was a problem. Yup, birthday party ruined. And we still talk about that birthday to this day.

I have no comments about turning 22. Nothing eventful will happen this year, it’s not a big birthday. Last year, it was nice to be able to use my real ID and not fear being arrested and/or having my ID taken away. Tonight I will spend with my most very favorite people. And one of my favorite DC bars.

I will attempt to not throw up on the middle of F Street and to not have the spins when I attempt to finally pass out. I’ve already been told “I’m gonna get you FUCKED UP tonight”

It’ll be a good birthday and I will even allow myself to be optimistic and say a possibly good year.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

The Day Before

"You are only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely." ~Author Unknown

I woke up with a searing headache this morning and painful jaw ache. Maybe I should wear the night guard that cost $500 to produce.

I’ve had three miniature candy bars in the past two hours. Although one of which didn’t count, because it tasted like ass. I ate it, but it was gross and so I’ve determined that that particular miniature candy bar doesn’t count toward the calorie limit.

I should confess that yesterday I ate the vegetables out of roommate’s Chinese food and that after I finished off my tortilla chips, I started in on his, because I had to finish the amazing whole foods guacamole that I consumed in less than 24 hours.

I was late to work today, due to the mother fucking headache this morning. But seriously, I haven’t been on CP (colored people) time in a few weeks, so I wasn’t too concerned.

It’s raining. Again. Hurricane season blows.

Tomorrow night is the birthday party. I do not. Repeat, do not, want anything remotely close to my 21st birthday to occur to me tomorrow night. Which means no throwing up on cars, no continuous shots, no giving me a drink because my other beer is empty, no guess the shot where the shot ends up being (surprise) gin, no dinosaur throwing up noises, no puking, no spins, and no throwing up everything all day the day after including water.

And this; which I’ve stolen from Lorie (and she got it from here):

(take careful notice of the date of conception. It was a cold winter in upstate New York that year. Thankfully my parents went for a spring-May 1983-wedding. Yeah, do the math)

Your date of conception was on or about 2 February 1983.
You were born on a Wednesdayunder the astrological sign Scorpio.
Your Life path number is 3.

(Also take note of these qualities of a life path number of 3. They are all so fucking true.)

A truly gifted 3 possesses the most exceptional creative skills, normally in the verbal realm, writing, speaking, acting, or similar endeavors.

It is usually easy for you to deal with problems because you can freely admit the existence of problems without letting them get you down

You are not very good at handling money because of a general lack of concern about it. You spend it when you have it and don't when you don't.

The 3 can be an enigma, for no apparent reason you may become moody and tend to retreat. Escapist tendencies are not uncommon with the 3 life path, and you find it very hard to settle into one place or one position

Your birth tree is
Walnut Tree, the Passion
Unrelenting, strange and full of contrasts, often egoistic, aggressive, noble, broad horizon, unexpected reactions, spontaneous, unlimited ambition, no flexibility, difficult and uncommon partner, not always liked but often admired, ingenious strategist, very jealous and passionate, no compromises.
There are 61 days till Christmas 2005!

Monday, October 24, 2005

Conversations with Myself

"You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today."-Abraham Lincoln

A Weekend alone and shopping in two parts:

Act 1:

(Scene: Heather B. is in Montgomery Mall on a Saturday night (I have no life) in hopes to get her poor pink ipod fixed and to get black pants and some great fall boots. After going into Nordstrom and first being COMPLETELY ignored then asking for a boot in size 11 and the salesman returns with a size 10 and asks if I want that. Ummm no. If I wanted a size 10, I would have said please bring me a size 10. Then I would have done a happy dance, because HOLY SHIT, I wear a size 10. After that disappointment, Heather B. heads on to the Apple store. She’s a little irate, as she has just learned that Nordstrom sucks sometimes, but they’re too hard to hate. In the Apple store, she learns that her pretty pink ipod, is beyond repair. It’s physical damage as opposed to whatever else, and to repair physical damage is $199. Man at the Apple store suggest just buying a new one. Heather B. get’s very pissed and says something to the affect of “what other brand of mp3 player do you suggest? Because this shit sucks.” Oh and on her way out, she gives the guy the finger. THE FINGER. (Heather B. this is immaturity. Immaturity meet Heather B.)

Self: I think you need to calm the fuck down and take yourself to Sephora. Hanae Mori and Stila does wonders
Heather B: I think you’re right. I also need my new fall boots.
Self: Look Nine West. Look, a sale.
Heather B: Look at these gorgeous black fuck me boots. I bet they don’t have them in an 11
Self: Don’t be a cynic.

(The boots were available in a size 11 and fit like a motherfucking glove)

Heather B: (singing) I have new fuck me boots. I have new fuck me boots. I have new fuck me boots.
Self: Ok, seriously, stop.
Heather B: Look Coach, I’ll just browse.
Heather B: I’ll just browse. It’ll be ok. Look! A fuck me bag. I want it. I have to have it. It’ll make up for my stupid ipod.
Self: I warned you…

(Heather B, has new fuck me boots and a new fuck me bag. WOOOO HOOO! Happy Birthday to me)

Act II

(Scene: Georgetown at 10:30 AM. Heather B. has just learned that shit doesn’t open till 11 or 12 in Georgetown. Therefore she is forced to walk up and down and up and down M Street for about two hours. Including a quick stop at Dean and Deluca. Cause Sundays are the perfect overpriced specialty grocery store days. MMmmmmm.)

Self: Sooo, this is M street. Again. Hasn’t changed much as you’ve walked up and down 45 times.
Heather B: shut it, or I’ll put you back in the car
Self: Ok. Freak. Hey, umm did you realize that you need new sneakers? Especially since you’ve been (GASP) running lately.
Heather B: oh shit, yeah.
Self: Also did you realize that with your very little salary and the large amount you spend at whole foods and target, that you really can’t afford a fuck me bag from Coach and new sneakers.
Heather B: (crying) I hate my life. (see random homeless person) I still hate my life. What kind of person has to choose between Coach and new running sneakers.
Self: Did you notice the homeless person? The one who has probably never stepped foot in coach and maybe you should shut up.

(Go to Dean and Deluca, cause nothing is open. Still sad, because no more coach bag)

Heather B: mmmm coffee
Self: there are no black people here. In fact we haven’t seen one in all of Georgetown. So this is what a lynch mob might look like, before the actual lynching. Interesting.
Heather B: anyway. Back to the loss of my pretty coach bag. Just sad and so fucking responsible. Maybe Peg, will give me the bag, because I am being responsible with my money.
Self: Probably not.

(Goes to purchase very new pretty pink sneakers. Returns to coach. Heather B. tears up a little when she leaves coach. Goes to Anthropologie and spends the equivalent of the GDP on a pretty fall coat and pretty sweater. Now, on Monday, Heather B. has realized that she doesn’t like the pretty sweater, so she must return it. Especially if she plans on eating at any point during the week. It is determined that in Heather B’s next life, she will be making six figures immediately after college, because that is what is needed to maintain the lifestyle she has become accustomed to. In no way is it natural to have to give up Coach.)

The End.

P.S. My new fuck me boots, look so freaking hot.


Saturday, October 22, 2005

Blogged Down

Right now, sitting here, waiting for a 16 month old to start wailing, has been about the most free time I've had all week (it took me five days to learn of Jason and LC and I threw up in my mouth a little bit), which also means no time for blogging. Whatever will I do?
I never wrote about Happy Hour, except for, well this. But I promise, it was not nearly as frightening as I had thought it would be and no one turned out to be a serial killer. All is good. And DC Cookie is my chocolate martini friend. So, I thank you Kathryn, for calling my lazy ass out.
Work has been crazy and I fear that it will be this way for many years (I mean that literally). I spent most of Friday, banging my head with the telephone. I seriously do this on a regular basis.
Other than that, I've run a lot this weeke, been to two new restaurants, debated stalking a waiter at one of these restaurants (the Jury's still out on that one), gotten drunk at IndeBleu, and made plans for the birthday.
So I suppose, a semi-successful week.

Oh, and I also thought of evil things to do to the spawn of satan and to my ipod, which I may have to throw out the window if I have to listen to Dancing Queen, one more mother fucking time.

Maybe this week, I'll make my desk not look like the printer has thrown up on it and I will attempt to not eat an entire bag of Salt and Vinegar chips, as I've realized that my pantalones are a little snug (but I make no promises). Also, will debate whether or not to attend a party at a former crush's (I hate the word) house. Suggestions would be helpful.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Bitches Are Whack Fridays*

"Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at? " ~W.S. Gilbert

Last Friday went something like this: bitch, bitch, bitch, Laguna Beach**, Run’s House, JB, bitch, bitch.
I’m never prolific on Fridays because I’m tired and shit, it’s Friday.
From now on you’ll get my lovely complaints of the week, because I can do that. Feel free to vent, because sharing means caring.

The only thing I have for you this week, is my ipod. Sweet Jesus, the damn thing is broken. It turns on and everything, but the menu button doesn’t work and it takes a huge amount of effort when attempting to go between songs; ie I have to press the button down reaaaaaaally hard for it to work. Before it only played one play list, so I suppose this is an improvement. But still, right now, because the menu button doesn’t work, this means that I have to listen to songs alphabetically by artist. Which means 2 hours of 50 Cent then 2 hours of ABBA. I kid you not.
And what can be done about this you ask? Not a damn thing. I just have a busted ipod and no urge to get a new one anytime soon. Which only spins me back to the fact that the stupid ipod can’t be plugged into an older USB port, so all of music is on my computer in ALBANY! Albany, is nowhere near, DC. So now I have a busted ipod, and absolutely no music, because it’s in Albany.

It’s also raining again. Rain sucks. Hurricanes suck. And Apple sucks.

Now, your turn.

*BAWF for short
**Is anyone else concerned about this LC/Jason thing going on?? And how absolutely dejected Stephen looks, while witnessing this debacle?

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Everyday Feels like the Last Day of School

"Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils." ~Louis Hector Berlioz

I’ve been reminiscing about last fall. Not about pumpkin spice lattes, apples, Halloween or turtlenecks. About business and being crazed and working myself to the point of exhaustion. Nothing screams “Kill me now, please” like working seven days a week for about 14-15 hours a day, while attempting to take and pass a semester’s worth of classes. Last fall was one of those times, when I wished everyday that it was November 3rd. There was an end point. We would be victorious. But November 3rd couldn’t come fast enough. There was an end point, but it felt like the sheer hell I was in would never end. I look back to a year ago and now know that it feels like eons ago. Was there really an election just one year ago? I also know that we would not be victorious, but not something that I care to dwell on. People, make fun, but seriously, it felt like a death in the family. But I digress.

This entire summer, I’ve been bored. So bored that I needed to write about it and remember exactly how the first few months out of college felt. Everyday felt like the last day of school. You’re somewhere and you have to be there, but you’re not doing much. Just kind of hanging out. Everything is casual and nothing feels too pertinent. I complained about that feeling. I also complained about being super busy. I complain a lot. But what I need is a happy medium. It’s like BAM. School’s back, except no one to take me back to school shopping or get me the things I need to make me feel better.

Today has been one of the worst, in terms of madness and craziness. It’s all I can think about. Not about the Friends of Hillary Event or eating dinner at Acadiana or dessert with the so very cute waiter at Vidalia or Happy Hour last night, with some of my new favorites. All I can think about is when this day will be over and that it is possible to eat a roll of Toblerone and a bag of goldfish crackers in one sitting. Where can I get more? The Toblerone, was the worst part though, because it just made me think of Amsterdam last Valentine’s Day.

I complain all too much that things are moving too slowly or how much I want something to end. Why can’t it be over now? The end date is so far away. I did that with the Election, with being in Europe, my birthday, and now with work. How many times have I sat and said to myself “I can’t wait for my birthday!” Now it’s coming and the plans have felt rushed, but I’m sure it will be ok.

I need to relax. Bliss will be nice next month. I’ll need it. Just sit back and enjoy the Toblerone. Things truly do go faster as you get older. Or is the time flying while I’m having fun?

A Great Way to Piss Me Off

...Be someone that I vehemently abhor to the point where there are no words for how I feel about you, then have the audacity to cut in front of me at Starbucks and order some stupid complicated shit (WTF is triple venti??). THEN, stand thisclose to me while waiting for your coffee. Which in turn will cause me to speed walk to work, because I have been so angered by you and just do not like you that much.

Happy Thursday...

Addendum: I promise, promise, promise to write about last night. I have become the least prolific person ever (and I know you have high expectations of me). But for now read here, here and here.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Comfort Levels

"I just wish my mouth had a backspace key. " ~Author Unknown

I attended Girl Scout camp for 13 years. I went to college in DC for four years. I went to Spain for study abroad. I’ve had six jobs/internships in the last four years. Despite all of these things, I don’t do new people. I don’t like change. Mind you, I make friends easily and I am relatively outgoing. It’s the anticipation that gets me and drives me into the ground. Anticipation that leads to anxiety as to whether or not I’ll do well or if so and so will like me or if I’ll like this new place that I have ended up.

I know that I cannot stop change and new things. Try as I might, that shit keeps coming and I keep bobbing and weaving, hoping to avoid a train wreck that is me completely fucking up, therefore causing others to dislike me. I may not be the person that “they” (whoever they are) were hoping to meet or to work with or to deal with. I stay in my own little comfort zones in order to keep myself from getting hurt.

Slowly though, I am starting to deal. It’s not like I’ve never endured change before or a new place before. I am re-navigating my way around DC, trying to find new places and new things (like the Whole foods with ALCOHOL on P street). Not thinking about what I come across. I want and must meet new people that aren’t part of my core group of friends that I went to college with. Must move on. Wednesday night I’ll be making a big step and meeting people who may absolutely despise me. This will be completely out of my normal comfort level. So far though, they relatively like me, but with this group, there are new dilemmas and questions of “so what do I call you in real life?” I’m getting nervous just thinking about it, but at least I know that we have one very similar thing in common. Well, two if you count a shared like/love of alcohol to be a similarity that will bring people together.

The Great Debate

Besides abortion, the death penalty and whether or not taxes should be considerably higher for the upper class, there is a debate going on in regards to work bathroom styles. Do you prefer a specific stall or do you just go for the first one that catches your eye? Do you prefer to go while no one else is there or does it not matter? Do you rush in and out or do you take your sweet time and do add-ons, like teeth brushing and make up fixing? These are important societal questions that need to be answered. And by need to be answered, I mean to cure my general curiosity. Is there a bathroom personality that everyone has? Is it predetermined or is it something that people come up with on a whim?

Peg says that as a baby, while in a grocery store, in the frozen food aisle, I picked that exact moment to have what they call a ‘blowout’. Right there in between the frozen peas and eggo waffles. She had to drop everything and leave the cart in the middle of the store. It was in that same grocery store, years later, when she taught me the importance of putting toilet paper on the seat as a barrier, “it’s germy. You don’t want to catch anything.” These were the pre-toilet seat paper cover days. Since then I have been a faithful believer that a public toilet needs to be covered, lest I want some venereal disease. Just do it.

13 years of Girl Scout camp and a love of taking a canoe out for a week of camping, taught me how to pop a squat in the woods. I’ve mastered the art of peeing while in a bathing suit, in pajamas or in shorts and a bathing suit, without getting pee allover myself. I was so proud of myself. This art form has carried well into my formative years and beyond, so now I can do so, while drunk. This is so key, as no one likes a drunk girl with pee allover herself.

Dormitory/roommate life, has taught me that truly everyone poops. There’s no shame in my game and I’m not going to hold it, while 14 other people are in the restroom or if the roommate is home. Going abroad and living with someone else kept the crap in me though. This was someone else’s home. I don’t know these people. And God forbid, they think I’m some ridiculous American who has a problem with her digestive tract. That fear went away after the first week. Hell yeah, I held it for that long. After that, I didn’t care if Teresa and Victor and the entire freaking family were in the house. If I had to go, I went. My abroad experience was sandwiched between living alone, where the only person confronted with my bathroom issues was me and I didn’t give a shit. Pardon the pun.

And finally work. Oh, work. I like the second stall. I put a paper cover on it. I don’t enjoy it when anyone else is in there. And let it be known, that if someone else is in there, I will go back and tell, that you were in there and that it freaked me out. Because seriously, no one else is EVER in there.

Now I question myself and my thoughts of bathroom matter. My mother would be mortified that I am speaking of it in such a public matter. Because in reality, it doesn’t matter, because everyone does it. But I have forever wondered if there is more than a biological science to it or if everyone has their own little quirks about it. The great (bathroom) debate continues.


"There is still no cure for the common birthday." ~John Glenn

I hate to play woe is me. Really, I do.
I turn 22 next Wednesday. This feels more like a nuisance than anything else. This is the first time EVER that I haven’t cared about my birthday. Maybe it’s the effects of today that is causing it. Work makes me uneasy, but you already knew that.

In general though, I am not into this birthday. Last year, I was counting the days. I even had a little countdown going on in my profile. I was pumped and I didn’t give a shit that it was exactly one week before Election Day. I was going all out.

This year? Ummm yeah. I’m contemplating not doing anything at all, because a) I really don’t feel like it b) my friends are all being weird and going through this weird “I’m all about work and/or my significant other phase” and I’m too busy rolling my eyes about it and c) it’s such an insignificant birthday.Feel free to berate me now though for being a whiny brat, because in actuality I need to suck it up and do whatever I damn well please for my birthday and if people can’t be happy, then that’s their thing, not mine. Why is it that I can write about it and type it out, but I cannot seem to convince myself of this?

Monday, October 17, 2005

Sans Blackberry

"Technology... is a queer thing. It brings you great gifts with one hand, and it stabs you in the back with the other. " ~C.P. Snow, New York Times, 15 March 1971

I admired those on the Hill, blackberry in hand 24/7, probably getting important messages on the status of the country. There was such a time. I cannot emphasize ‘was’ enough.

Yes, I wanted a blackberry, and now thanks to the good lord in heaven, I am more than grateful not to have one. The fact that someone, from work, can get a hold of you at any place and time, whenever they pleased, and really you have no recourse if you don’t reply. What? You just didn’t get it? Bullshit. It’s like I have this little bit of freedom, that most people in my office don’t have. When something happens (like say encountering the most inept people in the world, save, for me), I have the ability to say, no, I didn’t know about whatever the situation was until I get into the office, on Monday. So thankfully, I can enjoy an entire weekend, without that feeling of uneasiness. Trust me, I need it (do we recall the email escapade of last week-never will I check work email from home again).

Once again, there were issues over the weekend and without a handy dandy blackberry, I was none the wiser. Which means that by Monday, it’s a moot point. Therefore my sanity is saved and I can enjoy an entire weekend without a single thought of work.

Of course now that I’ve written this, the Nextel gods, will strike down their mighty hands and I will be forced to walk around with that stupid contraption. But until then, I’m free.

Saturday, October 15, 2005


"Women are aristocrats, and it is always the mother who makes us feel that we belong to the better sort. " ~John Lancaster Spalding

My mother comes Monday. This is the same woman who while sitting in Ward circle last year said “I never wanted children. I used to see people in the park with their children and think it was the most awful thing. God, the screaming. This is why we only went to the park after 5:30 PM when all of the normal people went.” Yes, the normal people that go to parks at night in the dark, waiting to prey on little children.

This is also the same woman who when I attempt to get/give a hug and kiss when going to bed, she’ll put out her hand for me to shake. And when I tell her for the 18th time that I've run out of money (because I've spent it all on alcohol) and that I can't afford to shop at Whole foods (the horror!), she tells me "I hope your enjoyed your water for lunch, cause that's all you're getting." That’s love right there.

She also cringes when I try to hug and kiss her and tells me that she’ll do it later. And by later she means never.

She thinks I’m an alcoholic, and that I swear too much, and that I’m overly neurotic. She swears that I’ve received all of these traits from my father. And if you mess with one of her babies, she'll have to kick your ass (which is why a certain High School in upstate NY is being sued right now). The woman certainly covers her bases.

Nevertheless, she taught me about Coach, Stuart Weitzman, how to purchase jewelry (and I get it for EVERY holiday), to get my eyebrows waxed, that suites are an important item to have in one’s closet, to stand up straight and suck my tummy in, and she full on believes that I will one day be a Senator. If mom says it, it must be true.

Yup, she’s coming on Monday for work, and I have to make an appointment to see her. But who cares she’ll take me to Acadiana and shoe shopping and visit work so that my coworkers don’t think I’m the spawn of Satan.

Peg’s coming and my God, does it make me happy.


Friday, October 14, 2005

Cause I'm Sure You Were Wondering

I’m sober. Completely and utterly sober. This is rare, let me enjoy my moment. Instead of being out, I’m perfectly content right now with my sobriety and watching Hitch and reading blogs. I love being alone; thus the reason for living alone for so long. Yes, I read blogs at 12:30 AM on a Friday. Yes, you can make fun of me about it.

I happened upon Tenleytown this evening, for my car and the quick trip to Hollywood Video (quick side note, now the fucking dvds are 3 for $30, what the hell??). It’s a whole ‘nother story, how I’ve been feeling about Tenleytown lately. But while there, I ran into a group of girls that I went to Spain with. We in Spain, were a cliquey bunch and as pretentious as it sounds, I was in the more “popular” group. Which right now, at this time in my life, sounds like the dumbest shit ever, but it’s true. I saw these girls and debated sprinting back down the metro, with hopes that they didn’t see me. But oh no, they sure as hell did, and pointed and looked shocked and everything. I looked like a fucking deer caught in the headlights. All I could do was this awkward and lame, waive thing. The whole reason I was awkward and didn’t want to talk, is because I have no reason to be in Tenleytown, not to mention no reason taking the AU shuttle. And hell yeah, I did.

I bought Hitch, found El Coche (which is how I affectionately refer to my car, I even say “hi baby, mommy missed you” when I get to it. Kidding. Ok, no I’m not) and then went to Johnny Rockets. And for the record the only reason I go to Johnny Rockets, is because they substitute real burgers for Boca Burgers. Went home, and proceeded to watch the WB Friday and felt my IQ drop about 50 points. Nothing will make you feel more painfully retarted and feeling badly for crappy actors, like watching Jenny Garth* (Kelly Taylor) on her stupid show along with special guest star…Jason Priestly (Brandon Walsh). Both are past their prime and all I could think while watching is-remember when Kelly was in the fire with the lesbian and Brandon wanted to be all protective, then she ended up kind of crazy, and back into the arms of Dylan? Shit, I’m old.

Then I went to bed, at the late hour of 8:45 PM. I woke up at midnight, wondering what day it was and where the hell I was.

Wait, maybe I’m not all too sober after all.

*If upon reading this, you have no idea who Kelly Taylor or Brandon Walsh are, then you are obviously 14 years old and if you're over the age of 14 and you still don't know, you'll be shot on sight.

No, Seriously

We’re both private college educated individuals, who know everything about Adam Smith, but this is what we choose to talk about at work. Shut up. (And I’m feeling none too prolific today, so this is what you’re getting)

JB: did u hear you can now download abc shows (aka DH) to your itunes?
HeatherB: shut up!
HeatherB: how do you do this?
JB: you just buy it off of itunes
JB: cuz the new ipod can play videos
HeatherB: I think I might invest in one
HeatherB: but since we're going paycheck to paycheck
HeatherB: that won't be for awhile
JB: hahah, finance one like i did
HeatherB: did you get the new one?
JB: nah, i just got an old one like 3 weeks ago
JB: but i have the warranty
JB: so i think in a little bit i am going to break mine purposely
JB: and get a new one

I was watching Laguna Beach. Because obviously I don’t have any other important things to do:

HeatherB: and oh my god Talan asked kristin to prom
HeatherB: eww
JB: haha
JB: yeah ewww
HeatherB: sorry, I'm really engrossed in this
HeatherB: like Kristin just practically singed Alex's eyebrow off
HeatherB: holy shit
HeatherB: and deep conversation between Cedric and Alex M.
JB: yeppers
HeatherB: and all of those fuckers had to go to prom in the same limo
HeatherB: they don't even like each other
HeatherB: and OH MY GOD look at this pre prom party
HeatherB: wtf
HeatherB: god I hope they're drunk
HeatherB: it's like god damn papparazi
HeatherB: I'm definately having a Laguna running commentary by myself
JB: haha
HeatherB: that you're totally welcome to read later
JB: it is all staged
JB: after reading the e article i understand
HeatherB: why is Jason kissing Alex
HeatherB: ewwww
JB: yeah, she is sooo gross
JB: what did you end up doing the other day? (meaning yesterday when I contemplated getting myself hit by a bus)
JB: what did your mom suggest?
HeatherB: she was like I'm coming monday night it will be fine
HeatherB: then she said asshole, bastard, and shit
HeatherB: and I kinda peed myself
HeatherB: and she's taking me to corduroy on monday night
HeatherB: so all is well

There you have it. The keys to making me happy, Laguna, good food (you better be right Mr. Foodie), and I just found out that I’m going to Bliss for my birthday.

Happy Weekend…

<> Starting next Friday, due to the brilliance of JB, I'm starting "Bitches are Whack Fridays". BAWF for short.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

The Learning Curve

"Education consists mainly of what we have unlearned." ~Mark Twain

Today I learned:

  • Not to take anything personally*. (so hard, but it just sooo needs to be done)
  • My mommy's got a mouth like a trucker too
  • Everyone has shitty days
  • Smoking is very bad and it really doesn't make anything better
  • No one is 100% polite all of the time
  • Hindsight is 20/20
  • Even the nice ones turn on you
  • Desperation for insurance isn't any reason to jump into anything
  • Spain really was the best and longest vacation I will probably ever have in life.
  • Mommy's coming on monday night
  • I am really sensitive and politics isn't the best place for sensitive people.
  • It's ok to be angry at and bitter towards stupid Boy, because even though he isn't stupid nor an asshole, HB doesn't like being hurt (note to self, write about Boy, when the embarrassment wears off)
  • If people piss you off just tell them don't be passive agressive
  • Mommy really does make everything better
  • When (notice that I said 'when' and not 'if') I have children and they complain that being a child is too difficult and being an adult would be better, I will show them this and possibly shake them and hopefully they'll realize the truth.
  • No one actually hates me (but if you do, tell me, seriously) but sometimes it feels that way
  • I'm not actually invisible (who knew??)
  • My birthday is in 13 days and this is the first time in life, save for my first birthday, that I really don't give a shit
  • Separate work and personal life.
  • Once more with feeling: EVERYONE has shit days, which is what probably leads one person to be crappy to someone else.
  • College prepares you for nothing. But it is quite possibly the best four years of your entire life and it goes by so freaking quickly. Even when you have three midterms and a paper and your professor give you shitty grades in your major courses and it seems like forever until winter break-despite allllll of that, College man, It fucking rocks.
  • I've probably cried more in the past six months than I have in years. And that's ok.

*I say don't take things personally, because really, if someone wanted to tell me something (and I promise, no one in my life has a problem with saying anything, no matter what it does to someone else's ego) they would. So umm here's a thought, why don't I tell the offender(s) what is bothering me and maybe, it won't be a problem anymore...? That would make the most sense, but really, I'm too chicken shit to do so, because the offender(s), I have found aren't all that approachable. Fuck it. I'm doing it. Calmly, because I already flipped my shit in private. As that would be the adult/responsible thing to do. See, I'm getting it now.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Sitting on Babies

"You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance. " ~Franklin P. Jones

Two years ago my mother bought me a pair of Coach boots. They reminded me of hiking/snowboots with leather at the ankle and toe with the Coach logo on the rest. It was in these boots that while babysitting for four year old twin girls and their two year old brother, that I was locked in this family's upper level bathroom. It was in my brand new Coach boots, that I was forced to jump out of their bathroom window. The only thing between me and their cement walkway in the backyard, was a large tree. I stuck my head out the window and determined that I could make it. I slid my legs out first and kept my hands over the side of the window and held on for dear life. I looked down at the tree and swung myself out so that I was over the tree. That tree caught my fall and my brand new Coach boots supported my ankles.

I remember this story now as I sit in a home where the mother has left without leaving me any instructions or notification that the baby is both sick and teething. In this same house, the mother has never given me a tour, so I also have spent 30 minutes with a screaming baby trying to find the diapers. The entire time contemplating things I would rather be doing, like ummm drinking for instance.

I've been babysitting since freshman year, through all of the internships and real jobs, I've been babysitting to supplement my income (Coach man, coach!). I've been through many families, through no fault of my own, I've never done a bad job or beat a child, but because my schedule changes, I get a real job, I go abroad. Whatever. Mostly I look at it as a job, that I have to do and it can be very thankless. Parents change their minds suddenly and decide that they no longer want a babysitter or that they want a live in aupair instead (yeah right).

For the past several years I have been babysitting for my former boss, who is like my mother. Her children are now 7 1/2 and 3 and I've been with them since Sam was 5 and Rebecca was 6 months. I've seen them go to school, start walking, get teeth, lose teeth, and learn how to say my name. When I returned from my four month trip to Spain, Rebecca saw me and screamed "Hi Hedder". Sam (Sammy Sosa as I like to call him), enjoys snuggling but hates when I see him and tickle him and tell him how adorable he is. And Rebecca now says things like please and thank you and well she's thankfully almost finished with the whole "I'm going to scream the minute my mother leaves the room" phase. Parents ask me now, how I deal with a screaming child, I just tell them that they grow out of it. I also learned that I was once a chronic screamer and I didn't get potty trained until I was well over the age of three. Go me.

Do you see this? Me reminiscing about babysitting and in reality, how much I adore Sam and Rebecca. Yeah, I do it for the money. And yeah there are other ways for me to make money, but (and if any of you tell anyone I said this), I kind of like kids. While LB, scoffs at the amount of babysitting I do (like every weekend), Kimber (who was also a nanny until recently) understands that through babysitting, parents trust you to care for their children as they do. I would do anything for those kids and have given up many a vodka tonic to spend an evening with them.

Until about thirty seconds ago, none of these things were apparent. This was going to be about how much of a pain in the ass it is, when parents run extremely late or don't tell you where the diapers are. But this has turned into a "well hell, I'm really not completely selfish and can be sweet and doting" kind of post. And the key to it all, is a whole mother fucking lot of patience.

Oh, and parents who have cable and feed you and let you do your laundry. And for all you new parents out there, heed my words. Free laundry and good pay is soooooo key. A tour of the house and being told where the diapers are located is also a plus.


"Carelessness in dressing is moral suicide." ~Honoré de Balzac

An email to LB from a few months back, when I first started working;

I had such a great morning. I had a good run and it was cool outside. I found something presentable to wear, but cute. I used enough frizz-ease (God Bless John Frieda) and my hair is under control. The shower wasn't too hot because it's below 211 degrees outside. I had my lunch ready to go-leftovers from last night. I got breakfast at my new favorite place, by far the best breakfast sandwich ever.Then what happens..? I go to the bathroom and realize that everyone and their brother is able to see my bright red Victoria secret boy cuts through my skirt. Normally in this situation I would just take them off, but I can't because my mo-fo Aunt Flo is visiting.
Welcome to my world.

You would think that a girl who flaunts her Coach, Anthropologie and Stuart Weitzman’s would be able to dress herself? Oh you would think; but alas not. I just noticed that once again, when standing in the right light, you can see right through my red Ann Taylor skirt*. For the record, yes I am wearing pink CK undies. Have I ever mentioned my black linen skirt that my MOM informed was COMPLETELY see thru, in Martha’s Vineyard over Labor Day, when OF COURSE I had worn the fucking things about 40 different times. Because this is DC where linen is needed during the summer months. See thru linen if your name is HB.

I need a personal shopper or at least someone to tell me “Hey, I can see your pink thong!” before I leave in the morning.

*I wrote this yesterday. Today I'm wearing pants, thank God, and my pink Polo sweater.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005


"If you don't like something change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it." ~Mary Engelbreit

One of the things I dislike most about myself (besides my lack of hotness. Ha!), is that I spew things out without fully thinking about what I'm saying or without explanation. I do it so often and then later in hindsight I realize what I've done. I contemplate retracting things that I've said and/or done, but no. That's not what needs to change. I read about this last week. That part of what makes someone an adult is the ability to edit oneself. I don't think that I need to edit myself to feel more like an adult. But I do need to realize how I approach things and situations and how they make me feel in the long run. It's not necessarily editing yourself, because when that happens-at least for me-everything is held in and I become a passive aggressive person who is upset all the time. That's not what I want. And that doesn't make me an adult, it makes me cranky.

60% of the time, I let what other people think and say and their moods, affect my mood. It's not work that's the problem and definitely not the place I work (I've said it time and time again that I have always wanted to work here), it's that I let what others do define my mood.
It's more about how I react to how the people around me are than getting frustrated.

This morning, during a routine scheduling meeting, something sunk in. Something that I can't quite get my finger on, but a realization that things aren't always sempiternal and that I can do more to make things less routine, but in a way things are starting to become more normal. I will at least for many years, have four people tell me to do the same thing. There will be a Mr. Lumbergh in every office. And sometimes people just won't say good morning before asking you to do something. And sometimes people just blatantly ignore me. These are things that I cannot change and I can complain about them to everyone and their brother (and I will), but it's best to not let things that cannot be changed by me alone, upset me.

It's just how things are; how people are. I can let it all make me more neurotic and upset or I can just let it go and move on. I'll choose the latter. And that's what will make me more of an adult.

*Addendum: I just received a pep talk of the "No you don't suck you're doing great so stop being a neurotic freak and taking things personally or I will have to drop kick your ass" variety. And just then, the smallest of smiles, crossed my face.

*Addendum part II: Sometimes it's smart to not ask questions. And don't even attempt to think of a reason for why people think the way they do, because in this world you will meet some very special people. Just roll with it. No worries, it will become routine.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Note to Self

When checking your work email at 11:30PM on your day off, makes you anxious and almost to tears, because someone has pretty much told you on numerous times how much you've done wrong and you continuously feel patronized; there's a problem.

This is going to be one of those situations in which I can let other people define my mood and how I feel about myself or I can just say, I'm doing the best that I can and if that's not good enough, tell me and I will attempt to do better. Because I must say at this point, I'm really fucking sick and tired of feeling like this. Feeling inept and like I'm a constant fuck up. You know what, I'm not.

There's a huge problem when one goes to work and is thisclose to tears every minute of the day. What the hell is wrong with me?? Yes, this is an adjustment period and yes this is hard, but my God, I spend everyday waiting for someone to tell me what I've done wrong. Even my days off, I know that somewhere someone is saying that I've done something terrible.

Enough. I've had it with myself and the fact that I have been letting other people make me upset and anxious and in need of (more) therapy.

I'm going to have one last good cry about work (since that's what I've done 75% of the time for the past two months) and I'm going to bed. In the morning, I will get up and run and go into work and I will be damned if I'm letting someone else's mood affect how I feel, because this is getting pretty fucking ridiculous.

(ahhhhh that felt better)

Play on Player

"I'm not a player. I just crush a lot"-Big Pun

Let’s play “woe is me” for a second here.
I understand the plight of the middle class, the homeless, and hurricane victims, but right now I’m a little frustrated and miffed. You see, that’s what happens when you end up with hot roommates.

My roommate is hot. Not in an “I’m attracted to him” way, but in a “girls love him and want to hook up with him” way (and for the record, after college, is it ok to use the terms “hook up” and “walk of shame”? I wonder). He’s had a date every night for the past three weeks. Girls that come into his work, practically fawn and swoon over him. I’m thinking it’s because he can get them in the door. But still, I must say that he’s smart, nice and a lot of fun; thus the reason for why he’s my roommate and friend.

(For the record, as I sit and type this, I’m watching the Yankees lose and try to get my night guard to mold to my teeth properly. I feel like a pubescent teenager who didn’t get asked to the dance.)

My previous roommate, Kimber, was (ok still is) also hot. And she too gets her fair share of ass. She too falls in the nice, smart and fun category. And also into the ‘playette’ category.

For the record, I’m not anal about hooking up and or dating. It’s not something I’m constantly thinking about and obsessing over, unless someone else has brought up the subject. That said, there are times, such as now-while trying to get my dental appliance to not be painful-I think about why I’m not capable of “player hood.” Not that it’s my ultimate goal in life, but Lord knows there is no hotness to me.

Oh, but sometimes, I will admit, I wish there was.

Addendum: Roommate just finished playing his Acapella tape for this evening’s girl (a girl who didn’t even know that Randy Johnson plays for the Yankees). Kimber sings and was a musical theater major. I play the clarinet. I get hotter every second.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Number Five

The belly rules the mind. ~Spanish Proverb

Because I apparently enjoy things that involve the number five, this is an ode/shout out* to things with the number 5. Too bad there are only two on this list, but if you think of three more…Holla!

Take 5s:

Milton Hershey, oh brilliant man that he was, sent some guidance from up above to his wonderful chocolate factory. And what did appear? The holy mixture that is chocolate, peanuts, caramel, pretzels, and peanut butter.
"HERSHEY'S TAKE 5 provides a unique taste experience by combining five favorite ingredients in one candy bar. The result is a delicious salty sweet snack unlike anything else" So says the Hershey's website, but it's true. It's a decadent mixture of sweet and salty that will leave you wanting more.

I first tasted this delicious treat at Chocolate World in June. It was my first visit to chocolate world. Kimber took me on the ride through the history of Hershey's, at the end there was a Take 5. At first I was skeptical, but who doesn't eat free chocolate. Oh My God. Damn good. It even comes in the (gag) white chocolate form.

The best part? It comes with two in a pack, much like a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. There's no commitment. You can have one, you can have two. It's your prerogative.

Try it and love it.

Five Guys:

I write this is a sit at my desk, smelling of Cajun fries. Oh glorious and delicious Cajun fries. Get a regular size, because they'll give you enough to fill up the cup o'fries twice, if not more. But it's not just the fries. I hear the burgers are delicious. They look like they might be tasty and my God, they're huge. A little burger is one patty and a regular "famous burger" is two patties. You can get the works on your burger for free. I mean the works: sautéed onions, sautéed mushrooms, bbq sauce, lettuce, jalapeno peppers, regular onions, pickles, and of course the ketchup and mustard. Being the pescitarian that I am, I go for the grilled cheese (with mushrooms). Grilled to perfection. The bread is golden brown and sometimes a little grease is a good thing.

My first trip to five guys was last fall and today was my second foray. Why I don't go more often is beyond me. There are locations in Georgetown, Chinatown, Navy Yard, Howard, and the shops at National Place . <> There's a Five Guys in NISKAYUNA, which means that the next time I'm in Albany, I'm taking my friends and family to Five Guys, because it's cheap too (hello…Washingtonian Cheap Eats).

Again. Try it and love it. Run don't walk suckers (ooh and speedy service too).

And there you have it, my shout outs to things with the Number 5. Suddenly I feel like I should be making an appearance on Sesame Street "Today's letters are H and B. Today's number is Five"

*I'm secretly willing the product endorsement Gods to get me free Take 5's and Five Guys, since I've now given both a proper shout out. And for the record this is like 40 th time that I've mentioned Take 5's. I'm just sayin'.


Subtitled: My Second Drunk Post

  • Why am I drunk at 11:59 PM?
  • Why does IndeBleu make delicious drinks?
  • Why do I make friends with people that work at IndeBleu?
  • Why do I drink so any Ceaser's Melons?
  • Why do I quote Ceaser when I'm drunk?
  • Why is there track work between Judiciary Square and Rhode Island Avenue?
  • Why does it take so fucking long to get home from Foggy Bottom?
  • Why don't I take cabs? (wait easy answer to that one, because cabs in DC are retarted)
  • Why do I have to babysit tomorrow night?
  • Why am I drunk again?
  • Why am I infatuated with my best friend?
  • Why am I infatuated with my roommate? (wait, see IndeBleu)
  • Why am I soaking wet right now?
  • Why is there a Tammy?
  • Hell, why is there a Katrina and Rita for that matter?
  • Why are my Stuart Weitzman ballet flats soaking wet?
  • Why does it seem like the McDonalds in union station is the slowest place ever?
  • Why does George Steinbrenner pay so much for pitchers who can't pitch?
  • Why am I covered in mosquito bites?
  • Why are my mother and brother in Martha's Vineyard right now?
  • Why am I drunk? again?

Thursday, October 06, 2005

It's Complicated

"Today, if you are not confused, you are just not thinking clearly."-U. Peter

Selective hearing has always been a problem. I could hear something 45 times and still ask you what you've just said. Unless you spell it out for me and walk me through it, I just won't comprehend it. Math and Spanish were the worst. I never paid attention and when I tried and finally was able to understand something, by taking copious notes, suddenly things change and not only do you have to find the value of X, but now you must find the value of X and Y. And my personal favorite, find the subjunctive form of the verb "Haber" never mind that I can't even use it in a present tense. But alas there is a God, and if I am forced to use something, I can master it; which explains my Spanish fluency and that I can find the degree of an angle with the Pythagorean Theorem.

After multiple (I don't know how better to emphasize the number of times this occurred) times of getting C's in both Spanish and Math, you would think that I would learn to listen better and to take better notes and just pay attention. Oh, but no. Just No. I could never sit and pay attention and not contemplate how great that shirt at Anthropologie would be with the new pants from Gap or not contemplate where to go grocery shopping this weekend (Trader Joe's or Wegman's). In a meeting- a fast paced (if you're not paying attention your boss will be stuck in east bumble fuck Montana for eight years) meeting, I should pay attention and look out for these things, but I don't. Instead I ask the person next to me (thank God for her) what I've just missed. Ahhhhh just like college.

I've made things complicated for myself. Not paying attention, begets, not knowing what is going on, which begets Heather B. walking around confused half the damn time. I'm sitting here now looking at 14 different pieces of paper, attempting to piece together what exactly will be going on for the next few weeks, I'm stumped. This is complicated shit, when perhaps it shouldn't be. As in, if I had paid attention to the changes when they happened the first time (and the 48 subsequent changes-keep up!) I would know just what's going on. It was fine for awhile, I had been proactive and figured things out, but then they changed on me and I just can't keep up. I've made it complicated for myself once again. And what I really need to do is sit down with someone and just ask. Such a simple, thing, but then we get into a "But I don't want to ask because I don't want to look dumb". When in reality, I should just ask because if you don't ever ask*, you never will know.

A vicious cycle you see. But you know, it's just complicated.

*For the record I admitted my ineptness and confusion. Things changed and there are wonderful people in the world that will sit down with me so that I'm not confused anymore. Maybe it's not that complicated.

Closing Doors

You block your dream when you allow your fear to grow bigger than your faith. ~Mary Manin Morrissey

I've been fired once before. During the fall of my senior year of high school while working at the Beverwyck; an assisted living type place, with a fine dining restaurant. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I was a waitress once, and I will be damned if I ever do it again, but I digress. Many of my friends worked there including my Junior prom date Tim. My boss was Mary. A bottle blonde woman with crossed eyes and thick glasses. Mary was a bitch and I vehemently abhorred her, but I went to work, including holidays. One evening, I had finished my 'side work' and a friend of mine said that she would give me a ride home, so I, along with several others, left. The next day I receive a message, from crazy eyed Mary, saying that I need not come in that day, or ever again, because I had been fired and to return my uniform immediately. Alrighty then; I contemplated calling and saying such things as "what the fuck you crazy eyed bitch…??!?" But stopped myself and said fuck it. I'd be more than happy to return my uniform and get out of there. Case in point-unhappiness and rude senior citizens begets ecstasy upon being fired.

The one job I have been fired from, I despised and wasn't a job I just had to have. And yes I suppose I deserved to be fired, I did leave early because I thought I was finished, so clearly a misunderstanding. I still always-I'm talking every 30 seconds-thinking that every time I fuck up that I'll be fired.

Which is also why now, whenever someone calls me into their office and then says "Close the door" my heart speeds up. My jaw clenches. The tears (and who said I wasn't a public crier) start to well up. I get anxious and my empty bank account flashes before my eyes. Even when I know that I have done nothing wrong, it's my first thought. I constantly feel like I'm fucking up. Like I'm not doing something right and that very soon, I will be berated and/or fired for doing terrible things. Mind you, all of the "terrible" things I've done thus far, haven't even been a result of my actions, it's a result of others not able to comprehend simple things like "If you put diet coke in that car one more time, after I've told you seven other times not to, I will personally drop kick your ass."

Today was another closed door meeting, not even about something I did wrong, it was more about something I may or may not be getting, but let's hope will be getting because OH MY GOD how will I go to IndeBleu or Nordstrom again without it.

I need to relax. I need to learn how to adjust, because so far this adjustment process isn't going very well. I clearly need to stop being a neurotic freak.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Sibling Conversation

The following is a conversation I had with my brother G:

G: Hello? (Sounding oh so sleepy and as if he'd just woken up, at NOON )
Me: Hey are you sleeping?
G: Yes
Me:Ok well do me a favor, do you still have your netflix?
G: uhhh (frustrated) yes. What??
Me: Can you put Office Space in your queue and make a copy of it for me?
G: already did
Me: So what are you doing?
G: uhhhh Heather What do you want
Me: I want to talk to you, what's your problem, why are you mad at me?
Me: So you're going away this weekend?
G: yes!
Me: are you excited?
G: HEATHER what do you want??
Me: why won't you talk to me? Why are you mad at me?
Me: ummmm but Mom said that you're mad at me for something else
G: Ahhhhh I'm hanging up on you now.
Phone: *click* dial tone….

Have I mentioned that of my three brothers, I can confirm that I annoy the shit out of two of them? My father's not too high on me either. Is it a male thing? Or maybe I'm just annoying when I call and want to talk and you're sleeping and/or in the hospital and/or talking to me from across the Atlantic and pissed about having to pay for that shit, and yet I am persistent and will try to make you talk to me anyway.

I'm such a joy and treasure to have around.

People Does it Better

Apparently People is making great strides to upstage UsWeekly after the whole Nick and Jessica thing...because OH MY GOD...

I guess anyone can have offspring...

Tuesday, October 04, 2005


"But when you say goodbye, say it as if you are reaching through the phone and holding their hand. Let them know that if they let go of that hand, you will die. We must shame them into sending help."-Hotel Rwanda

I was in the mood for some movie watching, perhaps a little Don Cheadle. Normally I would get my fix by watching popping in Ocean's 11 and 12 and getting a little 'Basher'. But this time, I decided to go for serious and revered Don Cheadle; how about Hotel Rwanda? Nothing gets a Saturday night going like tales of genocide. I'm not a big crier and I haven't done so in awhile, even though as of late I've been plagued by a bout of melancholy.

There's something about crying in public that is always seen as being weak. My parents aren't all too emotional, the first time I ever saw my father cry was this past June. He had just began recovering from a terrible spinal infection and heart infection. We were talking and he just started to cry. I sat across from him and did nothing, while I watched a normally loud and at times terrifying 60 year old man, cry.

When Paul and Gregoire are driving back to the hotel after getting supplies, they hit a rough patch in the road. They are driving close to a river and Paul fears that they're heading down a cliff towards the water and that Gregoire will crash into it, so he demands that the vehicle is stopped. He gets out of the car, into the fog. The fog slowly clears out and he realizes that they've just been driving over hundreds and hundreds of dead bodies. Bodies of people that had been massacred and left for dead in the road. Paul throws up in his own hands and returns to the car and tells Gregoire to never tell anyone of what they just saw.

I was in tears. They had been building for the entire movie, but I had been babysitting and you can't cry while a seven year old is upstairs watching Sponge Bob. At first it was just a few streaming tears then they progressively got worse. Worse because Paul left Tatiana in the caravan because he couldn't leave all of the rest of the refugees at the hotel. Worse because Paul thought that Tatiana had jumped off the roof of the hotel with their children. And worse, though tears of happiness, when Tatiana found her brother's children and they were able to leave for Belgium.

I ended up crying so much that when the parents returned home, I could barely look at them in the face, for fear that they'd notice my red eyes and perpetually runny nose. By then I thought it would stop though, I suppose I just needed a good cry. It's been something that has been building up for the past six months. It wasn't just about genocide, which in itself is awful and horrific, but also because I needed something powerful to bring on the tears. I needed something to make me cry about my feelings of shitiness about every fucking thing. I cried because in comparison to what I had just watched, nothing was that bad, I cried because I felt badly about crying.

Yup, I had finally I gotten what I was looking for and what I needed at this particular moment. A good cry. Now if only I can find something to make it stop…

Monday, October 03, 2005

Random Acts of Kindness

Don't be yourself - be someone a little nicer. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

Sundays have typically been the same over the past month or so. Run errands, pick up a little. I keep my car downtown with me on the weekends and then return it to Tenleytown around 2 ish, so that I can be guaranteed to find a parking spot.

On this particular Sunday, I spotted two young men who had just been walking seated on the curb. I parked and started walking back up the street, when one of the young men stopped me and asked if I was going to be driving up towards Georgetown.
"Ok, I was just wondering. We're waiting for a cab, because I've twisted my ankle." For the record, even when he said this, thoughts of 'well he could be a serial killer and/or rapist' never entered my mind. My only thought was damn, if I move my car now, will I be able to find a parking spot later. And shit, I might miss my bus.
I guess I was feeling particularly nice and knew that in that particular area, it would take them a year to find a cab. I retrieved my car and picked them up.

We got to chatting on the way up. These two young men, Morgan-the one who had twisted his ankle- and Johnny-his brother; were both from New Orleans. Upon learning this I had to physically restrain myself for staring and saying things like "Holy shit do you still have a house" and "Where are your parents??". That would be rude. I just stared straight ahead and noticed how calm and collected and genuinely thankful they both were. Johnny attended Georgetown and Morgan had been attending law school at Tulane. Morgan moved up to DC to live with Johnny and to take the semester off. He said that, Tulane was operating under the impression that they would reopen by next semester. I just nodded and smiled.

Finally I dropped them off, both eternally grateful that I was so kind to pick them up and bring them down to Georgetown. The entire way home, all I could think of was how "normal" they were. Terrible, I know. But how do you 'survive' such devastation and act like everything is fine and normal? Of course I didn't know their entire story and although my curiosity was piqued, I couldn't just jump out and ask them something like that. My assumption is that they were probably just grateful for everything that had come their way in the past month. Grateful that they had somewhere to stay and that a stranger was willing to perform-even the smallest-random act of kindness.

Happy Monday

"Looks like somebody's got the case of the Mondays"

I'm writing this to remember how miserable I am right now...

I've been yelled at today, I've cried, and I've just bought my first pack of cigarettes since May.

Man I'm on a roll...

Saturday, October 01, 2005

At Least My Name Isn't Michael Bolton

"So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life."-Office Space

I'm watching Office Space. For the first time ever.
Point is, I miss college. I really really really miss college right now. Talk about an epiphany. How is it possible to miss something that you totally dreaded 60% of the time? I kind of want to take a midterm then funnel a beer and get caught underage in a fraternity bathroom, hiding with 10 other people.

Apparently I have lost my damn mind.
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