“April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go.” ~Christopher Morley, John Mistletoe
While I wholeheartedly feel that you wonderful perfect people deserve a recap of the weekend events that lead to said table dancing, I fear that right now will not be that time. So you might end up getting this recap Friday because everyone should hear about the fucking tree frogs and why I suddenly love Canadian bacon and all things maple.
Instead there is a much bigger problem out there right now. A problem that involves a leader with a bright red umbrella and 25 preteens from Duluth Christian Academy all compulsively clad in bright orange t-shirts.
And now, a few open letters…To the 8th grade class from Duluth Christian Academy,
While I appreciate your excitement of being in the same city as Norm Coleman, who I’m sure many of you scantily clad girls gush over at a moment’s notice, it is not appropriate to (A) be scantily clad on the metro, because I for one, do not need to see 8th grade boobs. Been there, done that and (B) it is not appropriate to scream at the top of your lungs at Sarah and Bobby who are a few seats down about their “like awesome kiss, like on the way back to the Holiday Inn on Capitol Hill” last night. I don’t want to hear about it and neither does the older Burberry dressed man sitting next to you. Also know that the poles situated at the center of the metro are for holding so that you don’t fall on your ass. While it would be most entertaining to watch you keel over every time the metro stopped short, you hold the pole and stand up. Why you’re swinging around and attempting pull ups is beyond me and I’m sure your parents and the Almighty, would be ashamed of your horrid public behavior. While we’re at it, if you stand in the middle of the fucking sidewalk trying to capture that perfect shot of the Supreme Court, I reserve the right to give you the finger. And if you yell one more fucking time in my ear, I’ll punch you in the mouth so fucking hard that you’ll no longer need those blue and red braces.
Peace, Love and Paul Wellstone,
Also, tell your teachers that wearing bright orange is tacky. And emblazoning it with “Duluth Christian Academy 8th Grade Spring Trip 2006” will only attract the kidnappers and people who can’t stand stupid tourists even more. I’m just sayin’…To the Jones Family of Little Rock, Arkansas,
First and foremost, Mr. Jones, I seriously love the fanny pack and your hairy pasty white legs. Nothing says spring in the nation’s capital like a throwback to 1987. Since, we’re speaking right now, I should also let you know that while I’m sure you are also so very eager to have dragged little Joe and Beth to the Air and Space Museum (though the rest of their friends are enjoying fun in the sun in Orlando, but nice choice on the trip), it is not all that good of an idea to (A) stick your arm in the door when you fear it may leave, that is unless you aren’t all that attached to your right arm, then by all means feel free to have it removed by way of WMATA and (B) scream at the nearly catatonic commuters at 7:45 AM whether or not this – the red line – goes to the Smithsonian. It would help if you were literate and then you could learn to read the very complex metro map that the 8 year old I babysit for can navigate. I should also mention that your wife has lipstick on her teeth and again, what’s with the loud talking with the fucking southern drawl and holy hell, your children look like they might jump off the platform if you don’t stop with the “White House is so exciting” shit.
Peace, Love and common sense not to stand in the middle of the fucking platform,
Heather B.To the tour bus full of senior citizens that swarmed onto metro,
Love the blue hair, Ida, really I do, but if you don’t move your octogenarian ass to right side of the escalator, I might have to push you. And that wouldn’t be fun for anyone.
Peace, Love and FDR forever,
Heather B.To the people driving down Constitution looking for directions
It should be needless to say, but apparently y’all aren’t too hip to the obvious body language that is the ipod and cell phone. As in, if my ipod bud is in one ear and my cell phone is to the other ear, that most likely means that I’m not interested in speaking and/or paying attention to you; because something serious is going on like a debate of what color I should have my toes painted. Also? When I told you – in a half assed, exasperated manner – that the White House was just down the street and to the left, I really had no fucking clue what I was talking about. No really, I don’t know how to get from the Hill to the White House. I also have no clue as to where the Tidal Basin is, but that’s another story for another day. And for fuck’s sake, learn how to drive.
Peace, Love and you really drove that ’96 pick up truck all the way from Oklahoma?
Labels: gruyere with that wine, The District of Columbia