TMI Thursday: The show must go on

Via Lilu: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!***

It was about 4th grade, and my Girl Scout troop was all set to put on a performance at one of the local retirement homes. If memory serves, it was “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”, and I was the narrator. I liked to consider myself the backbone of the show. Goldi who?

In any case, as a veteran performer (have I mentioned how much of a ham I was back in the day?) I ignored one of the cardinal rules (because rules are for suckers and newbies): always use the bathroom before you go on stage.

Goldi had only just discovered the cottage when I discovered that I had to pee. Like any professional, I refused to let it get in the way of the show. Commence potty dance – which consisted of a few shimmies and a couple leg crosses.

To one side I could see the girls in my troop, who probably thought I was a spaz. To the other, I saw the audience of old people, all of whom were probably wondering when interpretive dance got added to the story.

In the end, it was only when I actually felt the tiniest tinkle stream run down my leg that I dropped my script, shouted, “I’ll be right back!”, and booked it to the little girls room.

I was back quickly (I’ve always been a fast pee-er – keep that in mind if I ever ask to cut in the bathroom line) and tried to act like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

I picked up my script: “Okay, now where were we?“

After all, the show must go on.

New kid on the block

The restaurant next to my office building closed back in December, and since then, there’s been little talk of what would replace it. You know, once they got the asbestos cleared out.

The original restaurant, The Fourth Estate, was by no means stellar. Drinks were fine, food was so-so. And service…well, unless you had an in with the waitress, you’d be waiting for.ev.er. But, it was also SUPER convenient. Hello, did I mention the “right next door to my office” part?

Which is why I’ve been curious about what that space would hold next. One friend suggested that it wasn’t an ideal location, because who actually goes out down in that area? But I disagree. Sure, if you’re trying to get the out-on-the-town crowd, you’re probably shit out of luck. But a restaurant that’s so close to so many office buildings should have a clear agenda: an excellent lunch menu, with which one can woo a client, and an unbeatable happy hour selection, with prices to appeal to those of us who work at the very bottom of the food chain. (It should go without saying that service is key, but I’ll put it in there just for good measure.) Now, I’m no business major – not even close – but isn’t this feasible in some way?

I guess we’ll find out soon enough. There are new signs on the previously blank windows, advertising:

Okay, I’ll bite. A food and drinks boutique? What does that even mean? Is it like a cafe, but a little bit more pretentious? Like, “Oh, did you get that sandwich from the cafe down the street?” “Please, a cafe? That’s so last year. I went to a boutique. Their sandwiches are one of a kind.“

Once it finally opens, I’m sure I’ll test it out anyway. (Again, convenient!) But I want to be wowed, dammit. At a cafe, I’d settle for satisfaction, but a boutique? I demand more.

Or, at least, I want my drink delivered quickly. And if that makes me high maintenance? So be it.

Spring cleaning

At this point last year, I was actively searching for a new apartment. I still had a few months left on my old lease, but I was ready for a change. I was living in Northern Virginia (Ballston) at the time and had grown tired of (among other things) the $25 cab ride that it took to come home after a night out. Not to mention the difficulty in doing anything truly impromptu (what? I’m totally spontaneous) with friends in the District.

And thus, after much searching, checking of bank accounts, hemming and hawing, and requesting of second opinions, I settled on my current apartment. A cozy little studio on the cusp of three different neighborhoods and a beautiful and manageable walk to work.

I only wish I lived in one of these...but I still enjoy passing them

BUT, even after living here for 10 months, part of me still feels like I’m just moving in. I have pictures that still need to be hung on the walls. I have boxes of desk supplies and I-don’t-know-what-else languishing underneath a vanity that I plan on getting rid of anyway. I’m not even close to maximizing my kitchen and closet spaces. And when I eat, I’m either sitting on the floor or on the bed, but always with the plate/bowl/paper towel in my lap.

So I’m on a mission. A sort of spring cleaning mission, if you will:

• Finally post the vanity on Craigslist (Unless someone here wants it? It’s dark wood, three drawers on each side and one longer one in the middle – doubles well as a desk. Let me know; we’ll chat.)

• Hang ALL the pictures – if the kids next door can run screaming up and down the hall, then the neighbors shouldn’t be too concerned with a little hammering

• Resign myself to the idea that any space saving doodads and a dining table (plus chairs), will cost money – repeat the mantra “it’s an investment” until I believe it

• Appeal to wiser souls who have tips on making my apartment look like it belongs to an adult, and not a college kid still in transition (that’s where you all come in…please)

While everyone else is away for the upcoming long weekend, lounging poolside or on the beach, I will be turning my house into a home. A project that is long overdue.

And an excellent excuse to break out the tool kit.

Kind of like this - except my kit is bigger. And BRIGHT orange.

Bring it on.

I won’t be quitting my day job

If I learned nothing else this weekend, I learned this: pole dancing is hard work! I have bruises on my shins and knees, and ache in places I was NOT expecting to. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some bachelorette photos for your Monday enjoyment:

Learning a spin

Personality panties...can you guess which are mine?

Group shot, pre party bus

Party bus! Of course we *had* to wear glow bracelets, and our bride-to-be had a flashing ring and tiara

Bride-to-be and her maid of honor

And some video – because you asked so nicely (although, I can’t figure out how to rotate them, so if you want to see me spin, you’ll have to tilt your head):

1. Learning a routine (there weren’t enough poles for everyone, hence me sitting this one out to record)

2. Practicing my fireman spin, with BB in the background, cheering me on

3. And, take two – after she told me that if I walked around more, I’d get more spin

With a showing like that, I don’t think pole dancing is in my future. But you never know.

I mean, grad school won’t pay for itself.

It’s the freakin’ weekend, baby, I’m about to have me some fun

Yes, indeed.

As I mentioned earlier this week, I have a bachelorette party to go to this weekend, and I could not be more excited.

1) I found some adorable personality panties. In fact, I almost kept them for myself.

2) We have a party bus: ’nuff said.

Who needs the bar when you have this?

3) The Flirty Fitness classes on our schedule will include one class each of striptease, chair dancing, and pole dancing. I don’t know if I’d call these “life skills,” but they could certainly be conversation starters. Hopefully I don’t end up like any of these:

Game on.

Wish me luck!

TMI Thursday: “That was a crazy game of poker, I lost it all”

Via Lilu: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!***

First semester of my freshman year of college, my finals schedule sucked. Not because I had so many back to back, but because I had one at the beginning, and one at the very end of the two week period. Was I really going to study that entire two weeks? No way, jose.

Instead, I made my way to one of the local bars and got caught up in a rousing game of “Never Have I Ever…” with a few sophomores I’d become friends with – two of whom had been my student advisers at the beginning of the year. As more drinks were served (that bar was famous [infamous?] for its “mind erasers”), the more into the game we got.

“Never have I ever…played strip poker.“

I don’t remember who said it, but I do remember that I was the only one who hadn’t. Which resulted in several responses, mostly consisting of “Really?” and “How can you not have?” and “Well, now we have to play.”

And being the agreeable soul that I am, I opted in. I am a terrible poker player. I know what a decent hand is, but I would never ever play for money. Apparently I only play for clothes.

We left the bar, stopped for more booze, and proceeded to one friend’s apartment. Between the five (or so) of us, more alcohol was drunk (drank? drinken?), clothes were quickly shed, and some pillows were strategically placed. And sometime in between arriving and the need for pillows, pictures were taken. Don’t ask – I’m not sharing them.

Essentially, it was a debaucherous night all around, but I didn’t think too much about it afterward. It was a small group, right before break, what’s the big deal?

About a month later, I was rushing sororities, and happened to be in the room of the one I ended up joining. I was talking with my student adviser, SP, (she was the one that had hosted the strip poker party), and she went to introduce me to another sister. I only knew TMF by name, since she and SP were close friends, but I’d never actually met her.

“Hi, I’m TMF.“

“Hi, I’m Liebchen.“

“Ohhhhh, so you’re Liebchen!“

Just what every girl wants to hear. TMF was not only best friends with SP, but close with every other person who was in the room that night, the month before.

I make such good first impressions.

Pushing buttons

Like most people, I have a number of pet peeves – all totally reasonable, of course. (For example, “stand right, walk left” is not a difficult concept. Though, the “stand left-ers” are probably the same ones who drive at 45 mph in the left lane, and *that* shouldn’t be hard to grasp either.) Whew, sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes – more likely than not, any witness of one (or more) of these pet peeves will probably result in a wee bit of judgment.

Unlike a lot of people, if I’m judging, you’ll probably know it. My poker face is non-existent.

One of these pet peeves, a fairly common one, is taking the elevator one floor (sometimes even two – depends on my mood). If you’re capable of walking and you’re not carrying five different bags/boxes, and the stairs are right there and easily accessible, then why do you insist on getting in at ground level and slowing down my trek up to the seventh floor?

It’s even worse when I’m coming down from seven and the doors stop at the second floor. Really? You couldn’t walk one flight down? Exercise is a good thing, people. Embrace it.

Last night, I got in the elevator and the other girl pressed the button for the second floor. I could feel myself looking at the button, and then my face shifting, involuntarily, into judge-y mode. Which is probably why she felt the need to explain: “I’m coming from down a floor.“

That’s nice.

Next time, take the stairs.

End rant.

Express yourself

I’ve been going back and forth between D.C. and Philly a lot recently, and this upcoming weekend is no exception. But this time, I have a mission to complete before I go back.

You see, Steph is the first of our close group of high school girlfriends to get married, and her bachelorette party is this weekend. On the Evite, in addition to the details about the Flirty Fitness classes we’d be taking, were instructions:

• Buy a pair of panties that fits your personality. Steph will need to guess which panties represent the personality of her guests and will get to take home all the new undies!

So therein lies my mission: Buy a pair of panties that reflects my personality. Easier said than done.

“I think it takes a lot more than the kind of underwear one wears to define them as a person.“

“Like what?” (Bonus points if you know what movie that’s from.)

Anyway, I posed the question to a friend, who knows me fairly well, and he suggested these:

Oy. Classy….but, no. Veto.

Looks like I have a bit of shopping to do this week – any suggestions?

Oh yes, and one more thing, because now I’m curious: If this were your mission, what would your “personality panties” be?

“We’ve got tonight, who needs tomorrow?”*

More often than not, when it comes to TV, I find that I’m a day late and a dollar short. Even if someone raves about a certain show (The Wire, The Office, 30 Rock, etc), telling me that I have to watch it, it’s never too high on my priority list. Which is why last night was the first night that I finally got around to watching one of these recommendations: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

My first thought: Why did I wait so long?

I actually laughed out loud at certain points. There’s something so appealing about that cutting, sarcastic, I-know-we’re-best-friends-but-I’m-going-to-put-you-down-and-out-do-you-any-chance-I-get (get all that?) kind of humor that, before I knew it, I was through the first season. (That’s productive, right? At least, productive enough for a Sunday…) Season two: bring it on.

My second thought (as per one of the episodes): Wouldn’t it be fun to go to prom again?

Senior Prom

Which was immediately followed by a little voice in my head saying, yeah, right – remember the last time you thought that?

My freshman year in college, I was still friendly with one kid back home who I had worked with at a summer camp. He was two years younger, and at a neighboring high school, but we stayed in touch fairly frequently. At one point during the year we were talking, and he told me about the upcoming junior prom. He seemed worried that he wouldn’t have a date by the time it rolled around – an idea that I thought was crazy, considering the fact that he’s a good looking guy, and had plenty of girl friends. So, when he jokingly (I thought) said, “So, if I can’t find a date, would you wanna go to prom?” I laughed and said, “Sure, why not.“

Rookie mistake.

It turns out that he couldn’t (or didn’t) find a date. So here I was, finished my freshman year of college, going to a junior prom with one guy I knew (who I now suspected had a bit of a crush on me – I know, I know, I’m slow on the uptake), and a bunch of his friends, who I’d never met before.

I’m not sure which made me feel older – being at that prom, or being back on my college campus over a month ago.

I might have to go with the prom.

Not only was the dance itself awkward at best (after a freshman year of frat parties, I’d forgotten how to dance without alcohol), but the school-sponsored after party was…well, kind of a joke. I felt completely trapped by not having my own car there, and spent the better part of the after after party (at some other girl’s house) trying to figure out how to convince Junior that I really should be getting home.

This came up for "awkward prom dance." Pretty dead on.

With the combination of the Always Sunny episode and it having been prom season for the past month or so, I’ve thought back on each one that I attended (five total), and come to this conclusion: I had a great time at most of those proms, which would explain why I didn’t recognize that last one as a terrible idea. But, in hindsight, it was kind of like that last bite of ice cream, when you’re already too full. Or that last sip of margarita, when you already know you’ve had enough.

Sometimes it’s just better to quit while you’re ahead.

Now, I wonder how long before that lesson finally sinks in…

*Yes, “We’ve Got Tonight” was my super predictable and cheesy senior prom song. And at the time? I loved every second of it.

Is it the weekend yet?

Fridays are supposed to be relaxing days. Little work, lots of down time. No?

Not my particular breakdown, but I like the idea...

They’re supposed to be the days when I can catch up on all the blogs sitting in my reader, do some online shopping, and complete the newest Ken-Ken puzzles. (My new, often time-consuming, obsession.) And, of course, do the one or two tasks that are put before me.

Fridays are NOT supposed to start out with me walking into the office (early!) to find that El Jefe has already stopped by, looking for me. And has a laundry list of things for me to do.

This does not bode well for the rest of the day.

Le sigh.

Happy Friday?