Archive for May, 2009

Happy Friday! I don’t know about you, but to me, this week felt a LOT longer than 4 days. No? Just me? Okay then…

Because I’m feeling lazy (what else is new), I’m taking a page out of Marie’s and Lilu’s books, and presenting you with two truths and a lie. I’m a terrible liar in general, but if you can’t see my face, I might have a shot.

Here we go:

1. My Mamie (grandmother) entered me in one of those baby beauty pageants (not that link, but like it) when she was watching me for a long weekend. My parents were not pleased and I obviously did not continue with the competition. Not that I had any say (or cared) one way or the other.

2. I once got lost in a department store and had a 10+ minute conversation with a mannequin, before security found me. (In my defense, I was 4, and my favorite TV show was Today’s Special.)

3. I have 4 nieces and nephews, via half siblings. One of the nephews is older than my brother – his uncle.

So what do you think?

Do it to it. Happy weekend!

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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!***

A few summers ago, I was interning in D.C., and trying to catch the eye of the cute British intern (who, I found out later, had a girlfriend – story of my life).

One day, he caught up with me just minutes after I’d been in the bathroom. After chatting, and as we were going our separate ways, he kindly pointed out, “Liebchen, I think you’ve got something on your pants.

I looked, trying to crane my neck, as he explained, “No, it’s more on the back.

I tried to nonchalantly brush it off, “Oh yeah, I must’ve sat it something. I’ll be right back.

He was gentleman enough to not question me, but we both knew I didn’t sit in anything. The “something” in question was closer to the waistband of my light-colored pants, and just above my ass.

My situation was NOT this bad. But this *is* what came up when I searched "period stain" - how could I resist?

My situation was NOT this bad. But this *is* what came up when I searched "period stain" - how could I resist?

You see, my period was particularly heavy that day (thanks Mother Nature), and my tampon was slacking off on the job. When I’d been in the bathroom before, I thought I’d taken care of it, and caught any drips in the process.

I was wrong.

Several little droplets of period blood (see Lilu for more creative descriptions) had escaped, unbeknownst to me, dripping onto the pants that were then around my ankles.


Upon my return to the bathroom, I scrubbed furiously, but soap and water only go so far. The end result was a lighter spot, surrounded by a damp patch, and me deciding to untuck the shirt I was wearing, to cover the offending mark.

The Brit never said anything.

But that may have also been because I avoided his eyes for quite some time after.

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I am officially excited. (Can’t you tell by my tone of typing?)

I just read that trapeze school is coming to D.C.! According to the DCist, classes here start on June 6th, and I, for one, can’t wait.

Last June, Cla, BNB and I drove up to Baltimore to try our hand at flying through the air with the greatest of ease. Flying through the air, check. Greatest of ease, not so much. First, there was the little matter of climbing to the top platform, holding on to a deceptively heavy bar while leaning over the edge, and trusting the instructor to hold on to you by your belt. (Oh, hey trust issues. Haven’t seen you in a while – how’s it going?)


I was shaking as I climbed the ladder...even after I got used to it

But as scary as that initial climb and jump are (yes, you have you jump off the ledge – they won’t push you, I asked), I was hooked after that first class. For two hours we learned how to jump, swing, hook our knees over the bar, and fall – which had more skill involved than I thought. And at the end, we attempted a catch. Cla and BNB were successful:

(That one was Cla.)

I, however, was not:

Regardless of my failure, I was determined to attend another class, so Cla and I signed up for the package deal. After another two hour session, we learned single legs (totally technical term) and splits.


And we got to attempt another catch.


This time…WIN!

Now that trapeze school is practically down the street (and a few metro stops away), I’ll be able to brush up on my maneuvers. My knee hook was getting a little rusty. Plus, it’s a great upper body workout (i.e. you’ll feel sore as hell the next day, but it’ll be completely worth it).

Who’s in? Just think of how great “circus training” will look on your resume.

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When I was in third grade, each member of our class had to choose a famous person (broad, I know), and do a presentation – dressed up as whoever we were presenting on. We had a wide variety of characters – Jim Henson, Babe Ruth, Grandma Moses, Houdini. I, being the dork that I was (fine – am) was Marie Curie.


I also don't know why I thought that black dress was appropriate for a scientist...

I couldn’t begin to tell you what made me, a self-described writer at the time, choose to present on a scientist that no other third grader had ever heard of. But I did my research, memorized my speech, and even affected an accent that I deemed appropriate for the Polish born chemist/physicist. (Note: I can’t do accents. I got mocked. Rightly so.)

And it’s amazing – there’s so much from college that I wish I could remember, but can’t (course-wise…and otherwise), yet I still remember the basic facts of that presentation from over 15 years ago.

So fast forward to last night, when I was watching Jeopardy, and shouting answers at the television. Final Jeopardy came up, and I resigned myself to the idea that I wouldn’t get it – I mean it’s Final Jeopardy, afterall. But then:

This element, formerly called Radium F, was renamed for the home country of the scientist who discovered it.

And all of a sudden I was back in third grade, reciting facts about Marie Curie, her work with radioactivity, and her discovery of radium and polonium (like Poland! get it? get it?).


Even more exciting? Only one of the contestants got it right.

I’m pretty sure this shows that you only need an elementary school education to win at game shows. So who wants to try out with me?

I’ll take “Oregon Trail” for $1000, Alex.

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When I saw this other day I thought, ooh, I really kind of want wouldn’t mind having one of those jackets. And then I thought, you know, you just don’t see professionals doing this sort of thing anymore. And as I watched more of their “moves” I realized that there’s a reason for it. Don’t get me wrong, athletes are in all sorts of commercials now – food, electronics, credit cards, etc. But when’s the last time you saw your baseball/football/hockey/basketball team in a full-fledged music video?

That’s what I thought.

So what could possibly be the point of this 1986 one? I like to think it’s two-fold:

1) A reminder of 80s fashions. You only thought you looked cool at the time. Repeat at your own risk.

2) Mindless entertainment for the Friday before a long weekend.

Either way, it’s a win-win. Enjoy.

On a side note: I fear that I’m running out of TMI stories. Either that, or I’ve repressed the really bad ones so far back that it’s going to take a shrink or a hypnotist to get at them. In any case, I’m gonna take a page out of Lilu’s book – if you have a story you want to share, but don’t want your name on, or just don’t want to post on your own site, let me know – liebchen11 [at] gmail [dot] com. We’ll chat.

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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.

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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.

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