English 101.....

Let me preface this blog by saying that I am in no way an authority on English Grammar. I am, however, quite proficient in the language and I am embarrassed that so many other native English speakers are not. While I have too many pet peeves to name, as it relates to proper Grammar, allow me to elaborate on my Top 4:

1) "Ain't" is not a word. Tell me what it is a contraction for and maybe we can talk....but you can't, so we won't.
2) "Buck" is not another word for how much you paid for your last helping of fried chicken. Rather, it is a four-legged animal. Please do not confuse the two.
3) If you are approaching 30 years of age and you still cannot properly differentiate their/there/they're, to/too, or your/you're, you do not pass go and you need to return to 3rd grade.
4) "Grand" is an adjective, not the amount of money you paid for your last car. Incidentally, if I only paid $1000 for my last car, I would not go around bragging about it to people.

If you require further clarification on any of the aforementioned topic points, please consult "English for Dummies", which can be found at most major book stores.

The Wheels on the Bus.....

When I was 16 or so I went on a school-sponsored trip to Denver for a DECA Conference. To those of you not familiar with the wonder that is the world of DECA, it is a national marketing organization for high school students. In other words, it is a forum for geeky over-achievers to write essays and compete in academic events for fun in their free time….and no, I never claimed to be much of a winner during my formative years.

During the aforementioned trip to Denver, I joined some friends to do some shopping along the 16th Street Mall in downtown Denver. In the midst of our shopping we decided to hop on a passing street car; as we were all from Phoenix, any form of public transportation was really kind of a novelty and deserved proper exploration. As there were about 3000 kids in downtown Denver for the DECA Conference, the streets were packed and so was our street car. We piled in like sardines which made the ride uncomfortable at best. Just to make things more interesting, there were very few poles to hold onto, so I found strangers holding onto me so they didn’t fall over. There was one man in particular with his hand on my shoulder (I would have guessed that he was homeless, but back in my youth I actually made an attempt to not be judgmental, so I cannot say for sure) – anyway, I feel something poking me from behind (in my lower back to be exact). Being 16, I of course lean forward and whisper this to my friends and we all start to giggle; however, the thing poking me then began to move – without being too vulgar, it moved in a fashion that was highly inappropriate for an innocent 16 year old girl to be experiencing. To those of you that may not be following me, the homeless man was dry humping me from behind in the crowded street car. Seconds later, a the car stopped and I ran out as fast as my legs would take me…..thank goodness my legs are long and I made good time getting out of there.

Needless to say, this experience scarred me and I swore off any form of public transportation from that point on. After moving to DC I warmed up to the idea of taking the Metro – it’s clean, well lit, and generally not too crowded (assuming you avoid rush hour). After nearly two years in the District, I finally broke down and took a ride on the Circulator (a cleaner, more civilized version of a traditional city bus that travels along K Street and into Georgetown). In 8 months or so of riding the Circulator on occasion, I am yet to have any encounter that rivals that of the Denver debacle, however, I have certainly seen my fair share of loony old women talking to themselves. I have even been known to take a ride during rush hour just for kicks – the people watching is some of the best around.

One of my favorites is the 40-something guy that that chats up all the young ladies by asking what they are reading. (Isn’t it obvious that someone is not interested in talking to a stranger when their nose is stuck in a book?) The girl will generally garner a polite response and attempt to focus back on her novel of choice – the man will then take that as his cue to start asking about her boyfriend and why he would let “such a pretty young thing” alone on a bus where the men are surely all over her. Somehow it is lost on me where an old man ever gets the idea that a girl will actually be taken by his cheap come-on and offer him her number. It kind of reminds me of the morons that yell out of their car windows asking passing girls to get in for a ride . . . . what girl does that? (The hookers on the corner don’t count.)

Next we have the out-of-towners. Generally from the Mid-West, this family will start out by asking you if you’re from DC….if the answer is no, they will find someone else to talk to. Once they find their targeted local, it’s like 20 Questions…many of which are surprisingly personal. What I really love are the responses by the locals. The out-of-towner will ask something like “tell me what the best restaurant in Georgetown is” and the local will answer by recommending something like The Guards. The Guards is much like Johnny Rockets in menu selection, except it is filled with smoke, drunken degenerates, and there is not any Fats Domino playing on the Juke Box….not exactly a DC hotspot if you know what I mean.

Finally, there is the 20-something girl on her cell phone. “oh my gawd…we got so wasted last night” and “can you believe she went home with him?!” are some of the more common topics blared into her phone and subsequently overheard by the entire bus. While I try to tell myself that the girl is just hard of hearing (hence, the yelling) and that I should really feel sorry for her, I am quickly snapped back into reality as she begins to discuss her sexcapades with the hot bouncer from the night prior. Really? He wasn’t as big as you had hoped? So sad to hear, better luck next time cupcake.

I Vote No.....

I have always had very strong opinions; for instance, I find it entirely unacceptable to have the flap of a toilet paper roll hanging on the underside….it MUST be over.

I also have a very clear stance on bed linen – 400 thread count is my minimum (I currently sleep on 600 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets though). I will never understand people who are not willing to spend the extra $50 and end up getting sand paper sheets from Wal-Mart.

I contend that there is a very big difference between a dryer wrinkle and a slept-on wrinkle; hence, I iron my sheets because I cannot stand the look of a dryer wrinkle.

I dislike any coffee/espresso product that does not come from Starbucks. I cannot explain this one, as a vanilla latte should taste the same from any establishment – however, in my disturbed little world, it does not.

I am all-too-close to starting a petition to stop MTV from creating anymore shows for the former cast of That 70’s Show and their friends…..Yo Momma, Beauty and the Geek, Punk’d, Final Fu, and Wild ‘n Out are among the worst shows ever put on television.

While we are on the subject of television, Jim Cramer needs to be taken off the air, stat. If you are not familiar with him, tune into CNBC’s “Mad Money” at 6pm (EST) – the man is an absolute lunatic and should be sent to an insane asylum rather than being given his own show to torture innocent Americans with.

I have a very strong position on alarm clocks….I HATE waking up to one. This may explain why I rarely get out of bed before Noon. Now here is a bit of a conundrum, when I do have to set the alarm I often hit the snooze button for about an hour before getting up. Go figure.

Is it wrong that I hate flowers? Correction – I do not actually hate flowers, per se, but I think they make a terrible gift. I mean, who gives someone a gift that is going to die in a couple of days? Do you see me pawning off my elderly grandfather on some young girl? No….because he is old and would probably not provide much pleasure for very long. Get your mind out of the gutter folks…..this blog is G rated.

Can I Loan You a Jacket?.....

Favorite work story:

So a man goes up to the Concierge Desk to have dinner reservations made at the “it” restaurant in Washington at the time. When informed that a jacket is required for the restaurant in question, the man becomes very upset and decides to take it out on the poor Concierge. He screams “do you know who I am?” and the Concierge politely replied, “no, but I will gladly loan you a jacket to wear”.

While I am unsure of whether or not the gentleman actually made it to the restaurant, I do know that a couple of months later he sent the Concierge an apology note and a copy of his new CD, “No Jacket Required” by Phil Collins. True story.

The Day the Music Died.....

There has been a death in my family; my little black iPod has died. She went to sleep on her charger last night and would not wake up for our morning walk today. I have taken her to the Genius Bar where they are performing emergency surgery in an attempt to resuscitate her. Today was an eerie day in that my trusty sidekick was not there to provide the soundtrack to my life. I usually have her play a little “Uptown” by Prince as I head up to work; I switch to some “Crazy Bitch” by Buckcherry when I pass the lunatic on the corner with arms flailing about; and she puts me to bed at night with a little bit of “Lullaby” by Billy Joel. My life is much like an ever changing music video with the help of my good friend – she will be missed.

As I meandered through the streets of Logan today, I could not escape the honking horns, the passing sirens, and the screaming voices begging for change. I miss my dear friend already….

Update: I went over to the Genius Bar during visiting hours today to check on my helpless little friend; she is stable and should make a full recovery according to the doctors. They let me take her home, but I was instructed to be gentle - no dropping her anymore (that could be tough though). As we left the Apple Store she began to play "I Can't Hate You Anymore" by Nick Lachey - at least I know that she doesn't hold a grudge. Things were definitely getting back on track when she belted out "Dude Looks Like a Lady" by Aerosmith as we passed a drag queen in Dupont. It is so good to have my old friend back. :)

Do you know who I am? .....

So I went to dinner with an old friend tonight and we were reflecting on all of the interesting people I have met through my work over the past 10 years of working in hospitality….yes, 10 years, can you believe it?

First, my favorite encounter, Gene Simmons. Not only did the infamous Gene wiggle his even more infamous tongue at me, he groped me numerous times in the short walk to his room and dry humped a stripper in the elevator on our way up. Later that evening there was an orgy of about 9 people in his room….and no, I was not there.

Al Sharpton had the audacity to look me in the eye and say “do you know who I am?” when I would not release keys to him for a room prior to obtaining full payment for the said accommodations. I wanted to say, “Yes, I am well aware that you have failed to pay over $10,000 in previous bills from this hotel and you owe in excess of $50,000 to other hotels within the company I work for. I think you are a conniving SOB and I cannot believe we are even allowing you to step foot in the building.” However, I chose to answer with a simple, “yes”.

John Travolta is not permitted to have male massage therapists. Enough said.

Michael Jackson. I don’t even know where to begin. I am lost in the memories of the Jolly Green Giant statue he keeps with him, the midnight rides on his scooter through the hotel hallways, the gaggle of young men he keeps in his entourage, the skin bleaching injections, and the plethora of gay-parenting books he keeps in his library.

Okay, I am dating myself here, but Chris O’Donnell during his Batman era. He was one of my number one celebrity crushes at the time and somehow our conversation went a little awry as he was speaking of how the steam-jets in his shower were so great after such a long night of drinking…it took just about everything out of me not to say, “yes, Chris, I am picturing that shower right now”.

Meeting Oprah was like meeting the Dalai Lama (I’ve met him too, but I was not nearly as impressed). Despite her reputation she is kind and personable, and I am still convinced I will become her new best friend. We share the same birthday…it’s just meant to be.

I have offended some of our parents’ favorite musical talents because I had no clue who they were. I still think Elvis Costello wanted to have my head after I made him repeat his name four times; I later upset him again when I asked which arena he would be performing in….he corrected me by saying he can no longer fill an arena and he’d be performing at a venue that seats about 500. Oops. Michael Stipes and the rest of REM - again, no clue. Same goes for Paul Anka and Fleetwood Mac (I have since redeemed myself with Stevie Nicks and Mick Fleetwood though).

LOVE Aerosmith. They invited me to their show and I had some of the best seats in the house (I even saw Steven Tyler’s daughter get married on stage). They are the funniest guys and still insist on wearing Speedos by the pool and line up for the Quarter slots….if I only had my camera.

I will end this little trip down memory lane with a quick blurb about our good friend Madonna. I thought I had seen it all as far as exorbitant spending goes, but the Material Girl is really just that. A suite was transformed into a Yoga studio (including the installation of hardwood floors), Kabbalah water flown in, all toilet seats had to be replaced with new ones, and the kitchen was stocked with a laundry list of various foods; this was really just the tip of the iceberg as far as her rider goes. Ask me how long this visit lasted….less than 10 hours. How much did it cost her….$15,000+.

Toto, We're Not in Compton Anymore.....

So I am walking through Georgetown this afternoon watching the people walk by and the cars inch along M Street. One can not help but notice that, other than the plethora of cabs, most of the cars that pass are of the luxury variety. Mercedes, BMW, Bentley, Range Rover, and the list goes on. I would not go so far to say that a Toyota Corolla is out of place on the streets of Georgetown, but I was a little surprised to see a Corolla with spinning rims. I mean, really, if you are going to pimp your ride, pick a better car than a Corolla, find a more exciting color than white, don't put 'phat rims' on a car that is all stock and, finally, do not "cruise" through Georgetown. You just look stupid. Forgive me, but I just don't really see the appeal of showcasing tires that resemble the donuts you put on after a flat. Call me crazy.

Dancing Queens.....

I have never been known for being graceful. Before I reached the age of five, my parents were on a first name basis with the staff at the local emergency room. I had stitches everywhere from the top of my head down to my knees. Before I could seriously injure myself, and to avoid the investigation by CPS that seemed inevitable, my parents enrolled me in dance lessons. I suppose if ballet can help football players with their agility, it should able to improve the coordination of a five year-old little girl. After seven years of ballet, tap, acrobatics, and jazz lessons, one may think I should have been prepared for Broadway. Not the case. While mission #1 was accomplished (limiting trips to the emergency room), I still cannot dance to save my life.

Let me share with you the condition I must be in to dance publicly. First, there is a lot of alcohol....so much that I should be in a state where the room will start to spin any minute. Second, there needs to be a distraction so no one will actually see me dance (whether this is other dancers, some girl losing her lunch in the corner, or naked men on the bar, I don't care......just something or someone to keep the eyes off of me).

Just to illustrate how pathetic I really am, my girlfriends took me on a special outing for my last birthday. First let me say that I am single. I like being single, but apparently it is not socially acceptable - I have 50 year old women at work constantly trying to set me up with their sons. So... the girls take me speed dating. We meet 10 or so ‘eligible bachelors’ from the DC area; Let's just say I can see why they were eligible.

First there was the silent guy; you ask him a question and you are lucky to get a one-word response. He apparently had top-secret job for the Government that he could not discuss on any level…..because he might be hunted down if he did. This is f***ing Washington! Everybody works for the Government and everybody thinks their job is ‘top secret’ - get over it! Just because you answer the phones at the Pentagon and you wear a geeky little name badge around your neck for access, does not make you Michael Chertoff. Please.

Next we had the creepy old man. Mind you, he was probably my favorite, but everyone in the room was under 35....he was closer in age to Peter Boyle. Note: If you are 65+ and looking for a date, you might have better luck testing the waters at an early bird special....or Cafe Milano on a Thursday night.

Finally we have the I-am-too-successful-and-busy-to-meet-a-girl guy. He was so full of himself going on and on about how much money he makes and how challenging his job is. If you are so wealthy and you feel the need to share it with everyone....buy me a drink when my glass is clearly empty. God knows I needed it after listening to him for my obligatory 8 minutes.

After our evening full of dates, the girls and I went down to the SE section of the District to check out some gay strippers. There is nothing like a fully naked man on a bar with his stuff shaking in your face as you order your Kettle One and Soda. I'm not sure if it was the 'decoration' on the bar that kept me going back for more, but let's just say the room was spinning in no time. Lucky for me there were a lot of poles to hold on to.....one of them happened to be on a stage, but I didn't mind one bit. I suppose that is where the 'dancing' began...if you want to call it that.

Good Morning Sunshine!.....

Anyone who has been to DC has met a few of our crazies roaming the streets. At first glance, one may immediately disregard the man begging for change, but I cannot help but notice the Tag on his wrist. Then there is the man begging for food who is clutching his carton of cigarettes which must have set him back about $34.99. I love a little bit of irony.

I have a soft spot in my heart for the crazies that talk to themselves. It is really and under-rated talent to be able to laugh, cry, yell, and challenge oneself when there is not a second party involved in the discussion. I once saw a woman even slap herself for "looking at her" the wrong way. I'm not quite sure how that came to be though.

There are even a few famous loons in the city. There's the "Compliment Guy" that frequents Dupont - he's my favorite. He singles out all the ladies and compliments their hair, clothes, handbag, or even their shoes. Seeing as how begging is a business, this guy is the Donald Trump of the Homeless sect. His unique approach to getting money from strangers even landed him on the front page of the Washington Post. Next, we have the "Insult Lady". She calls the streets of Georgetown home and is just downright scary. She'll chase after you just to tell you how fat you are, spit out any and every racial slur imaginable, and even insult your Mom. I am guessing she doesn't do too well with the handouts.

The first time I went to Logan Circle's CVS, I was a little taken aback to find that they had a doorman. The man holding the door set the record straight when he called me a "stingy mother f***er" as I left the store. I guess what they say is true, "nothing in life is free" - even an open door.

However, it is my neighborhood crazies that I really call my own. There is a group of 5 men that call the church lawn across the street 'home'. They greet everyone that passes with a smile and will even call attention to a shoe lace that has come untied. However, it is their unrelenting cheerfulness that has always caught me a little off-guard. When I pass them in the early morning hours on my way to work, they are quick to stand up and give a proper "Good Morning Sunshine!" with a wave - if only they didn't sleep naked and drop the newspaper when they stand. Good Morning Sunshine indeed.