Wow, that Charlie Sheen. According to countless news sources, early yesterday morning he was found drunk and naked in NYC and had to spend the day in the hospital. I mean, it just doesn’t get much more embarrassing than that. It’s one thing to get drunk, but being found naked and then having to be escorted into the hospital for psychological evaluation? His rep apparently blamed it on an “adverse allergic reaction” but I think the world sees through that lame excuse. Geez, I used that one when I peed my boyfriend’s bed sophomore year of college (”Um, sorry, I’m not a lush that pisses herself, I just am allergic to my vitamin pills.” Suuuuure.
Even though I’m pregnant and haven’t been even remotely close to tipsy in more than nine months, I can still feel for Charlie and this embarassing situation. I’ve brought humiliation and shame on myself time and time again thanks to the likes of red wine, Budweiser, and even the random saki bomb (or seven).
There was the time at my best friend’s mom’s wedding that I drank so many white wine spritzers that I asked the Catholic priest if he ever does Jewish weddings, attempted to maul my own imagine in a public mirror, and finally told the bride and groom’s dog walker to go fuck himself when he tried to help me up after I accidentally did a split on the dance floor. My parents STILL remind me how humiliating my behavior was (to them).
Another time, at our friends’ engagement party, I had to be escorted home by Grey with a plastic garbage bag tied around my face so I could barf in it. I literally had the bag handles looped around each ear and vomited for the entire 20 minute ride home. The odd thing was, it was an ENGAGEMENT party — not some raging kegger. The next day I most definitely tried to blame my behavior on “adverse allergic reaction” but I don’t think anybody bought it.
The thing is, I think everyone’s made an ass of themselves while drunk, but thankfully, we don’t have paparazzi taking our picture and putting it on the Internet for millions of people to point and laugh at. Thanks for taking on for the team, Charlie.
What is it about wearing a bridesmaid dress that makes me humiliate myself? This was one of those nights. Plus, it always seems like my parents are on hand for when I get embarrassingly drunk. That's always fun the next day.
Funny, how so much changes, yet so much stays the same. Case in point: bedwetting. Truth be told, I’ve had long standing issues with this phenomenon. As a child, I’d pee the bed all the time. Until how old, you wonder? Well, let’s just say I REMEMBER IT, so it wasn’t like I was only two. I think this went on for a while.
In fact, my parents even invested in the “Wee Alert” system from Sears to try to curb the problem. The premise of this dry-sleep system was to put a metal sheet under the bed linens that sounded an alarm the second any wetness touched it. Basically, bed wetters had the piss scared right out of them. For me, it did not work. I just slept through the alarm and peed anyway.
Eventually the problem stopped. But then it started back up. In college. And grad school. And well, my late 20s too. Yes, I’ll tell you without shame: I was an adult bed-wetter. Don’t feel sorry for me. I didn’t have some sort of incontinence problem. It wasn’t health related whatsoever. The root of my issue? Cabernet. Yep. That’s all. So I switched white and voila! A dry night’s rest every time!
However, now that I’m in the final weeks of this pregnancy, I figure it’s a good time to bust out my waterproof mattress pad again. Not that my water breaking last time was a big deal — it was nothing like the Niagara Falls I envisioned from the movies — but you never know. I’d rather rest assured for the next six weeks that I won’t be destroying my bed with the onset of labor. Sweet dreams!
The thing I miss most about living in Virginia is my friends. Since my Delta Delta Delta days at Penn State, I hadn’t had such a tight knit group of girls with whom I could talk about absolutely anything. In fact, it always seemed like our book club was the place where we had the most hilarious conversations, so it makes me sad I’m missing out on that tonight while all my NoVa friends yuck it up.
When we started the club five years ago, no one had kids. The funny part about this was that when it was a pre-baby book club, all we talked about was labor and delivery. I’d say 99% of our book club conversations revolved around what we heard about women pooping on the table during labor. Ironic, because none of us even had babies — so what did we know?
The truth is, once you’ve actually given birth (or at least in my case), you could care less if you poop on the table or not. In fact, during my last labor, I could have taken a shit on Grey’s head and I wouldn’t have cared. Indeed, I could have dumped on an entire room of people and not batted an eye, but I digress…
The point is, I always knew we could talk about anything during book club and I’m very grateful to have been a member for so long! And who knows, next month I’m going to a new club here at the beach, so maybe it’ll be the same way. I have a theory that if you give women from any state in the country a few glasses of wine and some appetizers they’ll all wind up talking about third nipples, poop during labor, and celebrity gossip. It’s in our blood!
Here's a pic we snapped at BC a few years ago. No clue why we all rubbing our nipples. I think we were making some sort of reference to Pride and Prejudice or Grapes of Wrath? This is a very intellectual crowd, as you can tell.
Some colleges have frat parties. Some have entire cities to use as their drinking playground. Vassar College has one bar/club on campus and it is in a dorm. For four years, I thought it was cooler than Studio 54 ever was. And well, I might still.
Here is the thing about Matthew’s Mug, our one and only campus hangout, as it was the only place to go, everyone hung out there. Have a crush on that tall guy in chem lab? You’ll see him at the Mug Friday night. There is no searching for your crush at Vassar College. He will be at the Mug, he will be drinking, and you might just have a chance.
For those co-eds who all but slept in the Mug, you were given the title of “Mug Rat,” and I wore my label with pride. I would even go on Monday nights to drink beer and play Trivial Pursuit.
Besides a place to pick up your main squeeze, the Mug was great because everyone danced their butts off. Alvin Ailey or not you went hog wild on the floor because everyone else was. As a rather mediocre dancer, I always tried to make my way to the middle as one of my greatest fears was being stuck on the outside and having the whole school watch me shake my butt off tempo. It happened a few times and I think I’m still scarred from the experience.
But it was all worth it. The Mug was like St. Tropez meets New York State and we treated it like we were in a rap video. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
While this picture may not scream "hot nightclub!" to you, this is where the Mug dwells, in the deep dark basement of Main Building.
1. We, the women of the Washington Life editorial team, just drank an absurd amount of pink champagne right next to Jennifer Garner at the Jefferson Hotel. She was wearing glasses, her hair back, and minimal makeup, so it took us a little while to identify her. But Ali, our editorial assistant, brought it to our attention that we were drunkenly babbling next to JenGar.
2. When we realized that we were next to her and her mysterious blonde friend in a sundress, we did not hold back on doing Center Stage dance moves or speaking in non-indoor voices. We may have in fact offended her when we were screaming like lemurs about how we are the three musketeers and can never work without each other. But she kept chomping on her salad, checking her blackberry, and consuming some sort of three layer shot in a test tube.
3. Before chilaxing with Jen G, we were painting our souls out at our colleague Michael Clements’ brainchild, ArtJamz, held for the first time at the Corcoran Museum. We came up with some pretty interesting expressions of our inner chi, all that will hang at the Corcoran for a few days. Michael’s idea is a sure fire hit, considering it’s fun as hell, held in a major museum, and has free flowing booze. I thought Kelly might actually burst when she started furiously painting a green bush of her homeland, Maine.
Here are some photos of Jennifer Garner’s besties (that would be us) getting artsy: love it!
Ali knighting Michael with her magical paintbrush.
Ali painting my nose with magical paint. I am now of a higher power.
Kelly dodging paintbrush baptism. It's probably her moose t-shirt that gave her the power.
There are some sports out there that I will never understand how to play. Football, definitely one of them. Curling? I have a higher comprehension of rocket science than I do curling. Biiathlon? Why should anyone on skis have a gun? And that’s why I love baseball. America’s pastime is so easy for all (except my Belgian mother) to understand. You hit a ball, run around some bases, people cheer, and tah-dah! That’s America for you.
Growing up in our nation’s capital, we always went to Baltimore to watch baseball, as they were the closest thing to a hometown team. Until the Nats came in 2005 and all my loyalties shifted. Finally, a DC team! And who cares if we aren’t the greatest. Rome wasn’t built in a day! That was my mentality for a while anyway, until we acquired the Stras-burger-nator. Now I want to win every game.
I went to a game yesterday for Father’s Day, and one today with my amazing colleagues and Strasburg didn’t pitch at either. I feel robbed!
Now if my team isn’t winning the game, I can always find something to keep me entertained, like binoculars and a nice uninterrupted view of the starting team’s butts. When I was in high school and my softball team would go to games together, we brought enough binoculars to put the best birders to shame. Our seats were nosebleed and our hormones were raging. So out came the binoculars and those Orioles posteriors in the mid-90s did we ever appreciate.
So Strasburg, please do some squats to keep us happy. And then win a few games and make us even happier. Go Nats!
All our hope lies in the hands of this young man with the prominent ears and the golden arm. Yeah, Strasburg! Here's to the man who inspired a thousand and one sandwiches named after him. Even I plan on chowing down a Strasburger.
Father’s Day! The day we all take pause and think about what our dear dads have taught us. In my case, my Dad taught me a heck of a lot, like how to read, write, drive, forgive and forget, and mostly, how to have fun. It’s the latter that I probably appreciate the most about the man. He always wants everyone to get along, have fun, and enjoy the little things. If a bomb were to go off next to him, he would just offer to make everyone a gourmet sandwich and ask if perchance someone was up for a game of tennis.
My dad, like Stacey’s, was a career newspaper man and he made me read and write so much, I’m surprised I didn’t develop carpal tunnel at age 10. But it sure helped in the long run. He also taught me that appliances shouldn’t be replaced until they haven’t worked for over five years, how to choose a honeydew through his scientific tapping method and why we should like everyone.
I had an ex-boyfriend who once told me that I would kill my grandmother if it made a good story. And while that was a stretch, I really do love to live a life that makes for an entertaining dinner party narrative. I definitely have my Dad to thank for that. He always supported me when I made announcements like, “I want to ride a donkey through Romania for the summer!” After all, this is a man who was hit on by the Beat poet Alan Ginsburg and said no. WHAT!!?? No to an icon? I know it’s not his thing, but couldn’t he have just partook to make literary history? Oh well, the fact that he even met Ginsburg really is good enough for me.
Dad, thanks for making me smarter, chiller, sillier and an overall better person. You’re the bestest – happy Father’s Day!
Today I trekked up and back to NYC for the greatest holiday since Christmas…the Loving Day celebration! Loving Day is a holiday my brother created as part of his master’s thesis at Parsons. It celebrates the right to love across racial lines as first set forth by the Loving vs Virginia Supreme Court Case in 1967. Before 1967, interracial marriage was still illegal in fourteen states. What! Yup, forty-two states over the course of American history outlawed interracial marriage at one time or another.
Of course in our day and age this seems absolutely crazy, but a clause that prohibited “marriage of a white person with a Negro or mulatto or a person who shall have one-eighth or more Negro blood” was removed from South Carolina’s state constitution in 1998. Yes, 1998. It wasn’t enforceable because of the Loving Supreme Court case, but it was still on the books until ‘98. Alabama had a similar one until 2000. So it seems we still have a bit of a ways to go.
Ken’s idea was to have Loving Day celebrate the right to love, and I think irregardless if you’re in an interracial relationship or not, it’s great to have a day that celebrates love and being in love. Loving Day was featured in Time magazine on Friday and has been getting amazing press in the Washington Post, BBC, NPR etc. But the celebrations, like the one today in NYC, are the very best press. There’s free beer, free burgers, and baby can you ever feel the love.
A great photo from the NYC celebration.
The view from behind the DJ today.
My wonderful friends from Vassar, Jamilyah and Keisha, were kind enough to come to Loving Day and gossip with me. I miss them!!
What a wonderful day. We are still in Naples and though it is 104 degrees, we’re in heaven. Our hotel is on the beach, we went for a really sweaty run in the sand, and we have taken on a “clothing optional” motto in life. We have also discovered a new love for disclosing embarrassing things about ourselves and playing top five ____ about you. Our first idea? Let’s pick the top five jobs you would suck at. Here is what Craig chose for me. 1) Night Watchman (I love to sleep) 2) Logger (I disagree. I think I would make a hell of a logger) 3) Whale Watcher (I never see animals. Like even at the zoo I miss them) 4) Parole officer (Everyone deserves a second chance!) 5) Person who does wake-up calls (I’m always late).
Following the “this is what you’re bad at” game, we decided to confess our embarrassing stories. One of Craig’s just happened to be that his sophomore year of college, he wanted to get a tattoo of a football with wings. Yes, WINGS. It was after he won the national football championship with Nebraska and wanted to remember that moment forever. And then to really class it up, he wanted to put a big red N underneath. Ah, my boyfriend could have a flying football on his arm. Would I still love him? Probably. Let’s be honest, if it was on his face, I would probably still adore him. Ahh, l’amour!
This could have been on Craig's arm. Oh, except the football would have had WINGS.
As I said in yesterday’s post, Grey’s roommate Matt from the Naval Academy came to visit with us for a few days this weekend. I can honestly say, due to us moving on Friday, the house has never been more disgusting for a house guest. Of course, of all visitors, Matt could have cared less. The fridge was stocked with Pabst Blue Ribbon (only the best for our guests!) and that seemed to be all he and Grey needed (besides a few rounds of golf) to keep them happy.
Matt certainly kept Ollie entranced by his charms. One morning at breakfast I overheard Matt telling him things like, “Unit, Core, God, County” and “Stop eyeballin’ me, boy!” Ollie was both scared and in awe of his Uncle Matt, which, oddly enough, was my first impression of him too.
Our dinner conversations were unlike any I’ve had in ages, including topics like the joys of a vasectomy and untimely boners. At night, while watching sporting event after sporting event on TV, the guys swapped sea stories and reminisced about their time at the Academy when neither of them had any regard for authority. As true girls’ girl, I felt privy to a world of man-talk the likes of which I’d only dreamed! We had a great time catching up!!
It was great seeing Grey's good buddy! Here are the two guys at Matt's wedding (where Grey was his best man). We can't wait to get down to HOT-lanta later this summer to visit Matt, his wife Laura, and their two kiddos!
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