Archive for June, 2009

Shelf Space Cartoons Bar

Public Bar in Dupont quickly became one of my favorite spots a few weeks ago. Rooftop bar, great music, and decent drink prices solidified it as a go-to haunt for my girlfriends and me.  So it was no surprise when after dinner at Raku on Saturday, we settled on heading there – just Boots and me.

On our last evening there, Boots, J-mint and I received a lesson from a couple guys who came up to talk to us. They informed us that a group of 3 women is extremely intimidating for a guy and his wingman to approach. 2 is perfect, 4 is okay, but 3 is impossible. Truthfully, this didn’t make much sense to me, but I guess it’s that one “extra” person that overwhelms the pursuer. Perhaps one guy feels weird having to hold a potential conversation with 2 girls. I would think this would be less of a pressure situation because the awkward pause factor diminishes when there are more people to talk to – but on the flip side, when there IS an awkward pause…it’s probably super uncomfortable with 3 people looking around and into their drinks searching for the next thing to say when compared to 2. With 2, you can just start making out and that takes away the tension (hopefully) – am I right? Yes? No? Maybe?

It was an interesting lesson to think about and one both Boots and I remembered as the pair of us headed toward Public bar. We knew it was going to be a top night.

So we grabbed a beer, scoped out the scene, gossiped, listened to music – a great start to a summer evening in DC – we didn’t see anyone in our first perusal who piqued our interest so we just continued to hang out and people-watch. Then Boots spotted a relatively cute guy (Scruffy) laughing with some friends. I told her I’d play wing-gal if she wanted to chat him up…but she played the “shy” card and we watched as he sat down next to some girl and began talking with her.

“Ugh – I guess I missed my chance – I should have said something!” Boots lamented.

“Yo – maybe she’ll puke and then you can swoop in for clean-up…” I said.

We continued to watch Scruffy and Girl banter…when suddenly Girl bolted up. I leaned into Boots, “what just happened?”

“I don’t know…” As Boots and I stared (openly gawking now), Girl turned around, and splayed across her back were chunks of purple vomit (we’ll go with red wine as the culprit). The Puker hung over the back of the bench Girl had just vacated. Scruffy looked a little green.  A crowd stared on as she puked again down the bench. Girl, rightfully pissed, escaped that spray of projectile mastery and headed toward the bathroom/home/a large hole…

Boots and I couldn’t believe it.

“Well – that’s gonna be quite a conversation starter for the rest of the night – hey…did you see the chick that got puked on?” We shook our heads with Scruffy, in disbelief that what had just happened had just happened.

“Did you get any on you?” I asked him.

“Thank God – no – I have a really weak stomach. If it had touched me, I would have puked on you, you would have puked on her (he pointed at Boots)…”

“Yeah it would be like a domino chain of projectile vomit,” I laughed.

We talked a bit longer then Scruffy moseyed back to his friends as Boots and I tapped off our latest beer and continued our night.

The next day, I shared this story as the highlight of our evening with Sis and Co. I still couldn’t believe it, and was more than grateful it wasn’t my back that became a Rorschach painting. We wondered how Girl coped – I’d have gone straight home in an effort to get clean. And apparently we weren’t the only ones that thought about Girl…

Boots emailed me last night: Subject Line: OMG!!!! with a link in the body of the email:


I clicked on it as you should do, but for those of you who are lazy…here’s where it takes you/what it said:

Washington DC Craig’s List/District of Columbia/Missed Connections

Girl that got puked on at Public – m4w – 26 (DC)

Reply to: pers-usqwn-1243969202@craigslist.org
Date: 2009-06-28, 3:13PM EDT

We were talking for a bit and having a good time, then out of nowhere, some drunk bitch projectile vomited on us (98% on you). You took off to the bathroom while I tried to coax my weak stomach into not throwing up myself. I didn’t see you again after that, probably for good reason.

The throw-up brought them even closer together. And just think…if they hadn’t been sitting there, and she hadn’t been puked all over, it may have ended like most Saturday bar nights – with a bar-make-out session, perhaps worthy of on-lookers before going their separate ways. As it is, apparently it was love and how they met will definitely make a great story for their grand-kids.

**Picture courtesy of ShelfSpaceCartoons.com


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Wednesday sucked. It consisted of a torrential downpour, my contact disintegrating in my eye forcing me to wear my glasses, and hitting a parked car.

The last in that small litany was my first accident ever, and while I was only traveling at a mere 3.2 mi./hour, I still managed to inflict enough damage to warrant me sticking around, talking to the owner, exchanging pertinent information, and naturally crying. Because that’s how I handle stressful situations apparently. I blubber like an idiot for 10 minutes, call Sis, Mom or Dad who tell me to stop – that it’s not the end of the world (even though clearly it is) – and finally pull myself together enough to move on – sort of. See, I tend to be slightly melodramatic sometimes.

Example: Whenever I see a cop car, I blanch and have to swallow the golf ball that lodges in my esophagus. It’s an involuntary reaction whose origins trace to the pit of my stomach, kind of like that first second of a roller coaster’s drop – where if you’re going to puke, that would be the time it happens. This reaction bubbles up every time I see a cop on the road – whether I’m passenger or driver – when this occurs in our carpool moments, BinLaw (who obviously is always the driver…obviously) thinks I’m crazy. “It’s not like you have a stash of drugs in your hand KT. You’re not doing anything wrong. Relax,” he says. But it doesn’t matter – without fail, I feel like a criminal and my physical reaction/appearance adjust to reflect this.

But I digress…so Wednesday night, I leave the gym, running a little late to get my hair cut. I’m parked next to a huge yellow handicap van that takes up most of its space and part of mine. Because I’m in my glasses, it’s humid, and I’m sweaty, they fog up, but I clean them off as I prepare to reverse – hoping I don’t side-swipe the van in the process. I take off my emergency brake, drift back, give a little gas – and CRACK…my bumper crunches into the passenger side door of the illegally parked car behind me. Though it doesn’t matter that she was illegally parked because as my insurance agent informed me, “If a child is jay-walking and you hit the child, it doesn’t matter that if they hadn’t been walking illegally you wouldn’t have hit them – you still hit them and thus it’s your fault.” A simple “no,” would have sufficed considering my only question was, “does it matter she was parked illegally?”

So now, my idiocy will cost my bank account a cool $800.

And yes that sinking lodged golf ball feeling has taken up permanent residence in the back of my throat. Even though this “apparently” happens to “everyone” and it’s just a “life lesson” from which I “have to learn.” Blerg.

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Fun Fact Friday

…also known as It’s National DONUT Day!


Today, I walked into the office to the oh-so-sweet and tantalizing aroma of donuts. The scrumptious, mouth-watering scent tickled my nose, a long feather carried by a tempting devil. Not so hot for someone who’s perpetually on a diet…but everyone deserves a treat once and awhile…and it IS a National holiday, so who would I be NOT to indulge…unpatriotic, not-a-team-player, a Debbie-Downer? Thus, naturally I had to partake as should you.

Both the King of Donuts – Dunkin’ and Krispy Kreme are giving out one free donut to honor this day, so get out there and embrace this holiday with the same fervor as you celebrate Columbus Day, Thanksgiving, and National Belly Laugh Day (January 24th)!

Be one with the donut. Seize the donut. Mmmmm the donut.


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