Archive for the ‘aWkWARD’ Category

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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I will be writing a longer post later…but I couldn’t resist telling what just happened in my office corridor a few minutes ago. For my co-workers who read this, don’t report me…just smile and nod. Thanks.

After spending a few seconds arguing the proper way to say “bow chica bow wow” (one co-worker thought the actual pronunciation was “bow chica bow bow”), our conversation naturally progressed or descended depending on your point of view.

Me: “Do you guys remember when you were younger to figure out your porn name you’d put your first pet with the street you grew up on?”

Yes folks, I said this to my boss and some other colleagues. Sometimes words just fly out and alcohol isn’t even a factor.

Here were my co-workers responses:

“Mine would be Macho Sunflower” (this falls under more of an alternative lifestyle porn name)

“Let’s see…mine would have been Fritzie Waxwing.”

“Fluffy Lumkin” (blond Marilyn impersonator with bad wig)

Slim announced, “Sassy Grey Colt.”

All excellent names.

And mine…

Drumroll please…

Wait for it…

Chaucer Belmont.

Cymbal Crash.



My mom was an English teacher who loved Chaucer (could have been Shakespeare)…so thus my hot and tempting pornstar name would have been Chaucer Belmont. What’s worse is if I go with my “real” first pet…it would have been Fish Belmont. Fish Belmont. Ew.

What would your’s have been? Do share!





In other thoughts, today starts March Madness. I am in two pools…we’ll see how it all plays out. But BInLaw pointed out something I wanted to share with everyone who sits at a cubicle all day and doesn’t want to be caught watching the games.

It’s called the BOSS Button.


It’s a button that you push when your boss is looming over your shoulder.

So when he/she appears, click that little man in a suit over-top of the screen and this spreadsheet appears:


Thus, it actually looks like you are still working…and when he/she finally walks away after discussing nonsensical gibberish, you click your mouse anywhere on that spreadsheet, and you are immediately streamed back into your game of choice.

Round One: GO Terps!

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telephone1My job consists of constant interaction with Excel and Outlook and limited interaction with people. Occasionally my phone rings and I answer it and speak for a few moments. I repeat this once or twice a day. Most often it’s Boss or Colleague. They call for two reasons: one, to cover daily tasks or two, to tell a joke at my expense. Other than that, I plug formulas into a tiny white cell and hope my answers are correct.

My office has no windows, so I have no idea what the weather is outside. On days where my cup is half-full, I assume it’s sunny and beautiful, and thus I mope accordingly because I’m stuck in a windowless office where my only light is the artificial twitting of a fluorescent bulb.

Because I have minimal socialization throughout the day it’s quite possible that I will flub up the conversations I do have. For various reasons, I am unable to multi-task while talking to people, especially on the phone. I can walk and chew gum, drive and apply lipgloss, write and watch Chuck. But I am completely incapable of chatting on the phone while on the internet, driving, or eating, the latter for obvious reasons. I have to devote my full attention to the person on the other line and who they actually are and what they’re saying, otherwise…something disastrous may happen.

There are a few people in my life I talk to on a daily+ basis; Sis and Mom, sometimes Bro and Dad. We ring each other at least 2-3 times throughout the day…sometimes more. The calls are usually no more than 5-10 minutes as we’re often busy doing three other things. Whenever I’m ready to hang up, I say “okay, love you, bye.” And click off quickly, without much thought.

A few Mondays ago, Colleague called me when I first came into the office. While he rattled off some tasks for the day, I turned on my computer, logged onto g-mail, read an email, im-ed some friends and produced affirmative grunts to whatever he was going on about. After a few minutes, we rapped up the chat. I spouted, “ok…loo..long day it’s gonna be right?”

Panic. Shit. I almost said Love You TO Colleague!  Did I cover it well enough?

“Yeah…what else is new?” he asked.

Whew. Covered. I think.

“Heh heh heh…yeah typical Monday.”

Ten minutes later. BInLaw calls ready to leave. Most of you know I work with BInLaw. He sent me the job description that set in motion my move South. We are now co-workers who commute together 2 days a week. Sis packs our lunches. It’s all very cute.

“Yo…it’s 10:30. Can we leave yet?”

“Haha…no. Let’s wait until after noon today?” I typed away at an email, updated a spreadsheet, etc. as we talked about Perez Hilton’s latest gossip until he announced,

“Okay…I have actual work to be doing KT.”

“Like I don’t…”

“HA. I mean real work…not that stuff you do. Talk to you later.”

I tapped at my keyboard and distractedly said…”K, lovv…lunch time. See you at lunch time. Bye”

Shit. I did it again.

…And so it goes until I’m so conscious of the fact that when distracted, I almost say I love you to ANYONE with whom I happen to be on the phone that I’ve been forced to actually contemplate not answering. Too bad Boss sits in the office next to me and can hear my clicking as I type this, so when he calls, he probably expects me to pick up the phone.

Have you ever over-thought a conversation in the midst of one? You weigh and measure every word.

A. It’s exhausting.

B. You end up making even less sense than normal.

3. You forget what you said 15 seconds before because you’re too busy trying to come up with the next line so that you don’t say something stupid or embarrassing like, I love you.

While this is mostly a problem for me via the telephone, I have almost made the same mistake through the written word…i.e. email. Occasionally during lunches, I’ve been known to watch an episode or three of whatever current TV show with which I happen to be slightly obsessed.

On this particular day, I was watching The Bachelor. As you know, I religiously followed Jason as he searched for true love on ABC. While watching Jason explain to a heart-broken Jillian (I think it was this episode), I was simultaneously drafting an email to Boss.

Jason- “I just think there’s something missing between us. That we’re better as best friends and aren’t able to make that leap to the next level.”  (or something like that…Jason was always way verbose)

Me- typing email to Boss – Hi, Attached is the draft for the March efforts. Would you mind taking a look over it before I send it off? I just want to make sure there’s nothing missing between us.


Yes. That’s what I wrote. Thankfully, I proof my emails before I hit send. In a panic of nervous energy that I had just almost sent that email, I called BInLaw.

“Dude…listen to the email I just drafted to Boss.” I read him the email, “I was watching the Bachelor and Jason had just said that line. Clearly my subconscious found what he said important enough to type out.” (BInLaw knows who Jason is…so luckily he got this story without much prompting.)

“Oh man KT. That would have been rough. Imagine if last week you had actually said I love you to Boss and then this week sent that email. He probably would have had to go to HR and been like…I think I have a problem on my hands. My direct report is in love with me.”

BInLaw laughed at this.

I did not.

Lesson Learned: Do not multi-task when on the phone or drafting emails to your employers, co-workers, relatives or anyone with whom you would not end a conversation with “ok, love you, bye.” Click.

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slash a follow-up to why zumba should remain an important part of my life until winter is over. 

It’s March 1st and we are expecting 6-8 inches of snow in the metropolitan area.


So naturally I used the cold weather and threat of imminent snow as a reason not to go to the gym this afternoon. Yes, I realize this action  goes against my typical work it out mentality. Rather, I curled up under a wool blanket and in complete contentment napped for 3 hours. I was nakered…what can I say. As proper guilty punishment, I may tape the four corners of the below card to my cupboard anytime I have a hankering for a chocolate chip cookie.  


Though…in all fairness, one can use the excuse of an excessively large winter coat and multiple layers beneath as an excuse for the large snowy imprint. Come Summer, this excuse will no longer apply. Keep that in mind folks.

Thank you to someecards.com for knowing how to say “it” exactly right.

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This is probably the closest I’ll get to the 25 things fad I’ve previously discussed. As mentioned, I’m not likely to ever do it, but do enjoy learning the occasional tid-bit about a friend/acquaintance. The aforementioned “This” is my Ash Wednesday confession. No I’m not Catholic, but…recognizing this day on the religious calendar gives me an excuse to share a little known fact about me.

While not life-altering or jaw-dropping, it would probably surprise some of you who know me. So here goes…

Whenever I go to a pub or pub-like bar, I’m compelled to snatch a pint glass, especially if it’s one I have never seen before. I know I know…who cares? But whew…not many people know this about me and it feels good to get it off my chest. Grant it, I don’t do this every time I step into a bar. It’s only when I see a glass I like that the little voice starts rationalizing…guinness-2

Is my purse big enough to hold the glass?

Should I really take it?

Are the bartenders going to actually miss it or even notice?

How many steps are there to the door?

I lifted my first pint glass in 2006 from a small pub in Oxford when I was a student studying abroad in England, where pints are obviously served in abundance. It was a Guinness glass, traditional and simple. I’m pretty sure I took a couple of coasters with it.

Now…believe me, I had a moment of regret, a quick pang where I thought I should remove the glass from my purse and return it to the empty water-ring on the table. But I didn’t.

And pretty soon, I had a Magners, then Foster’s, then I went on a jaunt to Ireland and came back with a Bulmers pint.  At this point, I did share my propensity towards “borrowing and not returning” barware with an advisor in my program. He actually laughed at my conflicted state and the words of wisdom he shared with me have been the sole reason I still occasionally pinch glasses at pubs.

“KT, how much do you think it costs the Queen to produce those glasses?”

“I dunno,” I replied.

“About 3 pence. That’s it. Don’t worry about it. They make so many that they’re practically begging you to take them. Think about it either you snag ’em or they just end up broken in a bar fight.”

This made perfect sense to me. And so I justified my kleptomanic tendency.

He then additionally advised, “Now that doesn’t mean you should go waving around the glass before you put it in your pocket, but I think you’re safe if you keep it on the down-low.” Yes, he said down-low. He also informed us at our orientation that we shouldn’t walk up to a bartender and say “I’d like some head with my beer.”

So if it only costs manufacturers 5 cents (exchange rates may fluctuate) to make the glass, and bar managers order extra because they expect party-fouls, then obviously they won’t care/notice if little old me takes one teeny glass for her expanding collection. Right?

The dictionary defines kleptomania as “an obsessive impulse to steal regardless of economic need, usually arising from an unconscious symbolic value associated with the stolen item.” How to see if this applies to my situation? Well, I do have an economic need for a glass from which to get my daily allowance of water and other favored beverages. And I guess I do associate that these particular glasses are actually breakable and thus have value as opposed to plastic or paper cups. But I wouldn’t say I’m obsessive….

My latest pilfer was an American Beer glass with an NHL team logo on it. It was 3 weeks ago that I took this glass.

My name is KT and I may have a slight problem.


New Yorker Cartoon: Leo Cullum: ID: 122801, Published in The New Yorker September 4, 2006

Anyone have any confessions they’d like to share?…I’m all ears.

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My family speaks in movie one-liners and when you get us all together in a room…we pretty much lose all capability for intelligent conversation in favor of out-quoting one another. This pastime is never more apparent or appropriate than Christmas dinner.  A few favorites are below:

1. “Buck Melanoma, Molly Russell’s Wart.”

2.  “Deck the Halls with Boughs of Horry, Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra Ra Ra Ra Ra.”

3.  “Grace, she died thirty years ago…”

4.  “The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.”

5. “Tis the season to be merry…”

“Well that’s my name.”

“No shit.”

While we definitely quote some movies more than others (Christmas Vacation is on there twice clearly), we have over the years embraced a new addition to our movie repertoire. This film is a celebration of the “family” and we value it for that reason.

The newest member of our family (my cousin’s husband–married in October) decided to spend his first Christmas married with us. This is not an easy undertaking and we “originals” acknowledge the challenge. If you want to be heard at the dinner table, you have to yell louder than the loudest person speaking at that moment. Multiple conversations jet from one end of the table to the other. Half the time you miss half  the comment which results in a circular conversation of trying to understand what was just said. And the whole time, we fill our plates with seconds and thirds until Mom starts the Dessert Push.

He (my cousin’s husband) decides to throw his opinion into the chaos and proclaims how delicious my dad’s meal is.  My dad sits at the head of the dining room table and waits for all 20 of us to quiet down (a rare feat) before he responds. In a low, gruff voice with his left hand casually rolling through the air, he beckons the newest member to lean close and whispers,

” Someday, and that day may never come, I’ll call upon you to do a service for me.”

Thus, Dad has added The Godfather to the latest in a long string of quotes coloring our holiday conversation.

So, to round out this post, I must share with you my Top 10 Holiday Picks:

10.  Home Alone (I know I know…but who can resist Kevin McCallister)

9. The Santa Clause (Tim Allen as Santa)

8. Star Wars (really any…but definitely IV, V, or VI)

7. Elf (Will Ferrell is great…just great and who doesn’t love candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup)

6. Dr. Seuss’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas (1966 cartoon, not Jim Carey)

5.  Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer (TV claymation)

4. Miracle on 34th St. (while I appreciate the antiquated versions, I’m referring to the 1994 Mara Wilson film)

3.  A Christmas Story (the non-TBS-duped version)

2. Christmas Vacation (Chevy Chase– “Hey. If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I’d like Frank Shirley, my boss, right here tonight. I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, fore-fleshing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is. Hallelujah. Holy shit. Where’s the Tylenol”–priceless.)

1. The Godfather (I takes the canoli; III sleeps with the fishes.)

Honorable Mention:

Old– Prancer.

New–Fred Claus (surprisingly humorous)


The Polar Express (ugh.)

My family will probably have something to say about my picks. I obviously realize most are cliche and probably were box-office flops (ie The Santa Clause), but without fail, I sit with a cup of cocoa (5 marshmellows) and a stocking-sugar cookie and watch each of them during the holidays…sometimes twice.  I know you have your secrets too. Maybe around Memorial Day, I’ll share another batch of closet-favorites…after all, we are family of quoters not limited to just Christmas flicks.  Stay tuned.

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I recently “went” blond and the day after, my mom asked me “so are you having more fun?”

I didn’t get it until she elaborated, “you know…cause blonds always have more fun.”

If we stay along this line of thinking, blonds also say stupid things that make everyone look around at each other in an unsurprised, roll of the eyes, “that’s our -insert name-” type way. Their comments through the decades have provided for endless hours of amusement.

I guess then it was bound to happen eventually. All that bleach soaking into my head would invariably cause some type of brain damage. So this weekend…after a month blond and no real “dumb” statements, it finally cracked, my brain that is. I spent Saturday and Sunday in Philadelphia catching up with some college friends, one of whom was in town from California.  Naturally, because she was a visitor, we decided to do some touristy things. We force-fed her a cheesesteak and beer, then went into the old city to ring the Liberty Bell.

The building is situated on a large patch of grass, set kind of like the Mall in Washington DC. At one end is the Constitution Museum (a really cool attraction) and at the other is an older structure. The four of us were walking towards the older one when I asked,

“So what is that building? It looks pretty old.”

A long pause ensued in the group. Then,

“Katie,” MB said straight-faced, “that’s Independence Hall. It’s where America became America.”

Clearly I should have known this hall’s importance, but perhaps the streaks of blond were suffocating my naturally brown locks. Perhaps there was a guerrilla coup taking place atop my head in which the new majority was out to overthrow the previous ruler, thus securing and permanently enforcing a new “blond” ideology. Perhaps. Or maybe at least for now I can blame it on that rather than admit that I was unaware of the historical significance of that building. But hey, at least I got to put my John Hancock on the Constitution guestbook in front of a bronze Ben Franklin.

…he did sweep that scrawl on the Constitution…didn’t he?*

*Note: I realize that John Hancock did in fact sign the Declaration of Independence, not the Constitution. A historical tidbit that I may or may not have known when I stepped into the Constitution Center this past weekend.

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