Archive for the ‘Inauguration 2009’ Category
Good morning, Seven Loyal Readers! I am anxiously trying to figure out how I’m getting across the Potomac today, thanks to all the Inaugural bridge closings. It’s looking more and more like a midday swim is in my future. But never fear! I’ll be dethawed and wearing party shoes in time for tonight’s Bloggerational Ball! Just a quick reminder that it’s at The Reef in AdMo (Google map here). Festivities begin at 8 pm. I’ll be the one holding vodka. And having recently viewed the Guesty List, I thought why not give some link love to the bloggers who are coming (this in no way represents all the attendees, just the oversharer contingent). So, in no particular order…
- Restaurant Refugee
- Fearless in Toronto
- Maxie of I Hate So Much
- Deutlich of Speak On It
- Sarah of Was It For This
- Lemmonex of Culinary Couture, hopefully with BettyJoan of Trouble With Toast
- The Foggy Dew
- SingleGirl of Sexy, Single, and… Celibate?
- Malnurtured Snay
- 16 Paws of Life Uncensored
- Liebchen of Learning to Fly
- Noticed from Northwest
- Kristin of Candy Sandwich
- Herb of DC
- I-66 of Yeah, so I’m…
- Urban Bohemian
- Vittoria of Always a Drunk, Never a Bride
- Hey Pretty
- FlipFlops in the Rain
- Stella of Pray For Stella
PS — If I left you out, please email me at whoinventedroses at gmail or leave a comment and I will amend once I am done pole vaulting over the river.
Please put them in Comments…
I was boarding the train at Rosslyn, noting the disproportionately high number of Uggs being sported by the female contingent of the Commutership, when a woman elbowed her way past me. Totally a tourist; she was clutching a Metro Map like it was etched in gold.
McElbows Amazon Tall Tourist Woman (in her Declaration Voice): I can’t stand here. I get off in one stop. (This is when she glared at me.) You have to switch places with me.
Me (eyeing the fanny pack strapped over her hot pink Columbia Geothermal SporTech Wind Resister 5000, and wondering how long it took to find a coat to match her 1986 relic): Um, pass. You’re two feet from the door and you’ll have eons of time to get off. Also, if we switch, there is nothing to hold onto but the bars overhead. I’m too short to reach the bars overhead and you can. I’m happy here, next to the pole.
McElbows (holding up her Metro Map threateningly): SWITCH WITH ME!
Me (maybe overreacting a wee bit, due in part to countless Annoying Tourists Incidents this week): NO! And you can’t make me.
McElbows, deciding she could force the situation, started to shove and bumped into an Eskimo-bundled Older Lady, who consequently looked like she wanted to bitch slap McElbows with her Grandma bag.
McElbows (totally breaking the Metro Code Of Silence): MOOOOOOOOOOVE!
Me (rolling my eyes and deciding I’d not had enough morning Diet Coke to put up with this hassle): Fine. Whatever.
So, we did the Switcheroo Dance. You know, the hip-locked 180-degree turn thing that probably originated in some remote South Pacific Island as a lusty courtship ritual but has now been universally adopted by Metro riders as the proper maneuver for exchanging spots during rush hour.
McElbows (clearly a crankypuss this morning): Your music is too loud.
Me (wearing my headphones solely as an anti-cold-weather ear-protectant, having not been able to locate any form of appropriate headgear this morning): It’s not on.
McElbows (with no concept of an Inside Voice, let alone a Metro Voice): TURN DOWN YOUR EFFING MUSIC!
Another Member Of The Commutership Who Should Be Awarded A Valor Medal For Willing Jumping Onto McElbows’ Radar: It’s not too loud, I can’t hear it and I am so close, I am practically grinding on her leg.
Me (feeling validated and superior): Like I said, it’s not on.
And that’s when we pulled into Foggy Bottom. Where McElbows supposedly was going to get off.
McElbows (tapping me on the head, which was level with her waist, thanks to her Giantess heritage): What stop is this? Is it Smithsonian? Because I have to get off at Smithsonian. Is this it?
Me (absolutely dreading four more days of similar behavior): No, this is Foggy Bottom. You have about four more stops. Please stop touching my head with your man-hands.
That’s when McElbows decided her seven layers of thermal clothing had to come off. Sure, every other Metro Rider was encased in yards of Gortex and fleece but they were all quietly sweating, feeling no need strip anything more than their gloves. And maybe a hat. Because that’s how things work in Commuterland.
McElbows (unable to get her arm out of her puffy sleeve, because the train was Tokyo Crowded): MOOOOVVVVEEEEEE!
Me (not sure if that was directed towards me, or to all the commuters within a five foot radius of McElbows, so mumbling): I can’t hear you over my turned-off iPod.
Another Member Of The Commutership Who Should Be Awarded A Valor Medal For Willing Jumping Onto McElbows’ Radar: *snicker, snicker, guffaw*
The train pulled into Farragut West and half of humanity began to exit. McElbows got swept up in the crowd and was pushed off the train by passive aggressive riders bent on exacting their special form of Commutership Revenge by not letting her back on board. I stepped off the train behind her and did my best to put distance between us.
McElbows (apparently faster than I thought, tapping my head): Hey, hey, hey! Why did you push me off the train? This isn’t my stop.
Me (trying to decide if “tourist” would be an acceptable defense before a jury of my peers): I did not push you off and please leave my hair alone.
Suddenly, like an angel from heaven, Another Member Of The Commutership Who Should Be Awarded A Valor Medal For Willing Jumping Onto McElbows’ Radar appeared. If things got ugly, I figured I had a witness. I was going in.
Me (doing the general DC populous a solid by educating this moron): Let me give you a little Visiting the District 101. First, don’t tell a DC resident how to ride the Metro. Some of them will cut you. Second, leave your coat on while you ride the Metro. If it helps, think of it as a protective anti-groping layer between you and the pervy guy who is trying to cop a feel. Third, don’t tell a person to turn down their music. The proper thing to do is to glare disapprovingly in their general direction. Unless it’s Kenny G. Then you can totally ask them to turn it down. Finally, it’s stand right, walk left. That’s one you better memorize now or else you’re going to get pushed down the Rosslyn Megascalator. Helpful hint: your left hand can make an L-shape if you go like this (that’s where I demonstrate). If you have a problem with any of these rules, write an angry letter to WMATA. They’re very responsive.
And with that, I pranced up the escalator.
As heard on the Farragut West escalator this evening:
“It’s stand right, walk left, TOURIST!”
It’s like this…The Bloggerational Ball Committee has gotten elevenity nine emails from people saying, “Wish we could come, because we heart the Obaminator, but we are broke-ass due to these rough economic times.” And guess what? WE HEARD YOU. The new POTUS and his administration are all about Hope and Change and Egalitarianism and Saving Your 401K. And we’re on board. So, we thought, why not be the ultimate embodiment of that message? Why not show our support of El Presidente via booze and a party that’s open to everybody and most importantly, FREE? As in COSTS YOU NO MONEY!!!!!!
In changing this to a zero cost of admission event, we were unable to rework the arrangement with Bourbon, our original location. No hard feelings towards Bourbon and their management – they remain a great place to get your booze on and soak it up with bite of food – it just didn’t work.
In the Spirit of Obama, we tossed the old game plan and came up with a new one:
We are going to congregate on the second floor of the Reef in our dress up clothes (hells bells we still want you to wear your ball clothes). Katherine is still going to campaign for Ball Queen and will be taking photos for her drunkie documentary. LiLu will be brining tatertots from home and nomnomnoming away. If you can pry one out of her fists, you can have one. And Restaurant Refugee will be in a tux. And probably a Zoro mask to hide his secret identity. And drinking champagne. The only thing that has changed really is the cost and the location (and the perks, but whatever, the booze will still be flowing).
Come on out and BarRock the Party with us, kittens!
New Details for The Bloggerational Ball:
Sunday, 18 January 2009, 8pm
2446 18th Street, NW
Washington, DC 20009
Twelve Beers on Tap – 3 to 8 dollars
Pretty Tasty food – most items under 10 dollars
Celebrating the Obama Inaugural with a bunch of really cool people – priceless.
Please RSVP to BloggerationBall@gmail.com – it is only polite to give the good peeps over at the Reef a heads-up regarding the number of people attending. But the more, the merrier.
Dear Mr. and Ms. Prospective Ballgoer:
Yeah, I know we aren’t going to have Oprah. And the only Obama sighting will be the life-size cutout of the President-Elect that I am bringing as my date. Even so, the Bloggerational Ball is THE PARTY to attend during Inauguration Weekend. It’s going to be historic. It’s going to magical. It’s going to be held in a bar. And it’s going to be nothing like Prom, because:
- Once sufficiently boozed up, I will begin my campaign to be crowned Blog Queen. Please note: This is a solo venture, not in the least bit sponsored, supported or otherwise endorsed by the Bloggerational Ball Committee and if LiLu sees my Pretty Pretty Princess tiara, she’s threatened to confiscate it.
- I am wearing a strapless dress. Chances are high there’s going to be another Boobies Incident!
- Booze. Lots of it. Legally.
- The whole “loss of virginity” thing is out of the way.
- Five Words: Riding. Metro. In. Formal. Wear.
- The only pictures are the ones you choose to take for blackmail purposes. 423 posed photos of you on the White House lawn doing the Corsage Exchange optional.
- Sister Mary Regina will not be supervising the dancing. Nor will balloons be provided to maintain proper pelvic distance.
- Commemorative souvenirs may be purchased at the nearest street vendor.
- The only subcommittee is the one I formed, which is dedicated to making sure there is enough TP in the loos. Ladies, you can thank me later.