Week’s Wrap-Up

March 24, 2009

Dear Diary,

I ran into a Leprechaun @ Harris Teeter last Monday. I know he was a Leprechaun because he was a squat, ruddy fellow who was buying flowers and interceded for World Market while I was looking to buy dried seasonings off the shelf. I went there but was let down because they were all out of cumin and I was forced to force Michael to feed my craving for chili without the spice. Bad decision. BUT, however comma, I did find my favorite chianti-flavored salami, which I had previously purchased at Trader Joe’s (cheaper than Harris Teeter). AND it was even cheaper than HT’s! So the leprechaun brought me to the pot of greasy goodness that will eventually distend my belly out to right above my pants zipper. Just like him.

On Tuesday, my company celebrated St Paddy’s day with terrible jokes that weren’t at all funnier to hear while sipping O’Doul”s. The HR lady was right there to review and give the go-ahead for each joke told with good-sport gusto by our President (who I’m SURE has a much better selection after hours). And there are still cans of the NA beer in the back fridge for any of you interested. Par-tay at Lee-oh-nay!

Thursday night was a fun time. A bunch of us got together at Union St Pub to wish someone farewell to her new job overseas. You can’t smoke inside there anymore. I ate some weird hollow squid heads that a white badge shoved at me and washed em down with bloody Marys. I should have asked if housing them for her was considered a deliverable.

I bit it hard on Friday without the excuse of being tipsy. It happened right after a farewell luncheon while I was crossing 23rd St. Anyone else notice that dip in the bricks? I did, with my whole body. My right ankle twisted and turned sideways. I was flung forward inexplicably and fell on my left shoulder and right palm. And like something out of a sitcom, my beau didn’t even notice and kept walking till I cried out in agony. I barely rallied to hobble back to the office and was given much sympathy for my wounds. I got cleaned up and even wrapped my own ankle in the security of halogen lights. It’s a jungle out there! I must mention that I spend almost 24/7 indoors thanks to being able to walk everywhere from my apartment in the Crystal City “Underground.”

I returned home to find it clean. My apartment – but clean. Turns out the building’s housekeeping ladies had let themselves in after slipping a fraction of notebook paper under my door the day before as notice. And they left a note asking for payment soon. Beloved Diary, I’m moving next weekend. I don’t need a clean apartment now! And what is it with them that they peek in to recommend I have them straighten up?

On Saturday I got decked out in jeans and my Five Guys sweatshirt to go out and celebrate my little brother’s birthday. He told me to meet him at a bar in Fairfax called “Uptown.” To me that meant “townie bar.” Yeah, not so much. The place is bright with black light and manned with large Koreans dressed in monkey suits and pushily thanking you for coming. They looked like they’d fashioned themselves after some terrible mafia movie set in northern NJ. They were intimidating, but were gracious as I flip-flopped past in my Crocs. I felt stupid and sorry for myself for being such a mess. What helped a bunch was seeing my older brother still hanging around with Robert the birthday brother, and who told me that the gash on my palm from the fall “looks like hand herps.”

Yes, I have an older brother. He looks kinda like my dad and acts kinda like my little brother. I haven’t seen him in 12 years and now have seen him three times in the past week. So I’m just like “woah.” The bunch of us (Robert, his friends, me, Michael and Geoff Jr) mosie’d on over to Sweetwater Tavern, Robert’s employer of two years. He told me he’s the assistant brewmaster now but that in his inebriated state and tie-died tee shirt probably shouldn’t be giving tours. Fair enough.

I got lost from the group in the hop from Fairfax to a pool hall in Annandale. I can’t say I’m sorry about that, especially since I’m boring now and have a low tolerance for drinking, barely-legal drinkers, and my brothers.

By the time I got up on Sunday afternoon, my best friend Sarah had run a marathon in Va Beach in four and a half hours.  That day I made General in Xbox’s Call of Duty: World at War. (God spared me the part of my hand that I use to grasp the controller in my fall.) I attribute this early success to Divine Right and also the ”double-points’ promotion going on. But it was an untimely promotion since I just finished but not yet published a blog about being my family’s next generation Colonel. I’ll have to edit it now for a “first in the family since General Lee.”

Speaking of a Call of Duty, that evening I visited a homecoming stroke housewarming at a new house in Clifton. I saw some cool videos and pictures and heard stories of retired SFCs who are now higher in the pink badge hierarchy than retired LTCs. That must be a sweet revenge to play out in the desert! I’m not suggesting anything here, just making a hypothetical observation.

This morning at oh-too-early, my doorbell rang and I knew exactly who it was. I said “uh memunto” (don’t ask, I was tired) and pulled on a sweater too soon in my getting-ready ritual. Maria and her daughter were here to collect for their cleaning job. But when all I could sputter in my pre-caffeinated Spanish II was “gracias pero no pagar,” it turned into an emotional shake-down. I tried to fix the sad look on Maria’s face and angry look on her daughter’s. They were all “we know you always pay, what’s the problem, you didn’t like it?” And I’m trying my best to explain myself without letting the issue rest on my facial expression just because I can’t speak the language. What I MEANT to say was “I don’t have cash right now but will pay you double when you come to my next apartment in this building.” Maria walked away with a shrug and her daughter magically started speaking English.  Not because she wanted to discuss but because she wanted me to understand. The girl can talk as fast in English as I can understand in Spanish! She told me that I’d disrespected her and her mother and that I don’t have to worry about them coming into my apartment before OR after cleaning. I tried to say “that is the problem here” but got the turned shoulder from her, too.  Ay yi yi.

More later.


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