Last Friday, I played hooky from work to dance around Lemmonex‘s living room in my underwear drink a shitload of wine and finally let the girl woo me once and for all cook for me. I woke at 6am with butterflies in my stomach, anticipating the fun that lay ahead. (Well, okay, maybe my internal clock still hadn’t reset from daylight savings. But it meant I got to catch up on the last three episodes of ANTM that B- justifiably, as it is the WORST TELEVISION EVER- won’t let me watch when he’s around. Something about gouging out his eyes, and not wanting to be responsible for the gruesome homicide of Tyra Banks, I’m not sure. He mumbles a lot.)
The adventures began as soon as I finally cleansed, got dressed and emerged from my apartment into the way-too-bright-and-sunny day around 1pm.
As I’ve mentioned before, I am obsessed with people watching. It is truly my most favoritest game. But sometimes, it can seriously be sensory overload.
It was a gorgeous day; I couldn’t have picked a better one to call in “sick”. (Cough, cough… anyone buying this? No? It’s because my cheeks are so rosy, right? Not that I’m a horrible liar and you all know I’m quitting my job, anyway?) I descended into the metro at Gallery Place and began the trek up the red line to Van Ness. It was quiet and peaceful for once, as all the suckers professionals were neatly tucked away in their offices. Until Metro Center. The doors opened and 15 tweens- yes, TWEENS- flooded my car. They surrounded me, gabbing about pogs, Pokémon and Hanana Montana (HA! I’m so tricksy) or whatever it is the kids are squealing about these days.
Actually, as I looked more closely (which was pretty easy to do, seeing as one of them was about in my lap), I realized that the tweens? Were wearing skinny jeans. And Converse. The boys had Jonas brothers hair cuts, the girls had edgy-Jenny Humphrey bangs. Unknowingly, I had landed dead in the center of a pack of DC-mini-hipsters.
No sooner had I realized this, than I noticed that ONE of them was wearing sweatpants (the speshul kind with the elastic around the ankle), huarache sandles, a baggy T-shirt that said “Ocean City, MD”, and a large camera around her neck. And she was Asian.
WHY, WORLD??? Why do you torture me with these ridiculous stereotypes, and expect me to just ignore them? It’s just so unfair. I don’t want to be a bad person. The universe makes me one.
Anyhoo, we finally made it up to Van Ness and I weaved around them on the platform, texting nonchalantly and walking with a firm, purposeful step that said “How are those chaperones working out for you? I’M A BIG KID AND I CAN GO ANYWHERE AND DO ANYTHING I WANT ALL BY MYSELF. So suck on THAT!!!” (Maturity meter reading: 3. Out of 100.)
Once out in the bright sunny day again, I settled down in front of the Giant and waited for Lem to get her lazy lucious ass down to the metro stop. Moments after I taken my people-watching stance, I was rewarded with the sight of a 6’3″ middle-aged, engineer-esque looking man striding toward the metro’s entrance. But what was so interesting about this old, lanky, balding man, you might ask? Well, there was the fact that he was wearing a long, billowy, powder-pink Little House on the Prarie dress. No, it wasn’t even a dress. It was a frock. And he had a pale pink shawl, a lavendar parasol (yes, a PARASOL), and enormous pink purse to match. And he. Was. Fabulous.
He was going for this…
But it looked more like this.
“Well, life is short,” I thought to myself. “Good for him. At least he knows who he is- or would like to be.” As Lem would say later when I told her, “Everyone deserves to be a pretty, pretty princess.”
I sat back and soaked in the sun’s rays, as two twenty-something blond girls- the kind I would SWEAR had Debutante Balls- exited the Giant and crossed by in front of me. Ever the eavesdropper, I did just that.
“And SHE doesn’t even believe GAMBLING is a SIN!” One exclaimed to the other with disgust.
“No wonder she got knocked up,” her cohort responded knowingly.
I was tempted to ask if they had a light for my crack pipe, but Lem was approaching and there was pizza to be made.
“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting!” she called out apologetically.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I smiled as we hugged, “It was great.”
{ 27 comments }
God, that fall was something special. There was just enough booze coursing through my system that I just flew forward…didn’t even put my arms out. I got the rug burns to prove how awesome I am.
You are one speshul lady.
I am so happy that you invited the Jolly Pink Giant home and let him lounge on your bed. You are truly ready for the Big Gay Boat Cruise, my child.
And if I had a nickel for every time I knocked over a tweenie hipster on my way home from work…I’d have a lot of spare change for the dude on the corner.
How bad is it that I was typing that response as my boss entered my office with my new contract?
Fearless: I am SO ready for the Big Gay Boat Cruise. And hopefully your boss is like mine- so technologically challenged that they don’t even recognize the stuff on my computer has nothing to do with work…
Playing hooky from work sounds like a good idea right about now, too bad I am already here at work.
I always get that train car.
dancing in a living room in your underwear is hot. Playing hookie might actually be hotter.
J
http://adventuresinvoluntarysimplicity.blogspot.com/
LBluca77: I don’t know, you look a little flushed. Feverish, perhaps? Maybe you should go home…
Refugee: Maybe it always gets YOU.
Jack: Therefore, dancing in underwear PLUS playing hookie = SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION OF HOTTNESS!!! Sweet.
I realize there is a large age gap and thus no overlap, but WHY why why oh why did I not have a friend even a little like you during my days at Carolina?
So the Jenny Humphrey bangs I was thinking about aren’t a good idea?
Lisa: I too often think the same about you, Shannon, and Foggy. Had we all been there the same time, Franklin Street would never have been the same…
Katherine: The bangs are great, as long as you don’t do the raccoon eyes.
God that people watching sounds so good I am convinced you are making it up.
Except I know you're not.
If it's okay with you & Lem, I would be honored to re-tell the infamous faceplant story. I think it's one for the ages.
Caitlin: I believe only you can do it justice, as you saw the entire thing happen. Godspeed.
Lilu have you seen “Little Britain”?
Your pink frock guy is Emily Howard!
Radiographer: If you could just use this to cover your testicles.
Emily Howard: I’m a lady, I don’t have testicles. [Simpers] Well perhaps tiny little lady testicles.
If you’ve not seen it you must!
You’ll lurrrv it.
Fiona: I saw ads for it and it piqued my curiosity but I haven’t watched it yet. I’ll let you know…
You can’t tease us about Lemmonex pizza and then not bring us to, um, conclusion. How was it? Type slowly…
LaCochran: Oh, Lem thought her secret shame was avoided… I tried to keep your secret, lover… I’ll let you field that one.
But, in fairness, we can’t expect you to “get it up” ALL the time, Lem. Love you!
GOD DAMN YOU La COCH!
Look, I fucked up the pizza. OK? I FUCKED IT UP.
This doesn’t make me a bad person. I still deserve love.
And we made pasta and that was good.
AND I have made several baked goods she has adored.
But yes, PIZZA FAIL. And I knew that crust was fucked at Jump Street.
The pasta was way, way better than good. It was phe-nom.
But you still owe me something cheesy.
Get it? GEDDIT??
People watching? My. Favorite. Ever. When I visit my sister in NYC, I don’t even want to talk to her, I just want to sit in Central Park and watch people walk, fight, kiss, kick their dogs and beat their children. Just kidding…. But not really.
You mean my sweat pants aren’t what all the other cool kids are wearing?
I’ve seen that guy before!!! He cruises around Cleveland Park. It’s just so random. He’ll wear a dress, but he can’t be bothered to put on a little lipstick?
Kate: What are sisters for, if not passive aggressive abuse? Viva la people watching!
Miss Scorpio: You ain’t cool UNLESS you PEE YOUR PANTS!!!
Frecks: It’s good to know it wasn’t just the peyote I was smoking! Wait what?
aw, lemmie took a little spill?
i need to see this dude strolling around- it’s something i’d get a kick out of. there’s a goon that strolls around harvard sqaure sans pants. that’s always a treat to see.
The guy was wearing PINK???? I would think he would reserve that color for the Springtime….I guess he’s just not into fashion — maybe he could have gotten tips from the tweens you observed on the train. He could be so hip if he let them dress him….
Lem: Oops. Seems like I hit a sore spot without even knowing it. Sorry. If you had any idea how many culinary failures I’ve had, you’d know that I still have nothing but the utmost respect for your batting average.