The Things I Do for My Baby-Killers and Fresca

Don’t forget… tomorrow is TMI Thursday! Woot!

Yesterday, the District and surrounding areas were FINALLY gifted with the season’s first snow. I woke up to see huge flakes tumbling down, and instantly called my company’s “Snow Line” to see if, just maybe, I had the day off…

“The Agency will open as scheduled,” the whore operator snidely chanted. “Please report for work ON TIME.” Well, that’s a bit much- what are you trying to say? But I got dressed in my warmest clothes, put on my shoddy boots, and headed outside to determine:

Walk? Or Metro?

Walking almost two miles each way to work is about the only exercise I’m getting lately (well, except for- cough cough) so I hate to miss it. Combine that with the fact that I despise the Metro during rush hour, and that snow is pretty! Wheeeeee! And I’d made my choice. I was off, out in the winter wonderland, trusty Gustbuster at my side. (It’s unflippable! Unflappable! It’s… a freaking umbrella. Simma down na.)

Hmm, I thought. This is a bit slippery. I’d better be careful. It’s not like I’m a huge gigantic klutz or anything, right?

Moments later, I slipped NEXT to a pile of fresh dog poop. Not IN. Big difference. PHEW. Soldiering on, I crept across downtown DC, fighting the gales with my umbrella. Half an hour later, I safely reached my building, pulled off my sopping wet, crappy boots, and thawed out for the next hour.

Nine hours later, I was faced with the same decision I’d made that morning… times ten. As I headed outside, I assessed the situation. It was slippery-er, it was slushier, but it seemed doable. Not only was I absolutely positive that the Metro was a shitshow of idiot dunderheads, I had to stop at a CVS along the way to pick up my baby-killers and some mixers for the vodka we had at home. Which meant Fresca and limeade, because haven’t I told you I invented the best drink EVER? It’s vodka with Fresca and limeade! (Arguably, a 3 Olives grape martini with white grape juice could put up a good fight, but I’m poor and we don’t do fancy things like “glass bottles of liquor” around our place anymore.)

So, I bravely set off for home… and it was a mess. I slipped this way and that, doing the Charlie Chaplin pinwheel arms every time I tried to take a turn or climb a curb. I made it as far as Farragut Square without falling. As I stepped down to cross the street, I lost my footing and a strong and dashing young man helped to catch me. Only the “dashing young man” turned out to be a “scowling and unfortunate looking lady of considerable girth”. And by “helped to catch me,” I meant, “looked really upset that I was using her for a human bumper”. Whoopsies.

I apologized and scuttled along to CVS, where I procured said baby-killers and 2 liter (what? This is how we DO) Fresca… which fit neatly into my Oversized Work Purse we DC womenfolk love to tote around, but put me dangerously off balance. The Gustbuster had been working somewhat to help me stay standing up til this point, but now with the heavy purse on the other shoulder, my tightrope-walker grace was compromised and the situation was critical.

I trudged up K Street, one foot in front of the other, my head knowing I should walk slow but my heart desperately wanting to be HOME. With my Fresca and vodka. Oh, and B.

I made it within a block or two of home. The residential roads were not salted, and the going got trickier quickly. As soon as our building came into sight, I breathed a sigh of relief- and my foot immediately went out from under me. I went straight down on my ass, and looked around to see what I had slipped on. It wasn’t the ice… it wasn’t the snow.

It was a used condom.

Awesome.

Maybe the homeless lady wasn’t lying after all?

I picked myself up and walked in the door, peeling off my layers as I went. I grabbed a cold beer and took a long, hot shower while my man cooked me dinner. And even though I somehow managed to get beer up my nose while shaving, it was absolutely heaven.