Today, I leave my District bubble and head down South to celebrate the first of my Carolina Girls’ bachelorette parties.

Mere, we knew you’d be the first from the moment we met Shawn. (Are you preggers  yet? How bout now? Now??)

Anyhoozle, I can’t wait to get down there and have a couple Very Klassy Evenings out with my ladies…

*coughcough*

Savannah ain’t gonna know what hit it.

My Sweet Carolina Girls - Best in the World

And that’s a threat… not a promise.

(Remember the Dominican, y’all?…

Uh huh.

Let’s DO THIS!!!!!!!!!!!

Mama said share.

How was your weekend?

Mine was like this. (NSFW.)

Well, okay, not exactly. That might have been last March, when Carolina beat Dook. (By the way, THAT is what Franklin Street looks like when it happens, which is about 1/1000000th of what it looks like when we win the National Championship. I KNOW. I WAS THERE.) Also, sorry for the expletive. We all know I have the mouth of a sailor.

Anyhoosits, while I had a blast with my sweet Carolina girls, the six hour train ride home yesterday was somehow not quite as much fun as the rest of the weekend. Maybe it was the two whore children sitting in front of me with their unattentive mother, that screamed and shouted and cried the whole way home. Maybe it was the endless cell phone calls, during which each person talked as though the receiving end involved their grandmother, in Siberia… who’s been dead for twelve years. Maybe it was the teenager across the way who apparently had forgotten her headphones, and so decided to blast bad-quality (like, staticky, not content-y) hip hop for the whole car’s musical enjoyment.

Maybe I was a little hungover. Whatever. The point is, I asked B if he could take a 5 and go get a vasectomy today.

At least we were in it together. There’s been so many times when I rode the train alone, and inevitably get caught talking to someone’s grandmother (what is it with me and grandmothers?) about their wee ones and soccer teams and have I asked Jesus Christ our Savior into my heart lately. This is the point when I have to decide whether to tell them I am an atheist, and hopefully they will leave the heathen alone for the rest of the ride, but you run the risk of them trying to “save your soul” until you throw up on their sweater. Just a little bit, to get your point across.

I usually try to just cut out the middle man.

Think about that.

Happy Monday, biatches. God, I wish I was on my couch.

Mama said share.

One of my very, very lovely Carolina girls is throwing a birthday bash of “I’m Turning 29 Again” proportions. So right now, B and I are on a train,James Taylor style. Because we’ve seen fire, and we’ve seen rain. Or something like that. Moving on…

SOOOOO, yeah, today is going to be a light and airy Friday post, so yousall don’t have to think too hard. Last week, one of my favorite chicas in the blogosphere, Kate over at Punch It In! posted a very cute lil game… and it goes like this:

If you want to participate, leave a comment on this post and I will assign you a letter. You then write about 10 things you love that begin with your assigned letter and post them on your blog. When people comment on your posted list, you give them a letter and the chain continues on and on.

Now I ain’t really (gearing up for The Cack here) a fan of chains, but her post was adoramable and it had “EASY FRIDAY POST” written all over it, so I asked for a letter, requesting that it not be X (xylophones are so out right now), and she was kind enough to give me…

The letter N! Which is apparently purple. And male. These guys said so:

So, innerwebs, here you have it…

Ten Things I Love, inspired by the letter N.

1. North Carolina, aka The Cack. Given my current destination, it had to be said. Although I had my doubts when I first got down south to the dirty dirty, I am now and will always be a “sweet Carolina girl”… Masshole or no.

2. Narwhals, which is also my way of saying everything FUGLY. But you already knew that…

3. Neil Diamond for giving us the song Sweet Caroline, and by association, the Bahstun Red Sawx. As evidenced by the Best Present Ever.

4. Nora Jones. That girl’s voice does THINGS to me.

5. Nice, France- well, southern France, in general. Actually, traveling in general. Anywhere NEW, where I haven’t been before. 161 cities in 11 countries, and counting.

6. Noms. This is the best way I could think of to say EATING with the letter N. I love food, preferably served with friends and booze in a cozy setting. Yes please.

7. Nekkid. As in being. You get it. No videos in existence necessary.

8. Naughty men, like Don Draper.

9. NOTHING. As in, doing it. I am a huge freaking fan, no lie.

10. N-E thing having to do with Arrested Development or Sunny in Philadelphia. (I know, I cheated, but I love them that much.) To make up for it, here’s a clip about the fantastic musical, THE NIGHTMAN COMETH…

Do you have a guy who does Cat Eyes? I’M ON IT.

Alright, ladies and germs. If you’d like to get in on this, leave a comment and I’ll send you your very own letter, or maybe Anderson will stop oggling Obama for a while and deliver a personal message.

Not bloody likely.

Happy weekend, lovers!

Mama said share.

“The Red Sox are the new Yankees.”

This is the general sentiment in our great nation, especially from an outsider’s perspective whose fanship is not to either team. Even in Boston, I think we’re all well aware of the torch that’s been passed to us from the Bronx: we are now, officially, The Worst Fans In Baseball. The thing is, we’ve embraced it. We love it. We earned it. A new dynasty is born… (and goddamn it, it’s ABOUT TIME). (Ed. note: Think this guy is a stretch? You’re wrong.)

New Englanders in general, I believe, are perceived by others to be an obnoxious people. We’re loud. We’re proud. We’re pushy. We’re cold. We’re too busy for you and your stupid touristy questions. Which way to Cheers? Oh, you mean the tourist trap that sells overpriced t-shirts in Faneuil Hall and has nothing to do with the actual set of the show? Why don’t you just go get on a goddamn Duck Tour and drown. (Dear lord, if I never hear that QUACK QUACK QUACKING again, it will be too soon.)

So, yeah, we can be a little… abrasive, if you will. (You will.) BUT, we also the most fiercely loyal people you will ever meet. Ever heard the expression, “they’ll let you on the porch, but not through the front door”, referring to a type of Southern hospitality? Well, in Massachusetts, people generally don’t get within two feet of the porch… but if you do, it means you’re through the door and eating dinner at my table, and that’s where you’ll stay for life.

Here’s how I see it: this means that I, in typical New Englander fashion, identify the few people I love dearly and from that point on, they are in my circle. I will do anything for them. I will go above and beyond to make them happy, to help them in any way I can, to let them know they are loved.

By the same token, I am extremely protective of those in my circle. The words “If you hurt my friend, I will END YOU” have left my lips more times than I care to admit, and I’ve meant it. In turn, my GBFF has decked not one, but two different asshats who effed with his girl. When you’re a Masshole, the idea of ‘having someone’s back’ takes on a whole new meaning.

It’s not an easy circle to get into, but if you know a true Yankee, you know it’s worth it.

On the other hand, however, anyone on the OUTSIDE of the circle… is basically scum. It’s harsh, I know, but it’s true. Unless I have a social connection or obligatory affiliation with you, chances are I probably don’t care for you much. Especially if you’re standing on the left side of the Metro escalator when I’m late for work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rude to strangers… both working in the service industry and living in the South have taught me the importance (and benefits) of keeping polite company (i.e., I usually keep my thoughts to myself.)

Am I glad that I moved to the Cack and, consequently, had my Masshole edges smoothed out a little bit? Definitely.

Will I still make anyone who fucks with my friends very, very sorry?

You bet your sweet ass I will.

Mama said share.

Is fuck allowed? I can say fuck, right? Good. Because after eight years of working in restaurants, I think I utilize that wonderfully versatile word as frequently as “and,” “the,” and “fucktard.” Oh wait…

Anyway, after being totally inspired by such amazing women/bloggers/authors as Jen Lancaster, Crystal, and The Fug Girls, I finally decided (read: was forcibly coerced by my darling and threatening- I mean, talented friend Rob- excuse me for a shameless plug but he really is amazing) to start my own little story-time corner on the world wide web. Which really is a fantastic idea, because I’m always reading other people’s chronicles of their seemingly ordinary, yet humor-filled and deeply touching lives, and think how nice it will be years from now when they can relive all their memories so vividly? And I will have nothing.

SOOOOOOOOO, I guess it’s about that time.

My To-Do List:

• Start 401K
• Somehow start diary/blog of some sort, so then when 80 don’t look at picture of me in red pajamas destroying a gigantor pumpkin and wonder what the hell and why?

But that’s another story for another day. Suffice to say, the pumpkin had to die.

So here I am, 23 (for another month) and finally beginning to record the trivial nothings that make up my very wonderful, sometimes crazy, and most definitely scatter-brained life. Yay me!

I am, in general, sort of a mess (read: forgetful and accident-prone, but fortunately only the kind of accident that make me look like I am 12 years old because yes I’ve skinned BOTH knees in the past month- drunk- wearing flip flops, NOT heels, and yes it was two different occasions….. rather than the kind of accident that lands me in the hospital.) (Yay, new health insurance that just kicked in! Just in case irony decided to kick me in the ass for that one.) However, I love the spontaneous craziness that is my life and wouldn’t have it any other way.

I just moved to DC after a lovely 4 year stint in the Cack (North Carolina.) I am enthralled with the city; somehow, as big as it is, it manages to retain a true neighborhood-esque quality that I adore. I truly feel at home here. Walking around downtown is an activity in and of itself, what with all the gorgeous buildings, continuous going-ons, and people watching. I live in a fantastic rowhouse with kickass roommates, (Hi Sara! Hi Amy!) and walk down 14th Street to work in the morning. I’ve also been trying to change myself, as it is sort of a clean slate in a sense, and learned that partying less (or less hard, anyway) does not equal less fun.

(This non-drinking stint brought to you by Dell, or rather in the memory of a very beautiful 17″ Dell laptop BOUGHT LAST OCTOBER that I decided it would be fun to dump an entire glass of some generic Hi-C substance and Absolut Pear onto. Into. All over. While asleep. And then hours later, when I woke up and discovered my idiocracy (great movie), I immediately tried to turn it back on. Which is, apparently the WORST THING you can do to a possibly-fried electronic device. DO NOT TRY TO TURN ON A MOISTENED ELECTRONIC DEVICE until it is totally, completely, bone-dry. I suck.)

So, after a couple days of moping around, I realized that “drunken moron” is not my best color and decided to quit drinking for a while. I bought a used laptop on ebay that sits far, far away from me, my bed, my nightstand, my arm’s length, and my breathing-out-sphere. (Obviously I made that phrase up, and I’m really not sure that it works, but you get the idea.)

Hmm… perhaps some work now… Yay Friday!

Mama said share.