Currently Chasing: A Werewolf

Ok. So I just finished watching New Moon, the latest in the Twilight Vampire series. And can I just say one thing? Where or where is my motha fuckin Werewolf!? I mean, come on. And if you don’t know the movie or haven’t seen the previews for this latest flick, let me give you a quick recap.

This beady-eyed, pale Vampire named Edward falls in love with a very average looking and kinda wishy/washy chick. Then he thinks he’s going to bring her harm so the pasty, powdery-looking blood sucker sends her away all old-yeller style, like, “Just go. I don’t want you. You deserve better.” Bullshit right?

So she gets all fetal position for like three months. And then she starts hanging out with Jacob who looks like he just walked out of an Abercrombie ad, except way less gay. However, he is only 16, which is kinda statutory, but whatever. And oh yeah, he happens to be a Werewolf.

And this Jacob dude starts fighting for her dumb ass right away because she has some kind of stupid death wish because every time she gets close to death Edward appears as an image in the night telling her to stop trying to hurt herself. I came close to death the other night and nothing appeared to me except a man asking if he could have my parking spot. (More on that later.)

So Jacob is risking life and paw for this chick and she doesn't even ever give him a single kiss. And Edward already spent the entire first movie getting totally jacked up for her skinny ass. Two men, literally willing to die for her. I can barely get a dude to stop by the exchange and pick me up some garbage bags. I mean really.

And Jacob, good lord. That guy is ab-tastic. There are two things in this movie that are very different than when I was a kid. Number 1. 16 year olds. And number 2. Wolves. They use to just dress up like your Grandma and try to eat you. Now they are getting tattoos and never wearing shirts.

I can see it already. I’m going to be crying wolf all week. Team Jacob!

Currently Chasing: Vermont Ave

So my friend flies in from California. The first thing she does is tell me Rule number 1 for traveling. Never take off your headphones. Even if your Ipod isn't on. Not even for 15 minutes. Because that leaves just enough time for a stranger to tell you their life story.

She’s hungry, so I take her over to Chevys. Rule number 2. Don’t take a California girl to eat Mexican food in Maryland. She had the chicken. I say had, because a few hours later, she would no longer have it. If you know what I mean.

After we eat and I take her to my house, let her get settled and clue her in on my plan to take her to party in DC. She’s never been to the east coast so I knew she’d appreciate seeing as much as possible. So we head out, GPS on and ready. And where do we end up. That same fucking roundabout from last time! And since I’m on Massachusetts NW, it is now telling me to take the 7^th exit to Vermont. But here’s the deal, even the GPS is only showing 6 exits. And all I’m counting are 6 exits, and none of those exits are Vermont. Vermont must be the mystery 7^th exit. And meanwhile I’m still stuck in the DuPont Circle of death!

So I take some road heading some way and we are making our way slowly but surely and then she tells me that she needs me to pull over. She’s going to be sick. That fucking Maryland chicken! So I try to pull over to the curb as fast as I can, which in DC is pretty fucking hard. I pull over right in front of the Lux Lounge. When I do, my tire hits the curb and pops, you hear the 100 plus people in line let out a OOOOHHHHH! Then my friend opens the car door and yaks. Then the crowd goes AAAUUUUGGHHHH!!! And we look like a couple of really drunk bitches in that moment. So with a popped tire I know I’ve got to find a place to park, but of course there is nowhere. So I park illegally and put on my flashers and call for roadside assistance. Rule number 3. Never assume you’ll find a place to park in DC. Rule number 4. Never come to DC. Rule number 5. Fuck DC.

While I’m waiting, my friend and I are people watching. We see a group of sluts running to cross the street. Two of the girls kind of run into each other and one of them head plants into the concrete. The sound is excruciating and the concrete even vibrates a bit. Her friends pay no attention and keep right on running. The girl just kind of lays there. Maybe unconscious. Maybe dead. But no. She rolls over, sees that her friends have kept running, gets up, says owwww, and then continues running. She’s gonna feel that in the morning. Rule number 6. Friends don’t let you go into a full concussion and not even stop to ask if you’re ok.

So the guy shows up to change my tire and lets me know that I’m going to need a new donut soon because my current one looks like the tread is coming apart at the scene. Perfect news when I have to drive back home from DC. Rule number 7. Don’t buy a used PT cruiser convertible on accident ever again. As he’s changing the tire another man stops and says, “are you all leaving this space?” We say, eventually, after we get the tire changed. He tells us he’ll help. Only in DC will someone help you change a tire for a parking space.

So the tire gets changed and we head home. We pull out of the parking spot and up to the light. Then BAM! I get hit. I get out of my car and the guy is still on his cell phone and looking at me like…. “Why the hell did you stop at a legal red light and let me hit you doing 80?” Like it’s my fucking fault! I look at my bumper, see that there’s no damage and just wave him on. He barely fucking notices and just drives around me. Again, only in DC!

The rest of the weekend went great, all things considered. Whoever sits next to my friend on the way home better wear earphones, otherwise she’s got quite a story to tell them.

Currently Chasing: Massachusetts Ave NW

So Saturday was my birthday. My girl D (and I should just call her Double D because she’s got huge, um, academic degrees) decides to take me to a Dane Cook comedy show. Granted, I saw the same show a few months back, but you can never get too much DC. That’s what I always say. Only, I was wrong.

You see, DC takes on a whole new meaning when you are referring to the mutha fuckin District of Columbia. And trust me; you can get too much of it.

I offered to pick DD up seeing as though she bought the tickets and the Patriot Center is closer to where she lives. I drive there…get a little lost, freak out because I think I’m going to be late, park illegally outside of her apartment building. Put on my flashers and run to the 7-eleven to get some cash. Escape some dudes outside who look like they are looking to rape someone, get back in the car, get her in the car, and get on my way.

We arrive at the venue with plenty of time. We get some beers, find our seats (which were so close I could scream and he’d actually hear me) and we wait for the show to begin. And it does. Dane is a riot. He is mixing it up a little, although not too much. I am still able to call out the punch line before it actually comes, which annoys just about everyone around me. But I don’t give a shit because I’m an ultra mega fan so fuck them!

Then Dane starts to tell a joke and he says, shut up and listen and my drunk friend DD yells out, “No, you shut up!” And he turns and looks at her and says, “Really? Are we 9?” And I’m like, Holy fucking fuck! Dane is talking to you. He is interrupting his act to call you 9! This is fucking awesome.

So the show ends, people start walking out, and then he comes back on stage for an encore. I’m close to the stage at this point trying to get a picture. Which actually looks like a big blob of light. Is there a fucking App for a flash? Damn IPhone.

So security is pushing us back to our seats and DD yells, “It’s her birthday!”
He says, “Is it really your birthday?”
I say, “Yes.”
He says, “Well happy birthday.”
I say “Thank you.”

Security is still rushing my ass back to my seat.

He says, “They are my happy birthday crew.”
I say, “Yeah, they are about to take me down right here.”
He says, “Well go ahead and find your seat.”


And I do. And I can die now. Only not quite. Because I have to drive back to DC to take DD to her place. I do that. All is well. I think I know where I’m going and then it happens. Fucking Devil GPS tells me to take the 7th exit from the roundabout to Massachusetts Ave NW. Seriously? The 7th fucking exit? So I start counting. But I see a bunch of Massachusetts exits. So one by one I start taking them. And one by one I’m rerouted back to the mother fucking start of the roundabout. By about the 5th time (and by now it’ s totally a scene out of a Chevy Chase movie…”Look kids, it’s Big Ben!”) I literally just cry. I finally just pick a road and start driving. The GPS is out of control. Reroute, reroute. I don’t give a shit. I’m staying straight. Tears pouring out of my face.

Then I see it. A sign for a freeway. I make my way toward it, and then I see something else. A police officer with a flashlight motioning me over to the side. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

He asks me where I’m coming from. I can hardly remember the extraordinary night I’d had. All I can tell him is, I’m coming from Satan’s asshole. I need to get out of the city. I’m in a bad movie. Please help! He asks how much I’ve had to drink. Not enough I assure him. He can tell I’m desperate. He lets me go with some directions and a warning. I finally get on the freeway and begin to recognize civilization.

I wish the happy birthday crew would have ushered my ass all the way back home. Or at least down Massachusetts fucking Ave….NW!