Cab Ride: $13 and all the advice you ever need

“I never wanted to go to no summer camp, let alone jail,” my cab driver, Leo, said as we pulled away from my apartment at 6am. Thus began fifteen minutes of tales from Leo’s misspent youth (his words, not mine). The stories poured out as I listened in bemused silence. My favorite story went something like this:

When Leo was a young kid, he attended Catholic school and he looooved the ladies. To get their attention he would physically pull them into closets, alleys, etc. and attempt (against their will) to “get wit’em.” Obviously, the nuns and assault victims did not appreciate such behavior, so the head nun had a little chitchat with Leo. After the nun posed the question, “Would you try to do to me, what you have been doing to those girls?” Leo finally saw the heavenly light of ladies and ended his predatory adventures. In fact, he took her advice to heart so much that he didn’t try to sleep with his first wife for two months (at which point she thought he was gay and he finally acquiesced to her devilish ways).

Advice for life from Leo:

• When it comes to physical contact, treat all ladies like you would treat a nun. They are, after all, an image of heaven on earth (until they give you permission to rough them up).
• “Ain’t nobody care if you’re unhappy,” so you might as well be happy.
• If you don’t like being around people, stay home.
• Jail is NOT a place you want to go.
• Some kids need to be beat, but kids these days are smart (and will threaten to call child welfare on you)…so beat them and don’t leave marks.
• Fights aren’t worth it, just walk away. UNLESS of course, they diss you in front of your woman, in which case you have permission to beat their head in with a high school cafeteria tray (Larry, a bald guy with a large scar on his head, who lives in downtown DC can attest to the effectiveness of this strategy).
• Life is beautiful.

That cab ride was worth every single penny.

Tuesday Morning(ish) Report

Dear Life,

It’s a good damn thing that I have a sense of humor or else my days would be very sad.  For instance, it’s a decidedly sad day when I applaud myself for the following achievements:

Dressing appropriately:  A-

• Good news, I have several important meetings today and I am dressed appropriately.  Just don’t look too closely at my toenail polish (severe pedicure needed).  Luckily, the part of my toes that peep out from these particular peeps keep my chipped, half-polished secret hidden (I vow to prettify them tonight).

Tuna Budget:  A+++

• So far today, I have spent $0 and I remembered to pack my tuna fish sandwich for lunch.  Well played.

I applaud myself nonetheless.  As my favorite Matt Nathanson song says, “I’ll learn to get by on little victories.”

Love always,

Your well dressed and budget friendly ~ fanfrickingtastic

The Tuna Diet

I used to be rich (by rich, I mean I used to live in a very pretty house of student loans). I used to eat things that required purchasing $5 syrup and multiple ingredients (crazy talk). In my one bedroom apartment in the sky (shared with a fabulous roomie), I was living the high life. God, life was grand before my student loans came due.

Now, I am on the all so sexy tuna diet. The tuna diet results when you choose your dream job (which likes to pay in pennies) over a job that pays big $$$. The tuna diets also means you are living on a NON-functioning budget (with a functioning budget you can totally upgrade your diet to a food that doesn’t come in a can). Non-functioning budgets, however, hurt like real budgets, require major sacrifices like real budgets, and prevent you from owning pretty things like real budgets, but non-functioning budgets still leave you in the red at the end of the month. Savings? Never heard of such a thing. That’s why I eat tuna for approximately 7 out of every 10 meals. Reality bites.

The really frightening part is…I love it. Work makes me so happy (even when I show up looking like a mess) that I am almost excited about the tuna diet. I love my job. I love working hard and knowing that I am well on my way to being really good at it. So if I have to eat tuna everyday and buy LOTS of breath mints…then so be it. It’s all worth it.

At the same time, if the money gods want to rain down on me that would be AMAZING. Grilled chicken diet (via fancy Foreman grill) ~ I’ve got my eye on you!

Recess is not playtime

Congress is in recess, which means one thing to staffers of our fine Representatives and Senators: dress down. An anything goes wardrobe instantly replaces the affordably priced wannabe power suits. Designer jeans tucked into leather knee high boots, leggings and barely ass covering sweater dresses (please stop this trend), and FLIP FLOPS rule the Capitol. It is a glorious time to be at work…unless you forget that you have a very important meeting.

I skipped into my office wearing an adorable v-neck red dress with a cute shrug cardigan (to class up the ensemble). Since it was unseasonably warm (thank you global warming), I had decided that gold thong sandals were the perfect compliment to tie the whole casu-chic look together (that is sarcasm…really I had woken up late, thrown shit on top of shit and ran off to work). I settled into work and forgot all about my wardrobe.

“Oh, shit.”

The Outlook 15-minute meeting reminder popped up on my computer screen. It read, “Very Important Meeting with VERY important people – DON’T dress like a jackass.” S.h.i.t. “Oh well,” I thought to myself, everyone will be in recess-wear. As usual, I was wrong. The other staffers (two men) were dressed in jeans and a dress shirt, the other men in the room were in full suits, the ONLY other woman was dressed in an adorable Palin-esque (I hate that I just used that word) brightly colored and impeccably tailored suit (nylons included, gross – die nylons, die). My red sundress, gold sandals, and brokedown half-polished red toenails were just NOT cutting it. I hate myself.

Anyhow, the meeting was fine, but the other woman thought I was a disgrace. She up-and-downed me and I couldn’t even blame her for her nasty disdain. Total disgrace to women everywhere. Lesson learned: Just because Congress is in recess doesn’t mean I get to dress like a middle schooler.

Thank heaven for little girls

Life gets seriously shitty sometimes. Like seriously, ridiculously shitty.  Like when your super tight budget decides to explode and become a super tight non-functioning budget, and then you get to very large bills that you weren’t expecting (and never even knew were possible), and then your landlord hates your life and your roommates lives and would very much prefer to see you living in your car…but oh wait, you can’t afford to have your car in the city…that kind of shitty.

So it is with this very depressing backdrop that I say, “I had an amazing day and I love women (but not in that way…not that there’s anything wrong with that).” I started a women’s staff association at work a few months ago and we had a first event tonight. Over 80 women came to hear four female chiefs of staff (the highest staff level position) speak about their experiences working on Capitol Hill. They were inspiring and helpful, but they were also crass and funny and everything I want to be when I finally grow up. However, the really great part of the event was getting to meet the other 80 women who came to the event. These women had on fabulous outfits, perfect makeup, and were discussing ridiculous things….like the effect of speculation on oil prices and whether the provision in the fair access to credit card act was actually providing access to credit. Sexy, powerful nerds! I love it!

So thank you, fabulous ladies! You reminded me that I’ve got no time to worry about any shitty parts of my life. There is too much to do…watch out boys (stealing your job is number one on my to do list)!

Speaking of fabulous: 1. my boss unexpectedly told me I was doing a great job today AND 2. Johnson & Johnson gave out FREE bottles of my facewash. Can you say awesome day?

I’ll learn to get by on little victories

It’s easy to get jaded, when all you see are shades of douchebaggery.  I work in DCD mecca.  Some may even call it the Capitol of Douchebagastonia.  There are so many little boys, who think that their fancy suits and badges somehow qualify them as god’s gift to both the country and to women.  The frightening thing is those DCDettes grow up into full blown DCDs with actual (yet still grossly exaggerated) power and it can disillusion (i.e. piss all over) even the best believer’s spirit.

So yesterday I got to meet one of my favorite artists, Matt Nathanson (if you don’t know him…you are living under a rock.  You should immediately go to itunes and download everything of his that you can get your grubby little fingers on…just get it all, you won’t be sorry.  If you really love listening to him for free via the internets, you should go here and see how you can help.)  After so much DCD time, I have severely low expectations, especially for men with any amount of success to their name.  So I must say a special thanks to Matt Nathanson, who exhibited the most anti-DCD behavior imaginable…I dare say he was actually a real man (and as this blog can attest, I reserve that word for a very select group of those afflicted with a Y-chromosome).

So to Mr. Matt Nathanson, thanks for hanging out, listening to our drunk stories (sorry!), making fun of lame DCDs, and restoring our faith that not every guy that comes to this special city is a big flaming pile of poo.  We love you (and Nancy)!

Love forever, fanfrickingtastic, her two fabulous coworkers, and Steve (your twin brother from another mother)

Suckfest

It’s always sad when people are unknowingly sitting in the eye of a storm and don’t even realize it. They have no idea that the momentary placidity surrounding them is about to erupt into a full blown shit storm. This is where Fuede McMandals found himself last night.

You see, my day had not been so fanfrickingtastic. I messed something up at work. In the grand scheme of life, my error (which was only about 25% my fault) is absolutely no big deal. However, I’m new, and when you’re new every error seems to be magnified. Despite the fact that I was outwardly cracking jokes while calmly correcting the error…on the inside I was in total HORRIFIED PANIC mode. This lasted until approximately 8:30pm. Horrified panic is ultra draining, in case you didn’t know.

Fuede and I had a great date planned, so despite the shitty day I was actually looking forward to our night. We had made plans to go to this restaurant I really like, and it was the bright shining light at the end of the day of suckage. So I excitedly ran out to his car (I ran cause it was pouring…really torrential downpours). I got in the car. I told him he smells really good and he said…and I quote…”you smell like fish.” Fish? Did he say fish? Fish. Yes, he definitely said fish. (Granted, I had been in the fish reception earlier that day…that’s right, a reception to promote fish. So it was quite possible that I did in fact smell like fish.) However, under NO circumstances does any girl ever appreciate being told she smells like fish. What is one supposed to say back to that? I opted for “Hmmph,” which was quickly followed by the silent treatment.

So now I’m pissed. There is a boiling rage of indignant anger under the surface of my skin. That’s when Fuede says, “Sooo…what do you want to do tonight?” Hmm…this is strange. We have plans. Fuede is Type A, so I know that he knows that we have plans. I look quizzically at him (because I’m not speaking to him for above referenced fish comment) and he says, “Well I had a sandwich at 6, so I’m not really hungry.” Okay…so let me get this straight. Work blew, my entire outfit is soaked from the rain, we’re not going to dinner at the lovely restaurant…AND I SMELL LIKE FISH?! BBbbgggrrrrrrhhhh! (That is the sound of my head exploding.)

I didn’t yell. I didn’t make a fuss about dinner. I just asked him to take me home and said nothing more. Now, I’m pretty sure this is where Fuede started to catch on to the silent treatment. He was trying hard to get me to react. ERRR! Not going to happen. I was a stone. I went home. I showered…all the while thinking F U in my head. Then I put on sweats and a giant sweatshirt and made him watch reality tv while eating chinese food.

(Sidenote: he did apologize profusely, once he fully realized that a bad day compounded with dick head comments was probably not the way to go.)

(Second Sidenote: I know I overreacted to his comment, but seriously it was a bad day! Can I just put the day to rest without being insulted??? Many thanks, Fuede, many thanks.)

Dear Blackberry Dispensing Committee Member:

Are you trying to ruin my life? How am I supposed to make others think that I am important, if I don’t have a blackberry??? I show up to meetings looking all fancy schmancy in my men in black suit, and my whole image is blown as soon as I sit down. Everyone else is rolling and thumbing away on their blackberrys, while I sit there like a LOSER paying attention. I’ve got no brick game, no witty little free blackberry messages to my coworkers, no emails on the crisis of our infrastructure, nothing. So if you want my social productivity to increase, while my “work product” languishes, then please get that BB to me snippity snap. Otherwise, I might be forced to actually make some meaningful contributions. Many thanks. All my love, your friendly intern

Slow News Day On The Hill: The Cafeteria

Politico dedicated prime internet real estate to the new House of Representatives gourmet cafeteria menu AND it was one of the most popular stories! Did nothing else happen today?! Truth be told, I can understand the excitement, the new cafeteria menu is fabulous. Blackberries for breakfast, salmon for lunch – nutritious and delicious, thanks Nanc! However, better than all that yumminess is the following quote from an enraged repiglican:

One House Republican aide lobbed attacks at the Democrats over e-mail.

“I really don’t like Nanny Nancy telling me what I can and cannot eat for lunch. If I want to eat unhealthy, I should have that choice!” the aide fumed.

Well, lookie lookie, now repig wants to have the choice. Imagine that. Choice. Let’s strike a deal. I won’t complain about how you’re overburdening our health care system with your desire for deep fried finger foods (which I’ll give you are delicious) in exchange for you keeping your grubby grease stained fingers off my right to choose. Keep fighting the good fight!

Why I love my job: A pictorial

A. The view ain’t too shabby, B. Sweet Reading Materials, C. My desk comes with a stipend, and D. their fridge looks strikingly like mine. I think I found my home.