BAD news: You Suck.

Mothers of the world – listen up…QUIT babying your little boys.  You are doing women and the world a gross disservice.  Two of my male friends have been babied and the result is ugly – douchebabies.  They think that everything they do is of GREAT importance.  For example,

“I have to read 130 pages for a class, isn’t that so much?  Don’t you feel bad for me?  Aren’t you shocked at that number of pages and awed by my superior intelligence?”

They also think they are always right and have the inside scoop on everything and simply can’t fathom that you might be right.

“Did you see that they gave Jane that big promotion?  Can you believe they give it to her?  Talk about incompetent, have you heard her accent?…Oh, she didn’t get it?  Silly girl, you just don’t have a super secret source of info like me.  Oh, you have documentation that someone else got it?  Oh yeah, I guess my super secret source must have meant something else that you couldn’t possibly know about.”

Finally, they give you a compliment and act like you should be ecstatic.

“You really are so pretty.  Do you know that?  How does it feel to have someone think you are so pretty?  Aren’t I so sweet for giving you a compliment?  Don’t you want to give me one back now?”

LAME.  Douchebabies, you aren’t always right, you don’t know everything, and you are way less important than you give yourself credit for.  But thank you for the drink, I am going home now…alone.

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.

Sugar Daddy Purchasing Power

After searching high and low for a little slice of heaven in the sky, aka a new apartment, the search has ended.  McNasty, the landlord, decided that maybe we aren’t terrible heathens after all.  Actually, he decided that he could tolerate three of us living here (in our same old apartment) for an additional fee.  (Ding, ding, ding)  Just more proof that every “no” is only an excruciatingly painful price tag away from a yes.

So apparently having money means you never have to hear no.  Is this why rich people are so damn smug?  Does that explain this face?

and this face?

and this???

If these fools somehow “purchase” this election (cause there is no way they will get it on the up and up), then I am going straight out and finding me a sweet, sugar daddy.  I am tired of hearing no, and I, too, would like to be vice president of the United States.  Step 1:  seek and destroy sugar daddy, Step 2:  seek and destroy all that right is with the world, Step 3:  purchase $150,000 wardrobe (vaguely promise to donate some scraps to charity), Step 4:  Take over the world.

Let’s hope Obama wins or I will be selling my eggs, plasma, and soul to the highest bidder (Sugar Daddies apply within).  See you at the polls!

The boot

“No.  Absolutely not.”  That’s what it sounds like when you get SHUT DOWN after putting your pride and wallet on the line to avoid getting booted out of your apartment.

As mentioned previously, our landlord wasn’t too pleased to have three people living in a two bedroom apartment (even though it more than fits three of us and four people were living in the same space before us).  So we approached him to ask if there was anything we could possibly do so that all three of us could live here (even though it’s in a super sketchy neighborhood, it has the most ridiculously creaky floor boards, and living below our landlord feels nothing short of 1984 Big Brotherish).  So what can we do to make this better for him?  Nada.  Zip.  Zero.  Zilch.  Not more money.  Not “sexy time” with my roommate.  Nothing.

So we did as all girls do when faced with a crisis.  Cried.  Laughed.  Watched Gossip Girl.  Wished Sex and the City had an episode on getting evicted that we could turn to for guidance.  Debated the level of douchebagedness that Zac Effron displayed in High School Musical 1 & 2.  Looked for new apartments.  Cat-talked the landlord.  Cat-talked gossip girls.  Cat-talked Sarah Palin.  Laughed.

So take that evil landlord!  We will not be oppressed by your creaky floor boards any longer.  We are moving on up and moving on out.

See ya never,

Fanfrickingtastic, Fro-tastic, and Teachtastic

Overachieving 30+ SWF seeks Baby Daddy???

To do:

• Buy eggs
• Update annual budget
• Review customer survey
• Find Baby Daddy
• Make Baby

I laughed.  My male friend, Mr. Dates-Super-Hot-Chicks was making this story up.  However, he persisted in his insistence that there is a new breed of women on the dating scene (and according to him, at least, they are quite frightening).  Apparently, the formerly overachieving independent female careerists transform (around age 30ish) via baby fever into overachieving wannabe mommies on a mission for the ideal baby daddy (i.e. husband).

He offered the following as a prime example of this phenomena:

“Jane” (name changed to protect the insane) loved numbers.  She spent much of her 20s vigorously pursuing her dream job as an elite political pollster.  Her job required her to be meticulous detailed – cross referencing data, analyzing the results, and forming strategies based on the numbers.  So when Jane caught the baby bug as a 30ish single woman, she used the same skills to land her the baby daddy of her dreams.  She made a list of the ideal characteristics in a father, made a list of places/activities that would attract these men, laid out a strategy for meeting them, and executed, executed, executed (this involves a binder of lists and a very detailed calendar of events ~ baby making networking is not for the faint of heart).  With some serious planning and a bit of lipstick, she now has her dream baby daddy and is well into the process of curing her baby fever.

Dear.God.what.the.shit.  Does this really happen?  Is it just women in this super overachieving city?  Do I really have to strategize to be a baby maker?  I am 28…I don’t even know when I want babies, and this fever could hit me any day!  Can’t I just meet a guy, fall madly in love, then accidentally get knocked up and be forced to marry him like every other normal marriage???

Seriously disturbed,

Fanfrickingtastic

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?

A new hunt begins…

Manhunting in DC is the worst (see my entire blog for evidence of this true and very disheartening fact). BUT there is an even worse task…worse than suffering DCD caresses…and worse than suffering their sad attempts at being decent human beings…and even worse than their pitiful attempts to impress with their itty, bitty manhoods. What could this harrowing task be?  What could give me cold sweats, fits of tears, and make me fear for my life?  Apartment hunting (on a budget).

If you have $3,000/month to spend on an apartment, then you are set.  You can have everything your little heart has ever wanted right smack in the center of the most powerful, political city in these fine states.  You can have a full size washer and dryer, central air, metro access in your basement, parking, free coffee, a party room, roof top with a grill and olympic-size pool, bug-free, rat-free, marble-laden paradise.  Sounds like heaven.

Now, come back to reality.  You just graduated from law school (read: debt, debt, debt), you took your dream job (instead of the job that would actually pay you a decent wage), and your best roommie is in the same penniless situation.  In this situation, your apartment options are significantly more limited.  You have to choose your priorities and you can only have two:  food, safety, affordable living, metro access, or rodent-free.   The sacrifices to live in DC are plentiful and painful.  Welcome to the fabulous life, my ass!

In the next few days, I’ll be updating you on some of the sweet locations we’re exploring.  I warn you now, it’s sad, scary, and not meant for children (it will squash all their hopes and dreams for the future…much like my own).  Come on universe…you sent me a man, now send me an apartment!