DC Etiquette #10: Tell everyone how well-traveled you are.

Of course, in a city where everyone must boast about their foreign language skills, so too must extensive traveling experience be detailed constantly as well.

A few ways to do this:
1. FACEBOOK!

Thank you, Mark Zuckerberg, for creating an interface where douchebaggery has a chance to abound. Here, not only may you now post all the foreign languages you know (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) but you can list "travel" as one of your interests. Feeling super douchey and international? Instead of writing "traveling to exotic locations where I can practice my new found foreign language skills", try writing "getting my passport stamped". Then, you leave people with the impression that you've been all over the world, when really you probably just live in Maine or northern Michigan and have gone up to Canada several times each winter (for skiing trips? colder weather? I don't honestly know where I'm going with this), and asked them to stamp your passport. Not because it's necessary, but because you want to impress your friends who are leafing through your passport the next time they're over and you "accidentally" leave it on your coffee table with your cramped passport pages.

Oh, and remember a few years ago, like 2005ish when there was some... thing... on facebook where you could put dots on a map on your profile to show all the places you traveled to? Yeah, make one of those too.


2. Ordering in a restaurant.

At a Mexican restaurant, and you once overheard an exchange in Chipotle about the frijoles being negros or... pinto? Kudos, you can now say you've been to Mexico. So go ahead and tell your waiter you want frijoles refritos with your burrito (say that in your head in a dirty mexican accent), then launch into a long talk about how beautiful you found Mexico to be (because everyone's seen that recent commercial promoting how Mexico is so beautiful it's like Hawaii. Please, we all know it's a dirty poor people country, and Hawaii is not. There, I said it.)

Another option is to act like you've forgotten that you're back in your homeland. What I mean by this, is to order something like "lemon juice". When your waiter acts confused, explain that "overseas" if you ask for "lemonade", and not "lemon juice", you'll end up with a carbonated lemon drink, and not lemonade, proper. Yes, I've actually heard this go down in public.


3. Casual conversation

After recently meeting a new "friend", I regaled him with a great story of mine: the first time I went skiing. During this epic adventure, I was reassured by a friend that I didn't need lessons, and therefore ended up careening at full speed into the lodge with my friend yelling "PIZZA!" behind me, as I went full throttle into the shins of a 35 year old man (I was 15 in the Pocono Mountains at the time). I told this story because it's hilarious. The man started swearing at me profusely, and when his girlfriend asked, "Are you okay?" I thought it was directed at me, and answered, "Oh hey yeah thanks I'm fine," setting off my new 35 year old comrade into a new swearing charade which clued me in to the fact that the question had not in fact been directed at me. After telling this story, instead of the usual response of cackling laughter trying to imagine me as a 15 year old in a puffy bright blue marshmallow coat taking out a large 35 year old man by plowing into him on my back on skis at full speed ahead, his response was, "I've been to Everest, that wasn't a mountain you were on."

Take note: Clearly I've never been to Everest, since I fell down a mountain on skis at age 15. And there's a two-for-one here, since I now know my companion is better than I am since he's been to Everest.

Take casual sidenote: We all know Everest is a "real" mountain, even if we haven't seen it. If you really want to be impressive, start claiming you've been to Olympus Mons... and that Everest can suck its dick three times over (disclaimer: a friend who is much smarter than I am pointed out what Olympus Mons is to me. I am not this well informed on the mountains of our solar system).

So basically, all I'm really saying is...

...unless you're Amelia god damned Earhart, you're not ACTUALLY a world traveler. And she even failed. So go fuck yourself, 'cause no one really cares how many passport pages you have stamped, shitdick.

DC Etiquette #9: Love yourself. Too much.

So, I have a supplemental job waiting tables. Before you judge me by what I do since we're in DC and that's the only good measure of anyone's character, rest assured I have a real person functional 9 - 5 job that requires a college degree, etc. Calm down, everyone.

Having gotten that out of the way, I encountered the King of the Douchebags earlier this week. For all intents and purposes, I think it's fair to refer to this grand douchebag as Summer's Eve.

When I approached Summer's Eve's table, I was slightly weary of the fact that the two people sitting there looked like they were roughly 14. As they immediately ordered a bottle of wine, I carded them. Summer's Eve did not like this, and tried to "relate to my struggle" if you will:

"I waited tables for 2 weeks once, and don't you feel so awkward when you have to card someone?"
"No. If I serve you and you're not 21, I could lose my job. So I don't feel very awkward about that."
"Right well I always just thought it was so awkward when I'd card someone and they were older than I am and-"
"I need to see your ID."
"Oh really? (surprised tone) But yeah, so awkward when someone is older than you are and you card them, so-"
"We're exactly the same age."

At this point I had a slight inclination that I was in for it.

I brought the bottle of the wine to the table. Which Summer's Eve immediately sent back, because, as he stated, "Ohh...yeah...I don't mean to be a douchebag (well that's pretty fucking ironic, Summer's Eve) but the menu said the vintage was 2006, and this bottle's a 2007."

When I returned to the table, he began to try to strike up conversation. He did this by speaking exclusively about himself for a solid 5 minutes (trust me, this is an absurdly long time in dbagville). During this point I found out a lot of things that were incredibly uninteresting about Summer's Eve: born and raised in DC area (shocking), went to school in Boston, started his own NGO, and was probably jacking off under the table listening to the sound of his own voice as he told me all of this. I can't verify that last one, but his hands WERE under the table the entire time. Just sayin'.

The conversation then took an unexpected twist as Summer's Eve asked me what I was doing with my life, and if I was planning to go back to school for anything. I said yes, and he asked how far along I was on the application process. I remarked that I haven't even taken the GRE yet. To this comment, Summer's Eve offered some stellar advice:
"Oh the GRE? It's easy, don't study, just go in and take it."
"I don't think so, I feel an inclination to prepare for any test I take."
"Well actually, men test better than women on the GRE. I read about it in an article, if you want to give me your email address, I could send it to you."
Awkward silence.
"You know, you could just take the GRE, get whatever grade you get, then explain to an admissions officer, you know, that you took it, didn't do so well, but really talk up your other credentials and that you feel the GRE was really just a waste of your time, and I think someone would really just respect you for that."
"Really? I think someone would think I'm just incredibly self important trying to go around application requirements if I did that."

I also appreciated the fact that he assumed my silly woman vagina and I would automatically bomb the GRE.

Nonetheless, I continued to "enjoy" Summer's Eve's inane ramblings throughout the duration of the wonderful experience of waiting on him. For example: "I love the W, it's the only place you can see the White House from, without actually being IN the White House." I've enjoyed the view from the benches with homeless people across the street from the White House myself, but whatever...

Finally, Summer's Eve paid and left, which was hands down the most magical part of the evening. And I say that because this is the receipt I picked up from the table upon his departure:

To be fair, I was at least well compensated for putting up with his bullshit for far too long. What you can't see very well on the check, since I blurred it out using my great photo editing skills/lackthereof, is a special message, just for me. He dropped his sweet digits (which he apparently forgot, and had to cross out the last four digits to write it properly?) but left the best line scribbled there on the bottom: "Talk more about me."

I know, I know, you're probably super jealous and extremely upset that I blurred out the number so only I can enjoy this man's company. Tough shit. This insufferable dbag is aaaalllll mine. I'm considering kicking off conversation by sending him a text saying, "I hope you die in a fiery car crash," but I feel like that could be misconstrued as slightly abrasive and quite immature. Plus that sort of talk would make my mother embarrassed of me. I'll hold my silence.

DC Etiquette #8: Have a really awkward holiday office party.

I know, I know, this is not DC specific, this is a global phenomenon. But I'll post about what I feel like posting about, damnit. Be advised, however, that the awkward story I'm about to share with you has a lot to do with the fact that people in DC are socially inept. As the tv that keeps me company on a nightly basis while I drink a bottle of wine alone in bed can tell you, I certainly have plenty of room to talk about being socially graceful and outgoing.

Regardless.

The holiday season is upon us. To many, this means dealing with fuckloads of people who are running around shopping malls, awkward once-a-year-reunions with extended family, and great eruptive family fights. While in the throes of all of these great holiday emotions, one fantastic holiday tradition may have escaped your mind: the office holiday party.

I have a pretty great track record with holiday parties. And by that I mean I've never been able to remember one.

What great tidbits I do have in tact from my work Christmas party last year entail my great friend and I failing to sing any of the words correctly to "Wonderwall" by Oasis (bet you're sad you missed that) and one of my managers slinging an arm around my shoulders while throwing a camera at someone shouting, "TAKE A PICTURE OF THE TWO BITCHES!"

I did not know I was thought of this way. Consequently, the photo looked something like this:

Well, you know. With females in normal dress. But the same expressions. Use your imagination.

However, this year at my office Christmas party, I experienced the most awkward holiday party moment known to mankind. I challenge you to come up with something more uncomfortable.

I will change names to protect the integrity of my coworkers. Therefore, the woman known as **** will now be referred to as Twatbreath.

Twatbreath and I were always friendly with each other. As in she always remembered my name when I saw her in the hallway, and would greet me very excitedly using my first name, while I would only be able to respond with "HI! .... ahm... how are... YOU?!", trying to muster up the same enthusiasm she had in knowing my name by demonstrating I had zero knowledge of hers (note social grace reference from the first paragraph).

One day, Twatbreath and I had an extremely minor altercation that resulted in Twatbreath giving me a partial death look when she greeted me by my first name every time I saw her walking down the hallway from thereon out. So you can imagine my surprise when the events I'm about to describe transpired between myself and Twatbreath at my recent holiday party.

Seated at a table with two other coworkers, I saw Twatbreath was getting ready to leave the party. I had only had one other interaction with Twatbreath at the party thus far, when I saw her and said, "Hi Twatbreath!" in the friendliest and most enthusiastic tone I possess, only to recieve an I-hate-you-smile as she walked past me to the cake table (note: I did not really call her "Twatbreath", I called her by her "real" name). Moving on. She warmly parted ways with one of my coworkers with a hug and kiss on the cheek. As I was at an awkward angle seated in my chair with my back to her, I simply wished Twatbreath a safe journey home and said goodbye with a friendly wave and a smile. I thought this was the universal signal for "DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME".

Tip: Do not try this evasive maneuver at your next holiday party.

I say this, because apparently that body language is actually indicative of wanting to be touched. As Twatbreath headed for the door by walking behind my chair, she did a surprise-Twatbreath-sneak-attack. She then rounded on me, and while I sat at the table with an extremely puzzled look on my face, Twatbreath bent down over me like Rafiki about to anoint Simba in the opening scene of the Lion King, and kissed me on my forehead.

It is important here to note that up until this point in my life, the only woman who has kissed me on my forehead to part ways has been my own mother.

The other people seated near the table and myself all fell into an extremely uncomfortable silence. The silence eventually gave way to teeth-baring grimaces of sympathy and awkward I'm-just-going-t0-look-sideways-to-avoid-eye-contact-with-you expressions.

I hope envisioning this scenario has also caused you to die just a tiny bit on the inside, as my coworkers and I all did after Twatbreath left the room with her awkward forehead kiss.

Thankfully, it was time to leave the party, and I pretty much immediately seized my jacket and ran for the safe haven of my car.

However, I'm thinking when I see Twatbreath at work tomorrow I'm going to walk up to her, say nothing, place a hand on each side of her face, and kiss her forehead with vigor. I may accidentally spit a little on her. I also may or may not currently have a cold. Just sayin'.

Happy Holiday Season!

DC Etiquette #7: Do NOT cover your mouth.

As may have been noted in prior posts, I commute to work via the metro. As may have also been noted in prior posts, I am a distinctly disgruntled metro commuter.

However, comma (that was for emphasis), this is not without a good cause.

Why? You might be asking? I like question marks? I hope you're reading all of this in an annoying up tone? 'Cause we all know someone who speaks in an up tone? Who you want to shake like a baby every time he/she opens his/her mouth? Yes? Ok I'll move on?

No really, I will.

People of Haiti, Rwanda, Darfur: Sit down. I have a true tragedy to impart upon you.

Sort of.

Last week, I was "enjoying" my normal ride to work, when I suddenly heard the familiar sound of a sneeze. Being in DC, not a single person said, "Bless you", to my fellow metro rider, though given the circumstances I'm about to describe, this was actually quite fitting. This distinct "ACHOO" came from directly behind me. As a matter of fact, this sneeze was emitted directly into my just-out-of-the-shower-clean coif.

Too on the verge of vomitting to turn around and look at said repulsive human being with a look of utter disgust, I instead buried my face in my jacket as a distinct smell of airborne, sneezed-out mucus filled the air. You know the smell I'm talking about. When you sneeze into your hands and it smells oddly sweet(ish), but it's the distinct smell of diseased snot? Up tones (revisited)? Regardless, that repulsive smell permeated my breathing radius. I was too filled with nausea and repulsion to properly react by turning around and punching the diseased bastard seated behind me right in the fucking mouth.

I tell you this story, because this horrid son of a nutcracker infected me with a flu that left me alone on my couch on Thanksgiving, the greatest and most glutinous holiday of EVER, shivering with a fever and no appetite. TRAGEDY. And just for the record, I currently am continuing to snot all over the place. And sneeze constantly. WITH MY HAND OVER MY MOUTH SO I DON'T INFECT OTHERS.

And today, back in DC after Thanksgiving, I saw another dumb cunt sneezing ONTO HER CELL PHONE AS SHE TEXTED, emitting shit loads of germs into the air as she DID NOT COVER HER MOUTH.

The metro riding population looks a lot like this:



I'm at a loss for words. THIS IS FUCKING DISGUSTING. PUT YOUR PHONE DOWN AND COVER YOUR DIRTY, WHORISH, CUM-INFESTED MOUTH (here I'm addressing both genders, just a little fyi).

Thanks for listening.

DC Etiquette #6: Wear your ID badge at all times.

The typical schedule of an employee of the Maryland-DC-Virginia area:

1. Wake up
2. Remove ID badge from pillowcase.
3. Clip ID badge to shower curtain.
4. Shower.
5. Clip ID badge to towel to walk back to bedroom.
6. Clip ID badge onto underwear while I decide what to wear to work
7. Clip ID badge onto pants pocket or belt loop.
8. Proceed to metro.
9. Be sure that ID badge is on the outside of my jacket during walk to metro or to car.
10. Reposition ID badge so ID badge is visible over a jacket, if necessary.
11. If driving, consider putting ID badge in a visible place. Perhaps the dashboard, or maybe clip it onto my driver's window and let it flap in the wind as I drive. Just want everyone to imagine how high ranking I must be with my ID badge.
12. Fish for compliments while drawing attention to ID badge by talking about how chronically awful I look in ID badge pictures to coworkers.
13. MY ID BADGE MY ID BADGE MY ID BADGE.
14. Wear ID badge to Chipotle/Taco Bell/Pizza Hut/Cosi/Subway/Panera on my lunchbreak. These are the places only important ID badge wearing folk go to loudly discuss pressing afternoon meetings to be attended and briefs to be written.
15. Spend my afternoon gazing at my name and picture on my ID badge instead of doing any real concrete work.
16. Return to car/metro. Continue to place ID badge in visible spot. Possibly get in a fender bender to block afternoon traffic when I get distracted by the sun glare coming off of my beautiful shiny ID badge.
17. Return home. Change for dinner with friends to discuss our vast knowledge of politics in a public area. Place ID badge on jeans.
18. Go to dinner.
19. Come home, brush teeth, put on pajamas, clip ID badge onto pajamas.
20. Clip ID badge onto pillowcase. Get excited to flaunt my awesomeness via my ID badge again tomorrow.

I mean, if even popular works of art are being caught wearing them at all times...


...people of DC, we clearly must therefore be onto something. Bravo.

DC Etiquette #5: Be a political conossieur.

As it IS our nation's capital, one would expect that there would be quite a bit of ongoing discussion of both national and international politics. Hey, fair enough, I get it. You work for the foreign service, or are a desk bitch for some international organization in DC and it's your job to talk about international politics. However, in DC, the international political discussion arena extends a bit farther than solely within the workplace. Here in DC, it is not only a job requirement to be able to discuss politics, but it's also a constant life requirement. And by it's a "constant life requirement", I mean it's pretty essential to look down on other people who aren't wholly immersed on a daily basis in "FP" (which you may call it if you're cool enough. To the rest of us, it's that magazine called "Foreign Policy" that we leave on the magazine rack at the dentist's office, as it's not our personal choice of masturbatory fodder).

This may be the most widespread douchebag phenomenon that exists in DC, in my extremely humble opinion.

While it's great to be up to date on current affairs as a citizen of the world, here it's on an entirely different level. If you are a DC citizen, you should in any situation strike up a conversation with anyone about politics. At a friend's baby shower? Good time to start a discussion about global overpopulation. Walking to the metro in the morning and passing a garbage truck with the trashmen frolicking about? Do they seem vaguely latino? You should probably strike up a conversation with them regarding their opinions on immigration laws, or the state of corruption among the police force in Mexico. I mean, who better to talk to about these issues than a native, right?? Extra point here, since that means you can probably show off your dazzling Spanish speaking skills. Just think how important passersby will think you are!!!!!

In any restaurant, bar, club, coffee shop, taxi, metro car, bus (etc, etc) you can overhear a shitload of inane, jacking-off-to-the-sound-of-their-own-voice, political discussing d-bags, eager to speak as loudly as humanly possible so everyone around them knows just how tuned into the political scene they are. And the more obscure the political fact, the better.

"I was stargazing on my balcony in Georgetown last night when I glimpsed a shooting star. It really reminded me of the flag of the Republic of the Marshall Islands. I know what that flag looks like off the top of my head because I'm sooo international."
(If you too would hear this and think "WHAT THE FUCK" see the flag here)
"Want to play a game to pass this metro ride? Let's see who can name all 27 members of the EU first!!!!!!!!"

Not only should you know any and every arcane fact about "the global arena," as it were, but it is IMPERATIVE to your DC citizenship that you attempt to make anyone who DOESN'T know that the president of Malta is George Abela seem like he/she was the very person who incited Hitler's hatred of the Jews.

The simple way of doing this:
Want to show your friends what a smart, pretentious, self-important twat you are? Finish any informative sentence with, "...but you already knew that, right?"
Examples:
"The whole Arab-Israeli conflict can be TOTALLY blamed on Henry McMahon's letters from October of 1915, but you already knew that, right?"
"Sarkozy's call for a 'two speed' Europe is really causing a stir. But you read The Economist of course, so you knew that, right?"
"The only girlfriend I've ever had is called Rosy Palm, but you knew that, right?"

Here's a minor point to ponder, self-important, 20 something "political experts" of DC: if anyone truly gave a damn about your political opinions, you'd be employed by CNN. No need to poison anyone's meal in a restaurant or wait time in the Panera line on a lunch break with your purposefully-loud-so-everyone-has-no-choice-but-to-listen-to-you political monologues. Juuuust something to think about.

PS - Every political fact and Economist reference ... I had to wikipedia (the world's most reliable data source, of course).

DC Etiquette #4: Drive like a blind Asian woman.

I believe Seth McFarlane had just visited DC when he crafted this little gem:



Having lived in DC on and off for nearly 6 years now and hearing all the horror stories of DC traffic, I've only recently become part of the clusterfuckery that is the DC driving population. Oddly enough, this has instantly coincided with an increased desire to kill myself, or somebody else. Emphasis on the "somebody else".

DC residents have a real unique knack for driving like complete and utter fucking morons. I mean, really, they even outdo the entire population of New Jersey as far as shitty drivers go. What I find most remarkable about the DC-Maryland-Virginia area is this: when you escape the death trap of the metro area for a weekend, go far north or far south, you can tell, without even looking at guide signs, when you're getting close to the metro area again. Here's how:

- First and foremost, what makes DC drivers so akin to Asian women: the complete lack of the use of a turn signal. You can be happily driving along on cruise control, only to slam on your brakes entering the Baltimore/Washington Parkway when some asinine motherfucker decides the only way to change lanes is by attempting to take off your front bumper as they fly into your lane without any type of forewarning.

- Next, you'll notice a bunch of fucking idiots driving up the right shoulder of the freeway. Is there a sign that says not to do so? Fuck that, DC metro drivers do what they want. I'm fairly certain the actual goal of all DC metro drivers is to get into an accident. Perhaps the train of thought here is they can eventually convert the entire world into driving electric Green Peace friendly bumper cars everywhere so accidents yield less fatalities and there's the added bonus of a smaller carbon footprint. Fuck if I know. I come from a land where everyone I know grew up wondering how the hell their mom or dad seemed to know everyone else on the road, due to a constant on-road wave to every other car. Around the time we all hit 16 (little slow on the uptake, honestly...) and started driving, we realized this was due to the "thank you wave."

-Which brings me to my next point. WHY IS THE THANK YOU WAVE FUCKING OBSOLETE AMIDST THIS MAYHEM??
-Quick obvious answer: 'cause DC is full of douchebags.


-Another sign you're back in DC? Try making a left hand turn at a traffic light. Does the asshat behind you start driving up on your left, like he/she is somehow going to manage to turn left before you are? Congrats, you've successfully navigated yourself into the Bermuda Triangle of Driving Clusterfuckery that is Maryland-DC-Virginia.

-Lastly, DC drivers enjoy completely ignoring signs and traffic light signals:
-Red lights? Nah, I think I'll just go ahead, thanks.
-No parking at any time? I'm sure it's fine if I wash my car on this narrow one way street in a no parking zone for 3 hours on a Monday morning between the hours of 6 and 9:30 AM, I'll just put my hazards on and stare indignantly if anyone trying to pass through glares at me.
- Stop signs?? Well those are only a suggestion, right?

All I'm saying is maybe we should try to be a little bit less of an area of supertwats so maybe we can drop down off of this list.

Weather permitting, that is. Seeing as when there's a downpour, a drizzle, a light dusting or even a forecast of snow, DC goes into a blind panic. Also, since even an intense sun glare seems to make us all frazzled, let's hope for just sliiiiightly cloudy conditions. Forever.