And on That Day We Gave Thanks

Thanksgiving
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

Thanksgiving…was…interesting.

Let me preface that by reminding you all that I go home every Thanksgiving, without fail. It is my absolute favorite holiday. Any holiday created solely for the purpose of hanging out and eating all day is okay in my book.

This Thanksgiving started out the same as any other. I flew home, my family picked me up, and the next day there were piles of turkey.

However, this year, the entire meal was on order from Shaw’s. We spooned food items out of plastic containers into aluminum pans to reheat and serve. There was turkey, ham, broccoli au gratin (that da’ Momma managed to burn to the pan), squash, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls and lumpy cranberry sauce (knowing how much I love the cranberry sauce in the shape of the Ocean Spray can, da’ Momma also purchased some of that for me). There were even two apple pies. It sounds like a lot of traditional food, but without the same love that enters into all my recipes, it wasn’t the most outstanding dinner I’ve ever consumed.

Auntie Thomas brought the stuffed artichokes (mine are better!), Uncle Dana the edible pies, and Ilana and Scott brought the appetizers (roasted nuts, scallops wrapped in bacon that existed for all of ten seconds before Preyasha and Dan inhaled them, veggies and hippie dip, and chestnuts). I think I actually ate so little that this was the first Thanksgiving I ever survived without feeling the need to fend off a tryptophan nap.

Honestly, the best food was the leftover food. I fried up the potatoes in butter, made ham and pepper eggs, and da’ Momma used the bones and leftover gravy to make a really tasty tortellini soup. What we didn’t eat we bagged for Anthony.

Yes, my friends, Anthony spent Thanksgiving alone. Because of work, he couldn’t leave town, so he ended his Thanksgiving eve watching football with some friends of his AT WORK. I still can’t believe he went into work on his night off, even if it was the kind of holiday you aren’t supposed to spend alone.

Anyway. Dan showed up for all of ten minutes this year, much like he does every year despite all his promises not to come. He threatened me with a sleepover at his house, which usually means he intends to get me so drunk that I can’t find my way off the barstool, but somehow that never happened and those ten minutes were all we saw of him last weekend.

My partner in crime, Christy, was also supposed to see me while I was home, but guess what?! She just recently found out that she’s pregnant…AGAIN. After swearing up and down that she never wanted to have another child after Sarol, Christy has gone and surprised us all. Sarol says the new baby will be a girl, and that they should name her Sarol, too. Christy tells me that when she asked how she and Matt would differentiate the two if they named the new baby Sarol, Sarol said, “When you want me, you call for Sarol. When you want her, you call her name twice.” Oh, that Sarol! She’s in for quite a different ride, I tell you.

So, after the day full of family, I saw no one. Instead, I spent a whole day at the movie theatre and then another whole day shopping with da’ Momma. Since Anthony doesn’t like what he terms “chick flicks,” we rented Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and Fever Pitch, and then I went to see Walk the Line, Pride and Prejudice, and In Her Shoes. My absolute favorite: Pride and Prejudice. What can I say? I’m a diehard Jane Austen fan. And eighteenth century Georgian repression is just so HOT! The second in line had to be Traveling Pants. The rest were just dressing – they were good, but I’m not in love with them.

After spending so little money during the trip, I lost my head when we went to Target and Michael’s. I ended up purchasing so much that I had to borrow a piece of luggage from da’ Momma and could barely pick it up! I even had to check it on the plane. Ugh.

All in all, it was a nice weekend, what with the first snow of the season and all, but every time I’m away from home (i.e. DC – for the time being), I am constantly thinking of all the things I COULD be doing, instead of enjoying the fact that there is nothing to do. I am happy to be home, but already I am tired and wishing I had caught up on more sleep so I could get these applications (Peace Corps, grad school) together, find a martial arts studio and start going back to the gym, and all the little chores in between, like laundry and cleaning the bathroom.

Ah well, another Thanksgiving bites the dust.

Proof That I Won't Open My Eyes for Anything

26th Birthday
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

This is our attempt to look pretty for the camera at Marcel's on my birthday. We fail miserably, but the effort is clearly visible.

I think what is most clear is that I have finished eating and am about to commence the post-meal ecstatic napping.

Who’s the Prettiest Girl at My Party?

Eric So Pretty
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

So I basically failed to write anything timely about my birthday and it’s been two weeks – I guess it’s time to break the proverbial seal and let you all know what I’m sure you are guessing at this point: my birthday was ruined by my inability to get a job with the Foreign Service.

And then Eric, Ben and Nicole conspired to make me have a good time anyway. We ate at Woo Lae Oak in Pentagon City, barely survived Ben’s driving back to Cleveland Park, and then settled our derrières on bar stools at the old Park Bench Bar (is it still the same name?), just a skip, hop and a jump away from Ben’s and Eric’s apartments. All of my favorite moments are as follows (in Andrew’s OCD fashion):
1) The three-minute video I took of Eric, Ben and Nicole belting out Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” while I provide the – ahem! – “musical” background;
2) Chatting up the bartender, Mark, to earn several free rounds of shots, his pawning of me off on some guy he barely knows (who, by the way, leaned in, told me, “You smell so good,” in the creepiest way ever – I think he took lessons from Tony Soprano), and a big old hug at the end of the evening;
3) Anthony, Nicole and I not only choosing the girl, but also offering to hit on her for Ben who was less than pleased with the whole scenario (I think he was three seconds away from crying but we eventually lost interest);
4) The conversation from the morning after, whereby the drunken lout who we let stay on our futon, a.k.a. lost puppy JJ, not only claimed to have no link to the destroyed plant and the trail of leaves and dirt from the futon to the bathroom, but he also asked Anthony, “You still have company? Did you tap that?” after spending the entire evening telling Anthony how hot I am (thanks by the way – and I can’t believe you didn’t notice we are DATING!).

Then there was day 2 of my birthday weekend, which was spent in bed until noon and then out to a geriatric early dinner at one of DC’s finest dining establishments, Marcel’s. I was in absolute ecstasy throughout the entire meal. I can’t even begin to describe how happy fine food makes me. Let’s just say that Anthony was highly amused at my little moans of dining happiness.

The pièce de résistance was clearly on Sunday. Three hours of my birthday weekend’s Sunday afternoon were spent attempting to get an old bed out of my apartment and into Jeff’s latest Metro-area abode. What did Nicole, Jeff, Anthony and I learn from the experience? “The Metro is NOT [our] personal vehicle.” Or at least that is what the Metro employee told us as we tried to pass the double-wide mattress through the turnstile.

Oddly enough, I actually thought the Metro was to be used as a personal vehicle, for several hundreds of thousands of people who use it to get to work, go shopping, or visit friends every day. Hmmph, how could I be so wrong?

In any case, I completely forgot to grab my camera and get any incriminating photos of the looks on people’s faces as we walked the mattress two blocks from our apartment to the U Street Metro. Nor do I have any photos of Jeff, Nicole and I struggling to carry the damn thing, or of Anthony getting sick of our slow pace and taking the mattress away from us and single-handedly carrying it three blocks.

The good news is that our apartment is now free of one extra bed. Jeff’s SPECIAL FRIEND, Liz, was kind enough to interrupt her afternoon of dropping off linens for friends and delivering sofas to stop by and pick up a bed for Jeff. What a sweet, sweet, sweet girl, right Jeff?

Weird and Disturbing

Did you know that there was a woman set on fire in France for refusing a marriage proposal? Or that a woman in Myanmar has been under house arrest for nearly 10 of the past 16 years for promoting democracy in her country? (Clearly the human rights movement hasn't moved as far ahead as we would like to believe.)

Sometimes I just can't believe what I read in the newspaper. And here in the U.S. we're just worried about the rising price of gas (which, might I add, I am totally in favor of - we need some motivation to start pouring our money into public transportation).

Here are the articles, as printed in today's edition of Express, the Washington Post publication that is handed out at the Metro every weekday:

Hundreds Protest Attack on Teen Who Refused Proposal

Several hundred people marched in silence Sunday to protest violence against women in France's rough suburbs after a teenage girl was set on fire for turning down a man's marriage proposal. Chahrazad Belayni, a French 18-year-old of Moroccan origin, has been hospitalized with burns covering 60 percent of her body since a male acquaintance doused her with gasoline and set her ablaze Nov. 13. Police were searching for her attacker.

Pro-Democracy Leader Remains Held in Myanmar

Myanmar pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi appeared to remain under house arrest following Sunday's expiration of a previous detention order, with police paying her a brief visit and government security around her home tightened.

Officials from the country's secretive military regime could not be reached to confirm the action, and a spokesman for Suu Kyi's National League for Democracy party was only willing to say that he had no news of a change in her status.

Suu Kyi has spent 10 of the last 16 years in detention, mostly under house arrest.

She was last taken into custody on May 30, 2003 after her motorcade was attacked by a pro-junta mob as she was making a political tour of northern Myanmar. She was held first by the military, and later transferred to house arrest after undergoing an operation in Yangon.

The ruling junta took power in 1988 after suppressing mass pro-democracy protests. It held a general election in 1990, but refused to recognize the results after a landslide victory by Suu Kyi's party.

I simply can't fathom what it is like to live in either of these environments and my heart goes out to these people.

Me Fail English? That's Unpossible

However, it is totally possible for me to fail the Foreign Service Oral Assessment. I now join a fairly prestigious group of people who beat out approximately 16,000 people who started this process in April, and yet still managed to not be considered for hiring. At least, that's how the testing panel tried to console me so I wouldn't go postal a-la-Jason-Bourne and stick a pen through their hands before beating the crap out of them.

Needless to say, I really think it was due to the zit that erupted in the middle of my forehead. Or perhaps my need to wear a color instead of black. Maybe even my uncontrollable need to tell Ben's Momma jokes. I don't know.

And do you know why I don't know? Because they refuse to tell you how you fucked up - that might give you an advantage over other people who are taking the exam.

I think the real reason is that, if they had to actually quantify our scores, there would be no reason why all twelve of the people at the assessment yesterday shouldn't be hired. What I'm suggesting is that the results are purely subjective, possibly even politically motivated in some cases.

Actually, I was quite shocked to not be selected. I was under the impression that I kicked ass in all three sections of the assessment. I felt good, confident, ready to sign on. And they failed me. The consolation in all of this? All the people there yesterday are incredibly bright, over-experienced people. If they can't all pass, then at least I'm in good company.

So, five of us losers became a small posse and we headed out to McFadden's for happy hour when we were sure of defeat. We commiserated on the testing panels motivations, consoled each other, and even reminded ourselves that "we're good enough, we're smart enough, and goddarn it, people like us!" Finally we got over our shock (yay for $2 Yuengling), exchanged contact information and went our merry ways.

If only it were truly merry. Not only did I FAIL for at least 9 hours yesterday, but some asshole decided to try to kill himself on the train tracks during rush hour:

Man Hit By Green Line Train at Columbia Heights

(reprinted from Express, a publication of the Washington Post)

A man was struck by a Greenbelt-bound Green Line train at the Columbia Heights station on Thursday at 5:47PM. According to the Metro, the man was taken to a hospital but his condition was unclear. Trains single tracked around the incident, but there were significant delays. The station reopened at 6:36PM.

Do you know what that means? I was on one of their significant delays. I was one stop away from my house for at least a half hour. Why? Because some jackass thought that the best way to go out of this world was to make 500,000 people trying to get home after work really pissed off. Way to be remembered, my friend.

After being up since 4AM, it was just a lousy way to end a really lousy day.

City of Sin, Group of Sinners

Group Craps
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

Like I mentioned in my previous post, we were in Las Vegas last weekend to celebrate Veteran's Day (isn't that how we all celebrate the holiday?). I have a few delicious memories and they will be recounted below.

Arrival: The flight sucked. There is no other euphamism for it. AWA still has the ashtrays in the armrests. Clearly they need to work on some upgrades. However, I will not complain overly much because my flight cost less than Kevin's poker games.
Eric and I arrived at the New York-New York Hotel at midnight or so – that would be 3AM east coast time – to a screaming crowd of hysterical teenagers. Or maybe it was the rest of our crew. There was a repeat performance an hour later for Estee. Many of us had 40oz. of daiquiri or pina colada in hand. I distinctly remember heading into a bar and dancing and screeching (was that singing?) in front of the live band. It all ended with a pig pile on Kevin, via the pig pile on Jeff, two of our friends who really thought they could get away with going to bed early. The photographs clearly show that our dear photographer (i.e. me) was highly inebriated. They also show Andrew that he was indeed there, even if he doesn’t remember it.

Day 1 (Friday): Michelle stands at craps table next to rich man (or at least one throwing a lot of money down on the table); he hands her a $10 chip to play. She starts rolling and wins the man money. A lot of money. He tosses her $25 chips each time she wins him money and he proposes marriage. Michelle leaves him hanging but walks away with $110.
Ben drags us all over the strip despite our hangovers (although Andrew declines and spends the wee hours of the afternoon recuperating in bed), but we are happy just to be there enjoying each others’ company. We pause for about 3 hours at the Bellagio lunch buffet, whereby my friends continue to prove that the term “buffet” means to gorge oneself on crab legs. Oh, what is that you say? Crab legs aren’t served until the dinner buffet? Actually, that’s true. Mel taught us to be ghetto, and we waited around in the dining room until they served the dinner buffet, thereby saving the group around $80 (saved monies are earmarked for future college funds – and by “future college funds” I mean “future craps table events”). We so cheap.
Before the girls lingerie pillow fight (you know that’s what all you guys were thinking was going on!), there was the New York-New York roller coaster. Michelle and I lobbied for the front car and won. Even better: we talked Estee into going on her first roller coaster that turns you upside-down. I have one word for you: HYSTERICAL. I have never heard sounds like that emanate from a human being before. She was absolutely terrified. And the only reason I knew it was Estee and not some rabid wild beast sitting behind me is because of the ten-second intervals of “OH MY GOD.” I laughed so hard through the ride that I couldn’t even breathe anymore and my stomach felt like I had just finished a 45-minute abs workout. I couldn’t have enjoyed myself more. Neither could Estee apparently. Blind as a bat (she had to take her glasses off on the ride), she was led back into the roller coaster for a second try. Priceless.
The girls hoochie up for the evening, and the guys just throw on the last button-down shirt leftover from the work week that is still clean. We think we’re going to Ghostbar for $25 a head, but Mel looked so pissed off in line that she ACTUALLY SCARED ME OFF TO THE CRAPS TABLES. Okay, so maybe a 5-foot tall Asian girl from New Jersey really isn’t going to scare me into gambling, but none of us (except Ben) liked the idea of spending that much money so we could buy expensive drinks and hang out with vacuous rich people. Instead, we paid for shots at the Palms lounge in the center of the casino, watched Mel get several men at the craps table all hot and bothered, and then played drunken blackjack until the wee hours of the morn. I, of course, watched Ms. “Liquid Courage” Michelle attempt to talk her way into free drinks and free entry into Ghostbar for the remainder of the evening. I have never seen this side of Michelle – very, very HOT, might I add.

Day 2 (Saturday): No hangover for me, thank you very much! I had two Corona’s to Mel’s 99 vodka tonics and managed to get at least two hours of sleep before my insomniac bunkmate decided to get out of bed (ahem, Michelle!). That meant coffee and bagels in Soho at ass-early in the morning (even if it was probably 10AM on the east coast).
Even better, when the hiking crew was up and ready for our Red Rock Canyon (the actual site is here, but the first link is better) tour, we went to In-N-Out Burger for breakfast. FOR BREAKFAST, I tell you! There is nothing that prepares you for a long day of hiking in the desert sun like an all-beef patty and some fresh french fries. I mean it: nothing.

The hike itself is nothing short of mythic. We came, we saw, we laughed, we sang, we slipped, we fell, we laughed some more, Eric’s Camel sprung a leak on his tush, we listened to Nicole’s never-ending social commentary, we cheered on Team Butt, we made friends (well, all except me apparently), we got lost and the GPS couldn’t help us, we got beat up by tough desert scrub, we found a tarantula, we started to lose our minds and shared a Clif bar, we rediscovered the trail, Jeff started a rock slide, we sang “We are the Champions” for minutes on end, and, most importantly, we CONQUERED THE DAMN DESERT. Then we went back to In-N-Out to celebrate. Jeff, like the wild beast he is, even got his fries animal-style. Now there’s a man for ya.
Now despite our desperate need for a multi-day nap, the hiking crew trekked on and joined the rest of our Penn team for dinner at Mon Ami Gabi at the Paris Hotel (in fact, Nicole even broke out the girls – Itsy and Bitsy – for the occasion). We looked fabulous, we ate cow, and we laughed about Ben’s mom. Kevin asked us intimate questions about our pubic hair preferences on the opposite sex and Nicole surprised us all with the blunt reply: “When men primp, it’s just not manly.” Wow, I’m speechless. Hans, my friend, you are one hell of a lucky man!
As for me, I spent the entire dinner in the juvenile corner, i.e. near Eric and Andrew. A small sampling:
Eric: We’re never too old to act like juveniles.
Andrew: Actually, we’re never too old to have sex with juveniles.
Lucky me. Lucky, lucky me.
Speaking of me, we celebrated me. All the girls came back from their group bathroom break in time to break into song – the Happy Birthday song. The waiter deposited the “traditional” birthday profiterole at my place-setting and we all pretended I was another year wiser.
Which was clearly illustrated by my complete inability to keep up with these crazy kids. We went to the MGM Hotel to display our wares at Studio 54, home to the hottest waitresses and acrobats Eric has ever seen. While the kids waited in line, Estee and I bowed out, less than gracefully. She, with an upset tummy, and me, with an ugly disposition. Had I known it was going to be the blow-out bash of the century, I would have fought on. Instead, I’m cursing the noonday desert sun and my decision to keep myself partially sane for the Foreign Service oral assessment (which I managed to FAIL yesterday). Let’s just say that Eric and Jeff were like drunken tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, and Michelle needed someone bigger than Mel to hold her up while she vomited into the toilet. Ah, memories (none of which those three have, of course).

Day 3 (Sunday): Very painful awakenings. I am no longer able to sleep after 4AM (damn you, Michelle, and your contagious insomnia!). Nicole arrives in the room at 4:30AM. Michelle rouses herself from Eric/Jeff’s bathroom floor/bed and strolls nonchalantly in at 7AM to ask, “Why is my money all wet? And where is my ID?” Estee finishes packing for her early AM flight. I give up on sleep and sit in the hallway to talk to my loving boyfriend, give Estee big HUGS as she leaves, and intercept Mel on her way to check on the boys’ room, where Michelle no longer is. I learn that Michelle’s money is wet because she hit on some guy to get a free drink – and his girlfriend threw her drink on Michelle in retaliation. Once again, liquid courage, my friend. We talk for at least two hours and the conversation is superb. I love my Mel.
Somehow everyone is awake and alive by 10-11AM. We imagine a breakfast buffet, but end up at a sit-down place in the Aladdin instead. I scare everyone with my version of a Bloody Mary. Let’s just say that I am the ONLY ONE who thinks they are delicious. Clearly, my friends have no taste in morning-after beverages.
Approximately seven rounds of hugs and kisses and goodbyes for Nicole and Michelle are given. An hour later, they leave and we check out the Wynn. We are vaguely impressed, but I still think it’s just barely pretty for a tacky hotel in a tacky city in the middle of a friggin’ desert.
And then: the seafood buffet at the Rio. I advise any and all of you reading this to NEVER EVER go there. Four out of ten of us came down with some form of food poisoning. It was not pretty. However, we did get to see the ceiling Mardi Gras party over the casino and once again, I didn’t have to flash the girls to earn some beads. Go me.
Before you knew it, Eric and I were flying high with AWA again. I popped Tylenol PM, became really naseous, thought about throwing up, and then decided that the best way to make friends with the gentlemen sleeping in the aisle seat was to be unvomitous toward him. It was slightly more godawful a flight than the one coming into the city. Mostly because it was a red-eye and Eric and I were expected to be at work in the AM. What a joke. I called in sick and slept.

So that’s the outline of our trip. I honestly have never had so much fun in Vegas. Mel may actually be converting me to a lover of this most tacky desert city. Not only will I be back for her someday wedding at the Bellagio, I may even consider going back for no reason at all! But only if we can have group craps and group sex with Ben’s Mom again.
With that, I must send out my love to the Vegas crew who made last weekend the best weekend of 2005: Michelle, Estee, Nicole, Mel, Kevin, Andrew, Jeff, Eric, Ben, and Ben’s Mom. You guys totally ROCK MY WORLD.

Conversations with Jeff in Las Vegas

Ten of my friends from college decided to host a reunion of our own in Las Vegas over the long weekend. There was much alcohol consumed and not much sleep to be had, but these conversations were held during sober moments.

So, without further ado, I give you Jeff:

1
"Not all rape is bad."

"REALLY?"

"Well, there's consensual rape."

"Consensual rape?! There's no such thing."

"Yes there is. You know, consensual rape."

"Uh, Jeff, that's 'consensual sex,' not rape."

"Yeah, consensual rape."

Let's just say it took at least 15 minutes to convince him that rape is NEVER consensual. Gotta love that kid.

2
Upon reliving a joke that Mel, whose parents are Chinese by birth, is my and Anthony's adopted Tsunami Aid baby, Jeff says:

"Well, you and Anthony can still have an Asian baby."

"Uh, Jeff, we're both white."

"Oh yeah."

More to come later...