Hey guys! I know, it's been a month or so since any post of substance and for that I do apoligize. I would tell you that I was too busy, but once you read my post about how long I tried to learn the Rick Astley dance from his 1985 hit "Never Gonna Give You Up" (just a few simple movements, but took me a few hours), you probably wouldn't believe me. Over the past few weeks I remember the following:
One night (probably about a month ago now), I decided to visit some friends in Alexandria. First I went to the liquor store down the street to pick up some delicious beverages. The liquor store is a really great, community oriented place: homeless people begging me outside, homeless people begging me inside, and bullet proof glass to protect the cashier from gun violence. That's Northeast DC for ya.
After I dropped $17 on a 12-pack (gotta pay for that bullet-proof glass somehow!), I got hustled out of $5 by the homeless guy walking around outside with a megaphone. I know, I shouldn't have given in. But he was following me and screaming into it (and you could hear this megaphone like 5 blocks away) that I had pooped my pants. And I hadn't pooped my pants. I had to shut him up somehow. I couldn't have all the prostitutes and heroin junkies laughing at me.
From there I walked to Union Station, where I'd catch the metro to Alexandria. I put my beer down (foreshadowing) to fish out my metro card, and headed through the turnstyle. I really like how the DC Metro has electronic boards that tell you when the next train was coming. I did not like how this one said 17 minutes until the next train. How am I supposed to kill such an awkward, painfully long amount of time? No service underground. Can't call anyone. Can't text anyone. What am I supposed to do? Read? Ha!
After pacing back and forth for sixteen minutes playing "step on a crack and you break your mother's back" with myself, singing the lyrics out loud and probably almost getting the cops called on me because the other waiting patrons were so weirded out, I looked up happy to see that there was only one minute left to wait! I could see the lights of the train coming. MAN was this gonna be great. I got all ready to get on the train, picked up my...WHERE THE F%&! IS MY BEER!? Panic time. The train's right there, and I have to RUN back to the turnstyles to get my beer (after all, it ran me a total of $22 if you count my bribe to the homeless guy with the megaphone).
Somehow the beer was still there when I went back. But the train was already pulling away. I shrieked for the driver to stop the train as if my baby was on board (if the "step on a crack game" didn't draw police attention, this surely would). Unfortunately, the metro waits for no man, which by the way is weird because its sole purpose is to transport man from point A to point B. I missed the train.
The next train wasn't even listed on the board for the next 10 minutes. When it finally was listed, TWENTY TWO MINUTES! Come on. Angrily, I switched up my game from "step on a crack and you break your mother's back" to "step on a line and you break your mothers spine." For those of you who are wondering: same game, more graphic name. Don't worry, Mom, I never stepped on a crack or a line! Love you!
After an additional train transfer/wait and a long ride to boot, I arrived in Virginia. It was here that I met kids much more seasoned in the art of beer drinking than I. They taught me how to "shotgun" a beer which is a fun replacement word for the horrifying term "cut your tongue on a can and spill beer all over yourself" which is what I did. I will not be participating in this activity again. It was after a few beers that I thought to stand in front of the computer and learn how to move just like Rick Astley, which I thought was a success but judging by the chuckles of my friends, it was not.
Wow! That story was really long and, looking back, not so entertaining. I'll keep things condensed from here on out.
Skipping ahead several weeks, one day in late October I played football with some friends on the National Mall. I like to think of myself as a pretty good player, but somehow I had to cover this Canadian machine who was just so fast and tireless. After a good three or four plays, I was finally hands on knees panting. It wasn't long before he was burning me for touchdown after touchdown. One of my teammates was like "JOE WHERE'S YOUR SPEED?!" It's in fucking High School, Kelsey, leave me alone!
Throughout all of late October and early November there was this electile dysfunction, if you will, buzzing around Washington. Somewhere in there we had the Rally to Restore Sanity, which had a bunch of hooligans who were never sane at any point in their lives running around the city drunk and shirtless. And pantsless. I remember one guy who was clearly on acid actively and aggressively praying to a beer God, or whiskey God, or some sory of alcohol diety. Real creepy stuff. Not very sane.
I feel like I really owed everyone this post. I kind of rushed through it because I've been real busy lately. I hope it was okay. There will be another one. No promises as to when.
No comments:
Post a Comment