CPAC

Everything in D.C. is in acronyms.

Some are hideously long, like the OSLGCP (Office of State and Local Government Coordination and Preparedness at the Department of Homeland Security) or "Slug Cup" as people say it out.

Some are funny, like one program that my friend worked with in the State Department that sounded like "wedgie" when you said it aloud. She kept fighting laughter in meetings whenever anyone would have to refer to it.

But you can't deny, acronyms are useful. It's easy to string several together and form whole sentences using very few actual words. "Did you get the MOU for CTSI to the S1 regarding EIS yet?" We do it without realizing.

So, when my friends a few years ago started feeling the familiar overwhelming urge to attend every single Christmas reception in D.C., we formed:

CPAC. (Christmas Party Action Committee)

There are four of us in CPAC, all in different jobs so we get on different "lists." So we can trade Party invites like baseball cards. "I've got a Mitt Romney fundraiser if you have a Chamber of Commerce reception!" "American Manufacturing Association for a Newseum party?" "DHS staffer's Ugly Christmas Sweater Party for that Festivus party of that guy you used to date!"

And because D.C. is all about networking and events, there are actual public lists that come out that show when and where different companies or lobbying firm are having their parties. So me and my fellow CPAC member Rebekah have been known to even crash some of those parties just to see if we can. (and also, back in the day, we'd likely crash things just to score free food. Because when you first live in D.C., you don't make enough to pay the crazy rent AND eat. So there are throngs of young adults, likely working for Congressman and powerful officials, surviving solely on free reception food and Ramen noodles. I mean, D.C. ain't all glamourous!)

But it's really amazing what you can get into just by acting like you belong there. Some of these holiday parties are open, but we've definitely attended some that weren't.

Which actually isn't new for Rebekah and I. We both have busy schedules but the thrill of getting into something new is too much for us to ignore. Even if we are already attending something else, if we see something "roped off" -- it must be ours.

Once, while out with friends on a Saturday night in Adams Morgan, D.C., we heard a house party going on down one of the side streets and decided to see how successful we could be at just crashing it. We ended up finding out the host's name was "John" and effectively bounced around from group to group acting like "oh yeah, JOHN! What a character!" until we accidentally met John himself.

Rule number one - don't blow your own cover.

Another time, when me, Rebekah and our friend Shannon happened to be hanging out at the same place a Kickball league was having a year-end party, we notice a bus outside that the league had apparently rented to take them to various places all around the city all night. We acted as though we were on one of the teams and successfully stowed away on the bus all night until we actually became good buddies with the organizers.

We were laughing it up with them at the front of the bus when they finally let us know that they were on to us but that that they enjoyed us so much we could stay.

Rule number two - if your cover is blown, just be super friendly.

Come to think of it, people probably always know we aren't supposed to be there but they humor us anyway because are we so pleased with ourselves for "breaking in" to something.  This past spring in Miami (here), Rebekah and I were with several others in our group of friends at a big dance club in South Beach. And the place was giant and gorgeous and we barely got in because of how popular it was, so we should've just been thankful to be in at all.

But there was a roped off VIP section in the middle of one of the rooms.

So of course, instantly, Rebekah gets that gleam in her eyes and she charges in. And one of the bouncers inside kicks her back out since apparently you need a wrist band to be in there.

Rule number three - find out if there are accessories involved as entry tokens and hide the part of your body on which said accessory should be.

Rebekah returns to me and our other friend. Then she goes in again - this time, stepping over a chair and over the rope.

So I can't resist anymore and I do the same.

And I motion for our other friend, as if I'm some crazy mirage beckoning her like "come oooooon! come jooooooin uuuussss!" as I melt into the "exclusive" crowd inside that roped off area. But our other friend has actual sense and refused to join. (Some people use logic and restraint. Me and Rebekah, not so much).  And for a second, Rebekah and I are so proud of ourselves, and run around in that area dodging bouncers lest they see our naked wrists. And we realize it's a bacherlorette party and nothing special is actually going on inside that area. People are just dancing and talking like they are in the rest of the club where the masses are. So we just walk out, realizing that just because something is marked "exclusive" does not necessarily make it any better.

Of course we'll forget that piece of wisdom the next time we see anything roped off.

Thus far in D.C. Christmas Party Season, we've only attended things we had actual invites to. Of course, there's still a whole other week left in December ;)

I Should Be Writing Christmas Cards

(DISCLAIMER: the below was written last week and I've since had another delightful dating situation. But I've also been thinking about my trip to Africa several years ago so I may end up posting about that soon too. It will involve pooping baboons. You're excited now, right? So to recap, my next post here will likely either be about Boys or Baboons. Which, sometimes, really aren't that different anyway, let's be honest...)

I should be writing Christmas cards, but I feel like I'm neglecting you, internet, so I will narcissisticly write more about my life instead of spreading holiday cheer to my loved ones. You're welcome, my 10 official followers. (and all you other people from places like Bosnia and Latvia who end up here, apparently, from searching for things like "mean sharks standing in water" and "squirrel eating cable network." I'm sure you were dissapointed when my blog popped up instead of whatever the heck it was you were actually wanting, but thank you for making my readership as random as my life :)

My last week has been typical. For me. Last Saturday I attended a Christmas Parade in historic Old Town, Alexandria and of course, since this is D.C. and everyone has like 2 degrees of separation, the group I was with ended up holding at least two guys I've had dating incidents with. So, starting off great so far! Then, while we were standing at the parade, a nice man who was by himself next to me, started talking to us. And he happens to have a job I'm interested in so I started talking to him quite a bit. Then, because of my internal homing device, a coworker friend of mine - who I did not know was also at the parade - sees me and says hi and then immediately tells me "that guy I told you about is ready for you!"

Now, this guy is someone she's mentioned to me in the past and I really do want to meet him so this was good news. But for some reason "he is ready for you" made it sound like I have people planted around the city baking men for me like cookies and I'm pretty sure my new stranger friend next to me was probably thinking "this girl must be desperate..." But in the end, we finished our nice conversation and he gave me his card anyway. And hopefully I still get my Cookie Man at some point too.... in the meantime though, I met another guy who asked me out this week....

This guy and I exchanged numbers but were mostly talking over email. And I liked talking to him because he made jokes like "once you get your Masters, you should make people refer to you as Master Dana, like people put Doctor in front of their names when they get their PHDs." And since I can't get people to call me Queen Dana or Mrs. Clooney, I think Master Dana is a fairly good consolation prize. And then I asked him if he was getting his PMP (Project Management Professional -- it's a very common certification around here) because he said he was doing some type of management program. And I told him that if so, then he should just add an "i" and make himself *John Doe, PIMP. Which he also enjoyed.

So fast forward to when I was actually supposed to call him (because he had called me and of course I was doing something very important like watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta and missed his call) and his number got buried in my call list and I hadn't actually saved it so I had to go back through emails to find it again. And I was already running late on calling him because work exploded that day and I didn't get home until 10:30 pm. So I texted the number something like "Um, just got home and not sure when Pimps go to bed but feel free to call back." And I don't get a reply for a bit.

So either John Doe has gone to bed, or I just accidentally texted a complete stranger "I'm not sure what time Pimps go to bed"

Awesome.

Finally he did text back and asked me out for this past Thursday. And he asks me if I've ever been to this restaurant in Mclean, VA.

And I laughed.

Because once again, a guy is asking me to fight traffic and schlep further into Virginia to meet him like here. And I quickly try to cover up my laughter and just be like "ahem, cough cough, um no, sorry, don't hang out there much" (while secretly wanting to say "I try to avoid driving out to McLean in rush hour like you are proposing I do for this date lest I kill someone in road rage") but I realize that he lives in Maryland so McLean is kinda in the middle for both of us which makes more sense. Sigh. Sure! Let's meet there.

I'll just try to find some valium for the trip out there.

And the date was fine, but per usual I just couldn't feel a connection. So much so that I was more interested in staring at the late '60s model pale blue Mustang in the parking lot than I was in having a meaningful goodbye. I quickly hugged him and went to my own pale blue 2008 Mustang and drove away.

Then at a stop light, I see the other Mustang. And he's the driver.

Note to men: Always lead with "I drive a muscle car." Always.

In the end, Mustang or not, I don't think I'll be seeing this guy again. But if anyone does have a magical man-making oven, I'll take a 6'1 brunette that requires less than 10 minutes travel time. You can leave him under the tree, thanks. 

                                                                   elsiemarley.com
*names changed to protect the innocent.

Insight into registering for a nosey flag football team

Below is the list of choices I was forced to pick from when filling out the registration for my co-ed flag football team today:

Are you:
Single
Dating
In a relationship
Engaged
Married
Married with Children
Divorced
Widowed

I have so, so many questions about the relevance of this list to my ability of playing football. For instance:
-Will I be a better wide receiver if I'm in a relationship, but not yet engaged?
-Could a person with children be a better quarterback than a person who is only married?
-Does "single" in this context mean "can't find anyone to date me?" or does dating really mean "in a relationship but also cheating"?
-And what about Widowed with Children? Or Divorced but Engaged Again? Are they not allowed to play football at all??

At the end of the day, I fear this goes to team captains just so they can know who they should or should not hit on. I'm considering writing in "Lives With Cat" just to make sure no one bothers me....

The Joys Of Holiday Travel

 

So, I ended up having a great trip to see my family down south and surprisingly everything went smoothly…until my return trip.

Well, I take that back. I was annoyed on the flight to Tennessee because, being the cheap frugal traveller that I am, I tried to just take a carry-on and not pay $25 to check luggage.  So I’m proud of myself for remembering to do this and I get up to the ticket counter and I realize – I brought a bunch of liquid stuff. Son of a... So I have to pay the $25 and check my little bag anyway lest I throw away $25+ in shampoo, body wash contact solution, etc….

UGH. Darn you terrorists!

But whatever, that was a tiny issue and the rest of my trip was great. Until my flight back to D.C.

I was supposed to leave at 6:40 on Sunday, stop in Detroit, then land in D.C. around 11pm. My parents and niece dropped me off and as I waved at them walking through security, I wait for my bags to come through the Xray machines. And I wait. And wait. And finally the TSA agent asks if I have candles. I do – like four of them in two different bags.  They are Christmas gifts.  Are we not supposed to have candles either now??

Ugh! Terrorists!

The TSA agent explains I AM allowed to carry candles, but they have to run some swab thingy over them and send them BACK through xray. And by the time they finally finish this process, I have to RUN to my gate to catch my plane.

I frantically ask the guy at the counter about getting on the flight and I’m told: it’s three hours late. And that it will only get me to Detroit tonight. Forget about getting all the way to D.C.

But, they’ll pay for a hotel. In Detroit. Fine. Mom,  Dad, Niece? I know you want to come back in and get me and take me to have coffee for three hours somewhere!

So we do that, and I have to go BACK through security, explaining again that yes, I have scary candles in both my bags, blah blah.

I get to Detroit and am exhausted. And as I stand in line to check in at the hotel, I let my bag fall to the ground and hear something hit –

Candles!

After all that, I nearly break the darn things on the hotel floor!

Which reminded me of a ridiculous incident back when I was on an overseas trip during college with my friend Laura. We were souvenir hunting in Scotland and what did we decide would be a fantastic souvenir to drag home?

A PORCELIN. DOLL.

I'm not even kidding. We really did. She and I both had porcelin dolls given to us as we were growing up and we spotted this little boy doll in a shop called "The Piper" and he was wearing all the traditional Scotish gear and something broke in our heads and we honestly thought - we should buy that to remind us of Scotland! And drag it back to our hotel! And then pack it in a suitcase to go to a new continent!

We couldn't have found something more fragile if we tried. Stupidest idea ever. But after running around all day, getting to this store right as it was closing and BEGGING the owner to let us in, we bought those ridiculous dolls. As we walked back to our hotel - far away - Laura and I were swinging our bags when - THWAP! - our dolls crashed into each other. Both of stopped dead in our tracks, afraid to look. We finally found that the dolls were still in tact and we burst out laughing realizing we TOTALLY DESERVED THAT for buying something basically made of an EGG SHELL to travel home with. I've bought Souvenir Spoons ever since....

The candles ended up being fine and I get to my room and realize - I have nothing to wear to bed and no toiletry items…since I had to check my bag with all my liquids.

Dang it, terrorists!

Fine. Skin to the wind! I’m tired and don’t care what I’m sleeping in anymore! But I do feel gross from travelling and have no face wash.

Dilemma: Do I sleep in my makeup and risk whatever that would do to my skin? Or do I wash my face in hotel soap, with no follow-on moisturizer, and risk getting wrinkled by morning. I go with wrinkles and move on to the next problem:

Contact lens storage!

Thankfully, I have “gas permeable” (AKA basically glass contact lenses…I’m blind as a bat, don’t ask) lenses that don’t have to be in solution. So I grab two drinking cups from the sink – one for Left eye and one for Right, and start to take out my first lens.

And promptly drop it on the floor. On the DIRTY HOTEL FLOOR. And I have NO CONTACT CLEANER.

Grrrr! Now I may have wrinkles AND an eye infection.

BLASTED TERRORISTS!

I think about my NEXT problem – teeth.

I look around and see – bar soap. And one bottle of shampoo.

I begin to wonder how bad it could really be to have your mouth washed out with soap …when I call the front desk and thankfully they stock toothpaste I can get in the morning. I can just use my finger if need be. Fine. Going to bed.

And at some point I have the water running and I go to turn it off-

And it won’t turn off.

The cold side will, but the hot side just keeps on running!

Neat! I’ll be sleeping with no clothes, the skin on my face drying up, my teeth rotting and water running all night! Thanks Delta airlines!

I wiggle the handle multiple times and finally FORCE it all the way to the Left and it stops.

Ok! Now we are ready to get…..3 whole hours of sleep before having to wake up for my next flight.

Ugh.

I get up – get the water stuck on again, throw on the same clothes as yesterday, inform the TSA agents that I am, in fact, smuggling Candles, and finally make it back to D.C. in time to work and then sit in grad school class. ...And then stay after class for a group project. Longest. Day. Ever.

And to think I actually flew to Tennessee this time as a “treat” to myself to make the trip easier. From now on, I’m just driving the dang 8 hours and holding every bottle of liquid I own on my lap, just because I can.

                                         indyposted.com

                                         

Top Ten Ways I Will Have Culture Shock In Tennessee Over Thanksgiving

10. Dinner does not cost as much as a car payment

9. People at cash registers are actually nice to me

8. People have houses. With yards.  And driveways.

7. Everyone roots for the same sports teams

6. Everyone has the same accent

 5. My social plans will not be altered by protests, motorcades, or security threats

4. There are parking lots. With multiple spaces. For free. And I can park my car in any of them. At any time of the day.

3. People will not honk at me if I hesitate at a green light (ha! Like I ever do that, but still…)

2. I will at no point during the week be wearing a suit or ID badge

1. Big. Trucks.

Aaand We Are Back To Gut Instincts

You'll be happy to know, I once again went against my intuition and agreed to meet up with a guy for coffee this week. And once again we can add to the volumes of Bad Dana Dates. This one's short, but still amusing so I figured I'd share.

I wasn't initially excited about this guy. I got an "uptight" vibe off him. But, once again, I told myself to give him a chance. Besides, he's a teacher out in Virginia so:

A. He at least won't be the typical Tool that is a DC Politico.
B. One of my exes - one of the few guys I've actually really fallen for (and the Old Mark in the Mark Scenario here)- was also a teacher in Virginia so I take that as a good sign.

And then I quickly realize I should stop talking myself into guys.

His suggestion for our meet up? Starbucks. After work. On a week day. Which is fine since we are just getting to know each other and that means we won't be stuck through an entire meal together if things never get interesting. But he chooses a Starbucks in an underground mall in a part of northern VA that few people hang out in. Have I mentioned I get easily confused in anything underground? Parking garages, malls, they are all labrynths to me. So I'm already anxious but I find it fairly quickly.

Then he arrives.

So I start to walk up to the counter and he says: "Oh, I'm not going to get anything because I just ate dinner and I'm full. Plus I already had Starbucks today."

Um... I already had Starbucks today too, buddy, but don't you think we should order something since we are here? And not sure if you remember this, but you are the one who picked the place.

Fine. So I'm like "ok, well I'll get something."

And I do.

And I pay.

He doesn't even offer to pay. Even though he asked me out. And chose Starbucks. Then indirectly forced me to buy something since he was not going to.

So we end up having small talk for like an hour. Which included him whining about the fact that D.C. drivers are too aggressive (to which I proudly announced that I'm one of those aggressive drivers), then we moved on to other topics- like the hike I was planning to do that weekend. He says he has done that hike - and wasn't a fan.

Shocker.

He says he doesn't enjoy scrambling over rocks (which, incidentally, is the part of hikes I enjoy most. I mean, come on. It's like a giant, natural jungle gym! What's not to like?!) and he warns me there's a part where you have to leap from one set of rocks to another, over a drop that would kill you if you misstepped.

Hmm. I've heard a lot of people have hiked this. I assume I would have heard by now that there is a CHASM OF DEATH involved.

But still, now he has me a bit nervous as we end our little chat and go our separate ways. So not only did this guy invite me on an underground date like we are a pair of Ninja Turtles, and made me pay for coffee I didn't need, but now he's given me anxiety about my hike and causes me to foolishly announce to my fellow hikers that we will be leaping over certain death at some point on Saturday.

Then I wait through our FIVE HOUR HIKE for this scary leap -- and it never came.

Done with him.

The next time someone encourages me to "just give a date a chance," I'm just going to yell "DEATH CHASM!" and run away....

                                         http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2008/05/22/article-1021202-01573EEB00000578-908_468x312.jpg

Can Someone Turn That Reticular Activating System Down, Please?

I’ve been asked recently to blog more about my ridiculous dating life. And unfortunately (?) I haven’t had many crazy incidents recently on dates themselves but instead, I’ve been uncannily reminded that I apparently should be in a relationship. Don't get me wrong, I’m absolutely a romantic at heart, probably to a fault. I grew up believing the movies about love that makes people go to the ends of the earth for each other and I just assumed eventually that just happens -? In the meantime, though, I had things to do! There are OTHER COUNTRIES out there people, I needed to touch them. And what is all this STUFF to learn about? And OUTSIDE! There are so many things OUTSIDE!

In other words – I was never that girl who sat around pining away for some guy to “complete” me. But that’s not to say I didn’t want someone, I just wasn’t obsessed with it and wasn’t going to settle for someone I didn’t have a real connection with. (Actually, I physically can’t settle anyway. I’ve tried. I dated a guy twice many years ago because he was so darn nice and I thought I should date him …. I ended up physically repulsed by the end of our relationship. My body actually REJECTS affection if my heart isn’t interested. Neat, huh?)

And not to say I haven't fallen for people, it just doesn't happen often. My heart is extremely picky and even when my brain finds someone "perfect on paper" for me, my heart is usually like: eh, not in the mood, sorry!

Anyway, that was all fine until recently when the universe conspired to forcibly "turn my light on."

(Some of my friends believe people - particularly men - get to a point in life when their "light comes on" and they just decide it's time to get married. Then they go out and find someone to do that with. Boom. Done.)

Which brings me to The Reticular Activating System. My pastor, Mark Batterson  -who is a voracious reader and geeks out on all sorts of topics during his sermons, which I love - was the first to introduce me to this term. Among many other things, it’s basically the part of your brain that puts things into categories and tells you what to pay attention to. It’s what makes you all of a sudden notice how many other people on the road are driving the car you just bought.

Lately, most unfortunately, mine has been “activated” around Pairing Up. It's gotten to the point of being downright humorous.  I feel like all of a sudden, every song on the radio is about love. All the people I pass on the sidewalk are holding hands. During my trail runs, I’ll look over and see that all the ducks are in pairs. Or, things happen like a few weeks ago, when I was with TWO DIFFERENT GROUPS OF PEOPLE at TWO COMPLETELY SEPARATE EVENTS and no joke, within a span of a couple hours, this scene played out:

One Person, to an entire circle of multiple people of which I’m a part: Is everyone here single?

Then, specifically only to me: Dana, are you?

....Couple hours later, in a different setting:

One Person, to an entire circle of multiple people of which I’m a part: Is everyone here single?

Then, specifically only to me: Dana, are you?

What tha?

Then, this morning, I’m simply getting a parking pass for my garage at work. And the lady goes through the whole spiel and is writing down what spot I get and she looks up and says “So this is for a Single Driver, correct?”

Me: *Face Palm*

After countless wedding invites and facebook posts about marriage, I feel like I'm being punked. I'm warily eyeing my desk like "those pens weren't lying in a pair yesterday!...who is doing this?!" And perhaps I'm noticing all these things all of a sudden because my light is supposed to be on and I've been too oblivious to notice before. I assume if my soul mate is out there somewhere, knowing me, I'll either trip into him or spill coffee on him so I'll find out then. In the meantime though, I'm sure I'll have more adventures in DC Dating like here and I'd like to get back to having my reticular activating system only notice things like Steve Madden shoes or V8 engines, thank you very much. :)