The laziest stake-out of all time

So a few weeks ago, I went to my music lesson, walked around for a bit and caught Pokemon, got some Nando’s, went home to watch Big Brother, my usual Summer routine.

When I got back home, it started pissing rain. I mean an absolute downpour, a muggy-ass August-in-Maryland thunderstorm. As is custom, there is a meteorological shitfit for several hours until the rain cries itself dry and all returns to normalcy. I have lived through many aqueous seasonal offerings of the glorious mid Atlanitic, but I have never done so in a post Pokemon Go world. Normally, there is a sketchy window where everyone waits on baited breath, attempting to determine whether it is safe to go outside, but this is apparently no longer the case. Within seconds of the rain stopping, my street is full and all the neighborhood poke stops are lit up with lures. It was simultaneously pathetic and admirable. This digital overlay on the real world was laying bare the true, otherwise invisible motivations of my neighbors.

The even better part was this one group that refused to move. They sat there all night pumping lures into a PokeStop. It was a beautiful night, but they just sat there in their running car from 8pm-3am. I know this because I didn’t sleep until they left. It was just too damn fascinating. Every time those pink hearts collapsed into the PokeStop, I thought, they’ve finally had their fill. but NO seconds later it would rise from the dead.

Eventually I just grabbed my chilli chocolate cookie from Nando’s, put on a documentary on Sick Nick Mondo, and luxuriated. 3AM. They sat in a parked car for 7 hours. I heard no voices, so it could have been one person, and I also never heard a car door, so that person could have been peeing in an empty Gatorade bottle in their car for all I know. I never have to be ashamed again.

Best part? When I looked out the window at 10AM or so the next morning THEY WERE BACK and in the light of day I could see THEY DROVE A BMW. A NEW BMW. NOT SOME 1990S I-TECHNICALLY-DRIVE-A-BMW, BMW. Rich people. Sitting in a parked car.


B& from DC

I’m just going to write everything backwards because my life is a fucking mess anyway. This all happened prior to my last post, so mid-August, but I think I just learned WordPress uses the time stamp of when the draft was written, not when the post was published, so who the hell knows when it will say this was posted.

My cousins came down from Toronto for a wedding, not a wedding on “my” side, although I’m sure I would have loved to attend because they’re Guyanese and everything I’ve heard indicates the Guyanese party game is on point.

They were nice enough to bring a bunch of my grandfather’s tools, and my grandma’s cooking books, mementos basically as a bunch of my family went to clean out their house and get it ready for sale. My grandpa’s tools was more of a practical thing, he amassed quite the collection and we have some belt sanding to do. As I suspected, I have no idea how the fuck anyone in my immediate family is going to physically handle this belt sander, my grandpa was not a large man, but apparently he did not fuck around. My grandma’s cookbooks are amazing. We got a reproduction copy of one last year when we thought they’d all been lost, with this amazing (in theory) recipe for canning moose. There are some real gems in there. Some because of their super 70s or super Newfoundland content, others for incredibly geographically specific or WTF value like one on indigenous plants.

The best part was they brought the coffee table from Nanny & Poppy’s living room, a true “mid-century” splayed leg, two level, press board lacquered in fake wood kind of thing, that when flipped over reveals a bulls-eye someone had drawn on the underside for use as target practice.

We went downtown to see my Mom’s friend who was staying at this amazing hotel called The Donovan. It had the most futuristic shower that I did not use. We brought her a Welcome 2 Amurica bag that was filled with Old Bay seasoned cheese balls and American flag beer cozies. When the ungodly torrents of rain stopped, we wandered around and went to a bar/restaurant called The Drafting Table that had duck grilled cheeses and “poutine” with sausage gravy that did not taste as bad as it looked but was still not fucking poutine.

We walked around U Street at night, God, U Street is the shit now. I remember going to see The Blood Brothers at The Black Cat in high school, and our friend’s Dad dropped us off and stayed in the area the entire time because we were not allowed to walk around there alone. Now they have a Room & Board. What a 180. When we went to see Chris Hardwick at 9:30 Club, I couldn’t even figure out where I was. All these contemporary faux loft-y condos? That cool Satellite (?) bar on the back? WTF! I’d live there. If I was going to live in D.C. that would be at the top of my list. I’m not naive enough to think with all this “gentrification” there isn’t some seriously racist and classist politics at bay, but superficially, damn does it ever seem fun down there.

We went back to the hotel and on the way back we stopped at a liquor store that had individual glasses of Moet in the window. They said they were “display only.” What kind of cold hearted bastard does this to someone? Shame! Shame! Shame!

I got a Sapporo tall can instead. What? I don’t know. I’m not really okay with drinking in front of my family. It was good though. This is going to sound like the ultimate Dad thing, but it was the real sturdy metal can (redundant?) Very satisfying. I can only fine the little normal cans around here.

Proceded to stay up until 2AM talking to my Mom and sister while her friend slept. We are great guests. My Mom snored so fucking loud I did not sleep the entire night on my air mattress, that was rapidly deflating. It was one of those bed height air mattresses, so when it started sagging, the differential between my head & feet and ass-zone was multiple feet. I slept in a v-shape. By morning my head area had also sagged, so my body was at a maybe 35-degree angle, with my feet in the air and my head on the ground, in the saddest, vinyl clammiest, sleep deprived, nauseaus, dizzy, weird hotel specific damp coldest version of Where Is My Mind! available. Then I drank a room temperature Red Bull. Great decision making!

Walked around some more, went to some weird empty bar that was called… World of Beer? I don’t know how old people constantly get tricked by dive bars that serve food, but this was one of those instances. Like, you know how some bars are BARS and they just happen to have food for LEGAL/EXTRA INCOME REASONS and you don’t go to these bars for food specifically because it’s a BAR and also because you put a Steigl banner in the window it doesn’t make you INTERNATIONAL. YES YOU KNOW THIS BECAUSE EVERYONE KNOWS THIS. Yeah, this was not computing. My Mom’s looking at THE BAR MENU IN THE WINDOW ‘this doesn’t sound very international’ IT’S NOT INTERNATIONAL THEY JUST HAVE A BUNCH OF BEER SIGNS IN THE WINDOW BECAUSE IT’S A BAR. Our campus bar was literally draped in flags. They had irish car bombs and spicy sweet potato fries. That was as “international” as it got.

It actually wasn’t bad, but it was 1. cavernous 2. very dark (already covered by cavernous?) 3. incredibly, incredibly, awkwardly empty.

They had the best root beer float ever though. They used Dominion root beer, but the ice cream is going to plague me until the end of time. I know they weren’t handchurning their ice cream in the kitchen that passed of a chicken nugget as a “chicken fritter,” so it had to be store bought, but where!?

I will say this, as we were leaving, I got struck with horrible diarrhea that I will blame on the duck grilled cheese but was probably just my own ecosystem turning on me violently. The fact this place was empty put me about 40000km from another human as I contemplated how God seriously fucking hates me and Jesus Christ I was just trying to welcome our oldest family friend into the neighborhood and all I got was the worst sleep of my life and no individual cup of Moet and fuck why did I eat a duck grilled cheese at a restaurant I had never been to and FUCK THIS IS WHY I CAN’T TAKE RISKS AND I LIVE A SHELTERED SAD LIFE THAT IS LACKING IN SO MANY RESPECTS BECAUSE I CAN’T EVEN EAT A DUCK GRILLED CHEESE WITHOUT NEARLY SHITTING MY PANTS AND FUCK IT I’M GOING TO SEE IF THERE ARE ANY POKEMON IN HERE.

There were. Not only that, the cave reception was so bad the GPS kept hurling my avatar across D.C. as I racked up spins from a thousand random PokeStops.

I will accept this as divine intervention.

We saw my Mom’s friends new place and it is amaaaazing and her realtor randomly also went to U of T and I continued to not shit myself which I will also accept as divine intervention.

Other things I did in the month of July

Watched 5 full seasons of Shameless

  • This is not entirely my fault. We got Showtime as part of a one month free trial, which is how I got roughly four and a half seasons deep. A portion of the trial ticked by while we were in Ottawa, otherwise I am certain one month of free cable would have sufficed. But once you’re over two thirds of the way through the series, might as well go all the way. So I employed the one month Roku free trial and will be six seasons strong in a couple days.
  • I am in love with Lip, not currently, but at least initially. Rebellious genius with a dry sense of humor who dresses alternately like a teddy boy and a young yacht owner? Yes please. Every character has sucked since season three, but I’m no quitter.

Continue reading “Other things I did in the month of July”

Ottawa/Canada Day 2016: The Muskrat’s Lack of Revenge

First of all, this should be an aside, but I want to write my blog post chronologically not in terms of importance, so this is going at the beginning: I am fucking in love with Porter Airlines. I’ve heard people talk about them the way they talk about SoulCycle and Wegman’s and other cult-y shit, and if we’re going to be honest, my response was always “you whores,” so easily bought for a pack of free cookies and aiport WiFi. But the hype is real. They fucked up our checked carry ons every single leg of our trip, but I don’t even care. Those snacks are incredible. Their flight attendants are the nicest and they have the best outfits. I would purchase one of their tiny, glass, Porter Airline branded cups for use in my real life. I would attempt to live in the aiport lounge of Billy Bishop if it weren’t for the fact seeing the CN Tower and the TD building and the Sky Dome and the roundhouse for those few fleeting moments made me feel like I was getting hit in the stomach with a bag of rocks and I actually thought I was going to cry. Thank God the safe windowless Porter Airlines lounge with it’s endless free coffee was there to comfort me.


Continue reading “Ottawa/Canada Day 2016: The Muskrat’s Lack of Revenge”

My Birthday Redux

Should’ve mentioned that my birthday was not shitty.

I got a beautiful, $250 blush pink  lace Ralph Lauren dress at Burlington Coat factory for $40 and it was a size 2 so I kept that fucking tag. Tacky, I know, but I need this in my life right now.

Ever since college it has been more about the birthday outfit than anything else for me. Like as long as someone will take me to dinner in a cute outfit and buy really corny party decorations I’m kind of cool. I just want to look real pretty and come home to the entire contents of a dumpster behind City. I wanted to go to Founding Farmers because I always want to go to Founding Farmers but it’s so expensive and not particularly closeby. So I pulled the birthday card on that one. And, OMFG BEST BURGER OF MY LIFE. Literally. The best. burger. of. my. life. I don’t even think they gave me THE RIGHT burger. But I didn’t even fucking care because it was so good. Balsamic and goat cheese and a ton of these really really dill-y pickles. I’m not even a big pickle person, but it was SO GOOD. SO GOOD. My sister got a Sazerac even though it was like 5pm, and I tried that shit and that was so good too. I’m going back, I’m going to live in Founding Farmers.

Our waitress was sooooo nice too. She was also 27. Said it had been a good age for her so far.

So my Mom and sister plastered our main floor with WWE decorations and fulfilled my wildest fantasies. I still have the HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner with the faces of the WWE Superstars over my bed (John Cena’s face is on two letters, everyone else just got one, what the fuck?) Instead of party hats there were Rey Mysterio masks, and paper belts you could tie on. The paper plates were the championship belt face plate. I got paper cups and napkins with more Cena faces all over them, and I drank my $20 bottle of Chandon out of his paper head while eating leftover Founding Farmers kettle corn and corn bread while watching Sisters, (which was disappointing, ironically (?) except for John Cena’s character.) The best part was WWE apparently does not update their decoration selection frequently, so everything was covered in Rey Mysterio and Daniel Bryan and CM Punk faces. I kept a Rey Mysterio mask and title belt, seriously that shit was so entertaining, and after a while I started rationing the plates because they were so fun too.

My cake was a Costco cake that I specifically requested, because I am all about that 12lbs, 2ft x 3ft Costco sheet cake, vanilla/vanilla with that weird custard shit in the middle. It is usually the only thing I eat through the entire month of June. My family aren’t big cake people, so I have an all cake diet for one month out of the year, and I look forward to it. My Mom got some sort of… custom cake sticker… off Etsy or Amazon or something. It was real bootleg in the best way possible. This sort of… Nintendo 64 looking group photo with Rowdy Roddy Piper and Owen Hart and Rob Van Dam and shit. The best part was on the end was Sgt Slaughter, I just went through this thing with my sister where she mentioned her best friend is close family friends with ‘a wrestler who wears a military a hat,’ and my subsequent freakout and attempt to explain how famous Sgt Slaughter is, so that he would end up on my birthday cake was real fitting.

So yeah, we watched Sisters which imo sucked, minus Cena and the Korean manicurist character, who exuded otherworldly levels of bitchiness. Then I took my paper Cena double cup (for the leakage) full of grocery store champagne and retired to my room where I ate 4lbs of vegetable oil solids off a title belt while watching King of the Road until my eyes bled.