The Scarlett Letters - Nights Out

Recap: Shamrock Fest 2008 - The Good, The Bad and the Painful

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 09:28:00 -0500

So now that the drunken marathon of days and nights of drinking in the name of St. Paddy has come to an end and even though my hangover is creeping up on me, I owe you a report.

Shamrock fest– where to begin?

Well, the indications of a promising day came not when my first Irish coffee was consumed, or upon stepping onto the blue line to see the other emerald clad celebrators. It was when I heard my name called out through the rushing crowd to disover Red and her new beau behind me! What a wonderful surprise! I hadn't seen this woman since a blogger happy hour in 2006! (You look great, btw!)

For the 1% of the DC drinking population that WERE’T at Shamrock Fest, let me sum it up for you. First of all, the weather was AMAZING! As my wifebeater tan lines can attest, my shoulders now carry newly minted freckles from being on black asphault all afternoong with the sun reflecting up and down. It was wonderful – the first real taste of spring, and I can’t think of a better way I could have spent it.

After several trips to the beer carts to refill our mugs, we ventured out into the crowd and experienced the always amazing Synthian, followed by the rousing cover songs sung by Below Sixth all dressed in matching Boston Celtics Jerseys. Soon after, Red and I had the amazing opportunity to interview the band, Carbon Leaf. (Interview to follow).

And while we were by no means the only scarlet haired gals roaming about RFK grounds on Saturday, we each received more than our fair share of redhead admiration - which ALWAYS makes for a good time. And the day went thusly, dancing, drinking, running into random friends. That is until, the sun went down.

Upon sunset, I found myself in the front of the stage of Burnt Sienna, an amazing cover band, that was inspiring some pretty ‘amazing’ behavior from the crowd. Please realize that by this time I had gained and lost my buzz several times over, eaten some alarmingly greasy food, danced in the sun stood in many many lines and lost track of Red!

Drunken guys are pretty ridiculous in general – showing their apparent intoxication and would be virility. In college, stupid drunken frat boys would set things on fire (this incindiary adventure was usually spearheaded by the Russian). At Shamrock Fest, the boys surfed over crowds, slammed against each other mosh pit style and grabebd girls' asses as they walk by (an ill advised move when one is holding hands with a big tough army man - as the man who tried to manhandle my tusch soon discovered). I expect such angsty fraternal stupidity as I lived with a prime specimine last year. But drunken girls.

Stupid, bitchy girls – was more than I could handle after a day of beer in the sun. Not only stomping – literally stomping on my feet (which would have been bad enough in tennis shoes, but was especially unpleasant Trailer Trash Tammy chose to dress herself like the prom queen in 4 inch stillettos to come to an outdoor festival); the pushing – oh the pushing; the vommiting (not ON me but near enough to make it unpleasant); and last but not least the Drunken falling down on top of semi-sober people, pushing the crowd in all directions.

I've come to the conculusion that I am either WAY too old or was way to sober for this kind of environment.

At this point I limped over to the main stage not because I was especially jazzed about Great Big Sea (who proved to be more than amazing - truly), but because a little bird told me that Russell – be still my heart – arms the size of tree trunks – bad boy all the way – aussie accented - hourse riding- band playin'- do me up against the wall - someone hand me a fresh set of batteries – Crowe was to play with the band.

And so I waited, again, up front, in the crowd though pleasantly surprised to find that that I had left planet 'drunken bitch' and returned back to earth for this was the crowd of ‘normal’ people who weren’t proned to puke, stomp, push, or engage in other such asshole-ish behavior all over you. It was a lovely group of people.

And so even when it started raining, I stood there. My feet hurt, my sunburned shoulders hurt, my head hurt, my hair hurt, but I stood there. In the rain. With no beer. And the band played and played. And I got sober-er and sober-er.

Finally, he came out and he played a song by Johnny Cash I could hear his voice echo accross the emptying, litterd lot as I walked towards the exit. I admit it. I had given up. Somewhere along the line, about 5 whole minutes before he came on – I couldn’t take it anymore. Because truly, if I had stayed to hear that man who defines all things sexy, the nice, sober, unasshole-ish people around me would have been picking my ass up off the soggy, dirty ground. I had just enough energy to let Army Guy guide me back to the metro and then up the stairs to my apartment, complaining all the way - because I was DONE.

So I am only sorry Russell, you didn’t come for me when I was younger, more intoxicated, and able to withstand an entire day’s partying and dancing and drunk people. I haven’t outgrown you, my darling it just turns out that there are limits to my love.

Frankly,

Shake Your Shamrocks!

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 16:08:00 -0500

It’s that time of year again – deep sigh. Silly Grin.

Beer, beads, green, music – arguably the most wonderful time of year – St. Patty’s Day! The day celebrated with beer…and whiskey…lots of beer (and whiskey). It’s almost more happiness than this irish redhead can bear!

I will refer you to last year’s informational post: The Non-Mick Guide to St. Patty’s Day; for ins, outs and advice. Truly, this is timeless wisdom - live it. learn it.

My SPD attire just arrived – So excited! Whatcha think??

I hope all the DC area bloggers will be out in full force to cover ShamRock Fest 2008!

I seriously haven’t been this excited about an outdoor activity since my first night game as a varsity football cheerleader! And while, as ya’ll know this isn’t exactly a pop culture or music blog, it’s a ‘write whatever I feel like writing but mostly bitching about relationships’ blog, I have been given the opportunity to speak with some of the MANY FABULOUS bands slated to grace the stages at ShamRock Fest* this year, so that’ll be coming up! So get your tickets and don’t forget to buy the wayward redhead a beer!

Lá ’le Pádraig!

*Portion of all proceeds will benefit STOP CHILD ABUSE NOW - definitely a worthy cause to drink for!

V Day Voo Doo

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 11:13:51 -0600

It hasn’t quite hit me yet. I haven’t accepted the truth. I’m going to hide in my office and maybe it won’t find me. If I just keep drinking coffee and eat my greasy breakfast sandwich, the hangover won’t come. And the aspirin I took last night before bed, and this morning is definitely going to counteract the side effects of the combination of 4 glasses of wine, 5 glasses of champagne, and two redheaded slut shots. Ya. De-nile…not just a river in Egypt.

So now you have some vague concept of how I spent my Valentine’s Day – at least the last few hours of it. However, those hours of were necessitated by the events of the day which included a hit and run accident, a porn store outing and appearing half naked on the Channel 4 evening news – I shit you not. There was also an incident involving a gypsy, a Voo Doo Doll and a lack of needles – but that’s a story for another day.

So if you’re wondering why I missed the opportunity yesterday, to rant, rave, critique, sneer, wax philosophical and cynical about the meanings and insincerity of ‘love’, ‘relationships’ ‘dating’ verbally assult little cherubic angles and stomp little candy hearts with endearing sayings until they are nothing more than literary dust under my metaphoric Pretty Woman boots – that’s why. The subject matter is frankly, a newly reborn single girl’s wet sarcastic dream!

However, I will make the following observation (it’s profound, and shocking – so wait for it!)….MEN ARE IDIOTS. Seriously. Can I tell you how many men I talked to last night who bitched about Valentine’s Day and how ‘they don’t need some special day to show they care’, the ‘meaningless consumer driven holiday’ and the ‘evils of hallmark’? Well let me fill you in on a little secret men - gather round. Don’t be shy. (Canadian, why don’t you come over here and sit by me, just to make sure you catch everything I’m saying, ‘wink’). You’re always whining and moaning about how to ‘make a woman happy’? Trying to figure out ‘what women want’? It’s simple - I have even included pictures so you can understand the big words:

It’s truly that simple. So instead of bitching and moaning and whining like little girls, grow a pair, man up and ultimately, get laid. No one looses in this situation! And everyone shows up for work on Friday with a smile, feeling sexually satisfied, less angsty and trying to avoid their hangovers (Well, at least the last bit applies to me!). Speaking of avoiding, I do see my headache starting to peer at me from around the corner, so I’m going to go hide in the conference room.

A very happy, if somewhat belated, Valentine’s Day to you all.

Frankly,

The Non Mick - St. Patty's Day Survival Guide

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 12 Mar 2007 10:34:00 -0500

Since Paddy's is fast approaching boys and girls and my Favorite Irish Boy in Detroit has been gracious enough to provide this annual helpful guide for all of you non-Irish kids.

I am sure that all of my fellow Micks will confirm the usefulness of this material. However, I must warn you - the following contains language of a non-politically correct nature. Read at your own risk.

Slainte,

Dear prospective Laddies and Lassies,

It's almost here again. The happiest fuckin' day of the entire fuckin' year, St. Patrick's Day! The one day of the year when the 2% of us in the world's population that actually are Irish gets the other 98% of ya completely shit-faced.

However, while we appreciate that those of you who are not Irish wish to join us in celebrating the day St. Patrick drove the serpents out of Ireland using only the power of God, a gallon of Jameson and weapons-grade irradiated cobalt, the way most people observe St. Patrick's Day is offensive and disrespectful.

There's nothing more pathetic than some fat Polack swilling seven Buds mixed with carcinogenic green dye drunkenly arguing that INXS is authentic Irish music just before barfing into a plate of corned beef and cabbage.

Let's face it: most people are ill-equipped and in no condition to handle the "all-day drunk" that is St. Patrick's Day. However, if you follow this simple blueprint, you can enjoy St. Patrick's Day with little fear that anyone will think you're not from the 'Auld Sod', even if your name is Ahmed Al Jihad.

Leg 1: 7 A.M. to 9 A.M.

Rise and shine early. Take a long, hot shower, and liberally use aftershave, perfume, cologne, deodorant and powders afterwards, because by 3 p.m., you will be excreting raw alcohol and other noxious toxins, and without proper preparations, you will smell like a three-day dead cat wrapped in a fraternity carpet.

The bars usually open, (and you should be there), by 9 at the latest, so be diligent, and use this time to wisely in preparation for the day.

_____________________________

Side Note #1: Collect the following supplies and put them in a place where you will easily be able to find it in an impaired condition. I recommend the bathroom floor, between the toilet and the baseboard heater vent, since, let's face it, that's probably where you'll end up at the end of the night anyways.

One (1) Quart Spring Water
One (1) Large Bottle Aspirin (800 mg)
Five (5) Pairs Depends Brand Undergarments
One (1) Bottle Percocet
One (1) Gram Morphine Sulphate
One (1) oz. Human Adrenaline Extract
One (1) Pre-Charged Defibrillator
Four (4) Cardiac Needles
One (1) Trauma Surgeon

______________________________

Side Note #2: It's also very important to remember that the final impression you leave on Paddy's is the most important of the day. Visualize your desired result, and the action that must be taken in order to achieve said result. That way, as you are being dragged from the bar later, you will remember to begin screaming at the top of your lungs that you want to take your drink with you.

______________________________

Back to the schedule...

Brew one (1) strong pot of coffee--the stronger the better.

Add nine (9) fluid ounces Jameson Irish Whiskey.

Drink the whole damn thing.

It cannot be stated enough that you must continue to drink coffee liberally throughout the entire day. Us Micks are not as dumb as we look -- there is a damn good reason that we invented 'Irish Coffee'. Unless you ingest ridiculous volumes of artificial stimulants throughout the course of St. Patrick's Day, I can say without hesitation, without hyperbole, and with absolute certainty that you will die.

Arrange to be picked up to be taken to the bar no later than 8:45 A.M. I cannot stress enough that you should not drink and drive. There is no reason to chance losing your license or killing someone in a drunken state when you have plenty of idiot friends willing to take that risk on your behalf.

Leg #2: 9 A.M. to 11 A.M.

Arrive at the bar right when it opens.

Make sure this is an Irish bar if at all possible. An Irish bar in Boston is the best alternative, since 'Boston' in Gaelic means 'West Kilarney'. However, almost every city in America has bars called 'The Blarney Stone', 'McSomethings', or 'The Dirty Fucking Mick'. Just try to ignore the fact that the bar is probably owned by Koreans.

Secure a barstool and do not leave it under any circumstances. The bar is liable to be packed by noon at the latest, and real Irish people do not wait in line for drinks, no matter the consequences.

While I do recommend the use of an adult undergarment to mask unpleasant smells, it really doesn't matter. By noon, you'll be sopping wet with spilled beer anyway, and your mild urine smell will be completely overpowered by the toxic stench of vomit.

I recommend starting out with a few more Irish Coffees to spike the stimulant level, however, you should not order an 'Irish Coffee', as you will be given a fruity little glass mug topped with whipped cream and a fucking cherry -- and either me, or some guy named Seamus will call you a yuppie fucking poseur while putting a cigarette out on your neck.

Ask for coffee with Jameson or Bushmills and ask the bartender to leave the whipped cream can--and not for the coffee. Nothing will add spice to your day like the occasional whippet.

Leg #3: 11 A.M. to 2 P.M.

It's lunchtime!

You may not be hungry, but it's important to eat something, because like the man said in Blazing Saddles: "Man drink like that, without eating, he is going to die."

If you want to maintain your buzz and not get that dreaded, hideous, bloated feeling that could slow down your drinking, there are really only two options as I see it: popcorn or Pop Tarts. Both have the carbohydrates you'll need to give you energy, both will soak up excess bile in your stomach, and most importantly of all, both have names that are hard to slur.

______________________________
Side Note #3: If you start slurring your words too early, you'll hear the most frightening phrase in the English language besides "I'm pregnant", and that is: "You're cut off".

______________________________

By now, you should have already switched off of coffee drinks to beer. You have only one option here: Guinness Stout. You may be tempted to order green beer, but remember: beer doesn't always turn green just because of food coloring.

If that doesn't sway you, remember the fact that I (or Seamus, etc.) will call you a yuppie fucking poseur (again) while putting a cigarette out on your neck (again).
Leg #4: 2 P.M. to 7 P.M.

By now, the bar is definitely crowded as people take long lunches and bail out of work early to tie one on.

If you're doing your job correctly however, the bar should look two (2) or three (3-3-3) times as crowded as it really is.

By now, you may be in conversation with some real fucking Irish people. And, since the person you came with has most likely already been taken away by ambulance, some conversational points to remember when talking to the Irish are:

"Football" really means "Soccer," and you should be more passionate about it than even for your own wife or husband....and...

* The English are all piss-arsed, pig-fucking bastards who should be lined up and kicked into the liffey.

If you remember those two points, as well at least three (3) derogatory names for Tony Blair (and of course, Margaret Thatcher), you can talk to the Irish for hours.

You should continue to drink Guinness throughout this leg, although, keep in mind that if your heartbeat has become irregular, you may want to have another Irish Coffee.

The Home Stretch: 7 P.M. til 'You-Inevitably-Black-the-Fuck-Out'

Your goal, of course, is to be the last person to leave the bar at closing time.

______________________________

Side Note #4: Nowhere in the above sentence do I say anything about remembering that or anything else.

______________________________

Of course, this will be impossible, since a blood alcohol content of .50 equals death, and you should be pushing at least a .35 or .40 by now.

The only way for a true Irishman to leave a bar before closing time (with his honor still in tact) is to be hauled away by the police.

If you absolutely must leave before closing time, do the only thing that any respectable Irishmen would do in that situation: Throw a punch.

It doesn't matter who you hit, or even why; (no one's made any sense since 3 o'clock this afternoon, anyway).

Keep in mind that with this strategy, you will be beaten mercilessly, since your fine motor skills, (having been gone since late in Leg #2), are roughly the equivalent of a shoe -- but it doesn't really matter since that one minor disadvantage is definitely outweighed by the significant advantage that you can't really feel anything anyways.

Depending on your community, the police should arrive within fifteen (15) minutes to scrape you off the floor and clap you in irons.

Once again, the final impression you leave is the most important: as you are being dragged from the bar, make sure you begin screaming at the top of your lungs that you want to take your drink with you. You will be a legend, and by now the friend who took you to the bar should have had his or her stomach pumped, and will be able to bail you out.

By following these simple guidelines, your St. Patrick's Day experience will be one that you would never forget -- if it weren't for the fact that it is physically, and biologically, an impossibility for you to remember any of it.

Slainte chugat,

Scarlett's Favorite Irish Boy

Dancing, Assult and a Jumbo Slice

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 18 Dec 2006 08:21:00 -0600

Well to make a very loooong night’s story short – Saturday evening I went out with VT, her brother and Argyle (so called because of the argyle sweater he was sporting – it was actually kind of cute…but just too easy to make fun of and me being, well, me …I did!) to Adams Morgan.

I had met argle and VT’s brother (VTB) on Halloween. They came over to my apartment for a pregaming party I was throwing for Barbie #1 as she was moving the next day. Because Barbie #1 has been my best friend my first year as a DC resident – I went all out: bought bottles of Champaign, cooked. Ok, I didn’t technically ‘cook’ – I chopped up vegetables, mixed up some low fat dip, put some salsa in a bowl and cut up cheese. Anytime the food preparatory process is more complicated than open, microwave and eat - I consider it cooking.

And so I opened the door in my oh so cute costume – took a deep breath and assumed the role of hostess with the mostest J I served, refilled, shuffled and smiled and since I did not end up going out with the bigger party – I hope I did my part to give Barbie a proper sendoff (this IS relavent information...keep reading). Apparently it made quite an impression on these young gentlemen (you'd think they'd never seen cubed cheese before) and they though I was the most charming, calm, sedated and accomidating gal they'd ever met. (snicker).

So imagine VTB and Argyle’s surprise when they saw me out in true Saturday Scarlett form – buying rounds of Jell-O shots, going drink for drink with the boys, cracking jokes, making the bitchiest of observations and dancing like Fergie’s London Bridge was a comin’ down.

Half way through the evening, they expressed their surprise – their very pleasant surprise that I was not, in fact Martha-F*cking-Stewart which VT and I thought was the most hilarious thing we’d ever heard (and I’ll bet it will give many of you a chuckle as well).

Anyhoo… we started out the evening at the ever popular Reef, followed by the afore mentioned Jell-O shots at Millie & Al’s, a trip to the ever div-y and fabulous Dan’s Café and ending the evening at Nola's.

I was a Nola’s virgin at the start of the evening, now I feel like ….well….like I’ve been around the twist and back.

As I walked in…a cute guy started staring and smiling – being a bottle of wine, 2 jellow shooters and lord knows how many miller lites in, I smiled back and a few minutes later he came over and full on GRABBED MY CHEST. I’m sorry, is there a culture in which people say hello in this fashion? I was so shocked, my involuntary, knee-jerk reaction was, in fact just that: an involuntary knee-jerk reaction.

I kneed him ('where it counts') so hard that…well…he doubled over and I thought he was going to cry. Did I mention that my therapist says I have anger management issues? Well, I walked away without apologizing and felt…very un-sorry. And kind of good.

The evening perked up when the cutest guy I had seen in a very long time walked into the bar. He wasn’t good looking ala Brad Pitt or Clive Owen…but more along the lines of adorable ala Chris O’Donnell and looked just like Michael Ball (for those who are theatrically non in-the-know, please see the attached picture). The cute, teddy bear type you just want to curl up with forever. *Sigh*

He smiled. I smiled. He came over – there was no uninvited gropage, and he said, “I’m sorry, but you are so cute”

(blush…big, Scarlett smile)

“Thanks, I was just thinking the same thing about you”

Friendly banter,blah blah blah, I live here, I live there, I do this, I do that

And then he kissed me – soft, sweet…weak in the knees kind of kiss.

“What was that for?”

“Just felt right”

“Yes it did”

Blah blah blah – and he asked for my number. And I gave it to him and kissed him good bye.

I doubt he’ll call. Boys never call. Right? It's been 24 hours already and I suppose if he were going to call...he would have by now.

Ugh – this is why the giving out of numbers is never good – because they never call and you wonder why and then you’re disappointed, and it all culminates in one big therapy bill and a year's supply of anti-depressents. No. No. Much better to just cut and run.

So to recap: There was drinking, shattered images of domestic goddess status, physical assult, romance and a jumbo slice. Frankly, it was just the recipe for a wonderful Saturday evening.

Ode To Hey Pretty (or What a Weekend Part Deux)

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 17 Oct 2006 14:54:00 -0500

As mentioned in part one of Scarlett's weekend Saga – Friday night I attended (after much cajoling*) the DC blogger happy hour. Where there was much drinking, laughing and later on dancing. After we migrated away from the Big Hunt, Hey Pretty, Velvet and I made our way to an establishement a few doors down that we were told was more ‘low key’ and so visions of tables and pitchers of beer danced in our heads. Velvet exchanged her cookies for our cover at the door (why does that sound dirty?), and we made our way into, well…i'm pretty sure pitchers of beer weren't on the menu. Shots of Whiskey, however, were.

So after my first shot of Whiskey ever(her idea, not mine), HP and I tried to keep up with the dancing queens (i.e. KassyK and Circle V). I’m afraid we lost Velvet sometime between Vogue and Jessie’s Girl but we said farewell to all my new favorite people shortly after.

After that the details of the evening start to get a bit hazy.

I remember being in an Irish bar in Chinatown, flirting with the singer so that he’d play the songs we wanted him to. I remember getting hit on by a guy who was in town for the green convention. He was a snowboarding, vegetarian, tree hugging, northface fleece-clad, only used recycled paper type of guy (who happened to look like eric bana). But I had to tell him, sorry buddy, I’m more of the steak eating, leather wearing, more preservatives, bring on the pesticides kind of woman….so I don’t think this is going to work.

By the end of the night, HP and I were closing down a bar in Capitol Hill, everyone else had called it a night and we were still gabbin away. Guys hovered, bought us drinks, lit our cigaretts but we just said ‘thanks’ and kept right on talking. Isn’t it nice when the company you’re with is more riveting and worth while than any guy trying to pick you up and so you’re so much less receptive to it?

The verdict? HP is smart, pretty, brutally honest, and wildly funny all wrapped up into a compact little package with an attitude to match.

Hello cliché….I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Frankly,

*I-66’s word

What A Weekend (Part One)

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Sun, 15 Oct 2006 20:20:00 -0500

Friday night was my first official DC Blogger happy hour. I know there are going to be many ‘recaps’ posted but here are some of my fuzzy memories.

First of all – I must say that I was nervous for a number of reasons. I felt like the math geek being invited to a party with all of the cheerleaders and jocks. Would they like me? Would they be nice? Would they be mean? Cliquey? Or conversely, would THEY turn out be not quite as fabulous as their ramblings, musings, rantings,, and sagas would lead me to believe?

So after much heming and hawing I decided to go because:

#1. 66’s cajoling** efforts needed to be rewarded as did the fact that I could no longer exchange witty electronic banter on a daily basis with him without having met in person!

#2. I have adored Hey Pretty ever since her ode to the container store and she promised to hover with me in a smoky, dry humored haze in the event that the cliques were out in full force

#3. Velvet promised to go with me and basically hold my hand while I put down my laptop and stepped into the real world.

Long story short, can I can’t remember having a better time with a better group of people.

I JUST LOVED EVERYONE SO MUCH!!*

66 was just as sweet, friendly and polite as I had expected. Perhaps more so even.

WonL is just a firecracker of friendly fun, running around, talking to everyone, taking pictures, etc. TOOO cute.

Hey Pretty….HP and I definitely held to our plan of quick, sarcastic, smokey hazed, devilishly honest conversation. And our evening didn’t nearly stop after we said goodbye to our fellow bloggers (a subject for another post).

Velvet was her usual, sweet self and she even BAKED COOKIES! To a domestically challenged urbanite such as myself, this is truly impressive (I don’t care if you DID just take them out of the package and put them on the cookie sheet…you don’t use your oven for storage and obviously know how to turn it on! Which is more than I can say.)

Circle V is even more gorgeous in person than her beautiful pictures and so nice.

View from Dupont is a little bundle of energy – and we have even planned a debaucherous fieldtrip so definitely stay tuned for that one!

Ashburnite was hilarious and was apparently given blogging orders from a mutual friend to look out for me as I would be nervous J

Good at Drinking Bad at Life was also charming and is, in fact…good at drinking

There is no way to describe Brunch Bird as anything other than completely elegant and lovely.

And then there were the Reds…my fiery haired sisters of the blogging world.

Red is just beautiful inside and out and with more crazy stories of dating than I do! Seriously…when are we going to hear about serial killer???

And KassyK….I must say I’ve never considered myself a groupie, hell, Matt Daemon bought me a beer and I kept my cool…but I must admit, I was so very very excited to meet this woman. She is perhaps the sweetest, coolest girl I have ever met. She’s the cheerleader, the and prom queen and the girl next door. She’s the girl from summer camp that you just want to hang out with all the time and life seems so much better just because she’s there. So yes, pin the groupie medal here and I will start the KassyK fan club tomorrow.

So thank you, thank you, DC bloggers for SUCH a welcoming, wonderful, amazing evening (even though I was hungover well into Saturday).

*What did you think this was? False advertising?

**His phrase not mine

RCN is the Devil

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 02 Oct 2006 14:28:00 -0500

Sorry for the silence, Jordan! Work (and life) has been crazy AND I have been sans internet for the majority of the weekend! Sufficet to say RCN has gotten much more than an earful from me the past few days. Anyway....on to the weekend report: Friday

The evening began right after work I literally sprinted to the metro at 5, ran up the escalator two steps at a time, just made the train caught my breath, then ran up some moreescalatorss in order to meet TravelGirl for drinks. For those of you who don't know her, whatever the cyber equivelent of 'sprint...don't walk' is...do it.... to her blog! This woman is talented, beautiful, energetic and smart, and funny as hell! It was great to see her because her fabulously hectic travel schedule has made it impossible over the past month or so to catch up. So we chatted about life, drama, man whores that we know and used to love. Well if nothing else came out of the whole WPB debacle, I met her so for all its fucked-upedness, it was worth it.

Saturday

Well on Saturday morning I woke up and moaned because after I said goodbye to TravelGirl, I hung out with the sweetest music teacher ever (explanationination to follow in a later post) let's just say, I ran into my intern at the Front Page and hijinks ensued until I finally left the Lucky Bar around 2:30 a.m.

I had promised Barbie #1 and company I'd go to the Virginia wine festival with them. So I drug my hungover ass out of bed and attempted to make myself look human, however, the day didn't go quite as planned. After driving for 2 hours to Leesburg, we reached traffic that was at a complete standstill for TEN MILES outside the festivall! Apparently the highways of the bustling metropolis of Leesberg Virginia ill equipped for the influx of all the wine lovers of Virginia simultaneously. Imagine that!

So after getting tired of sitting in the car, being hung over and craving the proverbial 'hair of the dog' (cuz ya know you can't be hungover if you don't stop drinking) we all decided to bag the festival and orchestrate our own wine tasting. We found a restaurant in an old barn? Or mill? Or something provincial. And it was AMAZING the food, the wine, the company.....the wine ....so the 9 of us sat in this restaurant for 4 hours and had sooo much fun. Only downfall was that I didn't get to meet up with Allen. Sorry, doll maybe next time.

Do You Have Any STDs?

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 11 Sep 2006 13:39:00 -0500

Last evening, hot gals (XO, VT, OC) gathered at Casa Scarlett for a little pre-gaming before a night on the town. And did we ever pre-game. Yep. Four gals just sitting around comparing notes on anti-depressants, Match.com dates, episodes of Laguna Beach, downing barcardi and diets and chasing them with shots of Citron. You know...your typical Saturday night.

Before heading out we stopped at a shin-dig happening in the party room in my building where we had drinks and TOOK THEM WITH US. Yep - we thought it would be a good idea to take Open containers onto the sidewalk while we hailed a cab and went to a U st. bar where...you guessed it, we drank some more.

XO's latest love interest joined up with us at some point and before she left with him, I apparently ~~had the following conversation~~ gave him the following lecture:
You had better take care of XO tonight! Do you have a criminal record? Do you have any STDs? I know EVERYONE who works at this bar, if you use her or hurt her you'll never be able to come here again!

I think there were some other threats made involving an exacto knife and a pair of pliers...but you get the general idea. Apparently I'm feisty when I'm drunk.

To make a long, and kind of fuzzy story short, we were lucky we didn't get arrested last night. Besides the open containers, there were several other mistermeanors and one felany committed. Not only that, but I have a number of bruises and a gash on my leg that could have only been the result of some kind of fall...that I don't remember. Oy!

The OC in DC

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 01 Sep 2006 21:51:00 -0500

It’s over….my 9 month stint living as a fabulous, single woman living alone in the nation’s capitol has come to an end.

Now before you break out the keg stands and silly string, I would like to clarify that I am STILL fabulous, STILL staying in DC, and alas... STILL chronically single.

I am however no longer living alone.

AND before you gasp in horror, wondering how I could ever end my domestic celibacy after the St. Patrick’s Day Massacre of 2006 chill out. (For those of you who don’t know, my last roommate went crazy and beat me to a bloody pulp before checking herself into rehab for substance abuse problems and anger management issues.*)

However, the rising cost of tea in china, and a 20% rent increase along with a strong aversion to packing and relocation were all contributing factors leading up to my decision to invite a relative stranger to live in my home. I was prepared for the transition (or so I thought).

I leased a storage unit in the building, (since all my winter clothes, holiday decorations, beach chairs, and boxes ‘o junk including mardi gras beads, random pictures and souvenirs of a sorority days-past; were all being kept in the 2nd bedroom).

However, last week was hectic…and Friday night is a blur but I thought “it’s ok. if I sleep off my hangover I’ll get up this afternoon, move the stuff out of the room and clean the apartment in time for her arrival on Sunday.” Great plan. Until I awake to some god awful ring-tone Saturday morning (while drunk, apparently I thought it would be funny to set my ring to “oops I did it again”).

The caller ID flashing I number I didn’t know so I shut off the phone, shoved it under my mattress and attempted to resume my “Let’s ALL take shots!” coma. I was almost successful, when I hear my apartment door open.

#($ @(!& @#)(#

Even redheads have bouts of blonde-like brilliance – and apparently this was mine. Yep, you guessed it, the roommate had scheduled a Saturday arrival and the Britney ring was her calling to tell me she was on her way. GASP

#()$*@( #(%)@(#*$)(@$*(#

I sit straight up, look in the mirror and cringe – Let me paint you a picture: big, sexy hair from the night before was definitely still big, but nowhere NEAR sexy. Instead it was frizzy and smelled of Marlboro Lights; apparently I didn’t have time for eye makeup remover as I resembled Ricky the Raccoon (oh you know the look, you know it well); top it all off with an oversized, faded t-shirt that, yes, you guessed it, I had put on backwards and inside out (and I’m actually impressed that I managed to do THAT!).

#$)#(@*$(#

I threw on some shorts, a hat on the sex-hair, ran my face under the faucet along with a quarter container of Noxzema, swiged some Listerine and let’s not forget the citrus- mango body splash (college shower, anyone?), open the door to my room, and there is not only my new roommate but her boyfriend, her boyfriend’s sister, brother-in-law AND their two week old infant!

#$)#($&*%)#(

What could I say? “Welcome to my apartment. My name is Scarlett. I am hung over, my sh*t’s all over your room, there are empty bottles of wine on my counter…and I look like the creature from the black lagoon. But please, do come in.” I was, of course, wildly apologetic, and started cleaning like a French maid on Viagra. Sigh – not to fret, all is well. We christened our domestic union over a bottle of Zin and bonded over a mutual love of dry humor, salacious gossip, sex & the city, well constructed blogs and fat-free desserts. Luckily my new roomie, a vision in Lactose and Lily Pulitzer, is very forgiving (a trait I’m sure she’ll exercise more than once living with me). Oh! And she looks exactly like Rachel Billson!

Sorry, fellas, she's taken

So welcome, roomie with your brightly colored bedspread, big smile, caffeine addiction and love of discounted, fabulous footwear. Truly the OC has come to #1403.

Frankly,

*I’m serious, I looked like a battered house wife in a Dolly Parton video