More from the Mailbag

And with it, more bar application difficulties. Sigh. I'll have to admit that this time it was actually my fault. Remember that big ass raise I got in February? Well, I got it because 1) I turned in my DC Bar application and 2) I switched temp agencies. Meaning, of course, I switched employers, information that was not reflected on the application I turned in the day before. I never thought to update it, so I got a letter from them a few days ago saying I had TEN DAYS to mail them the information, or else. Anyway, I sent it in today. On the flip side, this means they're checking the info on my application, and my friends have all told me they've received letters from the DC Bar, meaning they've also started in with my personal references. Maybe it'll be less than eight months before I hear the results! Sweet.

On Tuesday I received a poster roll in the mail with no return address. Weird. I thought, maybe they're blackmail pictures. I mean, I know they're out there somewhere, right? There was an identification number on the front that looked familiar...my student ID? My driver's license? I couldn't place it. I continued to ponder the possibilities until my roommate suggested, "Why don't you just open it?" Capital idea! So I did. Ta-da!



Wow, that's....exciting. I guess. Another piece of paper to shove under my bed. More importantly, check out my new Razr. I know! Now I'm even more of a yuppie than I already was. My old phone konked out last week and the Razr is the only phone Verizon sells that's even remotely not hideous, plus it was free, so. Call me.

I'm Special

Looks like the recruitment team at the American Red Cross has been busy lately. I'm a bit overdue, so when I received a letter from the ARC yesterday I excepted a guilt trip to rival my mother's patented version. But no! Check it out:



I'm a Special Donor! And not even in a Bleeding-Heart-Liberal-Everyone's-Special kind of way. I'm viral free! Which is always something to celebrate, if you ask me. If you can't read the letter in that photo, it says my blood tested negative for Cytomegalovirus, which sounds like a dinosaur (cytomegalosaurus! raaar!), but is a usually harmless virus that infects 50-85% of Americans. However, CMV, as we in the know like to call it, can dangerously affect people with low immune systems. That means that doctors can't give CMV-infected blood to premature babies, patients undergoing treatment for cancer or bone marrow transplants, or people with immune deficiencies.

The ARC even set up a special day for us CMV-free people to donate, except 1) it's on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, which seems a little silly, as most people (or maybe it's just me) plan to drink all weekend, and 2) there are no donation sites in DC! Wtf Red Cross? They didn't even tell me if any of these places are on the metro, so I have to google map every single one and compare it to a metro map. Right. Maybe I'll just take the letter with me next time I donate and they can mark my little blood packet or something. Oh well. I'll find out some way for others to benefit from my hearty white cells.

You know what else? I've never broken a bone. This leads me to an important question: Am I Bruce Willis in Unbreakable? I think this evidence from the ARC has finally settled the question. I need to go cape-shopping. (And knock on wood, like, post haste.)

CMV-free. The way to be.

Weekend Update

Wastin' Away Again In Margaritaville



I try not to be too snobby about the establishments I frequent, since goodness knows I can rarely distinguish 'cool' from a hole in the ground. But I'll still say it: If you were one of the douchebags who traveled in from Virginia and waited in line - the one that went down the block - to get into Alero (Alero!) on U Street on Cinco de Mayo to enjoy the sardine-crammed bar, terrible service, screaming latin house music, and authentic americanized mexican fare, then I really hope...you enjoyed yourself immensely, because god knows you're the only kind of person who could have.

Don't Hate Me Because My Tomato Plants are Beautiful
They're bloomin'!

Sad news though. Check out this drain pipe on the side of my house, which siphons off water from my neighbor's roof (don't ask me why it goes back into the house):

I noticed the hole before directly above my plants, but it's rained before and it didn't seem to hurt them. Unfortunately, the neighbors have been doing some repairs and must have dumped some kind of sludge down their drain. It absolutely slaughtered my purple nemesia, a lavender plant, and most likely the white nemesia next to it as well, which is on life support. Sigh.

The Made-For-TV-Movie to End All TV-Movies. AND THE WORLD.

Tony called me while I was out in the garden on Saturday. "Are you sitting down? Sit down. Seriously. I have news." What he told me next is the news I've been waiting my entire life and a half to hear: "They're making 10.5: Apocalypse!"

You think you know my love for made-for-tv disaster movies.

You have no idea:

Actually, I didn't buy this for myself. Tony and my roommate saw it in the bargain bin at Blockbuster and knew they had to buy it for me. Those dudes know me so well. Lest we forget, the first 10.5 ended with Ventura Island. We'll see if Apocalypse can live up to the original.

Twice the Vocabulary, Half the Grammar

I admit it, I liked The DaVinci Code. It's an easy read; a great airport book. Plus, they travel all around Europe! Who wouldn't want to read that? I've said before it's a Tom Clancy book for people who think they're more (semi) intellectual. My one problem with the book was, of course, that Dan Brown Hates Women. Not really, but I've read Angels and Demons as well, and he writes the extremely predictable female sidekick. Sure she's got some crazy post-graduate degrees and maybe comes up with one or two ideas on her own, but she's really only there to be unbelievably hot, prop up the male lead, and get herself into trouble so he can save her. My point is this: I saw a poster for the movie this weekend.

And I just wanted to barf. Look at her! It's bad enough that they're playing up the damsel in distress aspect, but shaggy Tom Hanks is supposed to be our Superman? Spare me. If I have to watch some faux-intellectual beauty prance around the screen for two hours, can't I at least get Hugh Jackman to be my hero? Some eye-candy is all I ask.

I'll Leave You Tonight With

Most people are still in the majority, while still fewer are in the minority.

Thank you, Norm McDonald, for the only funny thing you ever said.