mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the douchiest of them all?

Egads, something happened today. Something hideous and nasty. Something life-altering. And it was all my fault. I did something I never thought I’d do and I am so ashamed.

And to think I preach nearly every day here on this glorious blog about all the sh*t that isn’t tight in DC and here I am -- a hypocrite. I always thought I was the type to rise above. But alas, after seven months in hell, I too have become part DC, part douche, if you will. O! The horror! Just seeing it in print is...well, it's damn near unbearable.

But before rumors start spreading that I bought a pair of pleated khakis or (gasp!) a pair of these, I better just go ahead and tell you what happened…*closes eyes, inhales, exhales, open eyes*

I…I, um…OK, IgotreallyexcitedaboutthenewBlackBerrysmybossjustgotforus!

*crickets chirping*

I did. I really did. I got uncharacteristically giddy over a piece of technology, and not even a piece of technology cool enough то get giddy over like a time machine or a transporter. Oh no, I was all elated over a goddamn BlackBerry. *shudder*

But (oh man, I can’t believe I’m about to try and justify this sin), you have to understand, the BlackBerry I was using before, the 7250, was on its last pixel. The buttons often malfunctioned; it would freeze up incessantly; the battery life was down to about three hours; and, perhaps most importantly, the display lost its clarity, impeding on my BrickBreaker abilities. How was a girl supposed to react?

Well, here’s how I should’ve reacted. I should’ve just accepted the shiny new BlackBerry (it’s an 8820, by the way, which features the roller-ball -- my BrickBreaker game has never been so good) like a professional, instead of like a mega douche.

But no, here’s what actually happened. I get handed the new BlackBerry and immediately exclaim, “Suh-weet!” before boasting (and here’s the really ignominious part), “All the other reporters are going to be so jealous!” *sighs, shakes head* I know…I know…

My saving grace (and I hope to holy heaven I have one here) is that as soon as I said what I did, I recoiled in disgrace. I, myself, couldn’t believe what my larynx, vocal folds and palate just unwittingly shaped. I knew it was wrong, which brings me to my point: Apparently, after seven long months, a little bit of DC made its way into my subconscious. I am officially part douche and I had no idea. But now that I’m aware, hopefully my ego can keep id (get it? LOL Freud!) in check. For instance, I vow never, ever to utilize the 100-percent genuine leather hip holster that came with it. (And no, I’m not wearing it right now!)

Anyway, all I’m sayin’ is watch your back -- you never know when the DC in you might rear its gnarly, pleat-clad face.