This bitch is verbose. Perhaps even more verbose than I am. But luckily she can write! She can also come up with brilliant arbitrary themes and I respect that. So, without further praise and glory, allow Shannon to recommend for you the best and least-dank basement haunts in DC:
Many people ask me the same question: So, do you really have a boyfriend or did you make him up to scare off the Internet stalkers? [Ed. Wait, you have Internet stalkers to scare off? I'm jealous.]But today, I’m going to answer that other common question: How did I manage to fall in love with DC, when so many people dislike it so profoundly? Easy. Grow up in a crappy outer suburb and move into the city as an adult, so you'll learn to appreciate our neoclassical tourist-driven hicktown. (Every morning, I wake up to a chorus of little birdies and woodland creatures frolicking and singing a tune called, "You're Not in Woodbridge!") [Ed. What's Woodbridge?]But there’s another answer. The answer is to become an authentic sort of Washingtonian. And how does one do that? [Ed. By becoming a douche?] By living in an unregulated illegal English basement studio apartment, of course!Not willing to live as a basement troll? Well, you can still get your fill of cave-dwelling with the following "Basement Tour of Washington." Here are my suggestions for spending an entire day underground:Start on the National Mall. See that big doughnut-shaped art museum on the Mall at 7th Street? [Ed. Mmmm...doughnuts...] Unlike the myriad National Museums of Screaming Toddlers, the Hirshhorn caters to people who actually want to look at stuff. Head straight to the basement for the temporary exhibits. These range from a squiggly arty video reinterpretation of Rambo: First Blood to…really, Rambo at a fancy art museum. What else do you need? [Ed. Doughnuts?]You can also do your shopping underground. Try the Filene's Basement at 14th and F (the dress selection is excellent, although the suits are fair-to-middling [Ed. And by "fair-to-middling," I'm going to assume Shannon really means "sh*tty-to-sh*ttier." Just a guess...]). Or, if you’re feeling the urge to redo your high-rent Bastille in mid-century modern, try Millennium Decorative Arts on U Street. There's also an awesome (basement!) gay porn store a few doors down, if you're so inclined [Ed. Git 'er done!].
Hungry? D.C. has a wide range of basement dinner options. Malaysia Kopitiam is on M Street, sprinkled in among the nudie bars and frat-boy lounges. Good old MK has cheap food, a menu with disturbingly pornographic [Ed. Again, with the porn, Shannon? I'm sensing a guest blog Part Deux here...] representations of their entrees, and the sort of servers that look at you like you're crazy if you ask any questions.Or, if it's payday, you can have your meal at The Little Fountain Café in Adams Morgan. It's an oasis in a desert of suburbanite popped collars and annoying drunk chicks, complete with so-cute-you-could-die little tables, good food, and a romantic atmosphere (but let's ignore the fact that the last guy who took me there dumped me a week later). [Ed. Hey, a free meal's a free meal.]Do you have room for dessert? [Ed. Always!] Try Larry’s Ice Cream on Connecticut Avenue in Dupont! It’s in a basement, sure, but this place does more than fit my arbitrary theme. It's also non-chain, tasty, and quirky. Larry's is run by the sort of people you wish ran Metro: quick, efficient, and impatient with slow-moving idiots who can't make up their minds.If you'd like to get your dive bar on [Ed. Finally, to the important stuff -- booze.], there are multiple basement options for that. I like Polly's Café at 14th and U. You can also visit Atomic in Cleveland Park, or swing by Karaoke Night at Recessions. Recessions is advanced-level basement trolling. Look for Mackey's, then look for a hotel next to it, then go down the stairs, through the hall, past the sales and catering office, and through a double door. You're at Recessions! Cheap beer, cheap mozzarella sticks, and blissfully awful karaoke every Friday. Best of all, cell reception is spotty at best, so you're free to ignore your Blackberry. But, then again, if you're the sort of person who has a Blackberry, you're not the sort who will swoon at the idea of discount Miller Lites served in jumbo steins [Ed. Um, or *are* you?]. In that case, head to the basement of Saint-Ex to rub elbows with the rest of the cool kids. You're beyond my help.