Monday, April 21, 2008

two douches, one sweatervest

As of late, I don't have very many unfavorable things to say about DC (I know...what has become of me?!). Sure, there was that douche in the blazer and pink polo sipping champagne and lipsyncing the words to Kanye's West's "Gold Digger" on Reef's patio on Saturday. And sure, he might have come up to yours truly at the end of the night to start drunkenly spewing game. And sure, the dialogue may have went exactly like this:
Douche: Hey.
Me: Uh, hi.
Douche: Do you live around here?
Me: Um...
Douche: Am I creeping you out right now?
Me: Yes.
But on the bright side, at least he was a quick learner. A short while later, however, entering from stage left came Predator Douche, who just may have created some of the most uncomfortable moments of my life. At some point in PD's 394 years of life, he lost his mind because this guy decided it was an excellent M.O. to try to pick up the ladies by following them home in his car, driving the exact same speed as they walk. Yeah, that's totally not creepy at all! But what was even more telling that this paunchy, bald asshat lost his goddamn marbles was his decision to GET OUT of his car and start harassing me on foot. Really, asshole? Because getting out of your car and making me seriously contemplate punching you in the face with knuckles full of house keys is not the way I'd go about trying to get someone's phone number. People seriously blow my mind with their idiocy sometimes. F*cking creeper...

So, OK, upon second look, it seems I still have some adverse thoughts about this place, although the latter of my two Saturday night douche encounters could have very well happened anywhere (that guy was far more pathological international predator than simple DC douche). But before all this sh*t went down, I was thoroughly enjoying this hell hole. I was in a douche-free zone at a friend's house doing some major work with some meat and beer at a warm-weather barbeque. The conversation was, of course, majorly classy as my friend, The Canadian, began brainstorming blog ideas for me:
"So, how about you only eat corn for a week straight..."

"Would you ever blog anything sexual?"

"Should I just take my shirt off?"

"But seriously, what do I have to do to get in your blog? Don't you realize how much ridiculous sh*t I say all the time?"
Yes, Canada! Yes I do! Congratulations, my friend, you have arrived! (And he's single, ladies!)

But really, besides the high-level of doucheosity that infected my late night (of course, this is mainly my fault for having voluntarily chosen to hang in Adams Morgan on a Saturday -- I mean, when you go scuba diving, should you really be surprised to see fish?), the weekend was good. Damn good. Warm weather + BBQ + good friends (yes, even Canadian friends) = fine summer. Whoops, I mean, warm weather + BBQ + good friends + gratuitous (and possibly annoying) outfit amour-propre = fine summer. Sweatervest!

Dangly yarn balls!

OMG! Pleats!


Velvet said...

I do like it when you amp up the hate. It makes me all giddy like a little schoolgirl in love with her crush on the playground.

Shannon said...

The predator thought train:

Can I have your number if I follow you home? How about if I kill your pets? Hell with it, if I slaughter your family, can I take you out sometime? My treat?

The Vinyl District said...

I do like it when you amp up the: Snowden.
(Is that Anti-Anti AntiDC?)

Marissa said...


Hate is such a strong word. I prefer "tough love."


Well, now that you put it that way, of course!


Ha! I thought of that too! Pitchfork and I finally agree on something though, even after they bashed Ghostland Observatory. Bastards.

The Vinyl District said...

Off topic: ever hear Snowden's cover of Fleetwood Mac's 'Dreams'? Very cool.

The Canadian said...

I am famous! Thank you for censoring some of the more desperate offers to make it in the blog.

Marissa said...


In fact, I have. Dare I say I like it better than the original? Although, I must admit I'm not a Fleetwood Mac fan.


Famous? Your low standards are admirable.

I-66 said...

You see what happens when you go out well after the douching hour? Even Striker was like "alright, tell that Goose we need to go. The douche comes out at night, man"

HomeImprovementNinja said...

I was a couple of blocks away from you, apparently. I was at a friends house watching the UFC fight. You should know better than to go to Adams Morgan on a saturday. Leave that place to the Bridge & Tunnel crowd.

Reef? Blech!

Marissa said...


It's Stryker. With a "y." Seriously.


In defense of my decision: We didn't fire down the, um, fire bowl (that's right, fire bowl) until midnight and we were already in the neighborhood. Also, U Street seems a lot farther after a significant intake of meat'n'brew. So we settled.

But in defense of Reef after dark -- they do have a lovely patio. However, you're right, it is much better -- and safer, apparently -- to stick to that patio Sunday-Thursday.

Shannon said...

Sounds like I missed some prime entertainment - I can't even remember the last time I went douche n' skank watching in Adams Morgan.

I-66 said...

Ahem. He disagrees. He is unhappy and plans on peeing on The Law's floor the next time he is over there.

suicide_blond said...

i cant be the only one who Looooves the sweater vest??
and i noticed an unprecedented douche level in my neighborhood sat... i attribute it to the caps playoff game and warm weather... i can only hope a few of them drowned sunday...

Peter said...

Dear Marissa,

The boots and I are running away and eloping. Please don't look for us. You will never find us.

Marissa said...


Ahh shucks! Thanks for the sweatervest love. Much appreciated.


Keep your paraphiliac ass away from my footwear! They are pretty tight, though, I'll admit that...