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!