a winner, a loser and a clown named buster

When I woke up this morning for the fourth time, mainly because the slumber crusts that had developed during my 12-hour, Nyquil-induced coma had grown large enough to start forcing my eyes open (WELCOME!), I realized two things: 1) Eye biology is disgusting; and 2) It was all just a dream. Alas, I'm not a 17-year-old baseball phenom from Nevada who just signed a multimillion dollar contract with the Washington Nationals. That dream-turned-reality belongs to a boy named Bryce Harper. This accomplishment was only topped by him finally being able to see an R-rated movie without a parent or guardian present.

And speaking of R-rated, that perv Andre Chreky of DC's downtown eponymous salon is going to have to pay $7 million to a former employee for allegedly sexually harassing her at work. Jennifer Thong, whose ancestors I'm sure assure us no pun was intended, claims among other things that Chreky once Hansel'd her by ripping off her underpants through sheer force of will alone. That kind of sick perversion is only seconded by that haircut I once got at his salon that made me look like Peg Bundy, presidential hopeful, which in 2010, I suppose, would just be called "the Sarah Palin." I'll see Chreky in hell.

Lastly, in more uplifting news, the only thing that could make this movie better is more Buster the Clown.

true to the game (part 2)

Like a real hustler, my job is never done. And so continues True to the Game (Part 2) a.k.a. my trip to the Indian Head Highway Thrift Store. Yeah, I know my hustle is f*cking hardcore. Shoppin' ain't easy.

To recap, Part One highlighted not only my theory of finding decent vintage goods, but also my four well-worth-it purchases. Part Two, however, will cut more quickly to the proverbial chase: Basically, I've laid out here a low-resolution photo essay of sh*t I probably should've bought but found possibly even too ridiculous for the likes of my rather Euro-trashy, glovelets-and-skinny-yellow-jeans-wearing, I-love-posting-gratuitous-pictures-of-all-my-sweet-sweatervests aesthetic.

Brace yourselves because it's going to get sparkly and galactic!


You know, I came very, very close to purchasing this multi-colored, almost clownish tunic, but I passed it up to make sure I had enough flow to allow my procurement of True to the Game, i.e. THE GREATEST FABLE OF ALL TIME. (As we embark on this e-journey together, you will soon learn that on The Anti DC street dice will trump nearly everything, even clown gear). Anyway, before you stop believing in my style prowess (that is, if you ever somehow believed in it in the first place), I will tell you what exactly drew me to this shirt. Besides the sheer madness of the fabric's pattern (as well as the fabric itself -- classic '70s polyester), this blouse featured some quite interesting details, such as the button-cuffed sleeves, the square collar and the waist tie. I can see this looking good with a pair of slouchy boots and black city shorts. On second thought, I may need to find a $2 bill and go get this.


And here's where things got fabulously bad. Imagine a hooker...Wait, better yet, imagine you're in Moscow, Russia. Besides the snow, the Kremlin and the Putin, chances are you'll also see a few strumpet-fabulous footwear selections like this on the street. The toe is so sharp it could literally snuff a bitch out at one stab and the chain in the back, well, use your imagination. And to think! For just $5, you too could live the dream! It's a damn shame I'm not a size 9.


Uh huh. That is exactly what it looks like. That's a goddamn sequin vest patterned after not just a leopard, but a zebra too. This was pretty expensive at $10, but since it's a size XL, you know you'd be getting your money's worth. Seriously, I will buy this for somebody who will promise to actually wear it. I'll throw in a top hat for free.


And lastly, the pièce de résistance -- the velour jumpsuit. I don't know quite where to start with this ensemble. I mean, like I said, it's velour and it's a jumpsuit. The white satin patches on the shoulders and the detail at the cuffs add an extra spacey, almost galactic je ne sais quoi. I'm tempted to spend the $12 to buy this, sew "JUICY" across the ass, put it up on Ebay and watch the competing bids roll in from Georgetown. Like I said, I'm always hustling.

true to the game (part 1)

Just when you think you've had enough of this quaint little cess pool of douches, tools and ill-fitting pants, something will come along that not only gives you a reason to live, but a reason to fix up, look sharp (Dizzee Rascal, anyone?). And while some of those "reasons" may cost you more cash than you care to talk about, such as the amount I dropped on a pair of yellow skinny jeans I found quite serendipitously on Sunday (after all, you can't deny your destiny), other reasons practically get dropped in your lap for free, which is exactly what happened on Saturday when I went to the Indian Head Highway Thrift Store, located just outside of DC's Anacostia neighborhood in Maryland. (Unfortunately, I did not see the Big Chair or peruse America's furniture for a "big, fine couch.")

In my tiny peanut of a brain, there are four different venues in which to find sweet vintage clothing -- your grandparents' closet, garage sales, high-end secondhand stores and thrift stores. The first option was raided long ago and the second option is just plain hard to come by in DC proper. Once in a while there'll be a yard sale in the city, but mostly you'll end up perusing housewares and other assorted crap. In fact, during a quick jaunt down Columbia Rd. this weekend I came across what I think was a building-wide yard sale at which the cooler full of Bud Lights set aside for the sellers was the only item I could imagine in my home. Gotta keep hydrated.

Of the more street legal retail venues, the third option, the high-end secondhand store, is usually best for finding sh*t you want, however, the chance of finding sh*t you want that is sh*t you can actual afford is fairly low. Sh*t. But the last option, the thrift store (and I'm talking about those sprawling, takes-a-whole-day-to-rummage-through, bursting-at-the-seams-like-a-properly-fitting-pair-of-pants, so-ludicrously-cheap-it-makes-you-wonder-who-the-hell-runs-the-place kind of store), has the potential to offer the best of both worlds. (Just ask DC's own Goodwill Fashionista.)

And to take a proverbial page from The Anti DC "Book of Eloquence," allow me to state, DC and its surrounding environs has a buttload of 'em. Moreover, since I'm, 1) poor, 2) sleuthy and 3) sort of a shopping freak, I jumped at the chance to tag along with one of my coworkers and her roommates to check out Indian Head and, holy crap, am I damn glad I did because sh*t at at this mecca of wonderful hidden treasures is tight. (And sometimes ridiculous.)

For well under $20, I left the place with one new-to-me belt, two handbags and one very unique literary masterpiece. Take a look:

I don't know how this ended up in a thrift store hanging between a slew of multicolored pleather belts, but this beaded and silk cummerbund might be *the* best bargain I've ever found at a secondhand store. Check the detail:

Yep. It's in perfect condition. Not a single bead is missing! Price (brace yourselves): $7.98 -- the most expensive buy of the day.

Now, this wasn't as good of a deal as the above-pictured beaded strap of loveliness, but this chestnut-colored bag with woven detail was still a steal at $4.98, despite that it's not made of an actual dead animal. Hopefully the animal saved will make a delicious steak instead. (J/K vegetarians and vegans!)

Ahh yes! And this is probably the most fun of my purchases. It's a black patent leather shoulder bag with gold hardware. And despite the fact that I don't like cats, I kind of love the detail on the front, which is a lion's face. Or a cougar. Which is clearly my future. Badass. But there's more!

The bag has no clasp, zipper or magnetic closure. Instead, it uses some sort of wire and hinge system to allow the bag to open and close. Kinda awesome for -- ready for this? -- $1.98, right? Like I said, TIGHT. But wait, what's that I see in that fabulous bag? Is that...? Could it be...? HOLY CRAP IT IS!

An effing novel, ahem, fable about street dice! And as fate would have it, I found this item immediately and accidentally. It wasn't by the other books (hell, I barely know how to read), but by the housewares (hell, I barely have an apartment!). So what was it doing there? What was I doing there? Kismet, e-friends. It was meant to be...

And as if all this awesomeness weren't enough, there's a Part 2 to this excursion! Shambles P.I. says CLICK HERE to see it.

"across from the big chair!"

Remember when I posted about THE BEST COMMERCIAL EVER? Of course you do. Remember at the end of said commercial when the guy tells us where America's Furniture is and he says, "Across from the Big Chair!"? No? Well, I do, but that's probably because I spent nearly all of my few precious moments of free time yesterday re-watching this epic snippet of Americana. (Why do you think I didn't blog? Heavens no, it couldn't be that I actually have a life offline! Never.)

Well, this "Big Chair" piqued my curiosity. Was it another furniture store? Was it a euphemism for something? It was time to stop wondering and just Google, and I'll be damned if "The Big Chair" isn't, well, a big ass chair!

Holy Mother of Chair! This is fantastic! Am I the only retard who had no idea of this mammoth chair's existence? I might be, according to The Anacostia Community Museum: "Everyone in Anacostia knows that the big chair is located on Martin Luther King, Jr., Avenue and V Street, SE."

Um...I didn't. But then again, I'm an idiot. Also, I don't live in Anacostia. It'd be like expecting everyone outside of Columbia Heights to know that (my now second favorite landmark) Burritos Fast is located on Mt. Pleasant Street; it's something we all should know, but don't.

Anyway, this "Big Chair" is definitely worth hopping on the metro to go see. Why? Well, according to the Anacostia Community Museum, "The Chair is made from African mahogany and weighs 4,600 pounds. It is 19 ½ feet high and stands on a concrete, 4-foot-high pedestal. Its seat is as large as two double-sized beds."

Yowsa! I would make it my mission in life to spend a night on that there chair, but someone beat me to it: "In August 1960, Lynn Arnold lived on top of the Big Chair, inside of a glass house, for 47 days. She did this to promote Curtis Brothers. The Curtis Brothers Furniture Company closed in 1973."

Shucks. I'd say her efforts were for naught, but how could they be? She lived on the goddamn Big Chair! In an effing glass house! This woman is my idol.

But enough about me, let's go back to this ridiculously large chair. Who is the genius behind it? Tell me museum, perferably in choppy awkward sentences!

The big chair was built for Curtis Brothers Furniture Company, which was established in 1926. Bassett Furniture Industries of Virginia constructed it. Based on a Duncan Fife design, this special chair was built from original plans by Leo A. Jiranek. At the time, it was said to be the largest chair in the world. ... The big chair has been in Anacostia since 1959. It was built in Bassett, Va., and transported by truck to the community. Due to the chair’s height, a special route was chosen for the two-week trip.

Wait. Two weeks? According to Google Maps (it's the best) Basset, Va., is roughly 292 miles away from DC. Now, doing several complex calculations on my Casio MS-80TE, I have discovered that on average the truck toted the Big Chair roughly 21 miles each day. Going further then, if someone hauled the Chair eight hours per day, my Casio tells me the chair was moving at approximately 2.6 miles per hour. I guess you can never be too careful when Big Chair is involved. Lesson: Do not f*ck with Big Chair.

you've got a big fine couch...back that thing up?

I spend most of my time mocking, scoffing at or trying not to projectile vomit when it comes to most people, activities and other uniquely DC events (life is good!), but every once in a while, something occurs that makes me genuinely glad to have moved here. I've been impressed with some brunch options, on rare occasions some shopping experiences and on even rarer occasions certain encounters with people. And now, I'm happy to report that I have added another item to my list of "Reasons to Live" -- a DC television commercial.

There we were, The Law and I, spending a pretty nice little Saturday lazing around on her fab new couch, catching up on some back episodes of Project Runway, macking on some snacks, hanging up art, making jewelry (sidebar: I'll have a short rant on how I came to fashion my own goddamn jewelry tomorrow) and drinking (duh), when something flashed on her teevee screen that made us rewind the DVR a good four or five times. I'd explain further, but I think it might just be more effective for you to view it yourself (apologies for the poor quality of the recording, however):



Feel free to watch that again...and again...and again because that sh*t is retardulous. And by "retardulous," I mean the best television ad EVER. And possibly the most effective. Remember The Law's "fab new couch" I mentioned? Well, we mulled over returning it, rolling on down to Anacostia "Across from the Big Chair!" and hitting up America's Furniture to find a "big fine couch." We wanted to back our asses up. Unfortunately, it was already 9 p.m. when these two flabby drunk gentlemen graced her television set, so we couldn't just drop everything (but our booze) and go right then. But one day -- one big fine day, if you will -- I will trek down to America's Furniture, possibly definitely draped solely in an American flag, and meet the creative geniuses behind what is unquestionably "The Greatest Commercial of All Time."

I do have one question, however, when the fat white dude is explaining how to purchase furniture around 00:12-00:15, he says "Get your change back in cash!" Um...now I'm no economist, but don't you usually get your change back in cash? Like, isn't that the definition of "change"? Whatevs, I'll get my "cash check" and, apparently, "it'll be my birthday." Solid.