So You're Not Drinking Any Fucking Merlot

i encounter a lot working wine retail.

there are the people who won't drink red wine, or the people who won't drink white. there are the people who think veuve cliquot is the best champagne ever bottled. there are the people who think it's okay to make out in the middle of our store. there are the people who say they're allergic to red wine, that red wine gives them headaches, or they can't have sulphites. (hello? do you drink oj?) there are the people who think it's hilarious and/or insightful to quote sideways incessantly whilst discussing the relative characteristics of a pinot noir. (hello. HE is pinot noir. put on your critical thinking cap.) one woman even told me she refuses to drink wines grown above the 49th parallel because they make her ill.

to all these people i want to scream, "PUH-LEEZE you idiot! do you any idea how much crap you're spewing?"

but instead, i smile real nice like and suggest something that seems to fit within their arbitrary prerequisites.

there are, however, certain things i can't stand.

i don't care for it when people throw their credit cards at me, or their cash. (i didn't just service you; hand me that $50 like a gentleman.) i question their mama's judgment when i offer to help someone and i am completely ignored. this past weekend a woman yelled at me when i wasn't pouring her wine fast enough. there are the guys who stare at my chest and the ones who invite me to go home and drink the bottle they've just purchased. once, a guy actually grabbed my ass.

it's official, internet: people are weird.


No Book Ever Has A Good Enough Cover

i walk by tucker every day at least once. he's the guard who sits outside our office. he's friendly, tall, black, muscular, always smiling, and his head nods up and down when he says good morning.

"hey tucker! good morning!"
"all right, all right. how's it going?"

we make some small talk about our weekends. he's going to jersey, his neices are coming over, he's got a ball game.

but this morning it was different. tucker asked if i ever saw def poetry jam - yes i did, last season - he writes poetry; do i write - yes, i do, but not poetry - oh, he also does spoken word - i've only gotten behind a mic once - well, let him read something for me that he wrote this morning.

tucker pulled out a scrappy peice of yellow legal paper with scribbles on the front and the back, leaned over the desk and took a deep breath. he then proceeded to read, with perfect elegance, an articulate and beautifully written poem about the pain of letting someone go when you know it's the right thing to do, even though your heart doesn't agree. he spoke with an eloquent cadence, terrific poise, and a command of his words and emotions.

i was totally amazed. i closed my eyes as he read and listened to his perfect word choice. i knew exactly how he felt. i was right there with him. it was incredible. he has an amazing talent and i'm so glad i know this side of him now. just imagine how many people don't.

i love it when life suprises me.


$Two Dollar Poke$

it all started last winter when, on a particularly snowy day, i stayed home to watch the six-hour movie of lonesome dove - one of the best westerns of all time. if you don't fall madly in love with augustus mccrae and the landscapes and the way of life back then, well, check your pulse. but in the movie there's a whorehouse, upstairs from the saloon, of course, and the cowboys swing in for a shot of whiskey, a hand of cards, and a two dollar poke.

that's right, a two dollar poke.

now you just can't say the phrase two dollar poke around the people I live with, no sir. they will snatch it, grab onto it, and never let it go. suddenly everything was two dollar poke.

"hey, can you get me a drink?"
"only for a two dollar poke!"

"oh shit, i've only got three dollars."
"that'll get you a poke and a half!"

poke poke pokety poke.

it didn't take long for the two dollar poke jokes to dissolve into a myriad of hooker, ho, dirty slut, oh i know why your knees hurt jokes. i have had entire email conversations with genevieve that go something like: hooker. i know you are. nuh-uh, you are. oh yeah, well i saw you were on sale for $1.95, you slut bag.

and they just keep being funny. always.

so last night as bonnie was touting her multi-tasking abilities, i naturally responded with, "yeah, you can give a blow job AND make change for a twenty at the same time!"

the whore.


Get Yer Duct Tape, Yer Bottled Water, Yer Plastic Sheeting

i'm taking bonnie to church on sunday.

you might want to get provisions, just in case the world does, in fact, end.

update: you don't need duct tape, bottled water or plastic sheeting. but you do an industrial-sized boxed of kleenex, 'cause when they announce that a member of the parish has asked for prayers because he is taking his father off life support that very morning, timed with our prayer request, you, bonnie and all your friends are going start crying and just. not. stop.


Conversations with Los

scene one - the office

[k]: come on. let's go to mcdonald's. i'll be your partner in crime - your wife will never know!

[s]: i think mcdonald's is slowly killing me...

[k]: no! it's good. come on. let's go.

[los]: y'all know how i feel about mcdonald's. ick.

[k]: i'll even let you have my fries, since i gave them up for lent.

[s, squirming]: no, i better get something else. no mcdonald's.

[los]: two donuts and then mcdonald's - that will kill you.

[s]: i know. so what should i get then?

[los]: go get a salad. i'll go with you.

[k]: MCDONALD'S!!!!!!

[s]: sigh.

scene two - mcdonald's

[k]: awesome.

[los]: so, what'd you get?

[k]: two burgers, chicken mcnuggets and a coke. but no fries!

[los]: good for you. where's s?

[k]: over there, in line.

k gets coke. los glances around mcdonald's, disgusted.

[los]: mmm, mcdonald's. so, what'd you get?


[dude]: uh...a salad?

[los]: YOU'RE SO NOT S! HA!

[other dude, who had overheard]: ha! that's okay; it's fun to ask. me? i got a big mac.

[los, to myself]: i am such an ass.



"why don't you post more?" he asks.

cause there's so much in my head right now that i can't find anything and put it down here.

how did you make a cake that came out like cornbread - you always say what you're not going to tell me; that's mean - are you going to buy new panties - words don't restore - now he's not speaking to me - but wasn't that the point - are we going to church this weekend - what if it's weird to be there - what if it's not all we expected because we've built it up too much and there was no way reality could compete with our ideal - are you going to buy more detergent - maybe you should get some drain-o - you lost 8 pounds, get in the gym and lose 8 more - maybe i shouldn't talk about it with her - how close do i let her get again before she fucks it, and me, up even worse - i'm being replaced; it's exactly what i joked about and now he is actually doing it - if i go to the party is he going to be there with his fiancee - i don't give a fuck, but people will be looking to me for a reaction - ugh, the pressure - i had you on my hands and in mouth for days, that's what i didn't say - but it's all the same old bullshit anyway - i threw the sole blow, but you, you threw the first stone - man, i'm supposed to make green jello shots - i can't wait to see our skin together again - god i want to be there sooner, but, at the same time, i don't want it to ever come - isn't it nice where we are, don't you want to keep it that way forever so it never sours and never hurts - must think of april fool's jokes - why does my dad respond to my emails with a quotes from national lampoon's vacation - i need to go to the dentist - on my hands - the first fucking stone.


There Are the Things You Do For Your Friends...

...and then there are the things you do for your friends.

this post is all about the latter.

it started simple enough, or so i thought. rachel - aka THE BRIDE - and i - aka the bridesmaid, but really, let's call it what it really is, THE PAWN IN THE GAME OF BRIDESMAID DRESSES - had been discussing dress options. she was sending me out with a list of the dresses we had agreed seemed to be the best. (notice how i am stressing seemed? well, yeah. bridal salons are in some sort of alternate reality where good is bad. the evidence is below.)

armed with my dress list, a diet coke, a strapless bra, my highest heels, a camera, bonnie - aka THE AMUSED - and a higher than usual dose of self confidence, i set off to try on dresses.

"Hello and welcome to your handy pocket guide to bridesmaid dress shopping! Here you will find invaluable advice and insight, as well as some fun shopping tips! If there's anything I can do to make this a more pleasant experience, please help yourself to a drink. I suspect that will smooth over any possible turbulence. Beware the salesladies, though: I have no control in their ferocious realm.

Basic guidelines to bridesmaid dress shopping:
1. Always find the dress with the most - most ruffles, most bows, most tiers to the skirt. Those are the ingredients of the most beautiful dress.
2. Always hide your face from the salesperson - it will throw them off your trail. Instead, skip the underwear and moon them as frequently as possible.
3. Always take your best lesbian friend with you. You will need her help in the dressing room. "

internet, consider yourselves warned.

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i call this one "holding it up." NONE of these dresses fit correctly. and no one who worked there was willing to help me. i can't tell if it was because they read the email above or because of, well, see exhibit b.

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i mean, we are nothing if not classy bitches.

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HORSE BUTT. bonnie got a real kick out of this one. she kept grabbing all that fabric in the back and saying, 'look! i have a tail - just like a horse!' horsey was the most deceiving of all the dresses. it had been my favorite in the photos. but, now i say neigh.

this is where the whole ordeal just took a turn for the worse. i loathed this dress from the moment i saw it in the photos. and when the sales ladies said, "oh, this is one of my favorites! everyone loves this dress!', i just about gagged.
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i did, in fact, look as bad in real life as i do in this photo. two words: preppy linebacker.

as if the OUTSIDE of the dress weren't bad enough, the underlayers bugged the fucking shit out of me. lime green satin + box pleats + a bow (are you kidding me?!) + itchy crinoline = one grumpy los who won't let go of her vodka tonic. is that what you want walking down the aisle? i didn't think so...
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people, i know. i can feel your shudders from here.


Conversations with Los

[bonnie:] BURP.
[los:] ew. that was awful.
[bonnie:] oh whatever. i'm with family!
[los:] really? aw bees. that's the sweetest thing you've ever said after a burp!

[los:] if she gets to move into the back house she's going to start doing coke!
[bonnie:] no she won't! coke is ghetto.
[weave:] oh no. coke is the rich woman's crack. and crack is WHACK.

[bonnie:] her family went on vacation without telling her!
[weave:] that's hilarious!
[los:] i'm glad y'all think this is so amusing. i actually find it rather upsetting.
[bonnie:] it's so 'home alone!'
[los:] hmpf.

[los:] genevieve, i am talking to you.
[bonnie:] oh babe. she's reading about gael. you've lost her.
[weave:] 5'6"! he's only 5'6"! damn!
[jessica:] genevieve, do you know how tall you are? you can totally date someone who is 5'6".
[los:] i can't believe you can get away with saying that to her.
[weave:] damn...5'6"...

[bonnie:] can you imagine hearing a laugh like that? and in the bedroom?
[los:] can you imagine being scared of a dick?

[bonnie:] okay, what if we mix the vodka with big red?
[los:] sure!
[bonnie:] do you think it'll be too sweet? should we put a lime in it?
[los:] i think it'll do in a pinch. i mean, it has vodka in it, right?

[los:] you are such a dirty slut.
[bonnie:] whatever. you're the one who's in love with a mexican.


Feisty Fridays

come friday, you better watch out. i am feisty. there is just no telling what i'll do or say. email, however, is where i really feist.

welcome to another feisty friday! i'll be your foxy feistress, providing for all of your feisting needs.

i find it hard to sit still, what with all this feisting to do. there are boys to flirt with, thursday night tales to regale, blogs to hit just once more before the weekend, drinks to be had, plans to discuss - it's endless.

what are you wearing? have you slept with your boss yet?

in a particularly feistful bout of friday feistiness, i was going to delete my last post. i didn't like where it was going, and i regretted that i used e2theLos as a means to communicate with one person in particular. (last night i had thought it clever to respond to jack's post on his blog that was clearly about me, but this morning i reconsidered.)

once i checked my comments, however, i knew it had to stay. you people are funny.

tell me, is friday feistiness contagious?


Confidential to Jack

dreams unwind, love's a state of mind.



I Heart Borf

The Post

Ben's Chili Bowl

U Street


A Flyer

My Favorite

If anyone knows about Borf, don't tell me. I'm enjoying the mystery.