Thanksgiving Weekend 2011

You know how that goes, what with the friends, family, food, and drink in copious amounts.

And the parties at friends' houses, sleeping in really late, eating a lot of really good thanksgiving-type food, playing the Wii loudly when your mother tells you to be quiet because she has to work soon which is hard to do when you are just so good at wii tennis, almost going Black Friday shopping at midnight but choosing not to to watch a show that proved people in the 80s were collectively insane, walking 18 holes of golf, heading to the local townie bar with the other townies/friends, playing a lot of scrabble, meeting up with college friends, more Wii, regrettably going to the local casino, winning $100 dollars immediately at the local casino then losing it almost as quickly, staying at the casino way past last call/when your ride is there so you catch a cab home in a town where no one takes cabs so it ends up costing way more than expected but that might be from the stop at Wawa for buffalo wing flavored cheese buffs that you substitute for their lack of actual fried chicken, then waking up a few hours later for the trip back home/from home or is it parents' house while being the center of attention/source of entertainment on the ride by starting conversation with real thinkers like which song would you karaoke which for me would be shadowplay by joy division/the killers or airplanes by local natives because of the highpitchedness of some parts of those songs and where are you going to retire if you know 40 years ahead of the fact which you know for me is Knoxville, TN and what is your favorite city, etc.

Then you take a five hour nap because that's an exhausting weekend.

A Significant Amount of Time in Delaware 2011

I realize this weblog is becoming a weekend diary of my drinkingcapades and therefore probably pretty lame and cliche, which, given the author, was inevitable. But, again, it was either being social at night on the weekend or preserving energy to go and be touristy during the day. There definitely isn't room for both. Maybe if I got more sleep during the week there would be, but that's just overambitious and unrealistic. So I choose to be social because it's better for my self-esteem. I apologize if you come here to learn about neat ways to go out and experience your nation's capital. I do hope you enjoy reading how I go out and such, but I understand if you do not. If that is the case, I am not sure why you have continued reading for so long. Check that. Yes I do. I'm moderately to very funny. And immodest. But you don't come here for the immodesty. Maybe you do, though, so you can be like, "well at least I am not like, Jeff," which probably covers multiple reasons why people read this. I'm embarrassed.

Whatever. This has always been about me and not you anyway.

So let me tell you how I drink too much, last weekend version. (I really hope no one that matters reads this and makes a judgement of me based on this fact. Maybe I should start writing about my inner thoughts and feelings that make me appear like a decent human being, rather than my Friday-Sunday actions that make me appear worthless.) So, if you are someone that only knows me based on this blog, here is how I am an OK person:

1. I carry a dollar bill in my pocket at all times and give it to any homeless/beggar person that asks for change.
2. I am going to law school to be a public interest lawyer, which means the kind that is not in it for the money. On a related note, if you're rich and want to pay for my law school so that I am not a severely indebted person upon graduation, leave me your contact information in the comments section and we can discuss payment options. Thanks in advance.

That's about it. Sorry for bragging. It was necessary for damage control.

But really, all the drinking isn't entirely my fault. Take Friday for example. I had every intention of staying in and watching a movie with a bottle of wine when my roommate came home, liked the wine idea, got out another bottle, and FORCED me to play "Jeopardy, Drinking Version."

Then, Saturday, I was going to go be a tourist but, you know how drinking wine is, I slept in a little late. And my roommates wanted to go play basketball so I couldn't turn down that opportunity to burn some wine-related calories.

Saturday night: I thought we were going to just go out and have a few drinks at a bar on U St. Then a friend asks "should we pregame?" Well, shit, I am not going to just say no, because I am nice like that (add that to the list above at #3), so we do that for a little while at my house while watching Tennessee win their first (FIRST?! It's November! You probably knew that, though. That it's November, that is. But you probably knew that it was Tennessee's first conference win, too, since probably all two of you that read this graduated with me from there.) SEC game then head out to meet up with people at Policy.

Which reminds me: let's talk about the most pretentious experience of your life. Good talk. Mine was Saturday night at Policy--a nightmare of a bar.

So, if you don't know, Policy is the type of bar where normal people plan during the day to go there and are like "hey, we're going to go to policy tonight because i want to make myself pretty and i want to dance and i want to do this in a crowded area with house music being played. oh and i want to have to wait for like an hour before i can get upstairs to experience all this because i want those that are sitting at the bar near the line to get upstairs to know that i am serious about wanting to have a "good time" after that big bouncer guy let's me past him."

When we arrived there we were those at the bar downstairs. Then we walked outside to leave because we were not those people that wait in line. Then, inexplicably, my friend said he got us a table upstairs. Then he said we got bottle service and it's going to be like $250. I then said I am not paying that much to drink liquor at this place. That did not deter him. Next thing I know we are at a table, roped off in the corner of the room with all the others that I described above dancing up until the rope that segregates our special area with their not-so-special one. And people look at us. And I am grimacing at this fact. And the one that deals with that I am roped off, but it might as well be encaged or englassed, getting served champagne and vodka in a bar where people are moving in no particular manner because it's house music and no one there listens to house music on a normal basis. Then my friend notices my grimace but I say I am having a good time because I would not want to hurt his feelings, he who paid for the liquor, because I am nice like that (reason #4).

Then I start drinking and I relax.

Then I go to the bathroom where some guy tries to have a conversation but I cannot hear him because of said house music, but would probably have ignored him anyway because we're in line for the bathroom, which is a good time to be left alone. And he tells my other friend in line that I am less of a person for not engaging in conversation with him.

Then I go up to the bachelorette party in the other blocked-off area near us and ask for one of their glow-in-the-dark bracelets. And they give me one.

We leave when the lights come on, and that experience is over. I will not be doing that unless it is a special occasion ever again. Promise.

Then I ate a lot at JJ's Cheesesteaks. Which reminds me: I suck at not being a borderline fat person. Because: earlier in the night I had chinese food and my fortune read as such: The night life is for you. Not a fortune, but accurate all the same. (You see, all this drinking is out of my control. Even the fortune cookie god recognizes that. Why can't you, judgey mcjudgerson?)

I was awake Sunday morning. I was not happy about this fact, but I had promised to go to a casino in Delaware with my roommates to gamble on NFL football games. We leave at 9am because they want to do some traditional gambling, as well.

You've probably been to a casino before, and may even had been there with me, so I will not bore you with the details, regardless of what the title of this post may have led you to believe was going to be written here, mostly because they involve a lot of losing money, which is depressing. I suck at guessing which football team will win/lose to another within a certain number of points. And that one time I won $500 on roulette was a fluke, apparently.

However, we did have a little competition to see who could get the oldest person to touch them because there are a lot of them at casinos. My one roommate started talking to this old lady about this slot machine game we were playing. Laughs were shared and as she was leaving she ever so gently touched my shoulder.

So I have that going for me.

Veteran's Day Weekend 2011

So my sister called me fat this weekend.

And she'll deny this and say she said "fatter", but it takes fat to become fatter, so I heard correctly and she called me fat.

Back story:

It was a federal holiday on Friday, Veteran's Day, so me and my roommate had off from work. We had gone out the night before because it was Thursday and Thursdays are the new Fridays, remember, and were not feeling too up to getting up during the day and being productive because it was a big night where I ended up on my neighbor's floor playing tug-of-war with her cat. We were well on our way to spending the day on the couch watching Scrubs, How I Met Your Mother, and other funny comedies when the idea of eating food was broached, per usual. I said I had just eaten, because I had, and he said something like "chinese buffet." Nothing else had to be said and we were on our way to Hyattsville to the UTC China Buffet (I would link that but they don't have a website). Since the Philadelphia Phillies are worthless and the most disappointing thing in my life, this one was free for me.

Four plates later and that was the last thing I ate on Friday, and I thought maybe longer.

And then my sister and her friend arrived. Shortly thereafter she called me fat.

After waiting for like 3 hours for them to get ready I was able to tell them that, contrary to what they seemed to believe, going out in DC is not a beauty pageant and they would not be able to get those hours they spend doing whatever they do back at any point in their life. Eventually we got the night started off with food (them) and drinks (me) at The Getaway. You know how I am an awkward person? Well, our waitress that night made me look like the most socially competent person in the world the way she stood hovering over our table staring weirdly and all other sorts of awkwardness all night. So that made me feel good about myself/not so good about The Getaway.

Now, when I was in Bloomsburg, PA, the bar that was the favorite of my sister and her friend was this place called The Capitol, which is a logical title for a bar located in a small town in the middle of the state having nothing to do with the capital/capitol. So I thought to myself: where is there a bar in DC where I will be surrounded by way too many people of the type I would not enjoy, since I am judgmental and all, that may or may not be dancing. We DCers came up with either Public Bar or Front Page. So we tried Public Bar because a couple years ago we were at this bar that was called something else back then for New Year's Eve and wanted to get nostalgic.

Well, it was a lot like we expected with the way too many people, so we didn't last long there. So we mixed it up and tried Mackey's, where we were like the only people. After a couple drinks there we hopped on over to Rumors but, luckily, there was a cover so we avoided that and ended up at 19th Hole.

Here's the hearsay: 19th Hole was pretty empty too so, for some reason, we received some free drinks for being there. A classic 90s song came on and I started doing my helicopter dance with my jacket. Then, all of a sudden, I get up without saying anything to anyone, I not-so-discreetly grab a poster that is rolled up on a table next to us and even less discreetly try to carry it out past the security guy at the door who immediately stops me, takes the poster, and says I have to leave. And then I turned down my first food since 430pm while at Ben's Chili Bowl and there went Friday.

The next day my sister and I get up early have the most delightful day as tourists ever. We start out in Chinatown so we can go by where Lincoln was shot and where he died across the street. Odd idea for a tourist stop I think, really. Almost as odd as the number of Asian people in Chinatown given how un-chinese the town is. Oh, I feel so bad for the Asian people I see getting off at the Gallery Place metro stop because I am so certain of the inevitable disappointment they will have when walking out into DC's version of Times Square that at one point was probably a legitimate Chinatown but is now a well-lit area with a Chinese arch and Chinese symbols on places like Ruby Tuesday's. Classic.

Anyway.

Then my sister and I walk on down past the White House to the Washington Monument along the not-currently-reflecting pool to the Lincoln Memorial and down to the Jefferson Memorial. Then we catch a cab on over to Georgetown to walk along beautiful M St. with her friends. Truly a great touristy day. And think, I could have ended up hung over in bed all day from drinking a decent amount while not eating all night. Close one.

Then: Columbia Heights Bar Crawl 2011 (after pho at Pho Viet, of course. which reminds me: DC stop being dumbies and eating at Pho 14 all the time when pho is pretty much all the same so if you're paying more you are not not acting in your own best interest, which is absolutely the case if you choose Pho 14 over Pho Viet. but, really, don't take up seats at Pho Viet because it is getting to be winter so I will want to go there more often and I don't want to have to wait. who am I talking to when I write things like this? good question, me.).

So I decided I would try to grow out a mustache. And by that I mean that when it came time to shave on Friday I shaved everything except the area above my lip where more testosterone-laden men grow mustaches. And I left the house pointing this out to everyone I saw, stroking it ever so weirdly for everyone around me. I didn't receive one positive comment and most involved the words "creepy" and "pedophiliac", which I thought was insensitive given all that's going on with Penn State. But I didn't take this personally as I knew that given time I would look awesome, as always.

Anyway.

We started at Wonderland. Then we went on over to Meridian Pint and met up with a couple other groups of people and had a couple drinks there. Then we walked on over to Lou's. When we got there, it was suspiciously well-lit. Once we got out of the bathroom, it was only then that the worker people decided to tell us that, for some idiotic reason, they already had last call before 1230. So we went over to Acre 121 where they also already had last call, but at least they let us get a round, which is all we were hoping for given it was a bar crawl. Lou you're dumb.

Next stop: Alero on 14th. That is an odd place with the painting of naked Harry Potter and way too loud reggaeton for the 13 people in the bar. But we made the best of it and moved on.

Last stop: Zeba. They have their own version of a gentlemen's combo, a Yuengling and a shot of Jameson, so we do one of those and some people dance the night away while others sit and watch and chit-chat. And, per usual, we stop at Giant for some fried chicken and smoke the hookah when we get back to the house.

The next day we are at brunch at The Heights at 14th and Kenyon with their wonderfully delicious fish tacos. For some reason, my sister's friend wasn't going to finish her sandwich, so I did the honors. The waitress said I was the hero of the day for not wasting the food. And, you know what, I was. Thanks, waitress, for pointing that out. It really needs to be said more often. To me.

So I have that going for me.

And then I shaved my "mustache", partially because I didn't have the courage to go to work like that but mostly because I was going to a law school open house and had to wear a name badge and I didn't want to get labeled as the creepster with the adolescent-like mustache and pretty much ruin my chances at getting in.

Daylight Savings Ends 2011

FYI: I hope that when you read this the voice telling the pointless stories of how I leave the house on the weekends is that of Delilah from the radio. Her voice really emphasizes what I am trying to say.

Did I ever tell you I hate tucking in my shirt? Yes, I did. But I thought I'd repeat it. I'm lowering my standards and making not having to tuck in my shirt half my criteria for a future job. The other quarters are make over $11320100986 and the work day starts after lunch. Please advise if you know where I can find this.

It's kind of a misnomer to have one period of the year called day light savings time and the other something I am not sure what since it's not like when you turn back the clocks--which I think, as you probably remember, is a bologna idea--you are eliminating the daylight, you're just having it around at an earlier hour of the day.

You know, I am always telling you about my weekend but I never ask you about yours. Forgive me for being so rude. So, dear reader, how was your weekend? Did you enjoy the nice weather? Did you go out or did you stay in and relax or be productive in some way? In any case, I hope it was swell and you slept well.

Anyway. Enough about you, this is about me.

We almost had a run-in with Local 16. Whew! I don't know if you remember but this is the bar that I despise and where once during the summer I was asked to bribe my way in, which I of course refused to do and so was refused a swifter entry. Well, my one friend recommended it, which was OK with me when I thought there would be other ladies accompanying her. When it turned out it would be her and a few guys there was no way Local 16 was kept on the board.

So we went to Lost Society on 14th and U instead. It's a fancy pants bar. I think I knew this going into the experience, but I never put in the effort to wear anything other than the t-shirt and zip-up hooded sweatshirt I had on all day. Not sure why. Amateurism. Cognitive dissonance maybe. Ignorance probably. Lack of experience with fancy pants bars too, most likely. Luckily, they let me in.

And you know what? It was a good time. Once I shot down my friend's suggestion for Local 16 earlier in the day she said she just wanted to go to a "fun bar." I told her that I don't know what that means as I have pretty much the same experience at all bars, with the company I am in being the variable of fun. Except for bars with shuffleboard tables. Those are fun. Fancy pants bars like Lost Society would not have been on my list of bars that I would qualify as "fun," but the company, shots, and house music that forces you to move at least one part if not your entire body made it an enjoyable experience.

It was also at this bar where I realized I have come a long way since I started this bloggy and have gotten away from the touristy side of it. But isn't interpersonal interaction much more fun than being a tourist? Yeah, it is. "But can't you do both?" you're probably wondering. I don't know. Give it a try and write a blog about it, skeptic.

So then we went to the jumbo slice place on U St. for some jumbo slices of pizza and chicken wings, to which I think I am moderately addicted. Which reminds me, once I stop spending so much money out at bars I am going to go on a taste tour of the best wings places in the city and write about it here. It will be a delightful read.

Then we ended up at Judy Restaurant on 14th. No, it's not Judy's, it actually is just Judy Restaurant. It's a Salvadoran place. Now, it's not hard to find a bar in the Columbia Heights area where people are mainly speaking Spanish. What is difficult is to find one where most of the people are young, working professionals where the white people are speaking Spanish, too. If you are looking for this type of place, Judy Restaurant is your place.

Besides, not becoming a fat person is taking more of a priority than doing touristy things, anyway, if I may continue my earlier thought of getting away from the original purpose of going out and doing all the fun things in DC. Well, if I put it that way, maybe I am not getting away from the original purpose. Yeah, we'll go with that.

So Saturday, in attempt to be an active person and take advantage of the nice weather, me and a few of my roommates went out and kicked soccer balls together. That was nice.

Are you a college football fan? Of course you are. Me too. Saturday I double whammied two of my short-term goals: become a regular at The Getaway and watch the LSU-Alabama game, which, admittedly, was a really, really short-term and easily attainable goal. But everyone needs goals like this to boost their self-esteem, especially when they have worked on their other goals of being able to run a six minute mile about 1.5 times. You would not believe how good I felt about myself after watching that game at The Getaway. So good, in fact, that I went to the store and treated myself to the greatest treat of all, fried chicken. (Seriously.) Fried chicken from Giant has overtaken Johnny's as the go-to for late night food in Columbia Heights. For me, at least (exclusively probably).

On Sunday, I really wanted to go and do something all DC-like that would be good for this blog. It's Foto Week here in DC (Yeah, it is actually spelled with an 'f' and I thought about boycotting it for that fact. I wonder who had the idea to try to name the thing to appeal to adolescent girls? That person(s) should be fired.) and there was a really interesting sounding event with Human Rights Watch that I wanted to attend. But when I went out to get a bikeshare to ride down there, they were all taken in the stations around my house, so I took that for a sign that it was not to be. Along with the fact that I left the house 15 minutes before it was to begin. I blame having to turn back the clocks. Sure, I gained an hour of sleep and should have been ready to leave the house that much earlier instead of sleeping so late, but...well I have nothing to say to counter that because it's right.

So another Moe's is coming to DC. My roommate heard the construction in L'Enfant Plaza on Saturday. On Sunday, my roommate was going to Chipotle, which I thought was lame, so once the photo thing plans went awry I decided I would head down to 13th and F to see if the one that already exists was open as I had it on my mind. It was not. But that's OK because I had just eaten and probably didn't need to eat a burrito at that moment.

On the way down I heard that song Still Dre by Doctor Dre. When was the last time you heard that song? I really like the beat of that song. And it was better than the song that I had in my head at the time for some reason, Beautiful by James Blunt, which I think a roommate was singing to me the night before. It happens.

And then I turned down S St. and BOOM there's the Freemason building. Just pops up on you.

Also on the way there I passed the impressively large protest in Lafayette Sqaure against the absurd proposal to have a pipeline that transports very dirty tar sands oil from Canada (Canada!) to Texas. So I stopped by and lent my support in person for a few minutes, but it's always there in spirit. I admit, my convictions are fickle. I wasn't always like this. Bummer.

Since I was out I decided to keep it that way and meet up with my roommate that was at a bar in Foggy Bottom. After spending some time there, I decided to walk home because the weather was just lovely and you never know what is going to happen when you're out just strolling along.

Well, nothing happened except passing by lots of pretty houses, which, btw, is the BEST thing about DC. Not debatable.

Then, later that evening, I finally finished a book that I had been reading for way too long and in the process realized it is in books where I can get some more emotional variety to my life.

Halloween 2011

So we're on the metro and somehow Casey Anthony comes up. I believe what we were discussing was our potential Halloween costumes and someone said they'd bet they would see a bunch of people dressed up as Casey Anthony. It was never really determined how one would go about dressing up as her but that's not the point. I then asked the guys involved, if they had the chance, would they date her given she is mildly attractive. Then it skipped to would anyone date anyone that had been in prison. I said I would definitely date Martha Stewart, who has been to prison, because she's rich as hell and she's old so there's a chance she might not be around too long for me to have to share her money with her.

This was not received well, so I had to explain that I am not that great of a person and really the only reason I am in DC is for the potential for a wealthy spouse. Again, not well received. And people didn't think she was that old. So, later when I got home I looked her up on the wikipedia. It turns out she is like 70, which is adequately old, used to be a model, which has got to be worth something, and--brace yourself for this one--HAS BEEN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING THREE TIMES. Now it was late when I looked this up so maybe I just caught the page when an editor had been sleeping, but, really, how long can someone that has been struck by lightning three times live? Does anyone know if Martha Stewart is looking to rob the cradle and, if so, where she lives?

Anyway.

As you probably know, it was Halloween this past weekend. I feel obligated to give a history of the holiday here, but I won't because I don't know it and don't really want to look it up. I guess I could have done without this paragraph.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that I watch a lot of episodes of the situational comedies Friends and How I Met Your Mother, but I had the brilliant idea last week to try to become a regular at a bar/coffee shop. Guess which type of establishment won out? Yeah, I don't really have any regular coffee drinking friends. Although I wish I did. Part of me wants to be that type of person that goes to coffee shops and sits around and waxes philosophical. But I don't really have philosophical friends, I am not that philosophical, and coffee shops aren't open that late so I would just eventually go out to a bar afterwards anyway because all that caffeinated energy needs to be spent somewhere.

So I propose The Getaway on 14th St. in Columbia Heights because it does not seem to get super crowded, which is good because who wants to be a regular at a bar that they may not always be able to get into like Meridian Pint or Lou's, and it's close to home. The other prerequisite was that they have to have a $3 beer. They do not outside the hours of 5-7pm.

So I meet my one roommate there around 6 on Friday. Eventually three other roommates come on by because they just could not miss out on the Potential Bar At Which We Will Become Regulars Tryout Night. Now on the television shows they are always talking about funny things and their conversations flow so well and if I know how to do anything it's start a conversation. So I ask, "Hey roommates, what do you guys want to talk about?" That didn't go as planned and I will skip ahead a little bit and bring you to the point where I say, "Hey roommates, since there are seven of us, which of the seven dwarfs do you think each one of us is?"

I regret asking this because the result was me feeling like my roommates don't know me. I was unanimously labeled Sleepy. And for the seven deadly sins I was sloth.

One day I am going to leave this town and start over and find people who will get to know me for who I am rather than the fact that I get very little sleep during the week so try to make it up on the weekends while they have consistent sleep schedules that do not reach abnormal hours of the day. It's basic fucking arithmetic. I sleep less during the week but more on the weekends. Let's add it up and I am sure, overall, I get less sleep than most people.

Anyway.

After The Getaway, we tried out this hole in the wall Latino bar that is always empty by our house, Acuario, and it was even emptier than we expected. So The Getaway is now our bar where we will try to be regulars.

So I had a couple friends from home come down for the halloween weekend. After they get here on Friday night we head on over to Adams Morgan, per their request. The idea was to find some place where we can dance. Not my idea, mind you, but the idea. We know of Brass Monkey and Grand Central. Luckily, both were packed beyond an acceptable level, so we ended up at Leaky Faucet, which has never once ended well on account of $3 PBR tallboys and $10 mini pitchers of captain and coke. But there weren't really any other options.

Eventually, we want to go to a bar that I did not know the name of but found out is called Duplex at 18th and U. So we walk down there and, upon getting there, find that it is nothing like last year and is closed and resembling some sort of a restaurant.

So we head on over to Nellie's on like 9th and U because I am comfortable enough with my masculinity to say that I am attracted to men. Kidding. I am not that masculine. Anyway. That is where we end the night. And on our way out my one roommate sees a lady dressed as Where's Waldo and says, "hey waldo!" And she shrugs him off or something similar verbally and, with possibly the funniest/quippiest thing he has ever done, curses her and says, "I hope you get lost, Waldo." You had to be there?

Then it acted like January and got cold and started snowing on Saturday.  Jesus, you want to explain that one?

Luckily, our halloween plans consisted of riding around on a bus and drinking, which are notoriously warming activities. And I know you have been reading this whole time wondering what I dressed up as. Well, I went as myself, a blessing in disguise. While wearing a shirt that said 'i am a blessing' and one of those classic glasses, nose, and mustache combination funny face things. Don't act like you didn't know I was that clever.

So I spent halloween riding around by all the monuments and the nation's capital drinking in a party bus with 30 other people. Eventually we stopped at a bar called My Brother's Place, where I once got a girlfriend, but this time just took the chance to watch the end of the Stanford-USC game, which was exhilarating. Then we drove around more until we ended up at the Biergarten Haus on H St. You know, the one from last weekend. It is here where we meet up with a couple friends of my friend, one of whom she would like to set me up with. And then I do my best to act like a normal human being capable of comfortable interactions, but fail pretty thoroughly. I was told she is awkward, as well, but she says something like are you excited for our date and I respond by saying something too honest like I'm quite terrified actually [of the thought of having to try to convince another human being to want to spend time with me and saying things that are not too honest or intrusive or arrogant or ignorant or anything else resembling my natural disposition]. Luckily, for everyone, that didn't last long so we jump back on the bus and we called it a night.

So Sunday was a full day, too. First there was brunch at Red Rocks. Then there was football and such at Lou's. Then I spent the rest of my day at my friend's watching football.

Is that the end of my blogworthy weekend? No. To further solidify our status as regulars at The Getaway, we head on over there after my roommate gets off of work on Monday. And we are sitting there acting like we belong and such when actual regulars come in that are recognized by the bartender. They get to talking and the regulars mention how they have a friend that would like to find a bar that would host their competitive karaoke league. The bar people are excited about this prospect and my roommate and I are rethinking The Getaway as our bar. And maybe DC in general because that's an embarrassingly terrible idea.

Then we overhear one of the regulars talking about how Chipotle is giving away $2 burritos if you wear a costume. Well, naturally, this was too good to be true. Their website says it has to be a family farm related costume. As graduates of the University of Tennessee, it is only natural that we have all orange jumpsuits. I remember this fact and BOOM we're carrots. So we carrot on up and head on over to Chipotle even though we just ate because we are gluttonous and awesome.

It turns out we were the only ones that know about the dressing like a farm related object when we get there and we are the only ones dressed up in the line that extends out the door. So last year they had a deal where, if you wore aluminum foil on your head, you would get $2 burritos and, for some stupid reason, this was accepted this year as well. So after an hour waiting, which may or may not have been worth it, we get to show off our costumes  that turn out not to be worth anymore than someone wearing a piece of fucking aluminum foil to the burrito makers even though the website says nothing about this.

Luckily, I didn't really have any pride going into this situation, so I enjoyed my burrito bowl all the same.