you’d never know i went to etiquette school

Where…to…begin…describing this weekend.

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure this out, but now I know I can’t. It was way too overwhelming. But I’ll make an attempt and draw some stuff for your Friday viewing pleasure anyway.

(PS I didn’t try super hard to make this anonymous. Sorry-ish.)

Here is how the weekend went:

First, there was Saturday.

On this day, someone I live with and I started off by going to a housewarming BBQ off U street, which was wholesome for the first 6 hours or so.

I actually had an amazing time because a friend of mine showed me her “oofda” tattoo and then I could not stop talking about Scandinavia for the life of me AND THEN a pretty shitty college band from Maryland stopped by and played us some songs. Which was cute in theory but actually sounded like a cat taking a painful shit, but wvs.

After all the excitement of the ‘Q, we wandered over to a watering hole. This was also fun, but my same friend who got the “oofda” tattoo gave me what was possibly the worst text advice ever. She swore to god that the best text ever when you were mad at someone and wanted them to know you had 0 intention of having the courtesy to ever drunk text them again in the first place was, after they said something annoying, just respond with “ya.” So I did. At the time it seemed solid, but in retrospect I am pretty sure the tattoo ink has somehow poisoned her bloodstream, rendering her incapable of good advice.

Anyway. We were imbibing. Shooting the shit. Having a general friend love-fest.

And then I had to leave immediately. It’s no ones fault in particular. But we definitely had to go.

So I took anonymous teammate home. It took about 7 hours. Because there was very little walking involved. Mostly just me hearing her yell from about 20 feet behind me “I loooost my shooooooesssss!!” “where did you put my shoozz???” “you’re a jerk. Why would you steal my shuuz.”

And then the talking stopped.

I have a lot of faith in anonymous’ ability to pull herself together, so I continued sauntering.

and contemplating.

and then the I decided to turn around.

and I became lightly alarmed.

anyway. We made it home. And I got a good 5 hours of sleep before Sunday brunch with ‘da ladies.

Sunday

We went to brunch in Old Town. I think I even suggested it. Probably because I wasn’t hungover when we were making plans and driving 4420 miles to get there seemed like it was nbd.

Anyway. On the car ride, with 4 energetic, talkative, wonderful, and well-put-together ladies and moi, I was telling my dear friend abby that I couldn’t go out the previous Thursday because I had worn yoga pants to work or something, and couldn’t/wouldn’t go home to change into real pants. Then she called me out. She said that was at least the second time that week I had told her I couldn’t make it to a social gathering because I didn’t want to deal with a zipper and a button.

She calls a spade a spade.

Anyway, we miraculously made it to brunch and we drank and we told fun sexy stories (especially the Canadian girl we are all friends with who apparently is much more adventurous than I was led to believe was encouraged in Canada).

So obviously we decided to go to ye Olde Towne sex shoppe. Which was cool, but the shoppekeeper was alarmingly helpful and excited about people’s purchases.

Then we had to leave because you can only stay in a sexy shoppe so long without feeling like a dirty wench.

So we all went home to collect ourselves.

Look you guys. I don’t know how to explain the 24 hours after that. I really just don’t. Let’s have a little yadda yadda yadda story with this one.

So I went to H street because B Team’s improv troupe was practicing at my house and I needed something calmer so i went to a friend’s place to hang out and crash. Yadda yadda yadda five hours later I found myself sending the following text: “I’m too lazy to leave this bed but I’m not tired. Bring in a pen and paper and I will draw you a cartoon to help you get over your fear of putting your head near a vagina.”

I know. WTF is wrong with me?!?!?! I’m concerned about me too.

Let’s add another yadda yadda yadda, I didn’t make it home. Which is not common protocol for me, so I was sure B Team would be alarmed and concerned. but she wasn’t, so when I came home all wind-blown I almost started yelling into her open bedroom that I was alive and thanks a lot for checking on me AND that I had to poop but was overwhelmingly terrified to do so on account of things/people that had entered my person the night before…but I didn’t. because that’s disgusting and I shouldn’t talk like that because I went to etiquette school and I know better.

I’m actually pretty glad I didn’t because it turns out B Team is also living last fast, loose, and on the juice and there was a gentleman caller hidden in her room.

So, as always, thank god for my discretion.