Aunt Sassy's Condo

The Spanish Fly

2006-03-07T15:45:00.000-05:00

Cut to me today: adorned in a black mesh thong, green-faced, horrified and staring off into space for most of the afternoon. That's right, my Friday night caught up with me. FRIDAY NIGHT?!?!

Friday, March 3rd, I was at the office like any other afternoon- plans were made with the office mates to go out after work and unwind with some drinks. We decided on La Tasca and headed over there at half past 7 for some leisurely libations. The sangria flowed free (both white and RED ... ohhhh), the Grand Marnier shots were delivered (noooo), and the beer cups floweth over (ughhhhh).

We ate tapas 'til 10 (blehhhh) and then headed over to Fado's.

Okay, I have to stop the story here. I'm gagging just thinking about it. Long story short, I woke up Saturday morning with what I thought was a hangover. Here it is TUESDAY and I'm still hurting. Beware, residents of DC, the pre-spring stomach bug has reared its ugly head.

And P.S. I will NEVER go to La Tasca AGAIN ... EVER! (For no other reason than that it's the start of bad things for me this week)

Make Mine a Mai Tai

2006-02-28T10:03:00.000-05:00

Cut to Wednesday night when I was out in my black polka-dot thong with Cha-Cha and Rizzo at Topaz Bar on N Street. Cha-Cha and Rizz and I were at Vassar together years ago and let me tell you, these two ladies are a couple of hot tamales!

We were having a fabulous time being catty, catching up, and swilling plenty of dirty martinis and gibsons. I turned to go to the bar and asked the girls if they needed refills. Cha-Cha replied "Sure, but make mine a Mai Tai."

She had me at Mai Tai. I thought 'Who in 2006, besides blue haired, Botox-less geri's in Boca would order a Mai Tai??'

"Mai Tai?" I asked. "Yep," said Cha-Cha. In my obnoxious tipsy state, I raised both hands, leaned back, and joked "Why not just make it a pina colada?" I thought it odd that neither Rizz nor Cha-Cha laughed along with me; in fact, Cha-Cha just lowered her eyebrows at me, so I kept on my way to the bar.

I asked the bartender for two dirties and a Mai Tai with extra fruit garnish and chuckled silently at myself while I waited for the drinks. I paid for the drinks on my tab and walked back across the bar with two martinis and a pink drink ... "Martini for Rizzo and Mai Tai for Cha-Cha."

"What the hell is this?" asked Cha-Cha.

(Blank Sassy stare) "Your Mai Tai."

"HAHAHA. I didn't order a Mai Tai. I told you to put it on MY TAB. I was wondering why you said Pina Colada!" laughed Cha-Cha.

So you see, girls, Aunt Sassy's lesson of the day is that when you have one foot in your mouth and the other is knee deep in vodka and olive juice, it's best to just let someone else do the ordering.

Single Awareness Day!

2006-02-15T18:06:00.000-05:00

So Happy Belated Valentine's Day to all of you! I am sitting here in my candy-striped V-string, working late into the night without a soul to bother me. A lot has happened in the past few weeks (including my successful completion of the ING Miami Marathon on 1/29 ... thanks to Asa and Chaz).

But isn't it amazing how the stars can align in just the right way one day and then dismally fail you the next? That's right, although he chugged along with me during the marathon, Chaz and I are dunzo.

Strangely enough, I felt like I had really lost a sense of myself during our relationship. I no longer enjoyed the same activities: I stopped blogging and I lost touch with many friends and acquaintances over the course of our 5-month tumble. It's heartbreaking to know that you once held yourself to such a high esteem and now your feelings don't matter to anyone; not even the only other person who is investing so much time into you.

During the past week though, I have had more than enough engagements to fill my dance card. How funny that although I closeted myself away with Chaz and felt an incomparable loneliness, as soon as I opened myself back up to the outside world people were knocking down my door to go out and reconnect with them. What a refreshing feeling knowing that I haven't lost the very things that make me so Sassy.

For Valentine's Day, I was invited out by 4 people ... but a good book, full glass of wine, and a completely quiet night to myself??? Yes, PLEASE!

Think I'd Better Run, Run, Run

2006-01-25T15:34:00.000-05:00

I'm here this afternoon in my black mesh bikini cut underwear, with my face sagging in sorrow. I will get through this thing with Chaz and I'll be fine ... but on a better note, in less than two days I'll be in beautiful, sunny Miami!

That's right, Asa, Mav, Bandi, and MeatMan are joining me in Florida for the ING Miami Marathon this weekend. I've been training for 5 months now and am ready to finally do it!

So Sunday at 6AM, if you're in South Beach Miami, look for the fabulous woman running 26.2 with the singlet on that reads "Sassy"! Drinks at Rose's condo to follow ...

What's Love Got To Do With It?

2006-01-23T19:00:00.000-05:00

ATTENTION: RANT (Not for the faint of heart)
Here I am tonight, working late at the office in a blue and white polka dot g-string, contemplating love and control. Are they really autonomous of one another as so many people claim? How can you really love someone without wanting to have SOME iota of control over how they feel or what they do? You CAN'T! Anyone who can sit there and tell me that they have never wanted to change something about their partner gets my dowry ... which happens to consist of 7 figures and a goat. And don't lie and give me any of that "unconditional love" crap; that's a hoax that makes this bitter old woman want to spit nails. I'm not buying it.

For instance: last week I was at the bar at Zengo with Chaz and a stranger walked up to me and said "Is this a first date?" To which I replied "No." He then leaned in and whispered "Well unsolicited advice, lady ... you're way more into it than he is."

No matter how drunk he may have been, no matter how badly he reeked of cheap Calvin Klein cologne, that guy got me thinking.

I've thought a lot on the subject and have come to one conclusion ... who gives a shit? I may be way more into it, so sue me! God forbid I'm enjoying myself and just want some drama-free fun. I'm flirting with an ulcer over my relationship and sometimes I wish I could just walk out. But the fact is that I'm a glutton for punishment and I can't turn my back on love, no matter how stale it may have become.

I have done this to myself, I'm the first to admit it. I knocked down the Great Wall of Sassy and for what? For lonesome nights of wondering and doubt? For self-inflicted drinking spells that only leave me more questions? For this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I liken to swallowing cement?

You know, for someone who's always been able to stop the love train, life's getting awfully unrecognizable ...

How To Lose Your Woman (In 7 Steps Or Less)

2006-01-12T11:42:00.000-05:00

God help me for what I've just done ... while wearing my blue anchor thong.

The situation is beyond explanation: at this point it is no longer necessary. Regardless, there is a certain gentleman caller who I have mentioned here who is no longer welcome to call because of a tender issue.

In a cheap attempt to self-medicate without liquor, here they are: Things to Keep In Mind If You Want To Lose Your Woman In 7 Steps Or Less:

1. Your "partner" is the enemy, ALWAYS be on your best defense no matter what she says
2. Keep in VERY close contact with your ex who continues to systematically destroy your life. When your "partner" brings this to your attention, do what any other normal man would do: deny, deny, deny!
3. When posed with a final ultimatum, choose to keep the ex in your life over your "partner." No questions asked.
4. Regardless of her feelings, keep your own hours and consistently forget plans or double-book. She'll get over it.
5. Never put her first before anyone else, you never want to get too attached.
6. Break down her walls, then break her down. She needs to open up to you eventually; if she's reluctant at first, KEEP AT HER! Once she lets you in, tell her she's smothering you and that you can't deal with her baggage.
7. Ask her how she could do "this" to you (whatever "this" may be) if she really loved you. Women come up with all kinds of creative responses when they're under pressure.

Regular programming will return tomorrow, self-medication complete.

Certifiably Certifiable

2006-01-09T16:08:00.000-05:00

You may want to be seated before you read today's post: I sit here today at the office (complimented by my baby-pink thong) with CANKLES!

The urban dictionary defines Cankles as:
n. 1) An aesthetically unfortunate physiological condition which leaves its victims with no discernable narrowing of the ankle between the calf and the foot. 2) The area in affected female legs where the calf meets the foot in an abrupt, non tapering terminus; medical cause: adipose tissue surrounding the soleus tendon, probably congenital, worsened by weight gain and improved in appearance only by boots. 3) An ankle which has no discernable narrowing from the calf to the foot. History: The word is derived from a combination of the words calf and ankle. Victims of this condition are advised to avoid the following: ankle boots, ankle-strap shoes, anklets, ankle socks, ankle tattoos, high-top shoes, and any other footwear or legwear that might draw attention to the cankle region.

Who would have thought? ME? CANKLES? The horror! Thank god we've not yet reached Spring/Summer '06, as I could have kissed goodbye a whole season of cropped pants paired with suede Prada loafers!

I blame the running. I woke up on Saturday morning at 6:08 to prepare myself for 6 hours of pure, unadulterated insanity (read: 23 miles of running). I met my group in Southeast DC and we embarked on the stupidest journey of our lives: running down the mall, around the Kennedy Center, and up the Capital Crescent Trail to downtown Bethesda ... AND BACK!

Everything was going great until about mile 15 when I lost all feeling in my ankles for about 20 minutes. Had I not been running for about 3.5 hours already, I could have predicted what would come next: at about mile 16.5, the feeling returned to the lower region of my legs and I had to run the next 6.5 miles with my ankles on fire. I can honestly tell you that I would not have been surprised if I had looked down and noticed little blue flames shooting out from my inner ankle bones. At about mile 20, I was so mentally exhausted that I let out little lion cub whimpers about every 3/4 of a mile or so. As we finished, I let a couple small tears eek out in what I refer to as "Complete Mental Breakdown Mode."

I ended up having to catch a cab home to Dupont, as the Metro was not even a possibility at that point. I arrived home and crawled up my front stairs on all fours. I showered in a daze, and settled in for what I hoped would be a long nap ... but there's just something about throbbing, apple-sized ankles that doesn't let you get comfortable for more than 6 nanoseconds at a time.

To add insult to injury, I decided it would be a SMASHING idea to join Asa, Mav, and Sid at Halo that evening. I spent about an hour on my feet and then had to make a plea for a return back to Asa's house (where we spent the greater part of the evening with some therapeutic red wine and the Oprah 20th Anniversary DVD).

I iced what Asa so affectionately refers to as my "cankles" all day Sunday, and felt like I was ready for stairs and a full workday in heels by 7:30 this morning. Cut to my cankles swelling right out of my heels today by about 1:30PM.

So now I sit here in misery, chained to my desk because I'm bare in my stocking feet, calling my assistant every 2 hours or so to bring me some more Excedrin.

And poor Chaz, his first day back in the States and he's in for quite the evening of massaging the heck out of some cankles ... what he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?

100 Things About Being Sassy

2006-01-05T11:58:00.000-05:00

As much as I know that I am wearing my bright pink boyshort underwear today, I also know that on first glance these lists are viewed as trite and sophomoric ... but I received a newsletter from an old friend last week detailing things she wants people to remember or know about her as she is losing a long and brave battle with a terminal illness. So as a testament to being a stranger in the internet void, here are 100 Things About Being Sassy:

1. I was born at precisely 11:43 AM on December 4th.
2. I live to know little pieces of useless trivia.
3. I could use dessert as sustainance for the rest of my life, but am not a fan of chocolate.
4. People who don't use correct grammar make me mad.
5. I am in love.
6. I'm a better speaker than writer.
7. Mexican is my favorite type of food.
8. My mother wanted to name me Michelle.
9. I go through sporadic bouts of interests.
10. I believe in reincarnation.
11. I love vocabulary.
12. I want to live in Australia.
13. I secretly love fur coats (the real ones).
14. My bookcase in my office looks like a graveyard: I have systematically killed every plant I've owned.
15. I wanted to grow up to be a Harvard-educated pediatrician.
16. I also wanted to be Judy Garland.
17. I aspire to be a successful marathon runner.
18. I want to learn how to dance the Argentine tango.
19. I secretly love to wear flip-flops.
20. I am NOT a morning person.
21. I know how to type properly.
22. I pay off a loan each month for an Acura that I don't drive.
23. My favorite alcoholic drink is the Dirty Martini.
24. Je parle français. Mais seulement un peu.
25. I like British slang.
26. I love accents.
27. I actively vote. And I campaign for my presidential candidate.
28. I'm right handed.
29. I have an acute astigmatism.
30. I love trivia, but I always hated History class.
31. I can't drive a stick.
32. I am a textbook Sagittarius; restless and ambitious.
33. I do not like The Who.
34. I consider myself a perfectionist at work.
35. I think Secret Service agents (or anyone with an earbud) are sexy.
36. I hate gold jewelry.
37. I love going to concerts.
38. I don't cry at movies.
39. BUT, hearing a live singing of The National Anthem or watching a parade gets me all choked up.
40. My favorite color is blue, but I look much better in red.
41. I am a middle child.
42. I do not have an appendix.
43. I am obsessed with show tunes.
44. I used to be a stage actress.
45. I have an incredibly accurate long term memory but my short term memory fails me quite often.
46. I am very bad at returning phone calls.
47. I have three tattoos.
48. I once had my nose pierced on a whim.
49. I tend to lose part of myself in each of my relationships, and therefore regret all of them to some extent.
50. I experience deja vu ... a lot.
51. I believe in ghosts.
52. I secretly say the rosary every day.
53. I'm intelligent.
54. My most comfortable piece of clothing is a long, purple hippie skirt (which I only wear to bed when I'm visiting my mother).
55. I (again, secretly) hate being confined in airplanes.
56. I can't fall asleep in any position other than lying down.
57. I hate wearing high heels.
58. I love wearing suits.
59. I hate shopping, but I love owning things.
60. I'm afraid I'm becoming boring.
61. I wish I could relax on vacations.
62. I sometimes forget how to "be free".
63. I can't live without coffee.
64. I used to write songs as a child.
65. I wish I could finish the sentence "If money were no object ..."
66. I hate khaki.
67. I wear sunglasses so people don't know I'm staring at them.
68. I've secretly never been completely grateful at Christmases or birthdays.
69. I'm a closeted Joni Mitchell fan.
70. I have an obsession with Sudoku.
71. I have an infatuation with Christmas Carols.
72. I hate any weather colder than 65 and any weather hotter than 83.
73. I only use MAC makeup.
74. I love underthings.
75. I love museums.
76. I love playing board games.
77. I still don't have a television in my bedroom.
78. I have read every Stephen King novel.
79. I secretly skip over all the photos in a pack until I get to ones that I am in. Then I critique myself too harshly.
80. My favorite poet is Emily Dickenson.
81. I believe I was French in a past life.
82. I have been on the Internet since 1994.
83. I want to speak fluent Italian.
84. Evangelical Christians scare me.
85. I believe in life on other planets.
86. I've been told that I don't know how to whisper, but in reality, I'm just afraid I'll spit in someone's ear.
87. I prefer to live alone.
88. I am an outgoing introvert.
89. My favorite author is Maeve Binchy.
90. I am a descendent of Polish royalty.
91. I love bathrobes.
92. I sleep under 4 blankets.
93. I hate clutter, but I can rarely find anything.
94. Instead of being at work, I would secretly love to get drunk right now.
95. I hate all slang for female body parts.
96. I fall in love too quickly (and likewise, I fall out very fast).
97. I wish I was in Aruba right now.
98. I've known my best friend since I was two weeks old.
99. Sometimes I don't believe in marriage.
100. This list took me over 4 hours to complete.

Baby, We Were Born To Run ...

2006-01-04T10:34:00.000-05:00

Here it is already January 4th and I'm in the office wearing my white Body By Victoria thong, listening to the "Big in 05" station on Radio VH1 (nice choice, except for the repeated shuffle of "Pussycat Dolls" songs into the mix). I'm sporting my new lime green dress shirt with my most powerful black suit, as I'm taking Mooney to see "Wicked" tonight at the Kennedy Center for her birthday. But a dark cloud falls on the festivities, as I sit here thinking about Chaz soaking up the sun in Aruba with ANOTHER WOMAN (oh the horror!).

The plans for this trip were in effect before I ever reaquainted myself with Chaz, but regardless, it still doesn't make it any easier to quash the musings of that little green monster of jealousy. Aruba: sun, drinks, bikinis, missing American teenage girls, the threat of the lucrative sex-slave trade. What more could one ask for in a mid-winter getaway? What more could he want ... besides me, of course?

At least we had a good New Year weekend. Chaz had been in Boston visiting his old mates for Christmas, so I joined him up there on December 29th (if it was only that easy). I had awoken at 4:30 AM on the 29th, all packed and ready to go to National for my flight to Boston. I was beside myself with excitement, as I was going to land at 8:15AM and we would have the whole gorgeous day to enjoy Boston together. I hailed a taxi at 5:15 on the Circle and made a bee-line for National, arriving just after 5:30 with still an hour prior to departure, I'm such a consciencious traveler. I tried checking in at United and they directed me to US Airways. For the next hour, I was berated and treated like common trash as it was discovered that I was actually booked to leave from Washington-Dulles. To make a long story short, I didn't arrive in Boston until close to 4 that afternoon (nearly 8 hours after I was originally scheduled to land).

But we let that bother us not, as Chaz and I checked into our suite at the Boston Marriott Copley Place and had a wonderful afternoon exploring the area around our hotel. On Friday, we had wonderfully pleasant weather and decided to be extra-touristy and board an Old Town Trolley for a 2 hour tour around Boston and Cambridge. We had a great time laughing our way through Boston, thanks to our tourguides Mr. Wiley and "Peter" (whom, I may add, may have missed his calling as a Broadway star). Then we went shopping on Newbury Street and bought new pairs of designer jeans -- I mean, WHO DOESN'T need new jeans?

That evening, we had dinner at Troquet on Boylston Street ... a definite recommendation for any wine fans. The oxtail canneloni is to die for -- and the chef's tasting paired with (5) different wines is definitely a must. After Troquet, we went to the Wang Center and saw "White Christmas" and laughed our way through the $17 balsamic vinegar (read: red wine) we had at the theater. Later that evening, we found ourselves sitting in the lounge at the top of the Prudential Center, enjoying some drinks and hearing some great jazz with a breathtaking view of Boston.

Saturday, we woke up at 8 and went for an 8 mile run around the Charles River with a victory lap across the Harvard Bridge, of course. We napped that afternoon and then ventured back to Newbury Street for some more shopping and an afternoon stop at Tealuxe for some refreshments. It began to snow at about 5:30 as we enjoyed the New Years Eve parade down Boylston Street. We had some drinks in a bar and went back to the hotel to prepare for our festivities that night. We were all dressed and ready to go, but at the last minute, decided to stay in and enjoy each other's company.

We had a wonderful night, only to be marred by Chaz having to leave at 4:30 on New Years morning to be at the airport to go to Aruba. I can't say I don't miss him terribly, because I do. Can't wait for him to get back on Sunday ...

Hold it with TWO hands!

2005-12-28T08:56:00.000-05:00

Cut to this morning: I was wearing my pink angel thong when I walked into the 13th and F St. Caribou Coffee for my decaf skim herbal chai latte and Reduced Fat Cranberry Orange Scone. I felt like a million bucks decked out in my new black angora/cashmere blend dress coat (it's heavenly, I'm telling you).

So there I was at the counter, ordering my drink and reaching in my purse for my lip balm. CLEARLY minding my own business when this jerk next to me began to forcefully pry the lid off his very full, very scaldingly hot dark roast coffee. I knew what was coming, the scenario had disaster written all over it.

I had just retrieved my lip balm when suddenly the jerk's arm spasmed out of control and he proceeded to splash half his grande cup's contents all over me. My jacket, my stockings, my shoes.

The jerk had the nerve to cover his mouth with one hand and eek out the words: "Oh miss, I spilled my coffee all over your jacket!"

And with fire in my eyes, I spat: "Yeah, I got that!"

I wanted to cry, and not just because the coffee has scalded a hole in my silk stockings and was running down my leg and pooling in my shoe. No, I looked down and saw that there were great streaks of coffee and a large splash mark marring the sanctity of the cashmere.

I began blotting furiously with napkins and a wet washcloth they passed me from behind the counter, as the jerk stood there and kept saying, "At least it's coming out." And while I normally would have bitten my tongue, I was taken aback by his complete lack of remorse. So I looked the jerk in the eye and said, "I'll be needing your business card so I can send you the dry-cleaning bill." To which he replied, "Dry-cleaning bill? What for? It's already coming out! See, you can't see anything."

Now I have to take pause here and ask why every straight man in the free world thinks that just because you can't see it, it's not there. Do you know what festering coffee can do to cashmere??? Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of half a grande cup's worth of coffee out of wool??? So, as any red-blooded woman would do, I demanded his business card and told him I would be in touch.

The irony of the situation? It is a balmy 43 degrees today in lovely Washington, DC. So while my jacket was nearly ruined, all I have to say is YAY for Global Warming! Keep using that aerosol hairspray and driving your Humvee 65 miles roundtrip to the office each day! I could use a couple more warm December days.

Happy Belated Birthday to ME!

2005-12-07T12:03:00.000-05:00

Here it is, lunchtime on a Wednesday and I'm wearing my red Tommy thong and slowly starving to death. I'm waiting for a client to come in and ruin my day before I go to the company Holiday Shindig this evening (hence the reason for the festive undies) ... so I can't grab lunch yet. Thank Jehovah that Chaz doesn't let me leave the house without an apple and half an Israeli chocolate bar anymore.

This past weekend was wonderful though, thank you to all of those people who made it so special: Asa, Maverick, Sid, Chaz, Woodsy, Bandi, and Mooney. It was truly a pre-birthday wonderland that left me reeling. Woodsy and Bandi surprised me on Friday night by meeting me in the circle while I was wearing my new Lollipop Running Suit (fabulous, thanks for that). Saturday, I ran 17 miles and then went out with the whole crew to the Blue Gin in Georgetown for some scrumptious coconut martinis. Sunday, Moons had all of us over for homemade lasagna, confetti cake, and presents galore (too fun ... thanks for the invite to the suburbs).

But I think the best part of the whole weekend was when Bandi sent out one of those "Bill Gates will send you a check for $24,000 for every person you pass this on to ... he has to because the class action suit would be way too much for Microsoft to pay ... blah blah blah." When Asa and I confronted him for distributing such garbage, Bandi innocently said "Are you serious? I was still waiting for my check!" To which Asa replied "Bandi, it's the end of 2005. Welcome to the internet!"

Why I give thanks!

2005-11-23T14:49:00.000-05:00

I sit here today in my red boy short underwear contemplating not only things I am thankful for but things I would be thankful to not have anymore.

We all make mistakes. We date the wrong people for too long. We chew gum with our mouths open. We say inappropriate things in front of grandma.
And we buy leather pants.

I can explain these pants and why they are in my possession. I bought them many, many years ago under the spell of a man whom I believed to have taste. He suggested I try them on. I did. He said they looked good. I wanted to have a relationship of sorts with him. I’m stupid and prone to impulsive decisions. I bought the pants.

The relationship, probably for better, never materialized. The man, whose name I can’t even recall, is a distant memory. I think he was short.

Ultimately the pants were placed in the closet where they have remained, unworn, for nearly a decade. I would like to emphasize that aside from trying these pants on, they have never, ever been worn. In public or private.

I have not worn these leather pants for the following reasons:
I am not a member of Queen.
I do not like motorcycles.
I am not Rod Stewart.
I am not French.
I do not cruise for transvestites in an expensive sports car.

These were not cheap leather pants. They are Donna Karan leather pants. They’re for women. Brave women I would think. Perhaps tattooed, pierced women. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say you either have to be very tough, very gay, or very famous to wear these pants and get away with it.

They’d probably look great on the right lady. And I'm thankful that ladies can get away with leather pants much more often than men can. (It’s a sad fact that men who own leather pants will have to come to terms with.)

They are size 6. I am no longer a size 6, so even were I to suddenly decide I was a famous gay biker I would not be able to wear these pants. These pants are destined for someone else. For reasons unknown - perhaps to keep my options open, in case I wanted to become a pirate - I have shuffled these unworn pants from condo to condo, closet to closet. Alas, it is now time to part ways so that I may use the extra room for any rhinestone-studded jeans I may purchase in the future.

These pants are in excellent condition. They were never taken on pirate expeditions. They weren’t worn onstage. They didn’t straddle a Harley, or a guy named Harley. They just hung there, sad and ignored, for a few presidencies.

Someone, somewhere, will look great in these pants. I’m hoping that someone is you.

Please someone, just take these leather pants.

Candy Is Dandy, but ...

2005-11-14T21:17:00.000-05:00

Ever notice that the deeper we fall into Winter, the shorter the weekends seem? Saturday and Sunday flew by without my consent, so now I sit here at the office yet again in dismay in my white monkey g-string (heck yeah I support the Sierra Club ... so?).

I woke up this morning with every intention of going for a run at 6 before heading to the office. Unfortunately, Chaz had ulterior motives ... blushing. So instead, we stayed in bed and ate candy for breakfast (this is NOT code for anything, we seriously just laid there and snacked on IceBreakers Sour Candy for about an hour). And as I finally braved out into the cool fall morning, the overcast sky reminded me that Hannakuh and Christmas are just around the corner.

I was reminded of afternoons filled with tree-trimming, piping hot apple cider (with or without Jack Daniels, it's an acquired taste), and the sounds of Bing Crosby lilting through the air, wintery walks through Central Park with thick mittens toasting my hands ... and my father drunk on Christmas morning when I was but a girl, trying to light a fire with wet logs from the heap out back, burning off his eyebrows and half his right pinky finger (hahaha, ohhh how the circle spins right round, baby, right round).

That was the year I thought I'd be SO crafty as to buy him a religious gift for Christmas. My father (Tony) is a big Catholic fanatic who was raised in the Northeast before Vatican II came around. He doesn't believe in the mass even being said in English (we're all going straight to hell according to him ... too bad I've had all this alcohol, I'm going to ignite IMMEDIATELY upon entry!).

But I digress: so I thought I had come up with this ingenious idea to get in his good graces one year. I bought him this great gift that really embodied all his beliefs ... something tangible that could really send the message that I was ready to be an adult about the Church. So I wrapped it all up and put it under the tree, barely able to contain my excitement until Christmas morning.

When December 25th rolled around, I was the first one downstairs on the couch waiting for everyone else to wake up to open presents. I can clearly remember the rage in my father's eyes as he opened the gift that said "To: Tony, From: Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Christ" ... I don't think I'll ever understand how a Virgin Mary Paperdoll could disintegrate so quickly in a December fire.

But then, isn't all religion based on faith and mystery?

A Grand Re-Opening???

2005-11-11T10:31:00.000-05:00

I know, dear readers, that I have taken a week and a half hiatus. Babies, I've gone through scores of underwear in that time (of which I am today wearing the black satin), but I hereby promise to keep you informed of all the comings and goings of Sassy.

That's right, raise your glasses even if it is only 10:34AM! Take a moment to have the happiest hour of your day and say (in true Chaz style) "Chee-ahs" because the Sass is BACK!

So to fill you all in, I've comprised a list of a few goings on in the past week or so ... we can start clean slated and return to regularly scheduled programming tomorrow morning:

-A huge round of applause is due to Asa, who completed the 30th Annual Marine Corps Marathon on Sunday, October 31st. His race time was 5:11:10, #12898 overall, and 8434 for his gender! We're so proud of him ... these results are QUITE admirable for a first time marathon runner! (And his nipples weren't bleeding or anything ... trust that I checked!)

-Chaz and I are planning our first (2) mini-breaks for the week before and the week after Christmas. First stop Philadelphia for time with some of my nieces and nephews ... then off to Boston for plenty of drinking and an old-fashioned Boston Tea Party over New Years. (Hey, if a week with me kills him, it kills him)

-Big interview yesterday with the Executive Committee for another promotion (read: any excuse for me to go spend over $500 on a new suit). Wish me luck, but like I'll need it. ::insert one eyebrow up here::

-I had to go to a funeral last weekend in Philadelphia: my Great Aunt Ruth died at the age of 94. She was born in 1911 and lived through the Roaring 20s, The Great Depression, World War II, Vietnam, the Soft Drink wars ... you know, pretty much everything "We Didn't Start The Fire" covers. She was the original spitfire in the family and I learned much of what I know from her. Any woman who can get away with "Is that a banana in your pocket? Because I sure know it's not your manhood" at the age of 75 is aces in my book.

-I swore off the hard stuff for about 4 days, but then stumbled over to Chaz's place on Wednesday night with a bag full of dinner and a head full of red wine. I think the world's a more pleasant place as long as I can have martini's.

-A moment of silence for Bandi's autistic now-ex-boyfriend. I wish I could say I miss seeing-and-not-hearing you, dear, but the fact remains that I DON'T.

So that's a start for now ... I promise that I have un-boarded the windows of the condo and the champagne is back on ice!

You Just Can't Find Good Help These Days

2005-10-27T12:08:00.000-04:00

The exchange between me and a homeless man on F Street as Bon Bon and I were walking back from the bank just now:

Homeless Man: "Hey lady, you got any change?"
Sassy (under her breath to Bon Bon): "These guys should just get a job."
Homeless Man: "I got a fucking job, bitch!"
Sassy (louder, to homeless man): "Well then let me speak to your manager!"

Painting the town Pink

2005-10-26T10:11:00.000-04:00

I just want to take moment (as I sit here in my black thong) to thank Asa and Chaz for making the weekend so memorable. I know this is belated by 4 days, but sue me. The condo's been the center of activity the past few days.

Cut to last week: I had received a call last week from my good friend Bob S. He invited me to come to the Ms. Adams Morgan Pageant at the Washington Hilton on Saturday evening. Picture it: 1500 gay men in costumes and drag parading around the International Ballroom at the Hilton ... to die for.

Asa and I were dressed to the nines: Asa was six shades of hunk in his tuxedo and I went with the black strapless Chanel evening gown. We were drinking Prosecco at Asa's Gay Villa when it dawned on us that our first idea of going as "The Straight Couple" might not be the most original idea we've ever had. So in the tux and the gown, we sashayed over to the Logan Circle CVS on P Street and bought the rest of our costumes. Asa put two bolts on his neck and my black MAC on his eyes while I adhered a mis-shapen nose to my face and pulled on a feathered black hat ... voila: we were a witch and Frankenstein.

The driver picked us up around 7:15 and we headed over for the pre-show cocktail hour. We walked in to a wonderland of drag in the lobby of the Hilton. The theme for the Ms. Adams Morgan Pageant was "Back to Skool", so there were cheerleaders, Catholic schoolgirls (not the Britney Spears kind either), and girl scouts aplenty. There was a notable group of attractive men who were all dressed in camo with black t-shirts that read "I'm Going Commando." They also had little walkie-talkies, so when I was standing at the bar waiting for the slowest bartender in creation, one of them said "Don't worry, the commandos will take care of this" and he called his buddies on the walkie-talkie and they were all deployed to help the situation. They didn't make the drink line go any faster, but the display was hilarious.

After what seemed like an eternity standing at the cash bar, Asa and I made our way down to the ballroom for the show. We were sitting at Table 70 with 4 queens and 4 guys who had on shirts that said "Lil Shop of Whores" ... real original guys, let me tell you. The show was fabulous, but Asa and I quickly became ::yawn:: bored. You see three queens dance to Gwen Stefani's "Bananas", you seen 'em all. So Asa and I started playing Guess The Costume. We were standing next to the door to the ballroom, drinking our vodkas on the rocks and stopping people to antagonize them as they walked in the room. Yes, we were the ones tapping people on the shoulder, saying "Hold on there, sailor! Let us guess your costume." And then with all seriousness, we would come up with the most ridiculous things I've ever heard.

Here's a list of some of the actual costumes v. our guesses:

Zombie = Dr. Phil
Condoleeza Rice = Whoopie Goldberg
Feather Boa Man & his escort = Oprah and Stedman
Soccer Player = Harry Potter
Mr. Clean = Christopher Walken
Two Queen Cheerleaders = Mary-Kate and Ashley
Two Pharaohs = Paris and Nicole
Asian Schoolgirl = Margaret Cho
Russian Mistress = Hillary Clinton
Our two favorite crazy queens hanging out in the back of the ballroom = Elton John and Ann Hesche
Three Catholic Schoolgirls = The Heathers

We took our pictures with all these people, telling them we were trying to get as many pics with celebrities that night as we could.

But I think Asa said it best as we worked on dirty Grey Goose Martini #6: "Sassy, you see a room full of gays, I see a photo opportunity."

Sassy needs ...

2005-10-25T17:38:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting here in the office, distraught and overworked in my white cotton thong. I've been working with clients (the miscreants) all day and am ready for a tumbler of Scotch, a lot of loud Nat King Cole, my favorite robe, and all the lights out in the condo. Unfortunately for me, I'll be here for a while putting out fires, at which time I'll have to walk through the cold District rain to get home to an empty liquor cabinet and drafty windows.

But I digress. My good friend Mr. Bartender told me about an interesting experiment he tried on Google recently. You put your first name and the word 'needs' in quotes and hit search (i.e., "Sassy needs") ... it was just about the only thing that made me laugh in the past 6 hours, so I thought I'd share my first ten results:

SASSY NEEDS:

1. A home that will work with her in order to gain her trust in people again (boooring!)

2. A lover (that's more like it)

3. To spend 8 weeks confined to a crate (I hope this isn't directly correlated to #2)

4. A loving home ASAP (this seems to be a recurring theme)

5. To be restrained for car rides, as she will try to assist the driver with her navigation skills (so true!)

6. A sponsor (this one may actually be directed at Bandi)

7. A sugar daddy (I would never straight out ASK for one ... but okay)

8. Mesothelioma treatment (AMEN to that!)

9. Foreign basketball shooting techniques (this must be code for something sexier)

10. Used horse trailers (sick)

Try this exercise and let me know how the results go!

A Comedy of Errors

2005-10-21T10:28:00.000-04:00

As I sit here in the office with my heather grey thong on (it's my rainy day favorite), I reflect on the gross unfairness of this past week of my life.

Today is day 6 of not drinking coffee, Americanos, or espresso in any form! I decided to quit drinking coffee last Saturday morning after I ran 8 miles through the city. I thought "Hey, for all this hard work I do to be healthy, I pump (on average) at least 6 shots of espresso into my body every day! I can do better than that ..." Yeah, well guess what? I CAN'T!

After 6 days of miserably going to the iced green tea with breakfast, I've realized that I am going through the early stages of caffeine withdrawal. You see, dear readers, I thought the claims that 'caffeine is a drug' were just a bunch of hocus pocus. Apparently they're not!!! Johns Hopkins even just did a study on the dangers of Caffeine Withdrawal ... wish I had known about that 6 days ago (I blame my new assistant, but more on her later).

I have undergone the following hell in the past 6 days due to weaning myself off caffeine (read: quitting cold turkey):

1) Headaches. These aren't just "Oh I wish I had a coffee" headaches; no no, these are "Somebody get this goddamn Acela train out from behind my forehead before I KILL someone" headaches. Do you think 2 Excedrin could clear up pain like that? Neither did I ... so I took 5. I felt a whole lot better after that, but it left me thinking "Is this really worth it? I could have keeled over like Judy Garland from taking that much anti-inflammatory. OR I could have had one sweet cup of coffee. Hmmm." I found out that the headaches are caused by an overexcessive amount of blood in the head when you quit drinking caffeine. GROSS! "Bleed me doctor, it's the only way!"

2) Nausea. I've never been pregnant and don't plan on being in such a state in the near future, so I have always been a big naysayer when I see the early throes of morning sickness in pregnant women. Well NAYSAY NO MORE! The mere sight of food for about three days had me so nauseated, I didn't think I could stand it. I missed two big client receptions this week because I couldn't even consider food or alcohol. Actually, the nausea may be doing wonders for my figure. Scratch this one from the record; it's a go!

3) Irritability. Anyone who saw me on Wednesday can attest to this one. I fought with Chaz all day over something as low as ... don't laugh ... designer jeans?! First it was the designer jeans, then it turned into a fight over a drag queen pageant. I cried for the first time in about a year over designer jeans and a drag queen pageant. I'm going to let that sink in for a second. Okay, WHAT WAS I THINKING? I even locked Asa out of the condo inadvertantly and then cried about that. Next time I'm going to avoid the insult and injury and just take a quick sip (it's only a sip, I can quit any time I want).

4) Difficulty Concentrating. Okay; I haven't blogged significantly in weeks! I wrote a post about seeing a crack-head? What was I thinking? According to the Johns Hopkins study, it probably wasn't much. I spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday at work checking Craigslist, gmail, other DC blogs, and a fundraising website I belong to. That's about it. Snacking wasn't even an option because I was too nauseated to eat! Yesterday and today have been better as far as the concentrating go, but my conversations have sounded like verbal diarrhea I'm sure. And for that, I apologize.

5) Exhaustion. I thought at first this could have been because of the increases in running mileage, but the area underneath my usually youthful and mesmerizing eyes tells a different story. I've shelacked every marketed eye cream on these anomolies and there is nary a reduction in the size of my lower eyelids (we don't use the "b" word). Do you know the shamefulness of half a dozen people EACH morning saying "Wow, Sassy, you look tired!" Tired? TIRED? You mean OLD, don't you! (Note: author's irritability may be caused by reduced caffeine intake)

So as if all this wasn't bad enough, I have a new assistant. We'll call her "Shakira." Shakira is, I'm sure, a really sweet girl. She's probably about 24, has three children, and lives in a one-bedroom apartment with her family and her sister's family. How do I know this, you ask? Because SHE TOLD ME. She stands at the door to my office, rambling incoherently, ignoring the fact that the phone is ringing off the hook. She doesn't file, she barely types, she can't speak to my clients, and she has a permanent glazed-over stare when I talk to her. I know from her lack of production that she doesn't understand a word I'm saying, nor does she take the initiative to ask questions when she doesn't. I didn't hire her, if that's what you're thinking. She was hired by HR and sent to torture me.

So I ask you, dear readers, between lack of coffee and the onslaught of Shakira, can this week get any worse?

My first crack-head

2005-10-19T11:28:00.000-04:00

I was walking to the office this morning, wearing my pink thong with fuschia hearts on it. I was running a little late, so I was pretty oblivious as to what was going on around me as I booked it down F Street. I was zoning out behind my Gucci sunglasses when I noticed a scuffle going on between 13th and 14th Streets.

As I walked a little further, I spotted a tall man dressed in pretty ragged clothing SPRINTING at full speed down the sidewalk. He would veer into peoples' paths and then juke away at the last second. Who wouldn't be shaken by the incident, thinking this homeless man was going to plow right into them on their way to work? As he came closer to me, I tried to avoid him but I became his 10th victim. He ran straight at me and then howled in my face as he swerved away right before he hit me. I noticed a ring of white chalky powder lining his lips and it was then I knew ... he was a crackhead. So, Mr. FloJo Sprinter Crackhead, take a lesson from Bobby Brown: "Don't do crack, crack is whack!"

How I spent my Summer Vacation ...

2005-10-11T12:40:00.000-04:00

By Chloe-From-Milwaukee.

So I met up with Chloe last night at Merkado Kitchen on 14th and P, right across from my FAVORITE Whole Foods (the site of much Saturday morning debauchery by yours truly and Asa). I arrived at 6:30 in my white g-string and in walked Chloe on the arm of her friend, the very debonaire Garrison. We had a few cocktails (dirty Ketel martinis with 4 olives -- the mini olives are key) and sat down for some dinner. Merkado is a surprising fusion of latin-asian cuisine; I was a little skeptical, but it actually turned out really well.

(Side note: It being National Coming Out Day and all, Garrison was trying to figure out whether our waiter was gay or straight. Honey, unless you are blind and deaf [and even then, your service animal would have a pretty good idea anyway], it was PAINFULLY clear that this kid was batting for Liberace's team. So at one point during the meal, I just turned to the waiter and said plainly "Steak or tuna, Ryan?" He looked me square in the eye and replied "Steak" and turned around to walk back to the kitchen. I think Chloe's still trying to figure out exactly what happened.)

We laughed and drank and talked business for a bit and then the topic of conversation turned to the fact that Chloe was/is a corn-fed Mid-western raised kind of girl. She prefers the small town feel of Wisconsin to the big city atmosphere of Chicago and DC and she has an accent that goes on for miles. She told Garrison and I about how she's "in her element" at the bars in Milwaukee because you know everyone by name and you can even wear sweatpants to go and get a drink. SWEATPANTS!!! Darling, I'm too young to have a vodka-induced heart attack!

But speaking of cardiac arrest, she went on to say "Wisconsin is so country, my best friend and I used to package semen on her dad's farm during our summer vacations in high school and college."

Where do I begin with that? (Besides with an X-rated disclaimer ... do not read further if you are pregnant, have a heart condition, are prone to losing consciousness due to shock, or have a weak stomach when it comes to reading about farm animal masturbation.)

I don't know if I really wanted to know about the semen packing, but I was interested to learn that the pig semen commercial retail industry existed and was thriving enough that someone would devote their livelihood to it. Chloe went into complete detail about how the semen collecting cannot be done by machines because it could damage the sperm, so the farmer has to "manually collect" the semen. According to Chloe, this means that the farmer must convince the boar to mount a dummy sow and then he must masturbate the boar until the boar ejaculates. Interesting.

I wondered if the farmer had to wear a special cologne for the semen collecting, whether he lit any candles or put soft colored scarves over the lamps in the pig pen, and if he had to have a legitimate license to masturbate his boars. And besides, how does one "convince the boar to mount a dummy sow?" Is that legal?

Anyone with any information regarding these questions wins themselves a free drink at the condo.

So cut to today: Chaz and I met to go running together at 6AM. We started in the Circle, went down along 17th Street, around the White House and back up to the condo. It took about 45 minutes and it started to rain ever so slightly as we finished up our last half mile, but it felt GREAT! While I was in the shower, Chaz went and bought breakfast from Bagels Etc as a surprise.

I was getting ready for work when I heard a knock on the door ... and there he was, breakfast in hand. These brits get way out of hand with their breakfast though: he had bagels with eggs, bacon, and cheese; strawberry smoothies; hash browns; home fries; and two coffees. It was nice to stop for once to have a full breakfast before I had to leave for the office.

The only problem was that I couldn't help but think where the bacon may have come from ...

In Fourteen Hundred and Ninety-Two ...

2005-10-10T15:13:00.000-04:00

By the way: Happy Columbus Day!

Columbus, you were a crazy boat driver and a bad public speaker. I only say this because had you been a tad more popular, we could have ALL had off work today. Ever notice that private businesses only close for the great orators?

Your thoughts...

Singing In The Rain

2005-10-10T11:53:00.000-04:00

Came into the office this morning at 8:45 (late as usual) in my sheer black lace thong to find an email about a client dinner this evening. My reply to that? "After a long weekend in the office, I don't wanna SEE THAT!" Ahh, woe is me.

The invite is to a place called Marcada?? If anyone has any information as to the whereabouts of a certain "Marcada", please send it along post haste.

But speaking of the weekend, cut to Friday night when it was pouring rain and I was sporting the white cotton boy short underwear. I had a dinner appointment with my former client Chloe-from-Milwaukee who was in town for the weekend. Chloe is a sweet, sweet girl who likes to party ... a lot: she sets up dinner appointments with me that in turn become all-night events of drinking, eating, and picking up men. Considering that I had to be up at 8 on Saturday morning to go for a 7 mile run, I was not looking forward to my dinner with Chloe as much as I should have been.

We met at La Tasca in Chinatown for drinks at 7; one of my work partners was there keeping her entertained while I finished up my last few tasks in the office. We had a couple glasses of wine before Chloe and I decided to head up to Dupont for some sushi dinner at Raku.

We braved the torrential rain and traffic, arrived at 18th and R, and were seated immediately in the front of Raku. We ordered some sushi and (in true Sassy style) began downing Raku Coolers (you try it, you like). We had some dinner, some more drinks, and ended up somewhere in the next hour chatting over after-dinner shots. The wait staff at Raku were chomping at the bit to take our table for the next round of waiting diners, so I grabbed the Louis and we were on our way.

At the door, I noticed that the rain was coming down harder than before. I turned to Chloe and said "Darling, I'm going to teach you a lesson in sharing." And at that, I reached down and rifled through the umbrella stand, finding us each a dry one to take out into the cold October Friday night.

We made it about one block south towards the Circle before Chloe turned to me and shouted through the rain "Sassy, it's coming down in SHEETS! Can we stop into a bar and dry off for a few minutes before we keep going?" A pit stop for drinks?! But of course!

Chloe and I ducked into Biddy's and grabbed a couple spots at the bar ... prime location for being seen. We each had a rather small glass of vodka (read: shots) and chased them with V&T's while we chatted about going to Argentina in the winter. I've never been on a mini-break to Buenos Aires -- how smashing would that be??? (Note to readers: never ... and I mean NEVER start talking travel over your fourth shot with Aunt Sassy. Before you know it, you'll be riding in first and praying your liver can withstand the weekend)

But I digress. We left Biddy's at about 10 and walked down to The Big Hunt so Chloe could find herself a date for Saturday night. We sat down and bought some Jager shots (Chloe's idea of course). I drank mine down as I was muttering "7 miles in the morning ..."

Suddenly and without warning, in walked this gorgeous man with fabulous couture: a camel-colored blazer, jeans, D&G shoes, and a winter scarf around his neck. With the hands-shoved-in-the-pockets look, he was straight out of the clean side of Kosovo. Chloe always did go for the refugee look. He sat down next to C and ordered a Guiness ... I could tell she was instantly infatuated.

We chatted him up for a bit and after a few drinks, I found myself jostling around the bar with a bad case of the hiccups (of course I did). But it was the perfect time for me to take my exit and leave Chloe to her more interesting endeavors. So I stumbled home in my Choo's and fell asleep on the sofa in the condo nursing a bottle of Aleve and a glass of Evian.

I woke up Saturday to a morning of rain and a full voice mailbox cancelling the 7 mile run (thank Jehovah!). I spent the day with my feet up and my eyes closed. What could be more invigorating than a day full of nothing?

At about 5, my phone rang to a frantic Chaz who was worried that I was going to cancel on the black-tie wedding we were attending that night downtown near the White House. (HOW COULD I FORGET???!!!) But silly Chaz, don't men know anything? Why would a woman give up the chance to dress up and be seen in public with a debonaire Anglo-Asian dreamboat? All I needed was a teensy reminder!

I threw on the Gucci sunglasses, grabbed the keys to the condo, and was on my way to Andre Chreky before you can say "Marc Jacobs!"

Ahh the life of a bachelorette in the city ...

Support Asa's Little Sister Lizzie ...

2005-10-08T15:26:00.000-04:00

I was sitting at the breakfast table this morning in my silky black thong when I received an email from Asa's little sister Lizzie. She is now training for the Miami Marathon in January, 2006, with the National AIDS Marathon Training program that benefits Washington, DC's own Whitman Walker Clinic. Please take a moment to read her request for your help in order for her to help so many others:

Dear Aunt Sassy,

This may come as a HUGE shock to you (as well as a much bigger shock to my system), but I'll be participating in my first marathon being held in Miami on January 29, 2006. I know what you're thinking: any excuse for Lizzie to go to Miami Beach, but really, it's 26.2 miles of running! During the next six months, I plan to log in over 500 miles of running in preparation for the race. (My head spins just typing the words 500 miles.) But it's all part of the National AIDS Marathon Training Program that raises money for the Whitman-Walker Clinic, the leading provider of AIDS services in the metropolitan Washington, DC area.

Despite recent advances in the treatment of AIDS, the epidemic is far from over. More than 700,000 Americans have died from AIDS and thousands more are becoming infected each year. In DC alone, 1 in every 20 people has been diagnosed with AIDS! Worldwide, the numbers are even more staggering: 21.8 million people have died and another 36.1 million adults and children are currently living with HIV. This is no longer what was once believed to be an isolated killer, but a non-discriminating destroyer of innocent lives.

My goal is to raise at least $3000 by November 18. I know it sounds like a lot, but with the help of my generous friends, family members, and co-workers, I know I can make this possible. There are times when this training seems like such a foolish idea and I wonder if I can actually do it. I am not a runner; in fact, I have never really liked to run. But by doing this program, I am doing something that less than 1% of the population can say they've done: I will complete a marathon and I will raise thousands of dollars for the men, women, and children living with HIV/AIDS in Washington, DC. I know that this is the least I can do to help them win their battle.

This program is certainly the most arduous physical challenge I've ever faced. As you can imagine, I've spent many evenings nursing sore knees with ice packs and Advil. Ben-Gay and I are on a first name basis already. But I can't think of a better way to do something to help in the fight against AIDS. My running will bring a name and a face to the many AIDS victims who do not have a voice in our society.

For your part, I am hoping that you will please take a moment to help out the Whitman-Walker Clinic logging on to www.aidsmarathon.com and go to the Sponsor a Runner icon; I am runner 5063. All donations are tax-deductible and most companies will also match your donations, so please do not hesitate to ask your employer.

Thank you for supporting me in this incredible undertaking. When I hit the road on January 29th to complete the Marathon, I'll know that you helped me and so many others along the way … making each mile that much more rewarding.

Thanks in advance,
Lizzie

Isn't It Ironic?

2005-10-06T07:29:00.000-04:00

I know I have been on hiatus ... it's that time of year again at the office: that time when my panties are in a bunch day in and day out (including the baby pink g-string I'm wearing today).

So, my dears, if you bear with me for another week or so, I will be happy and delighted to fill you in on the goings on of Aunt Sassy.

But for now, I leave you with a question:

How absurdly annoying is it that last night I was criticized for not wearing my seatbelt in the back seat of a car driven by the intoxicated owner of said vehicle?

And they called him Oscar

2005-09-28T16:41:00.000-04:00

I left the office yesterday at 5 in my blue anchor thong so I could make my 5:15 hair appointment with Soel at Urban Style Lab on Connecticut Ave. We had a great chat while he coiffed my hair into an ultra-Sassy 'do ... I filled him in on the latest goings on with Chaz and he swooned over Jonathon Antin from the Bravo show "Blowout."

After I was done at Urban Style Lab, I walked north on Connecticut to head home before meeting up with Asa and Maverick. I was in the process of checking a voicemail from Chaz when I looked up and to my surprise, he was right there in front of me on Connecticut! He told me he had finished his work and figured I would still be at the sylist, so he came over to walk me home. (Asa calls it stalking, I call it caring.)

So we went to my house and we chatted while I got myself ready for the Sufjan concert at 9:30 Club. Asa and Maverick have turned me onto it; they always try their best to make me a DC scenester (their efforts have been pretty fruitless thus far). And as usual, I was supposed to meet them at their house on 15th Street at 7:30, but of course Chaz and I left the condo at about 7:25 to go grab some Wrapworks. We both got wraps and smoothies and then we split ways as I headed down Q Street toward Asa and Maverick's house and he headed home to New Hampshire Ave.

I arrived at the Gay Villa 10 minutes later with a mouthful of wrap and kissed both of them hello. Asa yelled, "Ew, Sassy! That was the most disgusting kiss I've ever had ... I tasted peppers, chicken, rice, sour cream and something spicy that I can't identify yet!" To which Maverick chimed in, "Yeah, that was pretty gross. What's that British Euro-trash teaching you?" Honey, if you only knew.

With that, we walked up Corcoran Street to go pick up Sid on our way to 9:30. He met us outside and commented on the new hair. (He thinks it's fabulous, which is true.) Being that Sid lives right off U Street, we made it to the club at about 8:15 and bought some beers and found our place near the stage.

As I looked around, I started noticing a startling truth: all the other Sufjan fans are between the ages of 15 and 20! I felt like the field trip chaperone for the Greater Northern Virginia Area High School System!

But once Sufjan came on, it was all worth it ... not only because he puts on a fabulous fun-filled show, but because he was also commenting on how he was so much older than all his fans. Being a gang of people-watchers in such a situation has its perks for Sid, Mav, Asa and I. The socially awkward teenagers provided us with much-needed fodder for our laughing enjoyment:

- There was the kid with bologna lips who pretended to know all the lyrics and ended up just looking confused as he pretended to sing along. "They call him Oscar for his bologna lips" was the best quote by Asa all night. Oscar's a diva.

- I loved when Mav turned to the high-functioning autistic high schooler standing next to him and said "I'm here to listen to him sing, not you! This isn't a Dave Matthews concert!"

-There was an obese 17 year old boy doing "The Monkey" next to the stage. All I could say was "Someone needs to tell him that his dance makes him look REAL skinny!"

-Poor Sid was cruising the crowd for a good twink as he is the only one left single right now ... but all he could find were underage kids trying to have him buy them beers. "Do I have sugar daddy printed across my forehead?" Yes, Sid. You're Indian and you dress well. Enough said.

-What about that kid shouting his name out from the upper level? Wylie, was it? Saying he was turning 20 that night? Is he trying to give me a Botox-induced heart attack???

All I can say is go to Urban Style Lab, let them make you gorgeous(er), then go get the Sufjan Stevens album "Come On Feel the Illinoise." Then you call me and we'll meet up over some scotch and scones and discuss. Kisses ...