Written by Stefanie and edited by Mary. Just like grad school- only funnier.

I’m not one for reflection. Well, unless it involves a bottle of wine, the Once soundtrack, and a pack of Benadryl on hand for the hives I will inevitably break out in. Maybe it is my upcoming birthday or just the hope of spring, but I have been reflecting lately about my time in DC.  And more specifically, how I got to DC. How did I get here again?

I was an idiot. Hands down. I was a young, cavalier, stubborn, idiot. My last year of college I decided I was moving to DC. Why? Because that is what nice suburban kids do when they major in Political Science and don’t want to spend the next four years like they spent the last four: pretending to be a Republican. And having the horrible/great trait of declaring things and then doing them, I was moving. Fact: This can be used to your advantage. Just ask anyone I have ever planned a vacation with.  

When I landed at National Airport, the world was my oyster – or at least my swamp. I could do anything. I had such hope.

There were just two problems. One, I didn’t have a job. Two, I didn’t have any friends.  What did I have? An acquaintance. We had enough friends in common that if I went missing people might ask him about it. But our interaction had been limited to casual conversation about Andrew Jackson. But when your friend roster is empty, you take what you can get.

So when I got an internship and part-time job a week later, I was ecstatic! I had an acquaintance and two part-time jobs. It was almost like having real friends and a full time job. Things were looking up.

You know how when you start a new job you have to fill out TONS of paperwork? Social security number, tax information, emergency contact – normal work stuff. I needed three emergency contacts. Two could be out of state but one had to be local. Being the total rule follower that I am, I wanted to complete the form correctly. So I went to talk to my boss.

Me: Umm, so do I really need a local contact?

Boss: Stefanie, this is Washington, DC. We are under constant threat of terrorist attacks, drive-by shootings, muggings, and the Green Line just going off the rails.  Your life might be in danger at any moment. We need to have a local emergency contact.

My boss did not really say this. But the sense of urgency was the same.

Me: Okay, but I don’t know anyone here.

Boss: You don’t have one friend?

Me: Well, he is more of an acquaintance. We are definitely not emergency contact friends.

Boss: Put him.

Me: But…

Boss: If you’re dead it won’t matter anyway. What are you worried about?

Me: The problem is not if I die. It is far more likely I will trip over my own feet and hit my head on a desk. Then I will have to suffer the mortification of you calling him and telling him that he is my emergency contact. That is the problem.

Boss: We will just hope that doesn’t happen.

Under my breath: You have no idea how awkward my life is.

The first month of my job I would stay a little prayer on the way to work. It went like this “Dear God, please don’t let me get slightly maimed at work today.” Luckily, I was fine. But have no fear; my life was still awkward in 100 other ways.

Written by Stefanie and edited by Mary. Just like grad school- only funnier.

This story has no introduction. Mostly because I don’t know how to describe the setting without totally outing some well-disguised code names. 

Here is what you need to know: 1) I have never met the men involved in this story 2) If this story is about you, I raise my glass to you, sir.

The story goes like this:

Two Jacks and a Jill went to a wedding last summer. Jack One and Jack Two are just a couple of gay roommates trying to make it in this world (this is my polite way of saying that have never consumed an entire bottle of Goldschlöger and made some choices they regretted in the morning). Jill is their friend. This is starting to feel like a children’s book. A very sassy children’s book.

Anyway, Jack One had this habit of getting drunk in public and going home with strangers. He promised Jack Two that he would “knock this shit off once he turned 30.”

One weekend, the three of them go to a wedding. They danced, they drank, they danced, and they danced and drank some more. At the end of the night, Jill and Jack Two realize there is no sign of Jack One. Not in the bar, not in the bathroom – nowhere. He has ghosted. They go out to the car in defeat only to see Jack One making out in the back seat of a different car parked a few spaces away.

Jack Two: He said he would knock this off!

Jill: Well, at least he is still in sight.

The car then started up and drove away. Jack Two and Jill decided to call it a night.

The next morning at 6:00 am Jill’s phone rang.

Jill: Seriously? What could you possibly need?

Jack One: Uhhhh, can you come get me?

Jill: Where are you?

Jack One: In a dorm room. Somewhere. 

Jill: Ugh…find yourself on Google maps. You have an iPhone for a reason.

Jack One: Okay…ummm …I’m in Islip.

Jill One: You have got to be kidding me. It’s going to take me at least an hour to get there. How the hell did you get all the way out there?

Jack One: I have no idea.

Jill: What do you mean?

Jack One: The last thing I remember is making out with some guy in a car and then I woke up on this couch.

Jill: Wait, you didn’t hook up with that guy?

Jack One: I don’t think so because I woke up fully clothed on this dorm room couch. Neither one of the people who left said anything to me. I think they both assume the other one brought me home. I DON’T KNOW WHO BROUGHT ME HERE. Oh my god, please come get me!

An hour later, Jill found Jack One at a random coffee shop in Islip.

Jill: Are you oaky?

Jack One: Yes…

Jill: What have we learned?

Jack: I should only go home with strangers if I’m going to get laid. And college couches are gross.

Jill: Well you got the beginning and the end right. I think you might have lost some of it there in the middle.

These are just the crazy things people tell me.

Originally posted on SexReally

The other day I got a call from Miss Sarcasm.

Miss Sarcasm: “I need your opinion about a boy.”

Me: “I have an answer: ‘Don’t get worked up until the boy tries to kiss you.’”

Miss Sarcasm: “No, not that. But seriously,” she continued, “You are like an automated advice-giving service.”

Me: “If you are trying to figure out if a boy likes you, press one. If you are getting on the bus to Crazyville and need an intervention, press two. If you are having a pregnancy prevention emergency, press three…”

Miss Sarcasm cuts me off: “I think we may have a deal breaker situation.”

Me: “Oh no. What is it?”

Miss Sarcasm: “I went on a date with this guy who is really funny, intelligent and cute. We have really similar taste in movies and music, plus he thinks I’m really funny.”

Me: “I don’t see what the problem is.”

Miss Sarcasm: “Well, he doesn’t like to travel.”

I audibly gasp at this statement.

Miss Sarcasm: “And he doesn’t really care about food. He thinks eating good food is a waste of time.”

Me: “You can’t date him. He doesn’t like to travel or eat good food!? Has he met you?”

Miss Sarcasm: “I know, I know. It would never work.”

Me: “People are going to think we are giant snobs.”

Miss Sarcasm: “Well, we are.”

This got me thinking. Were we really giant snobs? Doesn’t everyone have deal breakers? So, like a true social anthropologist (if referring to myself as a social anthropologist is a deal breaker, I can respect that), I conducted a snap focus group.

Here were just a few of the deal breakers real people shared with me:

• Watches American Idol
• Dragon T-shirts
• Smoking
• Jorts
• Drives a Hummer
• Clingy
• Membership to any group that could be considered a cult
• Married
• Doesn’t like football
• Doesn’t at least appreciate sarcasm
• Doesn’t know who Rahm Emanuel is
• Doesn’t think Arrested Development is funny
• Doesn’t have a job and isn’t actually trying to get one

Are these great deal breakers? Or the greatest deal breakers? You decide.

These are just the crazy things people tell me.