And She Doesn't Even Know How OLD I Am.

Urmila: (Walking out of Starbucks.)
Elderly Woman Behind a Table (in a not-so-small town): (Smiling brightly at Urmila) Are you married, honey?
Urmila: No, ma'am, I'm not. (look how polite I am!)
EWBAT: Oh. Get married, honey. Life is lonely when you're not married.
Urmila: Oh. Okay.

Things men think women find sexy that women absolutely do not (find sexy).

The new Maroon 5 song, "Kiwi," is a paean to the "juiciness" of some girl's lady parts (oh please let them be Jessica Simpson's!) that features a promise that Adam Levine will be "a stronger and a faster lover" than anyone she's ever known. Apparently Bree's erstwhile paramour from last week is not alone in thinking ladies like it "fast." Either that, or he and Levine are friends. Either way, the two have inspired this list of other things that men seem to think women find hot and that we (and I think I speak for at least -- ALL -- of us here) do not. Note: This list is not exhaustive. And I'm sure I'll update it after the weekend.

-- "Fast" lovin'. I cannot believe this needs to be said. Fast? Why fast? Am I in a hurry? Is the house on fire? A sale at Barney's? Well, then for the love of God, fast isn't necessary. And it sure as hell isn't good.

-- How you're going to...in general. The corollary to the Levine Law above. It's just like I used to say as a kid: "Don't talk about it. Do it."

-- Excessive talk of, or actually, coming to blows, particularly at bars. Yes, the ability to protect oneself from harm is an attractive quality. And the ability to protect me from harm is particularly attractive, because as strong a woman as I am, I also lack hand-eye coordination and the ability to land a punch (but man, can I throw one!). However, what we appreciate is the ability, should it -- GOD forbid -- ever come to that. Starting fights, being involved in fights, talking about fights, thinking about fucking fights...just, no. Because I also don't want to think about you getting your -- or more importantly, MY -- ass kicked.

-- Your job. Whatever it is. Just...in general. I admire ambition, passion for what you do, a strong work ethic, intelligence, etc. And I definitely appreciate that you have a job (nice work). But weirdly, I have one too. So, you know, it's not that special. So please don't talk about it like you just infiltrated a terrorist camp on a covert mission to rescue a team of child hostages from the evil clutches of anti-democratic forces. Unless...did you? Because that would be hot.

-- Serenades. Serenades, you say? Who are you, Juliet? You'd be surprised, friends, at how much dudes welcome to opportunity to croon their hearts out. But repeat after me: Singing is only okay if you are the lead singer of a band. Or your name is Justin Timberlake. And even then, maybe not to me. And DEFINITELY not to K. As she says: "Dudes: do not sing near me. You will get punched. And the only place I can reach is your nuts." She's small, but...you know the rest.

There's more, I know. So help me out, ladies. Because the truth remains that I like dudes so much that it really is hard for me to come up with this list...at least, on my own.

Toe-may-toe, Toe-mah-toe.

Conversation between Urmila, pronunciation fascist, and a sommelier. Saturday night, circa 2am.

Sommelier: "I'm a so-mal-i-ay."
Urmila: "Weird, you don't look African."
Sommelier: "What?"
Urmila: "Nothing."

Wishing...and Hoping...and Thinking...and Praying....

Planning...and dreaming...each night of his chaaaa-aaa-arms...that won't get you into his aaaa-aaa-arms!

That song ("Wishing and Hoping") drives me batshit crazy, but it's in my head now (and was in my dream last night, but that is a whole 'nother post). And it got me thinking about "My Best Friend's Wedding," in whose opening credits it was used, which in turn got me thinking about the greatest bachelorette party of all time, which in turn led me to this conclusion: I kind of want to marry all my friends.

That's right, folks. The Love Bug of DC is back.

Said bachelorette party, Liz's, was the greatest of all time because it involved gorging ourselves on really good food, drinking copious amounts of champagne (and the occasional, gulp, pina colada, like it was champagne), and lying around on the beach like it was our job. At one point in the festivities/slothfulness, Liz descended deep into I-love-you-guys territory and waxed poetic about how awesome our lives would be if we were all married to each other.

And you know what? It. Would. Be. Fucking. Awesome.

Because honestly, my friends are the funniest, smartest, most interesting, best-at-everything people in the whole wide world. Their sheer awesomeness has sort of ruined me for men everywhere. I mean, what dude would want to lie on the beach and talk about his top 10 favorite uses of irony in literature while simultaneously listing his top 10 Lindsay Lohan outfit mistakes (from memory)? What dude, I ask? And yet, I fully know Kristi and Eleanor would. And Dana and Liz and Paige, because they were there. And Bree, because I'd make her, after she stopped rolling her eyes at me. And yes, that quality in a mate actually is that important to me.

So come on, ladies. Will you marry me? I know I could make you happy.

The B Word Scares Me

But you can't say "the guy I'm hanging out with" indefinitely. I would say more, but, as previously noted, the internet scares me. Don't worry, Urms, I'll get over it just around the time you shut down the blog for good.

Based on my posts, the world is a terrifying place.

Fortunately, the person whom I am now referring to as the B word is much less scared than I am...and seemingly infinitely patient.

A Little More Testosterone, A Little Less Lameness.

Working in an all-female environment has, quite possibly, been the most harrowing experience of my life (irony heavy here, okay). Don't get me wrong (don't you HATE it when people say that? it's like, I'm not getting you "wrong," buddy, whatever I'm thinking is the obvious implication of what you're saying). Anyway, I'm just saying that generally I love me the ladies. I really do. I love my friends, and my mom, and random ladies on the street, and bartendresses, and...blah blah, ad nauseum. I also love the ladies I work with, on an individual basis.

Here is what I do not love. I do not love meetings to divvy up tasks for office clean-up day. I do not love the forming of "decorating" committees. I do not love being assigned to bring in cupcakes -- for any occasion. I do not love bulletin boards. I especially do not love bulletin boards on which someone has posted an article titled, "Exercising Sense in the Shoe Department," where said article advises against wearing stilettos and wedges, and recommends instead that one wear one-inch heels or the "fashionable" Crocs that are the subject of a Bree Williams harangue below. (Also, just a postscript: I do not love even the insinuation that we take our fashion cues from The Washington Post. Come on.)

And if said bulletin board also has a "Water Watch," which you will be pleased to know is a chart wherein we track, via hash marks, whether we drink enough water daily for optimum health? Well, you KNOW I don't love that.

And I realize that I sound vaguely mysogynistic, and that these things aren't necessarily unique to women, or women-only work environments. Of course it's possible for men to congregrate around a bulletin board and kvetsch about their aching feet. Which is why I'm just asking for a little more testosterone. Just a little.

Oh who am I kidding. I'm a hater.

What. The. Hell.

I hate to follow Bree's brilliant anti-Crocs rant with another fashion-related post, especially one whose subject is also footwear.

But there are times in one's life where one must put aside one's feelings about rightness and propriety and just speak one's mind freely. That time is upon us (me), friends.

I said it before, but I'll say it again. What. The. Hell. Is that a wedge? A sneaker? A party-ready going-out sneaker-cum-horseshoe for an extremely avant-garde satyr? I mean, is that even a shoe?

Anyway, I hate to try to one-up you, Bree, but I think I just found a "shoe" that's worse than Crocs. Kudos to me, I guess.

* Sadly, this photo (and the shoe) is from shopbop.com, my very most favorite online shopping site. Say it ain't so, shopbop.com buyer. Seriously.

CROC of Shit

I am vehemently against the Croc. Living in DC makes this especially hard because tourists from bumblefuck (insert state in the South here) find Crocs to be (surprise!) quite comfortable and in some sick way, fashionable. My mind doesn't do well comprehending this so during summer months I can be seen cringing rather often at the sight of these monstrosities. Look, I get it if you want to wear these shoes around the house or gardening or for whatever purpose they were initially intended to serve - I, for one, am all about comfort when I sit down to watch Season 1 of 90210 on dvd for the fiftieth time and can be seen wearing pants with holes or my Nike t-shirt I've owned since Eighth grade. But...about the town?? Ugh, they are ugly as sin and you cannot convince me that a pair of running shoes or even flip-flops wouldn't be better than GD Crocs.

But, as I just discovered, they have now customized these specifically for my alma mater? Why??? And I'm sorry but I have to share them with you.
And don't think us Huskies are a privileged few. They've customized them for a whole host of our nation's fine universities. You can find them here (not to buy; to gasp and share in my pain, obvi.) - http://shop.crocs.com/CrocsSubProducts.aspx?from=collegiate%20models&grouptype=3&reqid=1008&reqProdTypeId=4&subsectionname=collegiate&section=products

So, if you have a school with "special" Crocs (and it seems no one is safe; public/private/second-rate matters not), join me in my cringing and absolute refusal to fall for this marketing ploy. Much like John Mayer rapes my ears, Crocs rape my eyes.

"I Want to Go Home, Mom." But We Just Got Here, Honey.

Not surprisingly, I am already sort-of "over" having a blog. I mean, I'm not over reading Bree's posts. I could do that all day. I'm just over writing my own posts.

As I mused earlier, in a demonstration of both wicked foreshadowing and remarkable self-awareness, I am pretty capricious. I think I also said that I was "whimsical" but of course that's euphemistic. Truth is I'm just fickle, and I get bored really easily, and really quickly. Actually, that's not true either. Basically, I get really into something -- such as this blog, or a song, or a boy, or an idea, or [insert pretty much anything here, frankly], and I immerse myself in it totally. After total immersion, however, comes oversaturation, and then ennui, and then, eventually, complete indifference. It's kind of where I'm at with John Krasinski right now (sorry, Bree).

Sometimes, however, I make it to the completion of the cycle, that rare post-indifference stage: pure rapture. It's how I feel about champagne (see earlier posts), and Bree and Kristi and Eleanor and Kenyon and Dana and Lindsay, and the song "Romeo and Juliet" (and also, "Trying to Throw Your Arms Around the World"), and a really good steak (and bacon, but not together, God forbid), and the book "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter," and my family (usually), and running on the beach, and David Foster Wallace, and pretty much anything to do with words in general. These are things (and people) of which I will never tire. So there's hope for you yet, oh blog of mine (and I guess you too, John Krasinski).

And speaking of David Foster Wallace, this post was actually intended to be a rumination on the meta-post, wherein I wrote about this unbelievably hilarious Go Fug Yourself post on Kelly Clarkson (solely for this line: "Today, I'm going to put leftover lasagna on a baguette and call it the Carb Lovers Sandwich.").

http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/go_fug_yourself/2007/05/fugaway.html

Buuuut...I'm over it already.

Pink the color, Pink the person, snow cones, basically anything that is awesome...

Last night, Urmila and I went to the Ben Gibbard show in the music capital of the world that is Washington DC. It was a good show even though people talked through Johnathan Rice AND Ben Gibbard and there was bad fashion to be seen left, right, up and down. However, those things matter not, for two reasons:

1) Ben Gibbard sounded really good live. I love Postal Service and I do like some Death Cab stuff (I love "The New Year") but overall I wouldn't describe myself as that big of a fan. He can sometimes be really vag-y and too "whiny, tortured emo boy." That said, his voice sounded excellent; even better than recorded. Not whiny, a little more intense and bass-y. "Soulful" was the word Urmila used to describe it. And I totally agree.

2) John Krasinski CAME OUT ON STAGE. He looked hot in his green tee and backwards hat. He had a guitar slung around his shoulder and while he probably doesn't know how to play anything but "Stairway to Heaven," that's okay because he looked the part and he joked back and forth with Gibbard and it was really cute. This was eerily coincidental and just plain bizarre, because an hour earlier when we were listening to the music on the pre-show mix, Urmila noticed that the music was almost identical (order and song-wise) to the mix she just made for Sunday morning brunch at her soon-to-be-established restaurant. I responded by saying something about vag-y music and then she said, "I bet John Krasinski would like my brunch mix." In fairness, she said this because she is random, and because John Krasinski is her celebrity crush. And then he came on stage. Weird, non? Also, no one cool comes along with any of the bands that play DC. Why would you?? New York's right there and the crowds in DC suck (Gibbard even pointed this out. Aggressive, testosterone-y, talking over the music, etc. He actually had to ask the crowd to shut up at one point.) And yet, there was John Krasinski, happy to just to peek his head out on stage and do a quick little song and dance for Urmila. Coincidence? I think not. Indicator of things to come? Most definitely.

UPDATE: Anyone interested can listen to the show: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=9935188

The Love Bug of DC

Someone called me that the other day. And Bree told me today that I'm "sunshine" (which she did not intend as a compliment).

In light of that (get it?), I'd like to share why I am so happy that God/Craigslist brought Bree to me a few short months ago. Because here is a totally non-exhaustive list of the awesomeness Bree has brought into my life, in no particular order:

DeVotchKa
The expression "JTM" [just too much]
The WP
The expression "i-f-ing"
Illy Medium Roast Fine-Ground coffee
"Alias"
Free Bumble&Bumble products (thanks Britney!)
The expression "totes" (the girl's got a vocabulary on her, what can I say)
The Unethicist
Romantic dinners/long walks on the beach/stolen moments/etc.

I am a lucky girl.

Analogies Are...Awesome (as is alliteration)

You know the classic "other fish in the sea" phrase?? While I love analogies, I hate phrases like this. If I was like.....omg I really like this guy - he's so cute and tall and has curly hair and is smart (looking, because c'mon people of course I haven't talked to him).....and then someone told me that he has a girlfriend and then someone else was like, oh its okay, there's other fish in the sea - I'd probably kick that someone else in the face (it was Urmila). Not too long ago, my annoyance/hatred of this particular phrase came just from the tackiness of it and the fact that only Grandmothers who wear sweaters with cutesy kitties on them (mine included) would embrace this statement and think that it was something a) uplifting and b) true. But recently, I've become aware of the problem of over-fishing and the fact that if we continue on this path of depleting our once well-populated waters, we'll reach a point where there actually aren't other fish in the sea - hence the importance of sustainable (WORD OF THE DAY.....AHHHHHHH) fishing practices. So now I despise this phrase not only because it is geriatric and cliched but also because it is WRONG.

Although, now that I think about it, with my recent track record in the boy department perhaps the overfishing comparison holds truer than ever. I mean its like, there's other fish in the sea/there's other guys out there...NO. Over-fishing is sucking the oceans dry of delicious fish and all the good ones have girlfriends. So now I've realized that saying this is really just a big fuck you to a disheartened girl who just found out her crush is betrothed. So, while I don't condone violence against Grandmothers, it would take a lot to restrain me if this analogy is made in my presence.

So hard...and so FAST????

Dear "Men,"

It's hard, I know, to know exactly what to do when you see a pretty girl on...say...a Thursday night at...say...your neighborhood bar and you want to...say...sleep with her. Harder still, I presume, when you are very successful in your career, which happens to be in a profession that women find (very) attractive.* I imagine that, generally, you get hit on a lot, and are used to having lady business thrown in your face. I also "imagine" that you were not exactly working with the full range of your senses at the time, having just celebrated being done with work for the night.

Fair enough.

On top of all this, my lady friend Bree is quite lovely, and, having been in her company on Thursday, I can say she was looking particularly fetching that night.

So taking all of this into account, I am going to empathize with you as much as possible, before saying this:

Please don't ever ask a woman within 30 seconds of meeting her whether you're going home with her. Just don't. But if you must, please don't follow it up with, "Because I will f*@$ you so hard, and so fast."

So...fast?

As the lovely Bree said in response, "I'm not sure that's what I want."

Best of luck (and congratulations on all those accolades coming your way),
"Women"

*In the interest of protecting the...well, I mean, he's kind of a douche, but whatever...we're going to leave out some salient, identifying details. But you know who you are, dude.

The (Not So) Simple Life

Cheers, Friends.

We now have our official blog picture.

Celebrate.

This is almost as bad as "Person of the Year: YOU"

Well friends, my hatred of John Mayer has grown to unmanageable levels. He is now being celebrated as one of the Time 100 People Who Shape Our World and this is what someone (clearly a fool) wrote about him:

John Mayer doesn't radiate courage. With his sunken eyes and a wardrobe you might generously call agoraphobic chic, his aura of passivity is an artistic achievement.

Jesus fucking Christ. And THIS:

His empathetic voice and emotional fearlessness elevate songs like 'Your Body Is a Wonderland' and 'Daughters' from pop ballads into more meaningful territory; give them half a chance, and during vulnerable moments, they'll be your friends for life.

Thats like saying, "If your boyfriend just broke up with you and you're drowning your sorrows in bottle after bottle of Boone's Farm and happen to hear one of these two shitty songs, John Mayer's sweet, sweet lyricism and salty rasp will capture your heart and tell you to put down the Ben & Jerry's and wash your hair cause, girlfirend, he's not worth it."

And finally (shoot me in the face and nuts. the "kicker," if you will):

...he knows that the blues are less about melanin than about truth and technique.

Melanin, MELANIN. Its like, "BLUES...not just for Negroes with a geetar." I mean, c'mon. Eric Clapton is like 65 or something. Wasn't this all said back when he was sunken-eyed and agoraphobic chic?

(Emphasis added to the quotes above, obvs...to highlight the grossness of it all.)

"I love words."

Yeah, I said that. I also said, "I love beer," and "I love everybody," so I mean, I don't think words should get too excited about it.

Seriously, though, words are awesome. [Ed. note. I am not drunk right now. I am, however, a little hungover and tired, and jittery from my pathetic attempt to compensate for both with caffeine.]

Anyway, forget it, okay? I realize the irony of being profoundly unable to find the words to describe my love for them. In fact, I'm at a loss...for...words. In so many ways.

Word of the Day.

Sustainable.

Word of the Day: Not to be confused with "Boyfriend of the Day," though in this case the two are most definitely linked.

Champagne Gives Me a Toof-Ache.

And so does Prosecco. And Cava! Weird.

Last night the lovely Jean was visiting from LA so I took her to Hook, my favoritest restaurant in DC, an interesting title for a restaurant that has only been open for a week. But as I've said before, I am super into novelty, and I am also...what is the euphemism I'm looking for...capricious? Mmm, let's call it "whimsical," shall we?

Anyway, the point is that the staff and management of Hook is beyond lovely, because they plied us with 3 free bottles of Prosecco, which is my favoritest fermented grape drink -- and that is long-standing and fairly widely known. The beauty is, I'm pretty sure they knew we were not rogue food critics or anyone with a serious capability to either boost or harm their business, so this seems to have been pure, unadulterated human kindness (and I seriously appreciate human kindness in the form of free booze).

But I woke up with a toof-ache this morning. Apparently, the high sugar content plus the acidity plus the carbonation...equals...toof-ache. At least in my experience. I wish I could say this would have any bearing on future carbonated alcohol consumption, but I fear it does not.

Also, I actually had a dream last night about the sable fish from Hook. It is like ichthial heaven.*

*I totally made up the word ichthial. But I think it works here.

Ed. note: The decor is awesome.

Panda Porn.

I tried to think of a boyfriend of the day, but... I'm not really in the mood.

Much, it seems, like China's panda population.

http://www.cnn.com/video/player/player.html?url=/video/tech/2007/04/29/vause.panda.porn.cnn

Dude, I'd way rather have panda porn than a boyfriend of the day.

Eff. Marry. Kill

Because I'm a huge bitch and Fuck/Marry/Kill happens to be my most favorite game EVER (well, that and Would You Rather), here's a really tough one...

Jake Gyllenhaal
http://popsugar.com/230450

John Krasinski
http://img86.imageshack.us/my.php?image=johnkrassz7.jpg

Ryan Gosling http://images.askmen.com/men/celeb_profiles_entertainment/37_ryan_gosling.jpg

Please click on the links - they make it that much more difficult. I am wont to include Shia Labeouf who, as you can tell from a previous post, is a major crush of the editors of DHA. However, I feel as though our other lady friends do not share our enthusiam (obsession?). YET, my dears...YET. No matter. I challenge you to feel comfortable with your answer to the above (and you HAVE to respond people). Oh and comment your answer.

Thanks, friends.