Good Samaritanism

Riding the Metro in D.C. is a thrilling experience that all people should make time for when visiting the city.

 

You really can't know exactly who or what you are going to encounter on a standard trip into downtown for an evening out, but that, I believe, is what makes it so exciting.

It's the thrill of the unknown that makes it a must experience attraction.

For example, I personally have been shot with a cane and hexed by a witch. 

I have witnessed police detainment, verbal and physical altercations, as well as a possible prostitute soliciting.

A couple of weeks ago, I even encountered a vampire.  Not the Edward kind (i WISH!)…

or even the Vampire Bill kind…

She was the way more scary variety; the actually looks 100 years old type that no human ever wants to meet.   Lucky me.

And, this is all by someone who rides only occasionally, when a D.C. area special event requires it.

Imagine what it must be like for a daily commuter!

I'm sure that the repeated exposure to cooky weirdness desensitizes one to it, so that seeing a supernatural being, or playing a role in the alternate universe of a schizophrenic ex-soldier is common place.

But, for me, being serenaded by an elderly doowop group is something to write blog about.

Each and every time I travel from my humble suburb of a D.C. suburb I get to enjoy the inner workings of the city. 

All of the parts that I was too naive to notice (or possibly, too drunk to care) in my younger days in LA make it a point to come out to play.

I'm not sure why I was actually surprised that my most recent trip ended with BFF and I being witnesses to a hit and run (no one was hurt, thankfully) accident.

After a night which began with Officer PTSD sniping me on the Metro platform, I guess I should not have been at all surprised when the Crypt Keeper showed up on my train in her cat suit and velvet cape either.

Nor should I have been amazed by the fact that hundreds of seemingly full brained people were unable to locate and claim the correct seats at a Washington Wizards game.

We spent a large portion of the event staring not at the action on the court, but instead at the action going on in the bleachers directly in front of us.

And, it was not only the alphabetically and numerically challenged patrons who struggled to get situated correctly, it was also the Verizon Center staff, friendly as they were, who seemed to be stumped by the seating system as well.

Even after they got involved in unscrambling the Great Stadium Seating Mix-up of 2009 it took more than a half an hour to get things sorta-kinda-it'll-do-since-some-seats-were-empty-anyway worked out.  There was even one very frightening moment in which an usher actually asked me what seat I was sitting in and then asked what seat was next to mine (stands to reason that if I'm in J12, then the one next to me is probably gonna be J13 or J11, right?!).

I forgave him because he was young, and the mathletes around us were getting him all flustered with their growing impatience.

What I'm still struggling to forgive however, is the buttplug in front of us who spent a good 15 minutes in a heated argument with the owners of the seats he'd commandeered about why he took them and why he can't move and how, if they'd relax (which was virtually impossible since they were standing because HE WAS IN THEIR SEATS!) he'd move when he finished his snack.

So, not only was I distracted from the game by his incessant jabbering, but even if I could tear myself away from his enthralling comments, I couldn't see because of the people STANDING UP IN FRONT OF ME!

Brilliant.

But, at least the kiss cam was sweet.

 

Also brilliant was the 60 year old disco-stick who was so wasted on the Metro on the way home from the game that he stumbled (trying to chase down a ball that was dropped; long story, just note that it too was unbelievably dumb), lost his balance, and fell into the purse of the woman sitting across from us.

Please note that when I say he fell into it, I actually mean he fell INSIDE of it.

He literally fell and landed with his head on the <span style="font-style:italic;">inside</span> of her purse.  And, then, to make it even more ridiculous he stayed inside of it for much longer than was acceptable. 

Just crouched there, butt in the air, head in her purse for an uncomfortable length of time.  After first, I though he was just kickin’ it in there, acquainting himself with the inner workings of the female handbag.  But then, he stayed in a little too long, causing us all to wonder if he’d actually passed out in there. 

After the is-it-a-full-moon? night we’d been having I would not have been surprised at all if that would’ve been the case, but I’m guessing he was just disoriented momentarily because he popped his drunk face outta there, retrieved his baseball (yep, there really was a ball), and found a seat to park it in for the remainder of the trip.

And yes, BFF and I laughed uncontrollably, out loud, in his face, because drunk-old-dude-awkwardly-wedged-inside-of-a-purse-like-an-ostrich is nothing if not funny.

And, all this topped off with the responsibility ditching, redneck rig (aka an unnecessarily huge pickup truck used for digging, rigging, and the like) which was possibly driven by the aforementioned drunk, 60 year old purse diver, that unceremoniously clipped the back of a minivan directly in front of me while changing lanes.

I tried to participate in a high speed chase when the braniac decided to floor it, but Hit-and-Run Driver Extraordinaire hung a right, and since I wasn’t really going that way, minivan was on his own.

Good Samaritanism has it’s limits even if no one else in this world seems to.

And, this week, instead of thanking any of these upstanding citizens I’ve decided to do something I’ve never done before; turn it around on them and say this…

You know, for not shooting you back, staking you, pushing you down three hundred (yes, we were that high up) flights of stairs onto the court, dousing you with my water bottle to sober you up, or ramming you repeatedly with my car.

You.  Are.  Welcome.

Pop over to Junk Mail Greetings where you can find a whole crap load of similarly awesome designs.  Even a few gems that are just perfect for the OMG-it’s-effing-December-already-shoot-me-now holiday!

And, Mama Kat, I can tell you what I WON’T be doing this holiday season…sitting in the cheap seats at a sporting event in D.C. 

Cheap seats on a cruise might not be so bad, though:)

Husband training

Momming boys entitles you to a number of rights and responsibilities, although I'm convinced that the responsibilities far outweigh the rights at the moment.

One of the most important responsibilities is training them to be good husbands when they grow up.

I've fully embraced this role and have made sure to begin teaching them various things about how you treat a lady.

For example, they know that telling mommy she "wooks weally skinny in dose workout pants" is the way to earn a piece of her post workout cookie extra hugs and kisses.

They know that the best way to get an extra piece of dessert after dinner is to compliment my cuisine nicely, but not puking all over the table helps, too.

And, they also know that prefacing every statement with an 'I wub you, Mommy" generally makes my response less pointed, even if they are asking for extra Wii time following an explosive brawl over a controller.

But, in spite of all of my efforts, they are who they are in some ways, and I've not learned how to reform their personalities enough to create super human super husbands (and I don't wanna make 'em too good so the girls start sniffing them out too early).

I am trying though, and I can already see who is emerging as a front-runner in the Great Husband Creation Race.

At the moment, #3 seems like he'll be perfect. The fact that he's still a toddler may have something to do with that, but still, he's a happy little dude, always laughing (except when he's crying), always energetic (except when he's conked out on the floor), and always ready to cuddle (except when he's batting at my face to get away from him).

#1 will be perfect for someone too, but I imagine she'll be more like the cheerleading coach on Glee since he sorta has a thing for being, um, let's say directed.

This one scares me a bit because if he marries some barbarianesq, tyrant of a woman she may try to keep him all to herself, which will not be cool. I'll have to get all psycho mom in-law on her and then I'll wind up on Dr. Phil, or worse, Maury Povich. She say ridiculous thingas about how I'm overbearing, nosy, and pushy. I punch her in her throat and have to be carted off stage by studio security. I guess I'll just have to pick his mate myself, you know, just to eliminate any butt kicking confusion in the future.

#2, on the other hand, may struggle to secure a bride at all. Not because he's not awesome, because he totally is, but because I'm not sure I'll be able to curb his zest for women (my baby LOVES boobies), his desire for perfection (he likes his bed made a certain way, his meals served a certain temp, and his kisses placed exactly right), or his lack of tolerance (temper, temper) enough to make him a very good candidate for most of the princesses at the ball.

The thing about him is that if you're on his good list, he's the sweetest thing. He recently informed me that he has a girlfriend at school. A girlfriend that holds his hand, plays with him in the sandbox, and says she loves him numerous times per day. A girlfriend who he blesses with compliments and stickers and half of his snack crackers.

You know, it freaked me out a bit at first, just because #1 has never expressed interest in lady friends, but then I realized that not only is their "relationship" harmless, but it's made him feel way more excited about going to school, which is something that even a year and a half of classes hasn't been able to do.

I'm glad he's found a friend, but I don't expect it to last.

My baby has a history.

Up until recently he was all betrothed to his first princess, our neighbor. But, he dropped her for her younger sister who he informed me is, "just so cute wit her wittle bit of hair dat's so white an pitty." Apparently, he's into blonds.

In all fairness to my boy, he did offer to, "marry bof of dem, so none of da pwincesses gets mad." Thoughtful, right?

Although, he's not given much thought to either of them since Preschool Girlfriend has hit the scene.

I'm sure he's destined to get some fast little floozy knocked up marry a no nonsense, gum popping, trash talking, firecracker who will put him in his place and have little if anything to do with my Christmas craft ideas. But, at least I can hope for a whole crap load of grandkids that I'll probably have the pleasure of raising, I mean helping to raise.

Mostly, I just want them to do exactly as I say find partners that make them happy.

Or, they could go ahead and find super awesome, giving, thoughtful, selfless-because-I-so-wanted-to-see-The-Nutcracker-instead wives, who become official Event Chasers and get NBA Tickets. A wonderful wife like this would let her husband talk her intoWashington Wizards Tickets or Cleveland Cavaliers Tickets so that instead of enjoying classical music and talented dancers she'll be stuffing her face with stadium dogs and nachos.

Hmmmm... maybe the basketball game's not such a bad idea after all!

Go! Fight! Win!

So, I'm kinda awesome.

Perhaps you already had an idea about that, but, now other people (like Hubby) are starting to recognize too.

This past weekend we celebrated his 33rd (yep, I said it) birthday.

And, by celebrated I mean I (along with the help from the even-more-awesomer-than-me people at RazorGator and Event Chaser) was able to secure him tickets to see the World Champion Pittsburgh Steelers take on the Washington Redskins at Fed Ex field.

I'm not a huge football fan.

Let me rephrase that. I am not a football fan at all.

Don't hate it, but definitely don't love it.

Matter of fact, the last time I paid really close attention to the goings on on a football field, I was scantily (not really, our uniforms had sweaters, long sleeved sweaters 'cause it was effing freezing during football season) clad in a cheerleading uniform enthusiastically shouting Go! Fight! Win! as the boy I was pinning after ran up and down the field like a rocket.

Currently, I attend sporting events for two reasons:
1. The food, and
2. The between play song action during which you can find me jumping around, stomping, clapping, and chanting the team slogans like a true fan as I desperately attempt to get spotted by the cameras so that I may enjoy my 30 seconds of fame on the Jumbotron. Yes, that was me doing the snake on the ESPN highlight reel last Saturday (kidding, but would totally be stoked if that really happened to me).

But, Hubby.... He's a fan.

Not a fan of the Steelers or (definitely not) the Redskins (he loves the 49ers).

But a fan of the game.

And, even though it was a preseason game, he was elated to discover that he would be a few (hundred) feet away from the likes of Troy Polamalu, Willie Parker, and Hines Ward (and some of those good players on the Redskins whose names he refused to share with me).

And he wasn't the only fan there.

The stadium was filled with the terrible towels of the Steelers and the rally rags of the Redskins (which they gave us for free upon entry, woot!).

It was a sea of gold, and black, and maroon (or whatever shade of red that is)...



There were also the die hard men-women-dressed-pigs, officially known as the Hoggettes...(the hog in the middle is actually me!)



Fun, right?!

Know what wasn't fun, though?

Having to chuck a perfectly good backpack and two umbrellas in the garbage can because apparently they aren't allowed inside of the stadium no matter how hard it is pouring outside.

WTF?!

No umbrellas?

I guess they are afraid that some drunk-off-his-a** Redskins fan could use his rain gear to bludgeon overzealous fans of opposing teams, but honestly, I just wanted to stay dry and not have to spend the entire game looking like this...



Luckily, the rain didn't last much past the first quarter and I was able to eat my bratwurst and my nachos in uninhibited-by-psycho-80s-hair peace.

Most exciting part of the whole night (other than watching the basically naked cheerleaders do their whole stripper dance routine for two hours straight; someone please hire these girls for a reality show, they are DESPERATE) was observing the huge police presence at FedEx Field in action.

It might possibly be the safest place to be in the DC Metro area on game night, provided you are not an obnoxiously drunken reveler.

If you are an obnoxiously drunken reveler, you are in direct violation of the Redskins' 18 page (okay not really, but it's super long, man) code of conduct and you will be tossed out on your ear, or your a**, depending on just how drunk you actually are.

Lucky for me (& Hubby) I wasn't drunk as it ALWAYS leads to bad things (or good things provided that you don't know me personally and therefore would not be directly impacted by my engaging in embarrassing and/or worthy of police intervention type behavior, in which case me drunk is funny).

We had a really nice (until my bloody, evil migraine kicked in and ruined it all) time hanging out together.

I almost remembered why I married the guy!

Want to read more about our outing? 'Course you do.

Check me out on Event Chaser!