District of Booblumbia

Our trip to D.C. was fun, in large part due to the fact that we treated it as a weekend getaway rather than a shit!-I-have-to-work-and-pay-my-own-way kind of a thing (though the latter was what it really amounted to). My husband, the illustrious Booby*, made last-minute hotel arrangements in a relatively swanky chain located in D.C.'s gayborhood, drove us down on Friday night, took me for noshies and malt/hop-based beverages at the Brickskeller, took me for brunch at Afterwords, and, and, AND even walked me to the building I had to get to for work purposes on Saturday afternoon. I swear, for as much as he gets on my nerves, I do love that man, and I understand that I am a lucky woman to have found someone so sweet and so impervious to my rages. Not that those happen often, ha ha!**

Anyhoo, our late-night stop at the 'Skeller found us practically begging the waitstaff to bring us drinks, until finally Booby went and fetched from the bar. "Well, OK," said the barman, "But for the next round, you gotta order from the waitress!" No shit, dude, and don't you think we would've if she would come within ten feet of us? Also, thanks for realizing that you overcharged us by like, $15 for that heffeweissen. Luckily, a very sweet, but very drunk girl at the adjacent table came over to chat with me while Booby was at the bar, and she steered me to the correct waitron, whom I then cornered and menaced (well, really I just asked her for menus. But I only didn't menace her so she wouldn't loogie in my food). Sweet drunk girl then bought us a round of lemon drops as an apology for waving her butt in our faces while doing some booze-fueled country line dancing (she was quite talented; she had on high heeled boots and she didn't miss a step). She then asked if we were on our first date (ha!), asked when we were having kids (I decided to forgive her this faux pas, for how could she know this is a bad thing to ask? Aren't I magnanimous?), and told us she was an aerospace engineer. Booby didn't believe her, but she seemed sincere to me. And then, we had to wait so freakin' long for the chicken fingers I'd ordered that we got them for free (and they were delicious, because we were like starved hyenas in the Serengeti by the time they arrived. I even ate them with BBQ sauce, and I hate that stuff (I'd rather honey mustard, if you please).

Saturday we did the brunch thing, as referenced above, and I ask you, O Denizens of Our Capitol (or frequent visitors), what is up with the bad service in eateries? We asked for cream for our coffees about 4 times and never got it, plus the food arrived kind of cold. But whatevs, I had a good time anyway, and by some miracle I didn't think twice about it and skipped along my merry way (I was wearing new pants that I liked and looked good in, which sometimes make all the difference, really).

So now my complainy rant is over, even though for all my complaining I had a wonderful time. I hope you all had a fun weekend, the details of which I can read about in your blogs today!



*and likely reason for some of the pervier search strings that lead people here, although an innocent reference to "happy endings" in a recent meme brought someone Harridan-ward, looking for a "masseuse" in the area. Sorry I couldn't help you, dude. Might I suggest a RealDoll?

**Lies. I am on a near-constant PMS rotation, who am I kidding?