that holla-back girl

Last night was the end of season kickball party. Free admission and open bar at 18th and Red for all team members. The Fashionista had said there were enough females on their team who would no-show that I should come with. My response? "Consider my arm twisted."

After work, I headed over to the Fashionista's just 'cause. I swung by the store to pick up some Four Emus to contribute, which helped to contribute to our leisurely exit in pursuit of the cab. The F was showing us pics of her crazy connected "Giant" DC world since, as I've said before, DC is the biggest small city ever. We passed around the Paris Hilton perfume ("is this what jail smells like?").

With humidity painfully in effect, cabbing was our option. On the way over, I kept practicing my "name". Was I ever asked my name? Negative. We decided the assumed last name for me for last night, Holla, was a pretty cool one. Oh well - it went unused.

We were amused to see everyone in normal attire. It was weird not to see everyone color coded into their specific team, almost like everyone was a stranger all over again (at least momentarily). The music of course was great and turnout good. The venue was interesting though. Definitely needed fans in the part of the bar against the window. Air circulation was virtually nonexistent. Even one person cranking the A/C down to 50 degrees didn’t seem to help some parts of the bar. Interesting.

Around midnight, Sassy and I decided to check out and turn in. We caught a cab and headed home. We were chatting, catching up since I hadn’t seen too too much of Sassy since her return from Bermuda. We almost didn’t catch that our cab driver apparently clearly had no idea as to where on earth he was going. He was about to continue off in a completely different direction from our house if Sassy hadn’t piped up with “Where are you going? We live THAT way…”. Subtle? Not so much. I don’t think he was liking us, but honestly we didn’t care.

I came home to this message on Facebook from Brando: “I think you need to play kickball in the fall. Otherwise you are in danger of becoming an official kickball groupie.”

My reply: “Ohhhhh I don't know if I'm fully kickball ready. I'm afraid the "serious kids" might eat me alive... Is there a kickball boot-camp? Sincerely, In Need of Help (or running water, one...)

The Fashionista’s response to Brando’s post: ” You should play! Otherwise, as long as you don't show up wearing no clothes every week (a la porn star bizarro Annie), you can be a groupie. Don't listen to Brando!”

Verdict? TBD.

We also arrived home to no running water. Just what everyone wants after a night out. No washing faces, brushing teeth, etc. Luckily Sassy had some “emergency water” we busted out, making it communal and leaving it out in the hallway for common use. She was on the phone with DC water at 1AM, who assured us that they were flushing the system and it should be on within two hours or so. Sassy asked, “so we are three professionals who will need to have water to get ready for work around 7AM. I assume it will be on by then?” She was told that would be the case.

I’d been texting the Titan, and then emailing as his texting is messed up again. Final email from me was: “Oh boo. We're having a crisis here. No running water!!!! Where's the sympathy? Def not with Mr. Titan. (Sniff, sniff)”. Sassy and I felt we deserved some pity, for sure. Sassy had been joking that I can’t wait to get rid of my roommates, to which I kept responding, “It’s not you guys – it’s all the problems with this house!”. It was ironic to come home to find another example of fine hundred year old row house quirks.

Was the water back on this morning? Negative. Or not until it was too late to be useful, anyway. Shower today is courtesy of Washington Sports Club.