There Are Rude People on Metro!? For Real!?

The Washington Post Express published an article today about “seat hogs” – persons that occupy more than 1 designated space by either sitting on the outside/aisle seat and/or placing their personal belongings on the seat next to them (see article here). I fail to see how this is news. Yes, unfortunately it happens all the time but it’s not like there was a fist fight that broke out and led to mass hysteria on the orange line or anything (although I think I might pay to see that).

What I found kind of interesting in this article is that apparently the subway authorities in New York have “banned selfishness with seats” by imposing a $50 fine on individuals for this “disorderly conduct.” I would love to know how this is policed and how effective it truly is. Do you think they have a cool little subway system jail like the Philadelphia Eagles had to lock up any unruly fans? They could lock up anyone who is noncompliant with paying their fines and/or just completely outrageously offensive and rude. How cool would that be? Can you imagine having to call your boss from the subway jail bright and early Monday morning?

“Umm hey boss [long pause] I’m not going to be able to make it in to that big meeting this morning with our client. Why? Oh, well I kind of refused to share my seat with a pregnant lady on the subway this morning and things got a little out of hand. I’ll be there as soon as I can but if you could, could you maybe have someone bring me some food? Maybe some coffee? I’m kind of hungry…oh you have to go? Ok, yeah, that’s fine. Bye then…”

As amusing as I would find that it seems very unlikely. Instead, Metro could just lock people in the stations if they misbehave. Although, look at how much trouble that got them in last time! That was an honest mistake though, right?  All this talk of policing conduct got me to thinking. How could this be applied to our beloved DC metrorail system?  My solution?

Grownup safety patrols. We shall call them “The Polite Police”

Yes, you heard right. I propose that WMATA develop a sort of Metro patrol program, kind of like the school safety patrols from my childhood. You know what I’m talking about, the kids that wear the little orange belts and help other kids cross the street or make sure that the buses are safe by monitoring bullying and other transgressions like standing or walking while the bus is in motion (yes, I once was a safety patrol myself).

It will be our own version of Neighborhood Watch in a way…shaming the selfish “seat hogs” into compliance with the rules of common courtesy! Forcing that little old lady to spit out her food and drink because Metro rules clearly state that there is to be NO eating or drinking while on Metro. Ensuring that entry and exit onto the trains is done in an orderly fashion (perhaps single file a la elementary school). Oh the power! We could form a ragtag team and get our own reality show, I can see it now. We need a secret handshake. Applications will be accepted for a secret handshake developer shortly. It has to be cool though mind you, and complicated enough to where the civvies won’t be able to crack the code. 

I think this plan is fabulous but personally I could live without the orange belts. Being the giving person that I am, I am willing to volunteer my services to design a new one that would be created specifically for Metro Patrol. Maybe pink? Ohhh, hot pink! Ok, fine. We could do a less offense color so the boys don’t grouse (although nothing else screams intimidating more than a grown man in a hot pink belt, don’t you think?). WMATA needs to make me a consultant, clearly I could solve all their problems!

Honestly though I don’t see implementation of such a thing occurring anywhere in Metro’s near-term future despite the promise of increased revenue. With all the rude people that ride the metro the revenue garnered from these “rudeness citations” just might help close that enormous budget shortfall that has been so heavily publicized recently. Heck, even if people don’t get slapped with fines (or jailed) because they magically become considerate, I think people would be much less grouchy about having to pay up to $5 one-way to get to work. We all know that my main complaint about Metro is not necessarily the frequency of service or the cleanliness of the trains, but rather, it is how rude the passengers are. I don’t want your armpit in my face or to be smacked around by your bag on my way to work, why would I pay for that?! I’m already grumpy in the morning, just be nice and pay attention people!

I do have one simple request should Metro decide to utilize my brilliant suggestion. I want a cape. Oh yeah, and it needs to be trimmed with fur (fake fur, ok PETA?). I am quite aware of the potential safety issues that arise with the use of a cape (thank you Disney movies) - being eaten by the escalator, getting caught in the doors, being sucked into a plane propeller while flying to my shift, unruly peasants using it to strangle me upon reprimand, etc.  I am willing to face those risks in order to embrace the awesomeness of said cape and fight rudeness alongside my fellow Polite Police members. 

In parting let me leave my fellow metro riders with this piece of advice, if your grandmother would disapprove of your actions then you should probably think twice. And on the slight chance that she’s right along there with you, get a new grandma.

Sing Us A Song, You're The Piano Man...

It's no secret that my favorite night of the week is Saturday night. I don’t care if I’m going out or staying in, Saturday night is always something to look forward to. Friday night can be ok but I think a lot of that depends on how your day went earlier, how tired you are, what the weather is like, etc. Back in college weekends used to include Thursday nights. I didn’t necessarily partake in Thursday festivities very frequently because I am kind of lame when compared to the girls that attended my school – miniskirts and towering heels in the middle of winter on a mountain? I think not (See Mom? I didn’t waste your money while in college. I was probably diligently studying in my room…yeah, studying…)! Clearly, Sunday night kind of sucks. With Monday looming right around the corner, thus signaling a new week of 40+ hours back in the office, Sunday nights are often the victim of some well deserved hatred. No matter what I do Monday always comes around again and so I try to make the most of those precious few carefree hours on Saturday night.

A couple weeks ago some friends and I decided that we were going to hit up a few places at the National Harbor over in P.G. county (don’t judge me, technically I was born there). The logic behind this choice as opposed to the typical, and all too familiar, yuppie scene of Arlington is that they have something very specific that Arlington just couldn’t offer us…

a dueling piano bar.

During our vacation in early May my friend and I happened upon one of these venues and had an amazing time, complete with a post-party leisure walk, some time feeding the ducks, and plenty of photo ops (FYI by leisure walk what I really mean is walking angrily around the shopping center in order to sober up after being groped and propositioned by an old man who actually thought I might let him go home with me. Yeah freaking right – the ducks help calm me down). After some research I found that the closest, and only, dueling piano bar in the DC area was located at the National Harbor – Bobby McKey’s. The bar opened up in late 2008 but I had never heard anything about it. I found that pretty odd considering I only live about 7 miles away.

The morning of our adventure comes and I’m super excited. It’s not too frequently that I dress up (my Adidas sandals might as well be permanently attached to my feet) so I was looking forward to going somewhere and looking cute. One of my friends that was coming is ALWAYS in dresses and heels, this is like an unwritten law for her – let me tell you, when we went to the beach on vacation she forgot a beach towel but had enough heels to outfit a small country (ok, a very very small country – love you half sister!). Generally I feel like an underdressed slob because she always looks great but I vowed that I would dress myself to the nines and party with the best of them.

Donned in a one shoulder gray mini-dress, and further accessorized with my fabulous 4.5 inch Calvin Klein dark gray snakeskin embossed wedges (total statement shoes), I was really excited for my first trip to Bobby McKey’s. Let me tell you, they did not disappoint.

After parking the car in a nearby garage we made our way to the building. We gladly pay the $5 cover charge - $15 if you want VIP seating - and navigate our way to the bar for a drink. While standing around near the bar like a couple of wallflowers, I notice one of the bouncers approaching us (if that’s technically what he was, maybe security is a better word? I don’t know!). Standing there I quickly try to figure out what we did - are we in the way? maybe blocking a fire escape? perhaps someone knows us? He stops right in front of us and my eyes pan upward over this intimidating tall, muscular guy with a shaved head. He stands there, arms folded across his chest with a very straight look on his face. Awkwardly I raise my arm and give this weird little wave and enthusiastically say "Hi!" to which he responds “Do you want to sit?” Well of course we do! He leads us over to a table with a RESERVED sign on it and we plop down. Thank you Mr. Cute Muscular Bouncer Dude!

Within half an hour we are already having a great time, the people are our table are cool and the piano players are entertaining - what more could I ask for? The piano players transition to the next song and it’s Shoop by Salt N Pepa. I start to move around in my seat, always the entertainer of course, and before I know it my bouncer friend is back. Standing in front of me he grabs my purse off my lap and places it on the table. I’m so confused at this point. He gets me out of my seat and leads me up on to the stage and says “We need someone to dance.” As I stand on the stage alone (and in shock) I look out and violently throw my arm into the air and point at my friend – “She has to come up here too! Make her come up here!” Ha. I’m not dancing up on a stage alone unless you get a couple (or 8) drinks in me. So the bouncer brings her up to me and I’m better. We make our way to the middle of the stage and start dancing (4.5 inch heels on a stage is a little tough and I'm pretty sure I did that stupid kissy face thing all girls do in a weird attempt to look hot while dancing). I don’t even know the words to this song with the exception of the endless repetition of the word “shoop” of course (I don’t even think that’s a word). As we dance they get more girls up on the stage and everything is fine. The song changes to “Single Ladies” and all the women to my left leave the stage, I figure that’s my cue to leave too. Several of the other girls stay up there, one girl in particular got really into it. She was shaking what her mama gave her in teeny tiny little denim jeans. I saw her later that night and had to give her some props. She gave me crap for getting off the stage to which I responded that I felt it was her time to be in the spotlight because she was awesome. Of course she came back and said she would love to share that spotlight with me. Awww, fast stage dancing friends…it’s amazing what music, alcohol, and booty shaking can do!

While we were on stage more members of our group arrived to the bar but yet no one managed to get a picture of this awesomely bad stage dancing opportunity. My poor camera sat alone on the table waiting for someone to capture this memory,and boy I would have loved to have seen it. Some of us did get our picture taken by staff and it made it on the website, that was pretty cool. The last member of our group finally arrives after a long drive from Baltimore. She had agreed to come with one stipulation – we go to the bar next door (Cadillac Ranch) so that she could ride the mechanical bull.

Having been to country bars in Hampton Roads I figured I would have no problem fitting right in. Yeah I can’t line dance but whatever, it’s cool. So we get inside Cadillac Ranch and it is absolutely nothing like the country bars I had been to (miss you Saddleridge!)The clientele did not look like they were into country music, rodeos, or even lawnmower racing! How is this even a country bar?! We make a beeline towards the mechanical bull and she anxiously gets in line. Unfortunately, you have pay to ride the bull here...three bucks. To me fifteen seconds is not worth $3 (yes I gave myself 15 seconds and that’s probably generous). Riding a mechnical bull was totally free in Norfolk! I man the camera, ready to take pictures for her of her wild ride. Three minutes later the bull breaks. So much for that experience.

We sit down and have a drink since we are already there and I watch as girls line up for a photo op on the stationary bull. They hop on, one at a time, leaning forward while attempting to make “sexy faces” for the camera. We all know, bull riding is sexy, we get it. It's even more sexy when it’s a mechanical bull that's actually broken and had it not been you probably wouldn’t have lasted more than 22.5 seconds - you are all living a lie! Sadly, the worst part about this whole situation was still to come. I watched in horror as a rather large girl tried to get on the bull, futilely jumping in attempt to straddle the beast. I felt so bad as I watched, it was awful. Homegirl was not about to give up without a fight. On her 3^rd or 4^th attempt she somehow manages to get partially on the bull but her landing produces a mortifyingly loud SMACK that echoes throughout the entire building. She wiggles her way on fully and does her “sexy face” while giving everyone in the bar a clear view of her thong which was very much exposed. I tried my hardest not to react or make a sarcastic comment, I failed. That bull saw a lot of action that night, probably more than most of my guy friends have seen in a year! I guess the good news though is at least they don’t have to be rubbed down with disinfectant every night.

We ended our night back at Bobby McKeys’s, hanging out til last call and then parting ways to go home and get some much needed sleep. I can easily say that it was a successful Saturday night, one of my best in a while. I will be visiting Bobby McKey’s again and maybe next time I will be dragging YOU on stage with me.

Lawnmower Racing - "Turning a weekend chore into a competitive sport!"

About a week ago I was in the car listening the radio when I heard an ad that piqued my interest. I almost thought it was a joke upon listening or that possibly my mind was playing tricks on me. Could I really have just heard correctly? Indeed I did. The 6th Annual St. Mary’s Lawnmower Races would be taking place the following weekend. At that moment I vowed to myself that I would be in attendance, my Saturday night would be devoted to having some good ole’ wholesome country fun.

During the week I was looking forward to my weekend plans and when the end of the week rolled around, and I got the obligatory (and sometimes disingenuous) “any plans for the weekend?” inquiry from co-workers, friends, and foes alike, I was loud and proud in expressing my plan to attend a lawnmower race. I received some very strange faces and heard some rather judgmental tones as they questioned why I would go to such a thing. Silly city people, so close-minded! Why wouldn’t I go to such a thing? Honestly. Why not experience something new and see what exactly the big fuss is about? I mean it’s been going on for 6 years now; clearly there must be some draw.

When Saturday arrived I excitedly hopped in my car, rolled down the windows and hooked my iPod up to the stereo – of course I needed some good tunes to pump me up for the races. On my hour drive I saw a few things that I thought were interesting but the most notable was the woman with DC tags driving a green Dodge Neon with a head full of green and orange curlers. I am all about color coordination with the car. Personally I think blue might have been a little more flattering with her skin tone but I give her an A for effort and I’m sure she looked mighty sharp wherever she was going. I also passed a big Ford F-250 truck hauling a big black and red trailer with a VPRacing sticker on one side and a MAMA sticker on the other – apparently Southern Maryland is the place to be for racing of all kinds – who knew? (Probably lots of people)

Upon my arrival at Bowles Farm I was greeted by a 50 foot tall wooden Spongebob Squarepants, (why this is at a farm I don’t know, I guess it’s a gigantic version of a scarecrow? but the kids enjoyed it). I made my way over to the racetrack just in time for everyone to pause for a moment after the National Anthem to pray for the all athletes (the drivers), that is when I realized just how serious lawnmower racing is. I took a seat for the main event and quickly spotted a true fashion icon in the making lining up to race in the 16 and under race class. What made this guy so memorable was the orange mohawk he donned on his helmet which perfectly matched the orange flames that had been so carefully painted on his green lawnmower.

Photo taken by John Douglass 2010

My second favorite was also in the same race, a zebra striped lawnmower with purple lettering. There were so many different styles and paint jobs, some better than others but each unique. I secretly wished that a hot pink lawnmower would appear before me but sadly I was disappointed. (Barbie has a dream house, a pool, and a convertible, why shouldn’t she have a pimped out lawnmower too!?).

I watched the races, unclear on the rules but entertained nonetheless. Each race starts with the mowers in a line engines off with drivers aligned directly in front of their respective mowers. Once the green flag is waved the drivers run to their lawnmower and then they’re off! Depending on the racing class it can be anywhere from 5 to 30 laps (I’m glad someone else counts that because those suckers can move!). There were a few collisions, both with other mowers and/or barrels of hay, as well as some random stop and go points that I totally didn’t understand. I looked up the rules and apparently you raise your hand if your mower stalls, no one there actually seemed to know for sure.

(Using links to his pictures because they are way better than mine...)

What made the whole thing that much more entertaining was the commentary that surrounded me in the bleachers. From the curious little aspiring lawnmower racer behind me asking his mom how “fat people” ride lawnmowers to the man sitting next to me (who apparently figured I was not from the area) who asked me if I was “with one of the drivers” – I was thoroughly entertained. The comments alone were well worth my $8 admission fee. In addition to the races there was also an antique tractor display (some of them have wheels taller than me!), pony rides, a K-9 unit demonstration, a moon bounce and a horse pull but nothing could top the bonding and camaraderie that was all made possible because 37 years ago in England someone decided they were going to invent a little sport centered around racing lawnmowers.

I left Bowles Farm satisfied with my first exposure to lawnmower racing and with a camera full of pictures – including one where I am curled up inside the wheel of a tractor (perhaps I am a country girl at heart, or not). The icing on the cake of my lovely Saturday trip was the little note that the cashier wrote on my receipt.

Thought it was cute. When I finally looked at it I realized what it was that was taking so long when I was checking out at the register, that much effort can be time consuming. I was actually in a pretty good mood from rocking out in the car though so I guess my face just looks grumpy? That wasn't the first time someone has told me to smile...I can't help it people, that's just how my face looks! Either way it did make me smile a little bit (or maybe that was happiness caused by my shorti BLT, jury is still out).

Overall it was a successful Saturday indeed and I highly recommend that should you have the opportunity to check out lawnmower racing, or any other random thing that you might originally write off, that you take it and be open to a new experience. If nothing else you’re guaranteed to get a story out of it!

(P.S. After much contemplation I am now taking applications for lawnmower racer boyfriends. Please apply within, 18 and up only because as much as I liked the mohawk I like my freedom just a little bit more.)

New Post Coming Shortly!

Soon I will enlighten all of you on the fascinating world of lawnmower racing. I know you can hardly contain yourselves.

Flea Markets, fun for everyone!

I grew up in a pretty frugal family, shopping at thrift stores became a thrill for me at an early age. You know you aren’t exactly a normal 8th grader when a trip to the Salvation Army excites you more than a trip to the mall. I’ve always had an appreciation for finding little unique gems while poking around at a thrift store, yard sale or flea market (at the time “unique gems” to me meant cheap ceramic figurines - why? I’m not exactly sure, oh the joys of childhood). My 2nd grade teacher actually remembers me to this very day as the girl who would come to her yard sales and buy her “junk.” One find that I remember very well from one of her yard sales was this old wooden birdcage. Personally, I still think it was awesome and for only a couple bucks you couldn’t beat it. Unfortunately my parakeets at the time were far too smart and quickly learned that certain wooden sticks would move if they pulled at it with their beaks. My parents weren’t so thrilled with my find after the third or fourth time chasing the birds around the house (at least it was good exercise, kept us on our toes!). Thinking back it would have been more practical as decoration but either way, it was pretty kick-ass.

As I grew older I developed an appreciation of older pieces and subsequently moved away from my strange affinity for collecting weird ceramic figurines (thank God). Going to flea markets and thrift stores is always an exciting experience for me and I’ve learned to look past the initial appearance of an object and see how I can make it fit my purpose or style. Refinishing/altering furniture has become a passion of mine and my house is truly one of a kind. Besides being original I am also saving money and being “green” by reusing materials (score 2 extra cool points for me). My dad has referred to me (in jest of course) as a dumpster diver, mostly because of my insanely smart and economical use of wooden molding that was being disposed of by a neighbor in my condo complex. That molding was perfect for what I needed. Getting it from the trash room to my place was a little awkward but completely worth it. I used it to frame the plate glass mirror in my bathroom that was slightly askew from the vanity top which so irked me – it looks a MILLION times better and only cost me about 10 dollars after purchasing some adhesive and paint (thank you free labor! I’m talking to you Mom and Dad, you rock!).

Anyway, this past weekend I visited two flea markets in the Central Virginia area. Except for an antique wood and metal pulley there wasn’t anything in particular that I was looking for so I was able to take in everything and slowly browse without real purpose. Our first stop was at a flea market in Massaponax off Rt. 1, it probably has a name but I honestly don’t know what it is. Things were looking grim when we pulled up, there was a serious lack of vendors and I began to get worried. That feeling quickly dissipated upon entering the first building. The initial area contained mostly furniture with some quirky little pieces (one that looked like some kind of bridge for training dogs or something, I have no clue). While exploring I ran across a set of encyclopedias from 1938, they looked as if they had hardly been opened – a little faded from exposure to sunlight but definitely in great shape. Price tag? $3! Of course that had to go home with me, for 3 dollars who could pass that up? I continue browsing and run across something equally as interesting, if not more so.

Stripper shoes.

Three pairs of sky high, tacky, stripper shoes. One pair was pink with a Lucite heel while the other two were made mostly of a shiny vinyl material that could not be comfortable at all. I was completely shocked to find such a thing at a flea market in Central Virginia, I mean really? I just had to take a picture, I couldn’t resist. Of course I did this in a very discreet manner because even though I am making fun of someone’s really awful wardrobe choice I certainly don’t want to make anyone feel badly. I was also slightly afraid that if I spent too much time looking at them that I might attract attention thinking I possibly wanted to buy them. I’m a huge softy and if the vendors are nice and talk to me at flea markets I almost always feel compelled to buy something and I REALLY didn’t want to have to buy these, somehow I don’t think my mostly Calvin Klein wardrobe would have meshed with pink Lucite heels.

Now the kicker to all of this is that the stripper shoes were being sold for $10 – EACH pair! Yes, used shoes made out of plastic and vinyl that may or may not have been pawed by gross and dirty old men in Central Virginia are being sold for more than my set of 1938 encyclopedias. Who needs knowledge and historical information when you can just strap on a pair of these puppies and shake it like a Polaroid picture for cash? My priorities are clearly not in line; I should probably go back next weekend and get them.

After paying for my encyclopedias and bidding farewell to the stripper shoes I found an old toolbox that I purchased for $5 (much more interesting than my current plastic Walmart version) and a really cool old movie projector that sadly did not come home with me due to the guy’s inability to locate the power cord. Color me sad.

(Yes, it's dirty. I haven't cleaned it yet -- either way it has character!)

Within 12 miles or so of this flea market was another one that I had always wanted to check out called the VA Bazaar. It is located in a deceivingly large building visible from 95 which had fostered such high hopes. Don’t get me wrong, I was entertained while at the VA Bazaar but it appeared that at least half of this huge building was empty. Like all flea markets you find a completely random mix of things. This one, just like the last, had one of the most interesting compositions that I have ever seen. Of course there was the random domestic crap and tacky old clothes that no one wants to buy, the overly expensive antiques, a beanie baby shop (do they even still make those?), some sports stores and then in the middle of it all was a very scandalous lingerie/costume shop. If you ever want to get a dominatrix costume I would suggest bypassing Fredericks of Hollywood and some of those other online retailers and coming straight here, no shipping costs – it’s sexiness on demand here in Ladysmith, VA! Here are a few samples from their extensive inventory for your viewing pleasure.

What I learned from this trip is that when I decide to switch careers and get in touch with my seedy side I now know where to go to update my wardrobe. Between visits to Massaponax and Lady Smith I would be the hottest stripper this side of the Mason Dixon Line. Those fancy New York "entertainers" might have a 1 up on me but darn if I won’t be giving them a run for their money!

And So It Begins...

Being a Northern Virginia native I am almost embarrassed by my lack of knowledge re: fun and interesting things to do in the DC metro area. Having lived here since 1991, minus 5 or so years during college/grad school, I should have a thorough knowledge about the cool haps going on in the city – but I don’t, not at all. I am about as clueless as those guys that still rock trucker hats, it’s sad really (P.S. trucker hats = major turnoff. Justin Timberlake, supposed trend originator, has since stopped wearing them and everyone else should too).

Despite being informational challenged I still find this area to be full of wonder and magical, yet sometimes scary, things (like the Metro - amazing yet horrible at the same time). My intention for this blog is to use it as a journal for all my future adventures and misadventures around the DC area, sharing my experiences and newfound knowledge with anyone that cares (or is just really bored at work). Truth be told, the last time I had a blog I was a sophomore in college and it was basically comprised of entries where I whined about how my boyfriend at the time sucked (he really did). Let me just say that I vow to not let this one take such a tragic and pathetic turn, it really wasn’t cute. One good thing did come out of my old Xanga blog, I met one of my best friends on there and to this day we still talk/hang out regularly. Who knows what good things this blog will bestow upon me…Fame? Fortune? Success? A pony? I guess only time will tell.

Clearly the mundane details of my day at work are not very exciting (yay budgetary data!) and I see no reason why anyone would tune in to read that, therefore, I will be scheduling at least one new adventure/outing/experience per week to help ensure that my reader(s) don’t fall asleep from boredom (I’m being optimistic here with the addition of the "s" huh?). I will gladly listen to any suggestions that you may have, assuming of course that they do not put me in any sort of grave danger, minimal danger is acceptable though. Please feel free to leave any suggestions or thoughts either as comments or to shoot them over to my email at AllisonsAdventuresinWonderland@gmail.com.

First real post to come soon!