Douches 2 Electric Boogaloo

Not that anyone to whom I would need to apologize would be reading this; but I would like to offer apologies nonetheless for the infrequency with which I've written. Still living in Arlington, which provides me with constant reminders of all the douches one can possibly encounter. At one point I had six or seven different douches I wanted to write about but I will choose to write about these douches for now:

The Fitness Douche (Douchous Gymnasius)

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/print?id=1831396&type=story

It is probably self-evident that this douche's natural habitat lies at your local gym. He is likely to be adorned in all the most recent in moisture wicking sportswear. The mating call and ironically the defense mechanism for a Fitness douche are loud grunts uttered while "lifting" causing as much attention to be on him and how much he's lifting. Other forms of attack can include lecturing you on what is unhealthy about your diet. On the subject of diets, understand that the fitness douche does not eat food in the traditional sense. All items consumed by the fitness douche come in bar, gel, or liquid form. They can easily be distracted by words like electrolytes, anti-oxidants, anything ending in -ceps or -oids. While a Fitness Douche may tell you that much of his joy is derived from being physically active, it is actually derived from depriving you of the joy you get from unhealthy lifestyle choices i.e., "You wouldn't eat that if you knew what was in it".

The Music Douche (Douchous Sonicus)

http://hipsterhunter.com/XVIII_files/seeing%20double%20hipsters%20coachella.jpg

The Music Douche is sometimes categorized as another form of Fashion Douche. The difference is that while a Fashion Douche spends exorbitant amounts of money on clothes, the Music Douche will often spend exorbitant amounts of money to look like they don't spend anything on clothes. Often coiffed with a mullet or a faux hawk, or a mop that they spend hours on to make it look like they just woke up, you will find the Music Douche in any slowly gentrifying area of your city in a seedy small venue. This particular douche takes great pleasure in knowing things you don't, even if they have to say they like obscure shitty skacore bands just because you haven't heard of them. They will deny the musical talent of any band that is heard on terrestrial radio unless they preface it with "guilty pleasure" or "I like it in an ironic way". They have no mating call of their own and like a mocking bird, will either sing you their favorite b-side deep cut of their favorite obscure band or they will forgo their voice entirely and use their favorite mating tool, the mix CD. Older or more dedicated Music Douches will even dig up ancient relics to record mixtapes.

The Wine Douche (Douchous Oenophilius)

http://www.dvdez.net/wp-content/uploads/469.jpg

This is another douche that really pushes the limits of something you might consider overly pretentious. The wine douche is often found in high class wine bars or your local proprieter of fine spirits. This douche is pretending to have a knowledge of a sommelier because they've seen Sideways too many times. They almost always ascribe to the policy of expensive equals good. They'll ask to keep the cork, even though it will tell you nothing about the wine. They might even have a collection of corks like others might collect actual trophies marking actual successes. They congregate in large groups called "tastings" or "parties" where they share various wines and the stinkiest cheeses; spending hours talking about wine as art or how to truly understand wine you need to have the dirt underneath your fingers and the vintage in your veins or something equally asinine. The wine douches mating ritual involves an elaborate display of swirling of the wine and loud slurping noises all designed to draw as much attention to themselves.

JoSoPhine wishes her facebook friends would obey some simple rules

Since Facebook has eclipsed MySpace as the primary social networking site, one might assume that users have adopted and adhere to standards of proper usage. However, I find many of my online friends constantly botching it. I've decided that the problem is that my FB friends do not think of the site in the same way that I do: a tool for keeping in touch with friends and acquaintances and sharing a little piece of your self with them. Within that context, I propose my Rules of Facebook.

1. Do not use Facebook messaging as a substitute for emailing. If you have a friend's email address, send them an email. Why make them open another browser/tab, log in to another website, then click on a specific section of the site, then on the subject just to read your message? What is this - Get Smart? Facebook messaging is only appropriate when you are getting in touch with a friend that you don't normally contact via phone or email.

2. Do not make plans with people via their facebook wall. We already see how cool you are when you post 60 pictures of your weekend exploits every Sunday night with hilarious captions using "OMG," "not sure what was going on here," and "random guy from the bar" a minimum of 5 times each. Again, if you're hanging out with these people you're making plans with, it's likely you have their email or phone number--use it.

3. It is only acceptable to write facebook status messages that are 1) clever or 2) spread pertinent news that people actually care about. For example, "Katie and I are engaged!" is acceptable because now I know that Steve is engaged, vital information for a friend cruising facebook. On the other hand, "Mary is hearting her new nalgene!!" reveals nothing new to me about her life, except makes me think she's a little sadder for being so excited about a new water bottle. And maybe that she's well hydrated.

4. Do not write a facebook status message just so that people will ask you what is wrong and tell you how awesome you are. For example, "Susan is preparing to slit her wrists. Who wants to take care of her cat?" If instead, Susan had written, "Susan is so depressed she is preparing to eat cat litter until her mouth dries out and she starves to death," she might have been closer to satisfying the clever requirement of Rule No. 3. (Though it would still be a rather pathetic call for attention.)

5. Especially do not write status messages that make people want to vomit. "Alexis can't wait to spend her first Christmas with her hubby!" just made me reach for the trash can under my desk.

6. Do not post pictures of your sonogram. I get it, procreation is a beautiful, tiny miracle growing inside your belly. But just because we were in Symphonic Band together in the 8th grade does not mean I need to see the inside of your uterus. Post pics once you've birthed the kid and cleaned it off, it's much cuter that way.

7. Don't post and tag every picture you take from every event you attend. You especially don't need to tag ME in every picture in which a fraction of one of limbs appears. Realize that some people (again, ME) appreciate a little thing called discretion, especially when it comes to posting pictures online. I have no control over who sees pictures you post on your profile, so don't be so puzzled when I untag myself from 18 pictures of me hanging out at your pregame. Also, since I'm using facebook to keep up with your life (generally) and what you look like (generally) three albums from your day at the horse races is going a little overboard. Possible exceptions: trips that exceed one week or more than one country and your own wedding.

8. Don't invite me to add inane applications to my profile. I don't need to build a family tree on my facebook profile, so please, dear cousins, do not invite me to add the "We're Related" application. I already know we're related. Believe me, I experience our relation every Christmas, Easter, Mother's Day, Father's Day, birthday, baptism, baby shower, bridal shower, wedding ... I love you all, but I don't need a facebook application that spells it out for me every time I log in.

9. While we're talking about applications, also don't invite me to add your "cause" applications. I'm not sure I understand how me clicking and adding something to my profile helps your cause, I just don't get the connection. Call me crazy, but I'd rather actual actively participate in a cause in REAL life as opposed to adding something to a VIRTUAL profile. Madness, I know.

10. Realize that I'm mostly here to judge, so the easier you make that on me, the happier I will be.

Potrait of 2008 Finale

continued from previous post...


In October I went on my one and only date of the year. Things were going well until he pulled out the (terrible, high-pitched) Arnold Schwarzenegger impression at dinner. He also didn't help his case later when we were playing pool and he "channeled James Brown" by bopping around the table with his cue stick. Life Lesson #9 - If he brags about being good at "voices" during dinner, it is perfectly acceptable to fake sick and go home right after the meal. (Possible exception: he is a voiceover professional.) After that date I stopped returning his texts and took off for Europe for two weeks, where I did actually do awesome stuff in really scenic locations--including Belgium, Paris, London, Athens, and Germany--and developed addictions to Belgian waffles, hard cider, and taking pictures with guards outside important buildings.

I returned to the States in time for Thanksgiving, one last wedding, and, of course, the office Christmas party. Past CA parties have involved dates passing out in the coat closet, admins puking in the bathroom, and associates crab dancing on the stage with the ten-piece band. In case you find yourself wondering, "what exactly is crab dancing?" picture someone in the crab walk position, but instead of walking around on their hands and feet, they bounce up and down with the music, occasionally raising an arm or leg up in the air. Life Lesson #10 - Introducing yourself to the CFO at the holiday party is a good idea. Meeting the CFO when he gets on stage to stop you from crab dancing and pulls you back down onto the dance floor is not a good idea. (Just to clarify, this lesson was not learned from personal experience, just observation.) This year's holiday party featured no crab dancing (sadly), but instead starred the very drunk, almost 50-year-old, divorced head of IT hitting on me, eventually realizing I was too young for him, and capping it off with a nice, big grab of my ass. I suppose I could have had my fourth drunken makeout of the year had I wanted it. Life Lesson #11 - Making out with someone who could essentially be your father is never acceptable, no matter how big or long your dating rut is.

Christmas came and went just about as quickly as a 50-year-old's ass grab. Before I knew it December 31 had arrived again. In true 25-year-old single woman fashion, I popped my first bottle of bubbly at 7:00 as I got ready for the night. By 8:15 I had polished it off and packed the second bottle "to go" in a large purse. At 8:30 I headed out with my roommates to the metro, bottle of champagne in hand, to celebrate at a friend's apartment. I don't remember much past 10, but pictures indicate my midnight kiss involved a faux makeout with my friend Suzanne--the only barrier between our tongues was my hand. Hot. Life Lesson #11 - Just because you're another year older, and ten "Life Lessons" wiser, doesn't mean you need to be any soberer to ring in the new year.
I hope everyone had a joyous holiday season and that 2009 is off to a wonderful start. Til next year,
JoSoPhine

Overheard at Arby's

So the other day I was "enjoying" the "roast beef" of a fine Arby's sandwich on a not so regular break in my day at work. For some reason unbeknownst to me, there was a large group of high school boys there. From the looks of things, there were several tables of them pushed together comprising some sort of sports team and a smaller table of kids who just weren't cool enough. Cool enough to skip, but not cool enough to hang with the real movers and shakers. Being somewhat of an in-betweener in high school, I felt I could relate to the latter. I continued my lunch despite the cries of bravado provided by the table of future employees of Glory Days Bar and Grill, but found the conversation from the table of not-quite-there's to be somewhat interesting.

Boy 1: I don't get it, dude, we talk all the time and she thinks I'm totally hilarious. We've got like 3 classes together; and we're always in the same study groups. But we never hang out. She's always out with Brian _____. He's such a dick. (nods of assent from his friends here) I mean how cliche is it that she'd want to go out with a jock?

I'd like to point out here that if the boy is intelligent enough to understand what a cliche that is, he should be smart enough to understand what a cliche he is. But wait, true believers perhaps one of his friends will enlighten our protagonist with such a pearl of wisdom...

Boy 2: Dude, chicks dig assholes. Brian ____ is a dick, and a huge asshole (personal snickering as to what that would look like anthropomorphically speaking). You're too nice dude. You're that nice guy that you see in movies that the chick never goes for.

Anthropomorphic DickAsshole

Almost there...boy blunders almost there...

Boy 3: That does it dude. I'm gonna stop being nice to chicks. I'm just gonna be an asshole and see what happens.

Boys 1 & 2: Yeah, fuck it. I'm gonna be an asshole, too. Fuck this being nice, shit.

Ouch! So close, but yet so far from any real life changing realizations.

And there you have it. You have the one conversation every nice guy in high school will have with his friends at one point in his high school career across every race, creed, color, religion. The conversation where they all consciously decide to be an asshole to chicks because chicks dig assholes.

Oh, boys 1,2 and 3. How sorry I feel for these kids. These poor bastards thinking they can change a part of their nature the way you, dear reader, or I would change our clothes from work to play. I wanted to shake them, and warn them as a recovering high school nice guy (we can smell our own), "You can't just decide to be an asshole, you retards." It's something you're either born with or it gets beaten into you from years of verbal abuse and failure. And unfortunatley, no matter how much you think you've experienced, you're far too young to experience real failure just yet.

Sure, they'll try to be assholes for awhile. It will be tough at first. Saying no to a study group with the girl you're in love with just to make her feel like you're all of a sudden aloof and disinterested (especially when you know that this is the only way you're going to spend time with her, studying). They'll even probably crack a few times and carry stuff for her or pick her up from practice etc. But then they'll get the timing wrong, or be too much of an asshole and ruin whatever meager chance they had with the girl of their dreams because they tried to be something they're not.

"Boys," I wanted to say, "you can't just decide you're an asshole one day."
"Save yourself some heartache. You can't be with these girls who seem to go for assholes because you're the nice guy. I'm not saying that nice guys finish last. Not by any means. I know tons of nice guys who have awesome girlfriends/wives. I'm telling you right now you need to give up on those girls. You don't want them really. The girls who go for assholes are the ones with terrible daddy issues that you ass a nice guy, or any guy really, doesn't want in your life. So give up on these chicks, and find that nice girl who thinks you're impression of Cartman is spot-on and loves it. Or thinks that sports are stupid and that smart guys are sexy. As the bard says, 'To thine own self be true.' He knows what he's talking about, I mean can you think of all the chicks who must have fallen in love with Shakespeare? I think they made a movie about it. I think it was called Shakespeare in Love...with Banging Mad Broads".

From: http://www.arbys.com/menu/sides.php
Ranchy judgy goodness

But as I didn't want to be a weird creepy guy at the Arby's; I just smiled to myself and dipped my loaded potato bite into sweet ranchy goodness.

Portrait of 2008 Part 2

... continued from previous post

May also brought the first two weddings of the year. The highlight of my cousin Tom's wedding was not the symphony of semis and car horns blowing by the ceremony that took place in a roadside garden, or even the seven-months-pregnant bride stepping outside for a cigarette. (Life Lesson #5 - If you get knocked up before you're married and plan on marrying the father, either get married immediately, or wait until the baby is born. You will look happier, less swollen, and hopefully less tired with a baby in hand than when you've had a bun baking in the oven for seven months. Although, thinking about the wedding night, pregnant sex probably has the upper hand over post-birthing sex when things might be a little stretched out. Just something to consider ... though I guess if you already have a kid the wedding night isn't so special after all. But I digress ... ) For me the highlight of this wedding in particular was sitting alone at the table during the couple's dance when the DJ counted down from couples who had been married the longest (my aunt and uncle won with 44 years) to couples who were there as "just friends." As the only single person above 18 in the extended family (excluding my widowed aunt and grandmother), my darling younger brother Sean suggested I take an empty chair from the table out to the dance floor and swing it around as my partner. Naturally, I went to the bar instead. That may or may not explain why, at the end of the night, I took a bottle of Malibu from the stash of excess liquor. I knew my cousin had bought all the liquor for the reception, so it's not like I was stealing from the reception hall, it was more so stealing from my cousin ... which still doesn't sound good.

The second wedding of the month brought lots of Dirty Shirley's, quality time with old friends from Mary Washington, and a hook-up with an ex-boyfriend I hadn't seen in a year. Here comes Life Lesson #6, kiddos. Items 1 and 3 in that list there are closely related. When you cloud your judgement with alcohol, you let yourself think that certain things are a good idea even when you knew going in that they were as good an idea as that cigar from 7-11. And when an ex says he'd like to see you again, what he really means is that he will text you for about a month until ceasing communication and telling you two months later when you call him that he is seeing someone else and he's pleased it's going quite well and he didn't think he owed it to you to tell you. I guess we can count that one as Life Lesson #7.

I enjoyed the summer months binge drinking at more weddings, bachelorette parties, beach weekends, concerts at Nissan Pavilion, Nationals games, and cookouts. In September I celebrated the big 2-5 with drinks and dessert at a swanky chocolate lounge (I lasted about two hours in my swanky heels, ended up taking them off at the bar later) and by making out with an Army dude. Drunk makeout counter for 2008: three. Total makeout counter for 2008: three.

At the end of September, my older brother Michael got married in Charlottesville, VA. I had the pleasure of standing up with them in the bridal party and paying $600 to stay in the same inn where the wedding was held. Life Lesson #8 - being in a wedding is very exciting the first two or three times. Then you get over the emotional factor and realize you're shelling out a minimum of $500 between the bridal shower, bachelorette party, gifts, a dress you'll be lucky to reuse once, and uncomfortable shoes that you may pay extra to dye from white to ivory (true story) and will wear for the ceremony and maybe the first hour of the reception. Usually it ends up being closer to a grand, especially if you have to travel. The solution is to suck it up and do it (especially if you're related, there's really no way out). Then you just make sure to drink your money's worth at the open bar and invite them to your wedding, even if at that point you haven't talked in six years. Because presumably by then they will have a cushy combined income to buy you a nice, expensive juicer off your registry. Unless of course they're already divorced, in which case the best you can hope for is a vegetable peeler and few hand towels.

Watch this space for Part 3...

Portrait of 2008 by a 25-Year-Old Single Woman, Part 1

My Christmas Letter, 2008

Dear Friends and Family,
All of your beautiful family photos and Christmas cards inspired me to share the highs and lows of my year. I thought about sending a picture card with a few shots of me doing all the awesome things I do all year in really scenic places, but decided that might be a little over the top. So instead I will detail them for you in a letter, aptly titled "Portrait of 2008 by a 25-Year-Old Single Woman."

The year started off with a wicked hangover--two bottles of champagne will do that to you. (To all my cousins' kids: read closely - this is Aunt Joanna's first Life Lesson.) However, I was glad to have downed a bottle of champagne before arriving at the all-inclusive mondo party on the Georgetown waterfont, because inevitably the 234,727 sorority chicks in mini dresses will get served before you so you find yourself waiting 25 minutes just to order two rum and cokes that come in glasses roughly equivalent to Dixie cups. Life Lesson #2 - When you really need to be drunk, you can't rely on anyone but yourself, so load up on the pregame in case it takes two years to get a drink. At least then you'll have the comfort of being drunk while you're elbowing a-holes for space at the bar.

In March, I took my first full week off from work in two-and-a-half years to vacation in Florida. We happened to be in Key West during college Spring Break and I made out with a cute midshipman from the Naval Academy. I also snorkeled for the first time and smoked a delicious vanilla cigar. (Life Lesson #3 - you can find high-quality, fairly inexpensive cigars in Key West. Or really anywhere besides 7-11. You'd be better off rolling up some cardboard and smoking it than a cigar from 7-11.) While stumbling down Duvall Street, cigar in mouth, I called my office phone and left a voicemail for my "work self" from "vacation self." When I called into the voicemail the next morning I discovered not only a remarkably incoherent and babbling message from my "vacation self," but also one from the co-founder of our company asking me to take care of writing something for him. Luckily, "vacation self" did not take it upon herself to return the voicemail to Mr. Founder, or else it would have gone something like, "Absolutely, Mr. Founder, I'll take care of it as soon as I stop drinking yards of margarita at Sloppy Joe's, sober up, and get off this fantasy island." Life Lesson #4 - It is never a good idea to mix "vacation self" with "work self."

In May I moved into a new house. New as in new to me, not that it was a new house. I'd approximate that the house was built in 1785, with the radiator heat being installed somewhere in the 1900s. My bedroom, an addition to the house circa 1930, was originally intended as a mud room and was not necessarily my first choice of living arrangements. But when my initial housing plans fell through I ended up with fantastic roommates in a not-quite-so-fantastic abode. I especially enjoyed going into an Open House for the brand-new house for sale next door and seeing a walk-in closet that is bigger than my "bedroom."

Stay tuned for Part 2 ...

On Douches

I don't know if it's a function of where I live or where I choose to drink myself into thinking my life's better than it is; but I find that I've encountered a wide array of douches in my life. I'm not talking of some kind of odd beverage choice here, I'm speaking on the "gentlemen" clientele that seem to frequent the same watering holes I do. After having just said that, I also hope that this is not indicative of some kind of character flaw I haven't noticed about myself. Either way I'm going to choose to ignore that last part and shove on with this lil' project of mine I have chosen to dub: The Douche Bag Beastiary. I feel that in the past the term douche bag used to mean one thing: a man who is unjustifiably arrogant about one thing or another. Over time this one person category has mutated, splintered and flourished into a plethora of species that would intimidate Charles Darwin. In this and following posts (as the douches are numerous and I am lazy) I will attempt to categorize and describe these aforementioned douches.

The Fashion Douche (Douchous Textilius):

from: frattinghard.com/archive/2006_10_01_archive.html

You may have seen this particular douche on any number of your weekend excursions. His favorite habitats seem to include upscale malls or bars with one word names (Tonic, Velvet, etc.). He is usually marked by an outfit that would likely cost more than your entire wardrobe. His collar is usually popped. You may have seen him around the turn of the century sporting an upside down visor, or a backwards visor, or some odd variation of wearing a visor. This particular species will tend to mask the stench of bullshit with some designer cologne of which he has no clue how much to use. His shirt will almost assuredly be either one of two things: striped button-down so elaborate you'd think you were looking at a magic eye poster (you remember those things? Woo 1994!), or an equally elaborate t-shirt with a design that spans his entire ample torso. It is this observer's belief that the object of this is similar to a bird of paradise displaying large shows of color so as to attract females only the true aim is more of a visual rufie designed to disorient the intended female.

The Vehicular Douche (Douchous Automobilius):from: theory.isthereason.com/?m=200601

It can be argued that this douche would rather be heard than be seen although this can be argued the other way as well. I choose to believe that this douche would rather just let the whole world know he exists through any facet of his car whether it be the high whine coming out of the oversized exhaust on his 1995 Honda Civic; the mural of Apollo streaking down the side of his 1987 Ford Mustang; or the shaking of your own chest cavity caused by the bass of a system that would give Xzibit amp envy. The Vehicular Douche is not to be confused with an actual gearhead who knows about cars and has actual grease under his fingernails. No quite the contrary he has no idea how to fix his car and will go to great lengths and spend any amount of money so that he doesn't have to worry about it (like, say airlifting your car to a shop in another country). Frequent stomping grounds for this douche include commuter parking lots after hours, or speeding in front of your house. They prefer to create nests out of clippings from import car/tuner magazines in their disproportionately small homes due to their crippling car payments. Mating calls usually involve lame jokes concerning the back seat or parking the "meat bus" somewhere.

The Scholastic Douche (Douchous Educanis):

from: http://www.abovethelaw.com/2007/02/tier_3_law_students_are_hotter.php

As one might be able to guess this douche is marked by his sole interest: Where you went to school. This is not because he genuinely cares where you went or what you learned but only because it serves as a context for him to tell you where he went and what he studied. In a similar fashion, he will inquire about your intellectual interests only again as a point of reference. His speech patterns are marked not by listening but by waitin for you to finish talking that is if he'll let you get in a word edgewise. Favorite habitats tend to gravitate to large schools with a strong Public Policy department or equally small liberal arts schools with competitive English or Philosophy departments. The scholastic douche is usually ensconced in tweed although he enjoys the touch of a good wool sweater.