Moving: A Horror Story

Guys...shit's getting real. Like RULLLLLL RUL. I mean like...what does that even mean? Welp, what it means is that I have been focusing every waking moment (when I am not working or drinking of course) looking for an apartment in DC. I'm losing my mind and I feel like it should be easier than this. BUT IT'S NOT. (Whenever I write or say "It's Not", I always, without fail, repeat it in my head as "IT SNOT" and then giggle because I have said "Snot". THIS IS WHY I DON'T HAVE A BF OR AN APT).

(I practiced making this face for awhile. My head kinda hurts, but if I were you, I wouldn't wanna piss me off. I have a new cray cray face)

Did you know there was this thing called "Roommate Interviewing" that exists in DC. I have heard of it in other cities, but DC really takes the cake on this one. You basically have to sell yourself to these people in emails first, try to make yourself sound cool but not too cool, fun but not an alcoholic, clean without being Monica Gellar, and awesome without being cocky. ONCE you have sold them on your sweet writing skills you are given a time to go infront of the council of roommates and meet them all. Where. They. Judge. You. I feel like this is some cruel joke that is being played on me where I have to relive all of the insecure moments I had in middle school over, and over, and over again. 

So I have been to some crazy places over the last couple of months and since I have some of the coolest roommates out there (shout out to Mama and Papa Fab, you be real cool), I am not rushing into anything. It's not like I have a deadline of when I have to be out (though they have been giving me the side-eye recently), so I want to find a place that is just right. One of the places I looked at recently had this sweet ad and was located in this amazing apartment building in Columbia Heights. Three girls, 2 Jewish (Half-jew PRIDE), and a private balcony. What more could a glittery gay boy want?

(SO MUCH HAPPINESS. Obamz, you and me, just giggling through life)

There was one snafu in the email and it said that the room was a "shared space" but never clarified what type of shared space. So I arrived to this swanky building and was escorted by the nice jewish girl to the apartment. Along the way, she showed me all of the wonderful amenities. I was in heaven....until we got into the actual apartment. As soon as I walked in, I realized how tiny the place was. The kitchen, living room, and sitting area were crammed into this apartment like sardines in a can. Immediately when I walked in I was accosted with the site of one bedroom that had a small twin sized bed sitting on the ground and a table extremely low to the ground. There wasn't a window in the room and the bed didn't seem to have any blankets on it. (I am convinced it was a prisoners room and they let her out to show the new "roommate" how normal and well adjusted they were)

After short, awkward, conversation, one of the girls piped up that it was time to show me the room. She took me up a windy staircase where I was met with a medium sized open space that had a desk, dresser, and a full sized bed that took up most of the space. The nice girl then said "This is the space you and I will share if you choose to move in"

(Why yes, yes this is Harry Styles from One Direction)

I was in utter shock at this point and had no real control over how my face was going to react to this ridiculous news. These girls were all in their mid-twenties and there is absolutely NO reason to be sharing a room at that age. She kept trying to sell herself to me as this person who could share a space and be "unavailable" if we needed to have "house guests" over. (Granted, this was a concern of mine. But only momentary because, as we all know, #celibacy2012/3). I listened to her talk for awhile before I walked down the tiny staircase trying to contemplate why they thought it would be appropriate for someone to share a room in this apartment, let alone pay $800 for it. (Did I forget to mention how expensive this "room share" was?? Again, I say, biiiitch puh-lease)

I did find one I was really into recently and they strung me along until tonight pretending like I was there top choice, then going radio silent at the last minute. I was so nervous about getting this place but then I ran into one of the roommates on Saturday night outside of the liquor store (because that's where all roommate relationships should start) and she told me that I was their top choice and I should hear back at any moment. Unfortunately, I was told by the house manager I would hear by Monday night and I am still waiting on her email. (Seriously, I am refreshing my email inbox on the reg, looking at it and not willing to accept that I am like the girl who was stood up on prom night. Looking all pretty with no place to go.)

(JUST LIKE ME. Or I will ugly cry like Anne. Don't put it past me. I am not above it)

I was so stressed out about this apartment that I actually had a dream about it last night. I woke up in a cold sweat because the house manager emailed me back to tell me that they were going with someone else who was a DJ. Her reasoning was that they had always wanted a house DJ and this guy claimed to play lots of metal music. I apparently didn't seem like the "metal" type and they really needed that in their lives. I was devastated and unsure of what to do with my life. (Reminder: This was all just a dream). When I woke up I began writing these possible roommates to let them know I was considering getting into metal music. It wasn't until I was half-way through the email that I realized that writing this would make me seem, essentially, NUTS. (Not that I am not crazy, but I don't let my freak flag fly right away. I am a classy lady.) 

Anywhoz, I am in this mad search for an apartment and thanks to some lovely facebook friends, I have a few more prospects to look forward to. Onward and upward my dear friends, onward and upward. 

DC Residents: Judgey and possibly insane. Here's lookin' at you kid 

Fabulously Lost: Homeless (metaphorically) 

Mama/Papa Fab: Sweet roomies who provide free food. 

Brazilian Adventures, Part 2

Remember how cultured I was at the end of the last post? You know, cause I had wooed a woman with my boyish good lucks and sparkling charm? Yup, that happened. I wonder if she is sitting down there in Brazil wondering if I will ever show up to her hotel room. I am sure she is...cause what woman wouldn't want this hunk-a-burnin' man love. (The answer is most...most women don't want to bed a flamer thats been burning bright since '88)

Now that we have that little RECRAP out of the way we can delve into the meat of my trip. (Jokes for days. DAYZ I tell you). You may remember me mentioning my co-worker Daddy Raids (his name needs no explanation, other than that I promise he isn't a pedophile. Or a rapper. Or a rapping pedophile.). Well he is partially the reason for some of my adventures down in good ol' Sao Paulo. You see, Daddy Raids and I have actually known each other for many years. We met through mutual friends in college, then later became coworkers. Since we are around the same age, we tend to be around each other at work functions and at younger people work functions outside of work (See also: copious amounts of drinking activities). 

Anywhoz, Daddy Raids and I also work with a man who can only be described as one of the most suave men I have ever met. (And I have met many suaveeee men). Casanova holds a very high position in our company and has lived a life that many of us would kill to live. He is married to a gorgeous woman, they have an adorable child, they live in NYC, he has lived all over the world, and travels constantly for work. Back in a previous life he had lived for some time in Sâo Paulo, and it is because of that that he decided to grab me, Daddy Raids, and Sharif (another colleague) for the adventure none of us would've every predicted for ourselves. 

(Ugh, great movie. Also, similar to my night.)

Casanova separated the three of us from our larger group to show us the "real Sâo Paulo." He told us about the hotel he was staying at in the downtown portion of the city, Tivoli. 

Casanova: Last night, as I entered the elevator to go to my room, I saw five of the most beautiful women heading to the bar at the top of the building. We must go.

Me: Yes, well, you know how I like to follow the most beautiful women to bars. 

Casanova: Brazil is full of beautiful people. You will have so much fun. 

Once we arrived to Arola, the bar/night club on the top floor, we found out that there was a guest list for a private party. Casanova took everything in stride and explained that we were on the guest list. (In case you were wondering...we weren't anywhere on that list.) Without missing a beat, he leaned over the table to help the girl find his name, and just pointed at a random person and said it was him. The woman, completely flustered, handed him a wristband and he began to walk in. We started to follow before she stopped us. 

Dainty Bouncer: You cannot enter unless you are on the list....

Casanova: They are with me, they come with me 

Dainty Bouncer: I am sorry they need to be on the list

Casanova: They are on the list, that is Webhnar *points at me*,  that is Campillo *points at Daddy Raids*, and that is Brunier *points at Sharif*

When he picked his name off the list he picked three other names off the list quicker than lightening. Just like that I was Gustavo Webhnar. 

(This is how I now looked in my mind entering the party. Dreaming never hurt anyone, bitches)

Without a moments doubt, all three of us were let into the party and we made our way directly to the bar. Laughing hysterically we all ordered drinks and realized we were the first people to this private party. We took a spin around the club to see the almost-360 view of Sâo Paulo before we took a stance just out of eyeshot of the front door. Being the nervous nellie I am when I am put into those situations, I had my back facing the door so I wouldn't have to view the people filtering in. I heard people making there way in and someone had commented that they were waiting for the beautiful girls to show up. Then Daddy Raids tapped me on the shoulder...

Daddy Raids: Hey fab, can you turn around for a second...this party seems a bit...off.

As I slowly turned my head, I was met with something I have only dreamed of. There, in front of me, was a sea of amazingly attractive, well dressed, well groomed gay Brazilian men. That's right, we crashed a gay man's 30th birthday party. 

(Best.Surprise.Ever)

I was beside myself. All of us couldn't stop laughing because it was the complete opposite of what Casanova had been promising since we had separated from our group. All of the beautiful Brazilian men were also all staring at us, because we were most obviously not the Brazilian men that we pretended to be to get in the club. Though, none of them called us out and I'd like to think its because we brought the attractive foreign men thing to this wild and crazy party.

After a couple of more drinks, we decided it was time to leave before the people who truly possessed the stolen identities showed up to their good friends birthday party. That little taste of gay Brazil helped to solidify my decision to go back to Brazil sometime in the near future. (As if I NEEDED a reason to come back. Ugh guys, I am going through Portuguese withdrawal) 

Post-Gayzilian experience Casanova had us make our way over to Hotel Unique, which is a massive hotel in the center of town that is in the shape of a ship. Like...a huge Noah's Arc...in the middle of the city.

(If the bible ever repeats itself, I will jump on that ship and be one of the two gay men Noah has to get on the ship.)

On the roof of the hotel is this exclusive restaurant/rooftop bar. Because of the exclusivity there was a massive line that wrapped around the corner of the hotel. Casanova wasn't going to have any of this. 

Casanova: I don't do lines. We will get around this. 

Daddy Raids: How exactly will you do that.

Casanova: I offer some money, see if they listen, and get us around it. 

I just don't know how to be this confident. I would've seen the line, contemplated going in, and then convinced myself that I could probably find an episode of Dawson's Creek that I have only seen once. (Facts: There aren't any episodes that I have only seen once. More facts: You are finding out so many reasons why I am singleee...so am I.) 

(Dawson just knows)

Instead, what happened was Casanova walked up to the hostess at the door and began speaking to her in English and Spanish. They went back and forth for a bit, he kept asking to get us a table at the bar and saying we would get bottles and such. She wasn't really having it. 

Dainty Hostess: I am sorry sir, it is 90min wait in line, 40min for a table.

Casanova: Yes, but that will not work. We would like a table now.

Dainty Hostess: There isn't really a way around it. 

Casanova: Ok, I will check in at the downstairs restaurant. 

Dainty Hostess: There is a wait there too, sir. 

Casanova: We shall see about that

And with that, Casanova rounded the corner and made is way to the entrance of the restaurant. He said something in Spanish to the security guards and breezed through. He stopped momentarily to tell us he would be back to get us within 5 minutes. Less than two minutes after he walked through the door the Dainty Hostess came running around the corner and told us she had a table for us immediately. What did he say? What did he do? I DON'T UNDERSTAND. We all stood there flabbergasted and trying to explain to her where he had gone and that we needed a minute. 

Just as quickly as he had entered the restaurant, he returned and let us know we now had options. Let's just recap for a moment. Five minutes prior we were being told we had to wait 40-90 minutes to get into this club, now we were being told we had TWO different ways to get into this club immediately. HOW DOES THIS MAN DO THIS??

Then again, who am I to question any of this? Onward I went into the next place I had not intended on going to, nor would I have gone had Casanova not been there. Boy am I glad he he was there. As soon as we got up to the bar we ordered drinks and I took in my surroundings. It was an absolutely gorgeous evening and the view from the top was breathtaking. As if he could tell I was getting comfortable in my surroundings, Casanova decided it was time for him to go on a mission. Casanova's mission was to get Daddy Raids and Sharif women for the evening. 

(Me too Obamarama, me too)

One thing is for sure, when Casanova puts his mind to something, he will most certainly get it. We scoped out the scene and eventually found two gorgeous girls who turned out to be Brazilian Sisters. Bing, bang, boom! We were left speaking broken English and Spanish with these girls who just kept giggling and laughing. They took to Daddy Raids and Sharif quite quickly...but they also found me amusing. At one point I was trying to explain what I "liked" because one of them mentioned finding me someone.

Me: They *points at Daddy Raids and Sharif* like...girls...ladies. I don't.

Brazilian Sister 1: They like? You dont like? *Points at self*

Me: No, no. You are nice. I like you...just not *Points at lady parts*

Brazilian Sister 1: Ohhh One minute

Me: One minute? What do you mean one minute?

BS 1: I knew one minute

Me: You knew a minute?

BS 1: I knew you like *points at man parts* after one minute

There you have it, I am an international Rainbow. Apparently the Polish Girl was severely slow, because these sisters knew after one minute of broken English that I was not trying to check out their Brazilian waxes. (Also known as "Waxes" down there...jokezzzz). The conversation only got better from there. Brazilian Sister 1 then began stroking the umbrella pole.

Brazilian Sister 1: You need some Brazilian dick tonight

Me: Oh, no really its fine. It's 2am, I have to be up in a couple hours. 

Brazilian Sister 1: We take you to gay club and find you man

Me: No really, I think I'll probably just go sleep

Brazilian Sister 1: NO. We get you Brazilian dick. Tonight.

They are a forceful people and they do not take no for an answer. Out of nowhere the semi-mute sister, Brazilian Sister 2, decided to chime in with something in Portuguese. I had completely forgotten about her but all of a sudden Brazilian Sister 1 began laughing and telling Casanova to translate. They went back and forth about whether he was going to translate or not, but seeing as these girls were determined to get their way, Casanova never stood a chance. 

Casanova: *points at me* You do not like the Brazilian pussy to ride, we get you Brazilian dick to ride. Tonight.

(Thanks Degrassi for this gem)

Well....I just...I had no words. Nothing she said was false, but nothing she said felt right. It also felt so weird to hear it out of the mouth of someone I work with. With the awkward laughter that ensued, I must've blacked out and agreed to go to this gay area of town to get me a man, because off we went. Brazilian Sister 2 made us get into her car and she began driving, sans Casanova who decided to venture back to his hotel room because it was now 2:30am. Somewhere along the way our two heroines decided they wanted drunk food more than they wanted to find me a man. They stopped random people on the road and in their cars and asked them where Burger King was. Drunk food in Brazil is apparently the equivalent of a fine dining restaurant for Honey Boo Boo. (HAD to get a reference to my favorite tyke in here).

I was slowly waning interest in our impromptu tour guides and my traveling companions seemed to have joined me. It seems none of us had really thought through going on an adventure with two girls who could barely speak English, who "forced" us into their car. (This is how 20/20 specials happen...). We decided to part ways with the lovely ladies and I promised them we would come back and visit them in a month or two to get them to stop yelling at us for leaving (Spoiler Alert: I will not be visiting them). Daddy Raids and Sharif both macked it with their respective girls before we got into the cab and I talked to a random homeless woman who looked like she was going to poor peoples Mardi Gras.

(Helena has always looked a bit homeless. But this is pretty much what I talked too, add a little more dirt)

We finally ended up back at the hotel it was 4am and we had to be up in a few hours for the final day of our conference. We were met, unfortunately, with a fellow colleague who was pacing the lobby and obviously not feeling well. We made the executive decision to take him to the hospital near by...because what night isn't complete without a trip to the good ol' ER. When we got there we were met with a slew of people who couldn't speak a lick of English and a waiting room that was sub-par. Luckily after a solid 2hrs their our colleague in need was feeling good enough to make his way back to the hotel and sleep off the rest of the pain. The real wining part was that we were able to skip over him getting his blood taken by the woman who was coughing violently into her hand and wasn't planning on using a glove. (It's the little victories)

So that was it. That all happened in one night. I felt like it was my own version of The Hangover, except I was only casually drunk the whole time and I remembered everything that happened. My next business trip will be in December to North Carolina (womp, womp...not really the best follow up to Brazil. Whatever..its a free trip.) and Daddy Raids and I will be road tripping down there from the DMV. This seems like a good idea, right?

Fabulously Lost: Brazilian dick-less and okay with it

Daddy Raids and Sharif: Brazilian Sister winning 

Casanova: The only constant winner. 

Brazil: Just plain fabulous