"I try to be the nicest dumb@$$ I can be."--B
On my way to work this morning up Georgia Ave I wondered why all funeral homes require astroturf on the stairs. It's quite common when you think about it.
It'd be nice to live on Butternut St. Doesn't that sound lovely? Hemlock St. would be a fun one too.
And what would happen if I went into AfriKutz for a haircut?
I seem to have a knack for meeting African men on public transit. About a year ago I met S from the Central African Republic/France. We took the same bus to work each day, and gradually struck up a conversation. We're actually friends, after he stopped hitting on me. Then on Monday a man asked me for directions in the Metro, and I gladly gave them. He responded that he'd just moved to DC from London and didn't know his way around yet, to which I replied (big mistake) that I love London. Conversation ensued, and he asked if I was married, said he was going to invite me to Africa (no thanks, Sierra Leone), insisted on swapping phone numbers and hanging out since we're neighbors, told me how his mother taught him to respect women, and said he'd be my local boyfriend. Riiiight.