My hair is about the same texture. And I own a brush.
My parents were generous with the genes. I have ten fingers, can perform simple arithmetic in my head, and am generally employable. Let’s be clear on my gratitude before I start to whine.
One area in which their chromosomes did not work to my favor? Hair. I was a bald baby, and – based on the hair in my shower drain – am returning that state with haste. Which, while acceptable for a man, is a serious curse as woman.
I saw this a few weeks ago and thought it would’ve been old news on the internets by now. However, based on a) the number of blank looks I’ve received when quoting snippets, and b) the number of people who also haven’t seen the HoneyBadger video, I’m thinking that “going viral” in the YouTube sense is somewhat different than pink eye making the rounds in my office.
Consider this a Public Service Announcement then. Because it’s for your own good, but more in the “pop culture” category than the “eat your veggies” category:
You’re welcome.
In keeping with my Summer Challenge (by which I mean trying a new food truck each week, hardship that it is), today I found myself hovering between three trucks, completely indecisive. There was Stix (which does veggie, meat, or fruit kabobs on the grill), Tasty Kabob (ironically, less kabob-by than Stix, but featuring gyros and halal meat), and Sauça Pangea (more eclectic world cuisine).
I took a false step toward each truck, got in the longest line (Kabob) and then felt guilty for not patronizing the underdog, so shifted to Sauça at the last minute. Man, I’m glad I did.
Sure, I’ll try the others later this summer (they looked great as well), but the menu at Sauça really just struck my cravings. Even after making the shift, I was torn on what to get. The menu options (each for $8) included: Mumbai Butter Chicken, Polpette Marineara and Mexicali Fish Tacos.
I got (also for $8) the Beef Shawarma. I was not disappointed. Loads of sliced, flavored beef served on a fluffy pita with fresh tomatoes, spices and — the dealmaker: a great chimichurri sauce? Heaven.
As I counted out my singles, the guy working the register (sitting in what appeared to be the passenger seat of the van) was singing along to “Billie Jean,” which didn’t exactly blast onto the sidewalk, but appeared to give the truck a rocking internal beat.
Late for a meeting (but sad to miss the moonwalk), I grabbed my food to go and toted it back to my office, where the entire DC team was holed up in a meeting.
I took a seat at the table, and as soon as I unveiled my sandwich, then meeting derailed.
“Holy shit,” someone said. “Where did you get that?”
I explained that it came from a food truck, and then was rewarded by getting to explain what a food truck was, making me happy that I was not, in fact, the last person on the bandwagon. (“There will be dolls uglier than you, Jillian,” I thought with a smile.)
By the time I peeled back the foil and revealed the full glory (and aroma) of the shawarma, every person at the table was drooling asking me to draw a map to the truck. And I couldn’t blame them: it was fabulous.
The only downside to the meal: chimichurri in my teeth. But that’s not actually Sauça’s fault. That blame goes to my orthodontist, Dr. Balbach (rhymes with Ball-Sack) for ambitiously providing me with a straight smile AND a facial herb rack.
In summary: I definitely recommend visiting this truck (in fact, I can’t wait to try some of the other menu items), but I advise bringing dental floss if you don’t want to look like a carved up jack-o-lantern when you’re done eating. In other words: BYODF.
In the true spirit of the Inaugural weekend of summer, I kicked off Memorial Day weekend with a book in hand, relaxing next to Alan’s pool. Despite the temperature pushing 90, there were only a handful of people there with me.
Fortunately, the only gay couple there bore a striking resemblance to Cameron & Mitchell from Modern Family, so in addition to cooling off and relaxing, I was able to blur my eyes and imagine I was chilling at a private party in LA instead of a community pool in the suburbs of DC. Because these are the places my mind goes.
Shortly after claiming two deck chairs, they both reclined. The heavier of the two (whom I was mentally calling “Cam”) draped a towel across his eyes, as if he were at a spa. (Apparently I wasn’t the only person imagining myself elsewhere.) “Mitchell” pulled out his phone and was preparing to dial when — all of a sudden — PPBBBBFFFFTTT!
A rather noisy fart broadcast from Cam’s suit. I knew it was Cam because: a) there weren’t really any other people in the vicinity from which the noise emanated; and b) Mitchell just started shaking his head from side to side, eyes closed.
“No. You. Didn’t,” he finally mustered.
“Oh. Yes. I. Did,” Cam replied.
Rather than even ask for an explanation or lecture him about being foul, Mitchell just kept shaking his head in silence, as if resigned to it.
Watching this whole exchange over the top of my book, I was amazed with the nonchalance. It kind of reminded me of when my sister tore up a stall at the YMCA with really bad gas, then made eye contact with the other guests and — by way of explanation — said, “Didn’t want to do that on the bike.”
Screw it. If other people aren’t going to get embarrassed, then neither am I. So I pulled out my camera and took their photo. I was practically inviting them to call me on it:
Apparently, street food is all the rage. As with most trends, I’m late hopping on the bandwagon. It reminds me of the year I asked for a Cabbage Patch Doll for Christmas months after the cool kids had requested theirs, leaving me holding a homemade “Cabbage Patch” with a head made from stuffed nylons. True story. In retrospect, I now realize my doll was more awesome.
Back to food trucks. I’ve known of the Lobster truck, with its butter-soaked lobster rolls ($15), for at least a year. Of course, I haven’t actually tried one yet, because I’m so cheap I can’t justify a double-digit lunch, but I’ve at least seen it before. Maybe if I ever have cause to celebrate, I’ll go bananas and find a friend to split a roll with me. Because I’m just that wild!
pithypants 