DC Cookie

Monday, October 31, 2005

Schnoz-y Mistake

From an entertaining conversation I had at the bus stop at 10pm one evening after work last year (I believe it was from this that I decided to start driving to work). A drunk man is lingering in the bus stop, sitting at the end of Cookie's bench. He begins the conversation.

Drunk Man: I'm so sorry.
Cookie (half smiles and nods).
Drunk Man (30 seconds later): I'm just so sorry.
Cookie: Um, what for?
Drunk Man: About your people. What happened to your people.
Cookie: My people?
Drunk Man: Yeah, in Israel today, that bombing.
Cookie (raises eyebrow, perplexed).
Drunk Man: Clearly you're Jewish.
Cookie (giggles): Actually, I'm Presbyterian, but I'm curious what makes you say that (knowing exactly why he said it).
Drunk Man: So, wait, you're not Jewish?
Cookie: No.
Drunk Man: Really?
Cookie: Positive.

It gets better.

Drunk Man (approaching and staring at my face with concern): Oh my god! Are you okay?
Cookie: Yes, thank you.
Drunk Man: Wow - that must have hurt?
Cookie: What?
Drunk Man: When your nose was broken.

Interesting logic. I have a roman arch to my nose, and if I'm not Jewish, it must be because somebody punched me in the face? I inhaled so as not to break out into laughter at how irrational he was, because I was honestly a little bit scared of him. The drunk man continued to comment and talk until the bus pulled up, at which point he ended the conversation by asking me if I could get him a job. Again, totally rational. 'Nice broken nose, can I have a job?'

I told him I'd put a good word in with 'my people' and see what I could do.

Halloween Weekend

Happy Halloween y'all - yee-haw!


Friday: Swoon! I love when curl up on the couch movie nights turn out better than expected.

Saturday: I was lucky to make it back in time from an office-related wedding to throw together a last minute costume (see above) and race over to the Ballroom. Of course, by the time I got there, there were already 200 people in line. This is when it pays to be a flirt. I know someone who used to work there who I used to wink at and kiss his cheeks every time he made me a drink. I shot him a quick text message to see if he'd be there. Thankfully, he was. He called me back, pulled me out of line, and brought me through the back entrance/employee door. My friends and my crush were all inside already, and I'm not sure I would have gotten in otherwise. Thanks M! You were my hero of the evening. The party inside was insane and it would have sucked to miss it. I always think Halloween is cheesy, until I'm begrudgingly dressed up and end up having a fabulous time. Note to self: put more effort into next year's costume.

Sunday: After brunch and driving around with the top down, I went to the Kanye West concert at the Patriot Center. I met this cool-ass Canadian chick at the most recent blog happy hour who had an extra ticket to see the show last night and invited me. Catciao can say all he wants about our blog happy hours being for haters, dweebs and ugly bitches - he'd retract that statement if he saw this girl in person. She is ab-fab, Montreal-inspired groovy chic, and tons of fun. Then again, she doesn't write a blog. I owe ya one, girl!


And what can I say about Kanye? The kid wears white suits and polo shirts while he performs; he raps clearly, passionately and non-violently; he has a DJ, a drummer, a keyboard player, talented back-up vocal support, guest appearances, and a 6-piece string ensemble (including a harp); his set is completely unique with uber-creative, psychadelic lighting; and he intermixes classic vocals as the transitions between his songs. You don't even have to like rap to appreciate that kind of a show. HAAAWT! I don't care how ridiculous his ego is, he just took Ludacris' spot as my not-so-secret celebrity crush. I ain't a gold digger, but I'll be one if you want me to be, Kanye...meow!


Thursday, October 27, 2005

Tag Along

What happens if I get tagged and don't participate? VP of Dior says "BTW, Tag-Alongs are great cookies." But what if Cookie doesn't like tag-alongs (I prefer thin mints)? So, I'm improvising. I'm changing the questions a little. There are no rules right? If any of you ever tag me again, you're dead. I'm stopping the chain...

2x2 Questions*

2 names you go by:
1. The one my mom gave me (Jessica).
2. The one I gave myself (Cookie).

2 parts of your heritage:
1. Canadian.
2. That's it. I'm 100% bona fide Canuck and so are my parents and their parents and their parents...

2 things you want to see at the next blog happy hour[s]:
1. Kathryn dancing on the bar (ain't gon' happen).
2. i-66 frowning (ain't gon' happen).

2 of your everyday essentials:
1. Logic puzzles.
2. Diet coke.

2 things you are wearing right now:
1. A scrunchy (didn't those go out in the 80s?).
2. Too much perfume.

2 of your favorite bands or musical artists (at the moment):
1. Kenin (I put the CD in my car and it's on about 75% of the time I'm driving - strange, because normally I jam out in the hot-wheels to trance or the Tragically Hip).
2. Lenny Kravitz.

2 of your favorite songs (at the moment):
1. As the Rush Comes - Motorcycle Boy (classic).
2. Waiting for You (remix version, of course) - Seal.

2 things you want in a relationship (other than love):
1. Fidelity.
2. Sense of Adventure (I found neither in my ex).

2 truths:
1. 2*2=4.
2. I am not adopted.

2 physical things that appeal to you (for your partner):
1. Big hands.
2. Big feet.

2 of your favorite hobbies:
1. Jogging.
2. Blogging.

2 things you want really badly:
1. To be one of the hos in a rap video. Ideally, I'd be wearing a bikini top and booty-hugging jeans, and be grinding against my hot-ass Mustang (her name is Scarlet).
2. Kids (when I get there), who think it's awesome that their mom was in a rap video.

2 places you want to go on vacation:
1. Banff.
2. Anywhere warm where hot foreign men dig my accent and cater to me.

2 things everyone should do:
1. Tip your waiters 20%, even if they suck.
2. Drink wine.

2 ways that you are stereotypically a Canadian:
1. I think coloured money is much prettier than plain old green bills.
2. I happily make fun of myself.

2 things you are thinking about now:
1. How hard it is to think of anything creative to put in these damn things (that's why I hate them).
2. Censored...

2 stores you shop at:
1. CVS.
2. Amazon.com (sadly).

Most embarrassing blog moments:
1. Misspelling the title of my very first post.
2. Getting called out.

2 people I would like to see take this quiz:
1. Yul Brynner (because I've always drooled over his role as Ramses in the Ten Commandments, that I watch faithfully each Easter).
2. Ryan Reynolds (because Asian Mistress and I both want to have his love-child).

Momentary Miracles

I have gone to the same hairdresser for 5 years. Why? I stumbled upon the salon accidentally before a company holiday party several years back when I was helping my party date find a rental tux. I wandered in and asked if they had someone who could do something nice with my hair for the party, maybe even straightening it. Atilla then told me he blew hair straight all the time. I giggled. "It will take more than a hair dryer for this mop." He just said "trust me." I raised an eyebrow, but decided to give it a try. He did this:


I was dumbfounded. All it took was a hair dryer (at the temperature of the sun) and a round brush. He didn't even have to pull very hard. Seems easy, right? It's not. I certainly can't do this myself, and I've tried several other hairdressers over the years and no one has come close. Perhaps because he's Turkish and he's used to working with thick, curly hair. Perhaps because he's just that good.

Where do you find this inexpensive miracle worker? ProEuro salon on Pennsylvania between 22nd and 21st. On the fringe of GWU, with prices suitable for poor students.


Too bad it only lasts until I wash it. Don't get me wrong, I really love the curls. They suit my bubbly, whimsical personality. But sometimes it's fun to pretend to be sophisticated. Atilla makes me feel like a princess.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Bona Fide Boozer

The word bona fide reminds me of Penny Wharvey McGill's rant in Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? “Vernon here's got a job. Vernon's got prospects. He's bona fide. What are you?”

Bona fide alcoholic - what exactly does that mean? With the help of dictionary.com, let’s translate this literally (and figuratively):

  • Authentic; resulting from alcohol (You are either a bottle of Grey Goose, or you are the legitimate spawn of Jack Daniels).
  • Characterized by good faith and lack of fraud or deceit; suffering from alcoholism (You are the preacher who really keeps a cold glass of vodka behind the pew to get through his sermon, or you are the elder who has never lied about the fact that you skip church to worship your bartender).
  • Antique; a person who drinks alcoholic substances habitually and to excess (Shouldn’t that be ‘to excess, habitually?’ I drink habitually, but rarely to abundant excess. I digress. You are the Andy Cap-esque octogenarian at the pub after midnight, or you’re a kouros memorialized in marble following a raging battle of flip-cup and strip poker).
  • Valid under or in compliance with the law; an insatiable craving for alcoholic beverages (You’re legally over the limit, aka screwed if you’re operating a vehicle in DC, or you’re a dipsomaniacal police officer).
  • Not counterfeit or copied; containing or preserved in alcohol (You are the guy who shouts ‘I can drink you under the table’ in the evening and does, then has a fowl stench of alcohol streaming from his pores at work the next day, or you are Walt Disney’s cryogenic remains).

Despite the frequent presence of wine in my midst (or crown and diets, or vodka tonics, or chocolate martinis, or Canadian beer…), I guarantee I’m not bona fide; at least, not where tasty spirits are concerned. I’m just a girl who likes to have a drink sometimes, but certainly not a bona fide Girl with Drink. That can only ever be an aspiration...

Until Alk. U. hands me my degree, I remain, comfortably, the Ulysses Everett McGill of the bar scene.

**Early post brought to you courtesy of Wednesday's business trip to B.F. Connecticut.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Wok the Fuck

I have such an immature sense of humour sometimes...

Monday, October 24, 2005

How To Make a Cookie Salty

I ate brunch at Teaism in Dupont on Sunday. Not quite as heart-warming as homemade bacon and eggs, but the chai is phenomenal. I spotted this poster in the window of the store and thought it was humourous.

Salty Cookie

Back to the title, how 'does' one make a Cookie salty? 99% of the time, this Cookie drips with ooey-gooey, sugary sweetness and smiles. It takes a LOT to make my temper flare. Remember, I'm powdered with an ESFJ conflict aversion and spiced with the desire to make everybody happy. But it's possible to make me angry. How? Be Sears. Maintain an appliance repair power over me to fix the household dryer that has been busted for 2 weeks, and dangle that knowledge in front of my face like a 3rd-grader singing 'nana nana boo boo, whatcha gonna do about it?' You know I can't call another contracter, the bitch-ass machine is under warranty, so you just make me sweat it out. Finally grace me with an appointment where I have to miss a morning of work, but still be up and waiting by the door at 8am for the omnipotent serviceman to arrive when he pleases. Then, don't show up. Then tell me the appointment was never in the books. Oh yes, that will put a frown on Cookie's face and brown her edges. But if you'd really like to see her burn, tell her she can't get an appointment for another week and a half.

Poor phone-service lady. She didn't even see it coming.

Friday, October 21, 2005

I'm an ESFJ

Try the [free-version] test yourself. Myers Briggs tells me I'm Extroverted, Sensing, Feeling and Judging. Myers Briggs must know I like to party! It's funny to me - I claim to be so shy (really, I am), and yet, I keep coming up on these things as 'extroverted.' I think now, I finally get it...
  • "ESFJs are people persons - they love people. They are warmly interested in others. They use their Sensing and Judging characteristics to gather specific, detailed information about others, and turn this information into supportive judgments. They want to like people, and have a special skill at bringing out the best in others. They are extremely good at reading others, and understanding their point of view. The ESFJ's strong desire to be liked and for everything to be pleasant makes them highly supportive of others. People like to be around ESFJs, because the ESFJ has a special gift of invariably making people feel good about themselves."
  • "ESFJs are warm and energetic. They need approval from others to feel good about themselves. They are hurt by indifference and don't understand unkindness. They are very giving people, who get a lot of their personal satisfaction from the happiness of others. They want to be appreciated for who they are, and what they give. They're very sensitive to others, and freely give practical care. ESFJs are such caring individuals, that they sometimes have a hard time seeing or accepting a difficult truth about someone they care about."
  • "ESFJs at their best are warm, sympathetic, helpful, cooperative, tactful, down-to-earth, practical, thorough, consistent, organized, enthusiastic, and energetic. They enjoy tradition and security, and will seek stable lives that are rich in contact with friends and family."
  • "Guardians of birthdays, holidays and celebrations, ESFJs are generous entertainers. They enjoy and joyfully observe traditions and are liberal in giving, especially where custom prescribes. "
  • "All else being equal, ESFJs enjoy being in charge. They see problems clearly and delegate easily, work hard and play with zest. ESFJs, as do most SJs, bear strong allegiance to rights of seniority. They willingly provide service (which embodies life's meaning) and expect the same from others. "
  • "ESFJs are easily wounded. And when wounded, their emotions will not be contained. They by nature "wear their hearts on their sleeves," often exuding warmth and bonhomie, but not infrequently boiling over with the vexation of their souls."
  • "The potential ways in which an ESFJ can irritate others include: talking too much, assuming they know the needs of others, avoiding conflict, not giving criticism when it is needed, not paying attention to their own needs, not seeing the wood for the trees, and being reluctant to try out new things or work towards new possibilities."

Interesting...Not only am I a Canadian pacifist who drinks too much, I'm also a conflict-avoiding ESFJ who talks too much.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

The Playaz Came [In Effigy]

The real Playaz couldn't make the weekday trek to DC for GBTYMOHH, so they sent their likenesses (which we didn't burn) instead. The Playaz hopped on the Paper Jet and landed in the middle of Connecticut Avenue (which caused quite a commotion during rush hour), right in time to make a Playaz-style entrance on the DC blogosphere festivities.

Playaz Jet

The Playaz are really quite hysterical. We drank shots of bourbon together and discussed Chewbacca vs. Tac.

Shot with Phil

Following a kiss from Lucy, a chat with Asian Mistress and Dale and a smoke with AUA (the resident blogger-hottie as we so affectionately labeled him last night), effigious Phil even allowed me to take a drag from his 2-dimensional pipe. It is confirmed, that ain't tobacco in there...

Lucy Kisses Phil

AM, Phil and Dale

AUA and Phil have a smoke

I blame Heather B. for this headache I have this morning. She suggested the chocolate martinis. So I ordered a few...

HeatherB, i-66, Jess
Heather B., i-66 and Cookie

Drink Lineup

Jess Double Fist

And then the evening just got plain silly...

Phil got a little tipsy and turned sideways,

Willy, Phil, Jess
DC Last Call, Johnny DC, Phil and Cookie

Asian Mistress and I went from this

Jess, Asian Mistress

to this (Kathryn and I thank our new friend for the glow sticks - fun present!)

Jess, AM silly

to this (damn chocolate martinis - they seemed so innocuous),

AM, Jess Spank

Jinxy's wife let him out for the night!

Jinxy, Jess, TX, Kathryn
Mr. Jinxy, Cookie, TX Cutie and Kathryn

The hot Canadian girls got flirty for SethJ,

Lesley, Jess
Chicks from Canada Rule!

Lesley, SethJ
Canadian Girl and SethJ

Jess, Lesley, Jess
Shaky J, Canadian Girl and Cookie

the boys made a Sears pose,

Sorority Pose
Travis, AUA, RCR and i-66

and i-66 and I competed for biggest smile.

Jess, Rick

Certainly not your average Wednesday night.

i-66, DCB, Dale and a DCB Fan

Dale, BettyJoan, Sara
Dale, Betty Joan and Sara

AM, BettyJoan, Sara
Asian Mistress, Betty Joan and Sara


Jess, Sara
Cookie and Sara

If I had even an ounce of Kathryn's uncanny ability to remember people's names and blogs the next day (again, I'm going to blame the chocolate martinis here), I'd thank everyone individually, but alas, I don't have those kind of skills (gosh!). But I will say, it was great to see all the old, familiar faces, and meet a whole slew of new people as well. Readers, fellow writers and commenters - your presence was definitely welcomed and appreciated. It takes guts to walk into a room full of people you don't know, so mad props all around.

Oh, and AUA, thanks helping me search for my belongings. I did find my purse, eventually, all contents intact...

Blog Hosts

This post has been brought to you by your gracious hosts (who all left their he-man costumes at home).

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Back to Being Me

I bought a new camera. I was suffering withdrawal.


It had been almost a month since I lost the last one. During that time I had to rely on other people for snuggly group photos and Cookie self-portraits. Or worse...not take ANY photos of myself (gasp)! I love being an event photographer. Unfortunately, it's an expensive habit, because losing cameras is my specialty. Any bets on how long I can hang on to this one?


The new one, firmly strapped to my wrist, will be doing some damage this evening. See you all tonight.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005


In the past few months, I've seen my friends go through some unexpected break-ups and struggle with the disappointment. I've watched friends desire men who don't respond positively to their affections, and then take it way too personally. I've listened to the woes of girls who have been through a string of dates that go nowhere. And the generic, bitter catch phrase that ultimately gets uttered throughout these feminine tribulations is, 'Men Suck!'

Luckily for me, I've made the acquaintance of several charming DC area gentlemen who, in fact, don't suck. And I now feel it's my duty to spread the word. If you're feeling frustrated, take a deep breath, shrug your shoulders, go for a quick jog, and then re-group. Fresh slate. I promise, there are good men out there. Gentlemen who call you when they say they will, open your door, say thank you when you do something nice, and bring you strawberry ice cream 'just because.'

Happy searching, and whatever you do, don't settle. You don't have to.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Queen of the Jungle

I'm tall. I love being tall. 5'9" when I'm bare foot. I can reach glasses on the top shelf without a step-stool. I can see at crowded concerts or football games. I don't have to strain my neck to kiss a boy. I often get shot gun rights in crowded cars. And, it's easy to be noticed. Which normally I don't mind. There's something gratifying about standing out in a crowd without trying.

But on Friday, I had one of those 'too tall' moments where I wished there were a few more 'like-heightened' people in the bar. I walked into McFadden's to help my girl Jen celebrate her birthday, and I could literally see over every head in the bar. Granted, I had 3 inch heels on, but since when is there nobody over 6'0" in a fratty college bar? Are 80s babies vertically challenged? I felt like a misplaced amazon woman. I wanted to spread chia seeds on everyone's noggins, and then spray the crowd with water to watch it grow.

I'm tall, but I'm certainly not a giant. Although, apparently I could have been mistaken for one on Friday.

Group shot

Steph, Jess, Katie

Sara, Jess, Lynne

Friday, October 14, 2005

Fun Run

Apparently I thought the Army 11.2 Miler was a 'fun run' too...

Army Ten Miler_Smiley Jess

She-ra Happy Hour

I think this is the perfect chance for all of you, readers, commenters and fellow bloggers alike, to come out and compliment me in person (inside joke, that you're welcome to take seriously). Even the anonymous phonies who say things like "your blog sucks and it's just getting worse." Really, I'd like to meet you. One in-person Cookie smile and you'll change your mind.

Masters of the Universe

My co-horts have pretty much covered this topic, so I don't have much to add. I just hate to be the only one not advertising. Besides, I DO look cute in yellow and blue. Meow!

Martinis on...you?

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Long Hours

You know you've been working too hard when you start having multiple dreams about the corrections you are going to make to your work product and presentations. I hit the snooze button 4 times this morning, and each time I was thinking about PowerPoint edits. Good. Lord.

No complaints, certainly. I just find it humourous...

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Ode to Reproduction

In the office after the hour of 10pm, one can find humour in just about anything. I call this "Ode to Reproduction, Courtesy of my Chinese Vegetables."


Although, I can't really tell whether it looks more like the fertilization of a fully matured oocyte, or an abstract version of the South Korean flag.

What I Learned This Weekend

Sorry for the lack of posting. Kathryn even jokingly suggested my blog is getting a little bit stale. 5 days is a long time without a substantive post. Apologies. My excuse? I visited Namaste (who, coincidentally, writes one of the best blogs I've ever read) in Charlottesville this weekend. Wiz and I were going to the Stones concert on Thursday anyway, and I had to be back down for student interviews on Monday, so I figured it made more sense just to stay there for the entire weekend. I made the right choice. The weekend provided me with that sense of inner peace I've been seeking for the last few months in my hustle and bustle.


I graduated six years ago, but I believe my heart is still at UVA. Every time I enter the city limits, my heart beats a little bit faster. Every time I drive by the Rotunda, I sigh and smile. Every time I walk down the Lawn I feel like a student again and my entire intellectual being craves that inundation of knowledge. Every time I smell the beer-encrusted floor of the Biltmore, it's as if I never left...

Not to mention, I got to share the flood of memories with the woman who is, in all likelihood, my soulmate. Not in the romantic sense, of course. But in the spiritual sense, definitely. There isn't anything I can't say to her. We met as college waitresses, at a point in our life when we were maybe naughtier than we should have been. Usually party friends like that come and go, but not this one. The reason? She listens, she understands, and she never judges. We've come to know each others darkest secrets and we keep them locked away. She's alluring, deep, grounded, and wildly intelligent. I heart you too Namaste! (By the way - I wonder if your Arab boyfriend from Red is still looking for you by that name...)

becca pic

To conclude, I think I'll just summarize this weekend's most comical moments:
  1. Drinking a 22 oz. Bud from a plastic bag while walking down the Lawn towards the Stadium for the Stones concert. Ghett-ooo fab.

    ghetto jess

  2. The 'bomb threat' in Charlottesville, and the entire stadium doing the 'wave.' You have to be kidding me (on both fronts)...

    Jess at Stones

  3. Namaste helping to conspire with me to write some very lewd text messages. I swear girl, we're trouble together.

    Becca, Jess

  4. Namaste and I deciding that when we have children, they're probably going to hump each other.
  5. Watching some toothless 'members' waltz into Club 216 while Namaste and I, clearly the two most attractive women (or people, for that matter) in line, got the boot.
  6. My first ever yoga class. I thought it would be a breeze. I'm still sore.
  7. Seeing my first year suitemate at her big ol' house in Waynesboro with her two gorgeous children. Wow. I have friends with two kids. My friends are all growed's up. Maybe one day I will be too.
  8. Grills with ice cream from White Spot. No really - 'fried' Krispy Kreme donuts. Do those things need any more grease? White Spot thinks so.

    grills with icecream

  9. Having a tadpole moment.
  10. Sharing a fantastic bottle of rioja with my girl.
  11. Telling drunk Jesus that he had to meet us for our 'yoga hike' at 6am the next day.
  12. Moving towards the door of Atomic Burrito when the band's lead singer (who was a dude wearing a leopard print mini skirt) started moshing. Woah...
  13. Indulging in Zazu's and Arch's and then having 'stomach issues' at the exact same time as Namaste. I'm telling you, our Scorpio stars are aligned.

Rest assured, my next visit to Charlottesville will be sooner than Foxfield.

Friday, October 07, 2005


I saw the Rolling Stones last night in Charlottesville.


All I can say is...I really hope I can run around a stage for 2 hours girating and rocking out when I'm in my mid-sixties. Damn!

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

I Date Indian Men

...and white men, black men, asian men, persian men, mexican men, spanish men, irish men, italian men, eastern european men...really, what's the big deal?

My friend 32 sent me this article, and I decided to write about it from my perspective. A frustrating article, to say the least. As a white girl, I've dated my fair share of black men. My wonderful college sweetheart is a black man. My douche-bag ex is also a black man. And I've dated a few others in between and since. My biggest pet peeve? Being pigeon-holed as 'white girl who dates black guys.' I can't tell you how many times my friends say things like "Yeah, Cookie likes them dark." Yes, I do. I also like them any shade from pale ivory to burnt sienna, so stop throwing me into a bucket. I don't have a preference. I'm very open minded. I don't put limits on my dating pool. Are you male? Good, then at some level, I have considered you.

So please, when I'm out at a bar having a flirtatious conversation with a black guy, don't say something dumb and ignorant like, "I figured she'd like him, that's her type." First, if the people saying those things had done their research, this year alone I've gone out with white men 2 times more often than I have black men (the actual numbers behind that ratio, I will keep to myself). 'My type' is kind, sincere, handsome, intelligent, energetic, adventurous and athletic (among other characteristics...picky snatch that I am). It has nothing to do with skin colour, people - trust me.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Favourite Picture

Ever have one of those pictures that is taken at such a horrible angle that you can't help but laugh out loud every time you see it? I'm talking, spit-your-water-out-guffaw. This picture is infamous in my circle of friends. I call it: "K and her 300 pound sister." I think we laughed for days when this roll was developed (yes, long before digital cameras were the norm).

Kristy and 300 pound sister

What did I 'actually' look like that night? A little bit more like this (sleepy and snookered, and yes that IS an entire bottle of champagne in my hand, but certainly not 300 pounds).

Midnight shot - Jess_cropped

4 years later and I'm still laughing...

Sunday, October 02, 2005

The Army 11.2 Miler?


When I reached mile 9 this morning, I breathed a [heavy] sigh of relief. I was beating my time from three years ago and I didn't have much further to go (or so I thought). Even with minimal training and not much rest, I was pumped about my performance. But, after at least 10 minutes, the finish line was still nowhere in sight. What the hell? Had I messed up and I was really only at mile 8? My knees were really starting to hurt. The most I'd run during training was a 10-K, so this was pushing it. Something was odd. I kept telling myself I was 'almost there,' but 'almost there' was taking forever!

When I finally crossed the finish line and slowed down to a walk, I heard the announcer saying something about 11.2 miles. What? Also, I hadn't crossed any time-verification platform, nor had I seen anyone collecting our race chips. I stopped to ask a [very good-looking] army volunteer if I had heard the announcer correctly. The officer informed me that the course had been re-routed just after the shotgun, meaning the race was no longer official. Er? (Aside: he then offered to take my chip for me, AND offered to help me remove it from my shoe. Remind me again why I didn't take him up on his offer?).

For me, that was an annoyance, but certainly not the end of the world. I'm not a particularly good runner, so I hadn't come out to break any records. But what about all those people who came from other states, or other countries even, for serious competition (not just with themselves, like this Cookie)? There were 20,000 people running this race, and not only was it 1.2 miles longer than it should have been, it wasn't official?? I suspect the city is going to have some irate runners on its hands.

The reason? A 'suspect package' on the race course. Are you fucking kidding me? I'm sorry, but this city is paranoid. Was re-routing the course not being overly cautious? If it was really such an issue, get a bomb squad in there, blow the shit up, and get on with it. But that's just my opinion at the moment...while I'm sitting here feeling a little extra tenderness in my knees. At any rate, I hope the asscorn who left a package under the 14th St. bridge sleeps like shit tonight...

Guess I'll just have to run the Cherry Blossom 10-miler too...
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