Chocolate City, Take Me Home

So it alllllll started when what feels like a million years ago now I got a save the date mail from my friend Kavitha...OMG, so it begins, the era of friends getting married. Rumors flew, it would be in Tennessee, no Israel, no India, no Bahrain, no D.C. OK so D.C. was finally confirmed as the location and the planning began. Emails, evites, and wedding websites abounded. I ignored it all dutifully until about a month ago, as denial is the best course of action when you don't want to feel like an old maid. Finally talked to Wen and ironed out our travel plans (let's go together.....just kidding, you fly... I'll take the train), booked my ticket, and wrote all the info in INK in my planner. No going back now. I was going to D.C. for the wedding regardless of my fear of all things wedding and growing up and commitment, etc. Gads. Time is my enemy, and he is creeping up behind me. As he got closer, I decided to make a preemptive strike.

So I mailed all my old D.C. crew and some new ones (shout outs to Owen and Sarah). Hi BITCHES!!! Made plans to go out and drink ourselves stupid (apparently I succeeded, which we might discuss later if you're nice). Decided on The Black Cat, a Columbia Heights dive that I had only ever been to for concerts before. They were said to be having a Mouse Trap party that purported to play 80's and Brit pop. While those were appealing, those were not in actuality the bulk of the musical fare on offer. I personally enjoyed the musical stylings of our v.v.v. gay DJ, but most of the rest of our party were probably closer to the sentiment of "WTF?!?!" But hey, Franz Ferdinand, The Cure, LOVE IT! What else did he play, NO IDEA, but it was ALL good. Why can I not remember much about the evening....we shall get into that shortly, let's go back to the beginning...

I, as we all know, have some small issues with packing and time management. OK OK, I always over pack and am always late. Moving on... So of course, in keeping with tradition, I took out an oversized Longchamp overnight bag, and started to load it up. Then I kept remembering things I "might" need, and it quickly became the overstuffed bag from hell. Plus I had to carry a set of knives. No not just any set of knives, the be all end all set of knives. You see, Kavi used to have a strange affinity for finishing a bottle of red alone and then watching infomercials. I used to want to go to culinary school (sometimes I still do). Wen likes baked goods and ice cream (and potatoes, yeah I don't think they go together either). Marina likes pretty much everything. Marie just likes the rest of us enough to put up with our crazy shenanigans. So the idea of the organic dairy/bakery/farm/vineyard/kibbutz was born. Kavi saw the Miracle Blade knives cut open a Coke can on TV at approximately 4 am one night/morning and promptly decided these tools would be necessary to the success of our business/commune plan. The kibbutz idea never really took root outside of our imaginations, but the knives stuck in the butcher block of our interwoven lives (because they are just that strong folks...order yours now for just 3 easy installments...). So when I saw these knives in the As Seen On TV store when out shopping with Monica, I knew it was a sign from the Ms. upstairs. "You must get these knives for Kavi for her wedding, or you will be doomed for all eternity....DOOOOOOOMED." Or something to that effect. So anyways, I bought them, and they sat in my closet for like 6 months awaiting the day of their glory. And so it came to pass, that I would be forced to shove them in between about a million plastic bags that I used as filler in an oversized gift bag with some tissue paper that I tried desperately to make look pretty, but failed miserably and only achieved a crumply flat pinkness instead of a cloud of crowning glory halo-like effect. Ah well, I tried, but I could not channel Martha Stewart, she was busy with her friends from lock-up.

So I carried that package (which as time wore on, my travel abused any of what was pretty about it right into ugly) and my insanely overstuffed bag to work, where there was much commentary on my inability to pack appropriately, har har thanks guys, and from there to the train (which was late, Amtrak and I share much in the way of timeliness). Then I shuffled down the aisles in search of a storage space and a seat. I found one of each and just barely squashed my baggage into the spot and then nearly dropped into the seat. And would have happily fallen asleep (I had just spent the week stressing about planning JT's retirement party and guilting people into contributing to his gift...I mean 41 years, show me the damn money, bitches.....and attending said party the night before), but I made the stupid travel error that everyone makes at some point in their life. The "I can't help but make a comment on what I just heard" mistake. I heard the girl diagonal from me say she worked at Lehman, so I just had to pipe up and say I did too. Well, I would have been better off if I never did. She works in the I-banking side and prob makes more money than G_d and has a swish pad in Manhattan and the whole thing only served to make me feel bad about myself. Not true, it also served as my entry into the conversation from which I could not again exit gracefully. So for the next three hours I had to listen or pretend to attend to the older guy from Iowa or something next to me talk about his share in a vineyard in Eastern Washington, or his two Porsche 911's, or his theories on driving or investing, etc etc. Ugggghhh, I gave up sleep for this. DAMN. Finally, Union Station, let me off this damn train. And he gives us his parting words, which I can't remember exactly, but know they were of the inspirational poster type, you can just picture a kitten trying to hang on to a curtain and the message "Hold On" or a bunch of multi-colored hot air balloons with the word "Believe". About as motivational as those posters was his farewell. I guess that's a lie, it motivated me to run, not walk, to my nearest exit, in so much as my luggage allowed for running.

So I boarded the Circulator (which I thoroughly enjoyed merely because it was called the Circulator....haha, still amused), at Marie's suggestion, because it was to drop me at her corner. But I kept forgetting that I was in D.C. not NYC, and no one really lives in D.C. after business hours, so public transit does not stop at every bus stop unless you request a stop. Duh. So to my dismay, I missed my stop, as well as the one right after it (my catlike reflexes were dulled by the trauma of hauling around 300 lbs of clothes and shoes and, incongruously, knives all day). So I hopped off at 16th Street, which normally would just be a brisk walk to Marie's, but on this occasion meant a trek of enormous proportions for which I wish I had hired a Sherpa. I also had the good fortune to walk past the homeless shelter that Marie lives next to, ahh how pleasant. So I was doing my Lamaze breathing and trying to read numbers off buildings in the dark. I finally found it and practically fell through the doors to the amusement of the doorperson. Marie came to get me and her eyes widened with shock at my exemplary packing skills, exemplary to people who are trying to cram a lifetime into one weekend bag that is. And up we went into her little oasis of whitewashed walls and dark hardwood floors, marble counters, floor to ceiling windows, and various other reasons for me to be jealous, 2 bedroom on K Street. Yeah, she owns it, but with all the drama we had trying to gain entry, and her "room mate" drama, one wouldn't think so. Still, why can't I find a place like that to buy up here? Anyways...

We sat and chatted, and started to gnaw our own hands off trying to wait for Wendy to arrive before we ate. Then we gave up slightly and busted out the takeaway menus "just to decide and be prepared." Wen finally showed up and we hopped in the car and raced up Wisconsin to the sushi place. We got there but some rich biatch in a Range was blocking the way, so I dashed out of the car and raced for the door, when my mobile started blowing up. Its the lady inside the sushi joint asking where I am cuz they were closing. Mad dash, hot pink scarf flying, Kenneth Cole heels clacking uncomfortably between the ground and my feet, Mexican and Japanese staff about to go home staring at the crazy biatch running toward the place as fast as her tired little well clad feet would go. BUT I made it, didn't I, punks?!?! So thhhhbbbbbppp!! But I still had to make the reverse journey past the same audience with my victory bundle of sushi. It wasn't as glorious a victory as I had hoped. Ah well. The sushi was Deeeeeeelicious....even if Wendy only ate cucumber and avocado. Whatevs. After all this excitement, I promptly passed out. I may or may not have been fully dressed with jewelry and makeup still on when this happened. I never could stay up too late.

Next day, up early for the Auf Ruf, or whatever its called, Wendy kept calling it a Ruf Ruf jokingly, so now I really have no idea what its called, and less of how to pronounce it. This event was explained to me as a blessing for the wedded couple, so I am thinking ok some sort of rehearsal type event, can't take too long. Wendy broke the terrible news to me, "It probably won't run too much longer than regular Shabbat services...so like 2 and a half hours." She says this all non-chalantly like its no big deal. UHHHHHH hello!!!???!!! I was raised Catholic. I may not be one anymore, or since I was 12, but I must say I agree with their style of worship. In and out, "Hey God, how's it going? Sorry I messed up this week Thanks for the wine. See you next Sunday!" Quick and clean AND some free wine/blood of Christ whatevs thrown in, what a deal! Yeah its still boring and no one has any idea what's going on except the old ladies in the front pews, but at least its quick. None of this "2 and a half hours is totally normal, why are looking at me like that" crap. And then there's Marie telling us the Religious Action Center (yeah that's where the services were held) was a quick 15-20 minute walk away. Uhhhhh it so was NOT!!! Especially not in heels. Trekking across Dupont at 9:32 when services started at 9:30, I was cool since for me that was practically early, but I was concerned since these people don't know me and may not be cool with my late thing. Wen assured me "They're Jews, it won't even start for like another half hour." Oh great, so that means in addition to the half day of services alone, we also have a late start. So what is the real total of time invested in being a Jew on Saturday? For me it turned out to be approximately 5 hrs if we include prep time. Gads, this whole religion thing sure does take it out of you.

Services were interesting. The only way to describe it to a non-Hebraic person is to say its sort of like the Born Again Christians. HOLD IT, DO NOT hit send on that hate mail!!! I am in no way stating that the progressive Jews have embraced the Christ as their messiah, lord and savior. Jew for Jesus they are not. I am merely saying that the experience of services, the zeal with which they worship, the kumbayah-ish approach to music, etc etc, some of which may be found at regular services, not just progressive, is fairly similar to Born Again Christian services. While there was no speaking in tongues, people were moved by the spirit so to speak, as Davvening is a popular mid-prayer sport. There was much prayer singing and improvisational vocalization, to the point of beat boxing (which totally removed any prior respect I had for the musical stylings). Eli's sister has a beautiful voice, but some guy had a terrible one that kept verging on drowning hers out. The prayer book was in Hebrew, yes Hebrew letters as well. I was surprised to learn nearly everyone was actually reading it. I figured that in our modern world of forgetting the past and groping what's easiest, this art would be lost and there would be Americanized Roman alphabet phonic translations (which there were in the special book for WASP-y-ish people like myself), but was delighted to learn so many people can not only speak it, but read it as well. Lovely. I tried to follow, and Wen kept pointing out the passage we were on or turning my page for me, but it was a useless exercise. I was lost, but then I found something to do. I found out that the literal translations of the Hebrew prayers were FABULOUS. One such example was "Adonai is your god, that is true!" And the recurrent word in this prayer was "Wow!" I didn't realize the Hebrews of the past were so fond of the word "wow." Another favorite was the stage directions for certain prayers. I liked the one that directed the opiated masses to let their "Voices ring out in a rapturous chorus" etc etc for like a paragraph. Awesome. I kept pointing all this stuff out to Wendy who could have cared less as she was trying to read Hebrew and hoping a prayer she knew would come up. So I was in my own little cocoon of amusement and feeling very left out, until during one long silent prayer, I looked around and noticed a couple of other people doing the same. I had found the other non-Jews in the room! We are easier to pick out than an elephant in an elevator. We all have that deer in headlights look, glazed over and hoping to find an old lady in the front so we know what to do next. Ahhhh, its practically like church, only more Jewish and less talk about that Christ guy. So it went on like this, with special Torah readings and stuff with the fam, and all that jazz. I got to touch the Torah with my prayer book, which is apparently good luck. There was some dancing, and an attempt at some conga line style group activity, but the cramped space precluded this. We beaned Eli and Kavitha with some Organic Fair Trade tea bags. We drank some Manischewitz. And still more praying. By this time, I was done finding all the fun translations and stage directions. I had moved on to reading the Torah passage for the day, or for you non-Jews....the Old Testament. I learned from Wendy that they go in order, regardless of the occasion. So whatever passage they are on that week is the one that gets read, even for weddings. So the passage was the one with all the begat's and about the wickedness of humankind and God's decision to wipe them out with a catastrophe. Ummmm, this is so not good for a wedding blessing, but whatevs. But there was another passage. I think it was Saul and his son and David or something. Man, was it compelling. Apparently David had done something to anger Saul, but Saul's son empathized with David, and befriended him despite his father's anger and wrath. Saul's son felt his dad out at dinner to see if he could bring David back in to town or not...etc etc. That is pretty much the portion I got. I am dying to find out what preceded it and what happened next. It was like a soap opera. Love it. I should bust out that Bible. I mean it was the "Greatest Story Ever Told." And I don't have a Torah. Heck, I might not even have a Bible. Anyways, I finished this portion and was left wanting, and the praying was stilllllll going on. Jesu Cristo, these people do go on. OK I survived it, it wasn't bad, I mean it was all sunshine and lollipops, everyone loves G_d and G_d loves us back, so it's not like I suffered anything other than boredom and some confusion. But we could have crammed all that into a much smaller block of time. Then they fed us. Finally. Mmmmm bagels....mmm cheese, mmmmm fruit, hummus, rugelach, cookies..... NOOOOO do NOT eat the sweets. Do not. Save your diet ruining for the red velvet cupcakes. They are sooo much more worth it. OK disaster temporarily averted. Holding out for cupcakes. So people would come up to us, "How do you know Kavitha and Eli?" Oh we went to uni with Kavi. "Ohh that's nice" Then they walk away. And those were the nice ones. One girl grabbed Wen, started to say something then said instead "Oh I thought you were someone else." And walked away. WTF?? Who are these people? After a couple of awkward moments like this, we decided progressive jew-land was not ready to welcome 2 such fabulous persons as ourselves. We were too much for them. So we left. And it was like we had just donned our suits and left the commune. Girls in long floral skirts with flowy unwashed hair sat in circles on the lawn, probably weaving dandelion crowns and discussing the Israeli-Palestinian conflict with ambiguous boys with the same style of facial hair, ie au naturale. It could have been 30 years ago, or today. Either way, we were ditching the kibbutz in favor of some good old free market capitalism. Yes, shopping. And off we went.

We shopped for cards for Kavi and Eli (and walked out with 2 others besides) and jewelry for Wen's wedding outfit. She totally refused to heed my OTFT jeweler advice. LAME. But she finally succumbed and got these fab blingy earrings from Banana. Because I practically forced her. Whatevs. Then we went to Kavi's for a bit to hang (hadn't seen her in about 3 years, so it was nice), and then Marie dropped us in Dupont so we could get some nosh. I had been craving Fuddrucker's cuz they absolutely ROCK! But we wound up at CPK because we got to it first and its all about LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION when I am hungry. Yes I know, we ate at a chain when surrounded by so many other choices. Shhhh, who cares? Sometimes you need a little bit of comfort food, and Wen is like the only person I know who appreciates that (well other than my fam). I felt better having opted for the wheat crust, but it was still bad for me (ahem goat cheese). But whatevs, I already threw the diet out the window when we made plans to go to CakeLove before our night out. So we ate and went back to Marie's to glam ourselves up for our big reunion night out at the Black Cat. Wen was hovering while I was doing the liquid liner....which is hard enough to do, but worse when someone is staring at you. She said she was just watching but I think she just wanted to remind me that I was running late. Floof the hair, brush on some lip gloss and away we go.

Yeah, we are idiots. None of us bothers to look up where CakeLove is, so we are all in the vicinity of 14th and U. Mark calls me asking where it is. Wen and I are in the cab trying to figure just that tidbit of info out. We send him back and forth a couple of times before our savior calls, cuz she's Katie Newcomb and she's so sessy. She is there waiting for us, ie, she knows where it is. Tell us oh wise one. Oh 15th and U!! Well, at least we were close. We do the greet everyone thing which takes a few minutes. I do the Hallmark greeting with Mark and run into his open arms. I miss Markie, I haven't seen him since we were both living in the UK. We pick up Sarah on our one block walk, and she runs to hug me in greeting. Apparently I come with a lovable reputation, as this is my first meeting with Sarah. No worries. I love LOVE! She is not so generous with Mark, but I think they are both ok with this, since they don't know each other. We walk on and we share the LOVE with our sessy friend Katie. Then Marina and Nandu stroll up from their fab parking karma space around the corner, and we spread yet more LOVE. We finally go in the door to CakeLove and promptly walk out the other door, as that is how far the line has grown during our LOVE session. By the time we reach the counter to order, we have our choice of cakes and other sweet things to choose from, as long as by choice you mean "you can have one of these things that no one else wanted which is the only reason we have any left." Mmmmmm, appetizing and exciting. Me and Marina opted to split some razmatazz a maroo cake or whatever. It was kind of dry and the icing excessively sweet. Not a fan. Wen got what basically we would call an eclair. Katie an orange cupcake, which looked better than my razmagoo. Nandu and Mark opted for the berry tart, because it came highly recommended ("It's the one we have the most left of..."). Apparently the tart was good though, despite that extremely enticing description. I was unsatisfied and felt I had wasted my carbs and sugars. CakeLove, I love Cake. Too bad you didn't have any. LAME!! On to the booze!!!

The Black Cat, I have only been there for concerts before, never done the "club/pub/bar" thing there before. Also, I was always underage when I'd been before. So we shall try it from this new adult, boozehound, indierock angle. They have a strange door policy of having to be made fun of by the skinny goateed "bouncer" before allowed entry. He told us to go stand behind the velvet rope, first I looked around wide eyed...umm sir we are the only people here. But then we all stupidly obeyed, because we are the nerdy goody2shoes kids, we never rebel against authority, even if its not very authoritative. $10 to get in, whatevs, better than some. Hand stamp done in what we later discovered must have been skin soaking indelible india ink that you pretty much need to have surgically removed. Up the stairs we go. We are sharing the concert space with what looks like approximately 6 other people. But they have candy on all the tables, we all pounce on the tootsie rolls. Mmmmmm tootsie rolls. We secure some couch space, strip off our winter weather gear and I announce "Who wants to go to the bar?" I thought the whole group was with me, but when we arrived it was me, Katie, Mark, and Nandu. What shall we drink. I dumbly shout Tequila. My round, everyone does a shot of tequila. The tequila evidently saturated our brains quickly, because we started to develop a plan. Yes a drinking plan. We became the Omega Squad, or O-Squad for short. It is our alcoholic version of the A-Team. The goal is to drink as much as we can of as many different things as quickly as possible until we are broke. Easy peasy. Next round, Nandu. Jaeger. Uggghhh. Next round, Markie, SoCo with lime...ummm Mark WTF? OK , blech. Next round, Katie, vodka. Whoops, we forgot to ask for the good stuff. I think I just drank rubbing alcohol. Mmmmmm. OK, we are broke, where's the cashpoint? Whhheeeeee, walking is like a roller coaster ride. Water...I need water. Medic!!! Someone call the medic! I am positive I just imbibed rubbing alcohol. We totter over to the other bar and rediscover our friends, who are mad that we just invented the Express Power Hour without them. Whatevs, I am WAYYYYYY too far gone to care. But here is where we met George. George is awesome. He is Marina's gay boyfriend (she has a lot of those). He frankly rocks. He and I need to get together again in order to further trash talk JT and his attempts to bring Sexy back long after we fabulous persons have already done so.

Enter Owen. Enthusiastic greeting. Sarah is upset that I did not give her the same sort of greeting. Sarah, I didn't know you before, but now that I do, I love you and will always give you "Chariots of Fire" slow-mo running toward each other scene type greetings in future. LOVE!!! Owen rocks!! Period. Unfortunately that drunk girl thing gets in the way and I misplace Owen and Sarah and several others of our group for a while. I can't remember where I went, but I am sure it must have involved either a bar or a DJ. Probably requesting the Cure or asking what's on tap.

Enter Jeffie. I think it was at this point that I started to be drunk Beki. No, not just wow I had a lot to drink Beki. No, this is the point in the evening where all the stuff I drank earlier actually takes effect. Its where I start to dance like no one's watching, talk some shit to some strangers, and either get belligerent or cuddly. I guess the sugar reentering my system made me lean toward the cuddly side, because I molested everyone. Wendy unfortunately captured me assaulting Jeff on digicam phone. It is a hot picture, even though Jeff looks as though he wants to run away. Thankfully, she didn't get me doing the same to nearly everyone else I encountered. I danced my little feet into bloody stumps, but its ok, because some guy stopped to dance with me for a while and then leaned in and said the greatest thing in the world to me EVER "Honey, I'm gay, but I just had to stop, because you are FABULOUS! You are the only person in here who knows how to dance." While I thought this odd because I was quite positive I was doing the drunk girl shuffle, I fell in love with him all the same. I always love people who love me (hmmm perhaps this is where my dating life goes wrong...). And positive affirmation about fabulousness from a gay guy is basically like a sign from up above that you truly are fabulous!! Awesome. Ego boosts rock! Then I apparently was overheard saying to some guy (or different guys, I'm a bit fuzzy on the details) "Whatever, you're totally going to die of colon cancer" and "Yeah, you just let me know how that vasectomy goes." Umm, ok. While I have no trouble picturing myself saying such remarks, I have zero recollection of the person(s) to whom I made them and in what context. I am slightly concerned, but oh well. Then I went to the bar the get a round in, and some chick and I were talking about hair, and how guys like girls with curly messy bed hair. But she apparently was hitting on me. I was too oblivious and/or drunk to notice, but my gaggle of onlooking friends were sure to tell me about it when I got back, or when I sobered up, well they told me about it later. I do recall feeling as though she were invading my personal space a bit, but she didn't like lick my face or anything weird, so I was not bothered.

<----Signs that Beki needs a new digital camera
That face says it all













Signs Beki needs to have a glass of water
instead of another beer ---->
Uggggghhhhhh

Mark is my role model. When I grow up, I want to be as cool as Mark. PS--Mark kept telling us how he had 800 drinks, and he was a "champion" and Wendy was not because she had only had like 2 drinks. And he doesn't know "this music, because I'm black." Ummm Mark? OK so you love Chaka Khan, but you are the whitest damn black person I ever met. But that IS a HOT picture, and I believe that is also MY damn ciggy, well c/o Katie. Nandu also is not black, nor are any of the girls (shown in these photographs with him) and he dating, even if Owen thinks we should all be scratching each other's eyes out in an attempt to win Nandu's affections.

As people started to disperse, we decided to trek over to ChiCha Lounge for some shisha and more drinks. During our trek, Mark discovered the blacklight and we had a little studio session wherein mark made me take about a million pictures of him in the blacklight. And looking at them now, I can't even tell there was a blacklight. Ah well. So back to our trek, and I am in heels mind you. Unfortunately, I again forgot what city we were in, and the call for last orders and closing time took us by surprise. We basically made it to ChiCha in time to sit down and call a waitress over to tell us last call was over. Nice. So then we trekked to Marina's car, well some of us did. I don't know how everyone else got home. Actually, Mark are you home yet? How did you get there? I am a terrible friend. Its like a week later and I am just now starting to worry about your welfare. Wen was sober enough to pay attention though, so I trust she made sure you had a way home. She's an organizational whiz like that. Car ride was fun, we just drunk texted and sang along to the radio, but when we pulled up to Marie's and were saying our goodbyes, JT's "SexyBack" came on. Wen and I tried to get back in to sing along, but Marina practically drove off with her doors still open to prevent this. She said "NO, get out!" Apparently you have to be firm with drunk girls, or they won't listen. And she was tired, as evidenced by the below photo. So we lumbered off to Marie's to get some sleep before our early morning wedding round up.







Basically, to sum up...Black Cat....RULES!!!

Kavi's Wedding, also ruled, but in a different more Hebrew with a tinge of SouthEast Asian way, Shabbat Shalom and junk, but I will talk about that in a very special wedding edition.

CakeLove however did not rule...not at all....The Diner, yeah that place ruled....teaism also rules....I miss you DC...take me back, but pay me as much as I get here....oh you can't, that's right, that's why I left....sad day

But at least I met Owen.

And Sarah.

And George.

And discovered the Black Cat again. And got to see some people I haven't seen in years. And rediscover my love of Chocolate City.

Good times. Good times.