Monthly Archives: May 2008

they say everyone has a twin, apparently i have 70…

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Have you ever been confused for someone else before? I’m sure you have at least once in your life. But that’s just it. For most people, it’s just ONE time. I however, get mistaken for other people on a regular frickin basis and I feel like one day it’s going to either get me in serious trouble or possibly killed.

Case In Point: Like most Sundays, I traveled to the Union Station stop this afternoon en route to what would eventually be a forfeited/washed out adult kickball game on the National Mall. I stopped in the Union Station shops bathroom near the Metro entrance and while walking down the hall to the women’s restroom this guy is tailing me screaming “Hey Teresa! Hey Teresa!” He is getting closer. I turned around once but didn’t respond because I was thinking “There is no way in hell he is talking to me. Whoever he wants is probably already in the bathroom.” But of course not. He is still yelling. This dumbass is convinced I’m Teresa. I had to respond:

“Sorry. I’m not Teresa.”

*Man turns around and walks the opposite direction*


This is where the “either get me in serious trouble or possibly killed” part comes in. From the way he yelled, you could tell it wasn’t a “Thank God I found you, I was looking everywhere for you” type of “Hey Teresa!” This was more like a “I’m going to beat the living shit out of you when we get home” type of “Hey Teresa!” If there were a recipe for his voice inflection I’d say it was a tablespoon of anger and just a pinch of domestic violence. Just a pinch.

Why does everyone think I’m their cousin/sister/long lost friend/person who owes them $500 for rent? It’s not like I’m an identical or even fraternal twin. I thought I was supposed to look unique. I thought no one else was supposed to look like me but me. Damn it, isn’t this how genetics is supposed to work?

Instead I get situations like the one at the Shoppers Food Warehouse in Laurel last week where while I’m purchasing lunch at the self checkout machine this guy just rolls up on me and goes:

“You graduated from Laurel High School, right?”

–I stare at him blankly—

“Class of 1997?”

“Nah I’m sorry. People confuse me with other people a lot.”

I think I was in the sixth- or seventh-grade in 1997 and I’m not even from Prince George’s County or any of the other bazillion counties that share Laurel so it’s safe to assume that if he was convinced I was this lady then she is clearly my long lost twin. I want a DNA test…and a trip to the Maury Povich show. No wait, just the DNA test. I cannot hide my indescribable urge to punch Maury Povich in the face.

I guess I should give him some credit since most people still think I’m in middle school and this guy is putting me up in the “almost 30-years-old” age bracket. Wait…should I?

it is about mothereffing time…

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My dad and I were walking through the Pratt Street Pavilion in the Inner Harbor last weekend and naturally as soon as I stepped in the door I had to pee. I swear somewhere on my body I have an IV drip of Juicy Juice that’s making me pee every five seconds. Anyways, as we’re both walking down the hall to the restrooms, this group of middle school band students with matching shirts are screaming at the top of their lungs saying something to the effect of “OMG THAT HAND DRYER WAS AWESOME.” My dad and I stare at each other with that same “wtf” look. Then when we both left the bathroom we both realized why they were so enthusiastic:

The above is a hand dryer, but not one of those rusty “press and receive bacon” models that I liken to a 70-year-old man with emphysema hacking a wet cough into the palm of your hands. You put your hands under the half crescent and it’s like a laser beam of air shoots over your hands. All you have to do is swipe your hands in and out like 2-3 times and they’re COMPLETELY dry. I’m not kidding. I don’t care if this was the Inner Harbor, I definitely wasn’t expecting to see one of these in downtown Baltimore, so they’re bound to be somewhere in some swanky D.C. restaurant. But a similar dryer is popping up everywhere nowadays:

When I took the trip to Cedar Point amusement park last summer this thing saved me during the second day when there was a torrential downpour. I dried the ends of my sweatpants with the sheer power. I saw my skin rippling from the gale force winds. Sometimes I think scientists and engineers create things like this to distract us from really important things they could be doing.

If you asked me what my perfect public restroom would be–and come on, if you’re talking with me, something inappropriate such as this is bound to come up in conversation–it would be one with unlimited foam hand soap, one of those hand motion sensor paper towel dispensers and maybe even an automatic flush toilet (even though I don’t like it when the toilet gets to play God). I never really considered the hand dryer. I just automatically assumed it would be crappy.

My jeans and every pair of pants I own thank you.