On Fevers and Flatulation

There's only one housemate that really drives me crazy on a regular basis. He's one of those creatures who doesn't really take social cues very well, and it just means that he and I butt heads. I don't think he intentionally tries to be an ass, but he clearly has no idea how to behave otherwise.

For example, I went to a concert a few weeks ago and on my way out the door he says, "Where are you going?" To which I replied, to the 9:30 Club to see The Fray. And he replies, "Oh, well have fun. I only listen to good music."

Excuse me? When I asked him what qualified as good music, he said that he had no idea, so I told him the next time he was going to say something so blatantly insulting, he should at least justify it. If you're going to tell me you only listen to good music, you would do well to tell me what that is.

So anyway, I was power-walking around Capitol Hill the other day (after my giant cup of coffee) and I ran into Big A on his way home from work. I asked him pleasantly (as pleasantly as possible, and I was talking super-fast) how his day was, which is when he told me that the night before he'd had a headache and felt rather gassy.

I felt bad for his roommate. And despite my abundance of energy and my overwhelming desire to hear myself talk, I was speechless. What on earth? Why would he advertise that he was feeling gassy? That sounds like something he'd want to look up on WebMD, and not tell me about.

Uh, excuse me?

I have recently decided to stop riding the Metro everyday. It turns out, it takes me about the same amount of time to walk to the office as it does to hop on the Metro, change trains and get to the office. And walking gives me the added bonus of saving a couple of bucks and walking all of those weekend calories off.


But, that's not really why I did it.

Last week, as I was making my morning change from the Red Line to the Yellow and Green, I hit this woman with my bag (complete accident). I apologized to her profusely, even though she was standing on the right, completely blocking all walking traffic. Her response? "Thanks, bitch."

Excuse me? Charmed. I did not step off the train with the intent to hit her with my bag. Nor did I forget to say excuse me before I hit her (with my back, I didn't body check her) and I apologized. I did try to sidestep her. The platform isn't that big.

So, thanks to this unbelievably rude woman, I am now walking to work. I suppose I should thank her when my pants start to slide off.