What is it about Sundays?

Isn’t today meant for observing the Lord? The past three Sundays have been anything but sacred and serene. Two Sundays ago, the House of Representatives and Senate sorted out the debt ceiling crisis. Seven days ago, the Standard & Poor’s downgrade had the country up in arms. This morning, GOP presidential hopeful Tim Pawlenty stepped down from the race. This news surfaced after Minnesota Rep. Michele Bachmann won the Ames Straw Poll. While I love the intensity and anticipation of breaking news, I’m shocked that the last few weekends have been so chaotic. It’s summer. August is supposed to be a quiet month worldwide. Congress isn’t in session, the season is winding down, and many Europeans have closed up shop and left for vacation. This town goes to sleep right about now, but there ain’t no rest for the wicked.

Earlier today, I wrote a blog post about the pains of growing up as a redhead. I posted the article to my Facebook page and received a few responses, one of which was from my red-haired uncle. While waiting for the metro this evening, I read my uncle’s take on gingers and laughed aloud. Seconds later, the girl to my right started cackling.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, halting my giggle fit.

“It’s just that you have a really contagious laugh,” she said. “What prompted that?”

I went on to explain that my uncle hated his childhood as a redhead. More than anything, he disliked when his mother would say, “I know a lot of ladies that would love to have your hair.” That’s not something a little boy wants to hear.

The young woman was stunned to learn I’m a natural redhead.

“I assumed you were a blond,” she said.

A new friend said something along those lines earlier this week. At the beginning of the summer, my Georgetown buddy Adam didn’t believe me when I said I have red hair. Has the strawberry blond shade faded that much over the past year? I haven’t put highlights in since April, so I think the sun has had an affect on my tangled locks.

Regardless, I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that my hair color, which has defined me for most of my life, has become inconspicuous to newcomers. People have always distinguished me as the “girl with orange hair” or “redhead who wears a lot of green and blue,” but no one lumps me in those categories anymore. I’m the young writer in D.C. now. How about that…

When the lady and I stopped talking about hair, she began shooting questions about apartment hunting and all that stuff about which I don’t like chatting. In most cases, I avoid the topic of housing because it bores me to tears and heightens my blood pressure. Today, I simply didn’t want to give this strange female information about where I currently reside and plan to move. She seemed harmless but wouldn’t quit with the inquiries, so I started to suspect she wanted more than just advice.

As it turns out, she just didn’t know anything about looking for a place to live. I regretted doubting her motives, but I’ve been like this ever since relocating to the D.C. area. When a stranger approaches me here, he or she typically wants something. I’m guarded and wary because of what has happened to me in the past year. Two months ago, a manipulative woman in Georgetown tried to con me into coughing up forty bucks. She laid out a whole sob story about being pregnant (she wasn’t carrying a child, FYI. I think she was just overweight), having a “loser” baby daddy, a broke-down vehicle, and zero cash. I didn’t buy her speech because she threw out fake Georgetown street names and criticized me for being too uptight. Well, when someone attempts to weasel a significant amount of money out of you, it’s probably a good idea to remain suspicious of said individual.

This goes back to an earlier point I made: It’s easier for me to open up to others in Arizona and California than on the east coast because the intentions of strangers seem different out west. I’ve never felt threatened in Tucson or the bay, yet I shut down when randoms or panhandlers try to engage here. I chalk it up to my negative experiences with hostile homeless folks. Coming from Santa Cruz, I’m used to being surrounded by hobos, yet they seem so much more aggressive and terrifying here.

It seems I’ll do anything to complain about the east, but I have no desire to live in the bay area or the desert for a long time. I thrive off the energy and pace of D.C. and N.Y.C., so I’d get antsy anywhere else. Besides, the west sucks at public transit, which I cannot live without.

This afternoon, I received a shocking email from a racist reader who was displeased with my Kim Kardashian dance disaster article. Because I refuse to include bigoted slurs in my blog, I’ll give you a censored version of what he wrote: “This Kim Kardashian is nothing but a N—– loving white trailer tramp SLUT ! ! along with her sisters.”

Seriously, why go there? How unbelievably disturbing.

On a more uplifting note, “Lizzie McGuire” star Hilary Duff is having a baby. Just ten years ago, she was a role model for awkward young teens on the Disney Channel, which kept her popular show on air for several seasons. I was a huge fan of hers in high school and she’s only a year old than I, so it’s surreal to see more and more people in my age bracket get married and have children. Obviously I never knew Duff, but I watched her movies and TV appearances throughout my junior high and high school, so I’m still trying to process the fact that she’s been a real adult for quite some time!

And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: The latest insane Google search terms that have led Internet users to my blog. After this Debby Downer of a blog post, I could use a laugh, and I’m sure you’re all feeling the same way:

terrible boyband
jacko moonwalk
french men chivalrous paris
miss russia
parisians can’t smile
dorm poker
a 1700 hundred style white house
unexpected visitors museum de eroticisme
dad fucking his daughter+free tube (um, EWWW)
romance her son’s roommate (again?)
male elephantitis
miss world photos
blog da jullie poew
south park last supper
the trunchbull matilda
what was hannah doing in the massage chair crazy stupid love
lead singer dream street
girls friends
mean girls fitting in


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