When It Rains...

What does that mean over there? "Tweet"? Is that where you can be a nit-twit or whatever? Well, if you are, follow me on Twitter at twitter.com/therealmarklane

I'll be on the level with you. I've had a pretty rough five days personally and I was afraid it was going to seep into my blog here that I write for The Washington Center. So, I contacted my 32-year-old sister on Saturday night and asked her if she could "guest write" my blog this week. You know, I thought she had a good story. Her son (married, my sister is) received his postcard that I sent him last week. Since he was five years old, and a novice at receiving mail, he thought it was the greatest thing in the world. You know, he treated it like an invitation to a state dinner and he had to go search for his cumberbund.

Well, I thought that would be a great story to read over the weekend as I sat in the dark and tried to pull it together for the upcoming, horrendous week. Well, I mean, it's not AT ALL horrendous. I've got the interview with Congressman Dan Boren, 2nd Congressional District in Oklahoma, that's going to be another ace in my portfolio. I've got this big dinner with the National Press Foundation on Tuesday night. I've got class, which I always love. So, I mean, it's not the events themselves that are going to be horrendous so much as my spirits. Actually, no, even if I were Richard Simmons, having to stay ahead in three online courses that I'm taking back home after I'm exhausted from my internship is pretty horrendous.

"Hear me, baby. Hold together."

That's a Star Wars reference -- ah, whatever.

So I call my sister late Sunday night and ask her where the blog post is.

"Oh, I totally forgot."

Well, there you go.

So it's Sunday night and I'm ready for bed, so I decide to couch it until Monday night.

I'll make it up to you readers, too. I'll post three blogs this week and then we'll get back to our regularly scheduled blog.

Here's the topic I really want to talk about because I really do think it's related to one's experience at The Washington Center. I noticed last weekend -- President's Day weekend -- that a lot of the kids either A) flew home to see their parents or B) had someone fly in to see them, whether it was a relative or friend.

What do you do that for, really? To me, the prospect of being out here a thousand miles away from my parents and my college was a trepidatious and eager one. They don't know this, but it's actually a test to see how well you can strike it out on your own in a big city.

God bless my relatives, but I wouldn't WANT them to come visit me in Washington DC. This is something I've got to do on my own. What are they going to do -- God forbid -- if I get a job in Tacoma, Washington right out of school spinning LP's and managing the radio station's website? Someone is going to come fly out and make me another dinosaur blanket?

It irks me because it's a valuable opportunity to prove you can perform the high-wire act of adulthood without a net. I mean, it's especially vexatious if these kids are juniors or sophomores. YOU'RE GOING BACK HOME AFTER YOUR 4.5 MONTHS OUT HERE! Swallow the pill and use this as a chance to build tremendous confidence when you do have to go out into the real world and your relatives can't rescue you.

I regret sounding like a curmudgeon, but I felt that was significant opinion that needed to be shared.

So what do I have going on tomorrow? No smoothies -- that's for sure. Did I tell you about that? Maybe I shouldn't. Nah, I will because it's a good story.

There's a little store nearby to my living arrangements and I go there frequently. They have small items like Coke and chips and milk and cereal, but they also serve fruit smoothies and Oreo shakes.

I ordered one Saturday night and noticed something that looked like a garlic stick stuck to the inside of the cup -- only after drinking the shake halfway of course. So, I poke my finger in there and PULL OUT A SHORT BLACK HAIR!

Major cognitive dissonance was employed on my part to go ahead and down the rest of the shake. When I got to the bottom of the shake, I noticed another black hair. I threw the shake away. I'm never going back to that place again.

All right, let's conclude with one of my dad's famous expressions and then we'll get out of here.

"cut a fat hog"

definition: to acquire a good deal at a cheap price

Example: "With Voice of America paying for my Metro passes, I'm cuttin' a fat hog in transportation prices."