On Friday, I had an unfortunate accident while dismounting a bar stool.   Despite varsity lettering in bar stool dismount, I executed poor form and ended up spraining my knee.  I knew things were bad when my knee cap was 3 inches east of its proper location, and my friends were hovering over me in disgusting disbelief.  I forced it back in (thank you whiskey), and utilized unknown forearm muscles to hoist myself back up to a bar stool.  Luckily, I was drunk enough to hobble out to a cab and go home.

Now at this point, the girlfriend, who I can only describe as the most amazing girlfriend in the world, took complete control over my survival.  She fed me vodka until I passed out, walked my dog, woke me up, fed me advil, walked my dog, made me dinner, walked my dog, and harassed me about going to the hospital, which I would have never done except she had supreme bargaining power.

Sunday my best friend woke up, extremely hungover of course, to drive me to the GW ER.  I fucking hate hospitals, but I have to say, it was relatively not so painful.  Except when the doctor says, does this hurt?  Here's a hint: the answer is always yes.  They gave me a knee brace, some Percocet, and sent me on my way.  Keep in mind, I never complained about pain.  Because I'm Irish.

After two days of being confined to a couch, I have to say, I have the best girlfriend and dog in the world.  Bacon sacrificed his long daily walks for some gentle spooning and Lifetime movies.  My girlfriend sacrificed any idea of me as a rough and tough hardass to feed spagetti-Ohs to her invalid boyfriend.  So, I'm pretty lucky I guess.

Despite my prognosis of healing in 4-6 weeks, I'm already walking on my own.  So maybe I'm tougher than people think.  That doesn't mean I don't want to spoon with Bacon.  Mario Lopez is a great actor.  And if you think you're tough? Try taking a crap without bending one of your knees.  I hope you have a large bathroom and a wiper.

I adopted a dog, finally.  He's eight years old, about 45-50 pounds, black lab mix.  I adopted him through Homeward Trails from a family that had to give him up due their infant.  He's doing great, and is proving to be instrumental in meeting all the cute girls that are moving into Columbia Heights now that it isn't "scary" anymore.  Finally I can be included in the dog society that has shunned me for so long.  You know, picking up poop gives you a sense of entitlement.

18.  He chokes on 19.

Oh man, so easy.  I feel sorry for the girl Randy Moss is raping right now.

Too far?  Yeah fuck you, he's a degenerate.  Huntington is not almost heaven.  Almost Kentucky maybe.

Over three years of blogging, countless posts and comments, numerous friends, a few angry kickballers, three jobs, 6.3 million hangovers, 5 bastard children, an oddly shaped mole that was removed via santeria, a stalker who violated a restraining order only to become the executor of my will, 6 months of Marshall Law in Manitoba, a grail-shaped beacon, and an unwritten manifesto later, I'm done.  No, wait.... Ughhhhhhh... yeah, I'm done.  I'd like to say it's been real, but it hasn't.  Let's just say it's been.  I love you all like I love taking a good dump.  Our history together is like the skidmark on the tidy whitey of my creative mind.

Delete me from your blog roll as the carcass of a blogger if you will, but please don't delete me from your feeds (DC Blogs, I'm looking in your direction).   While regular posting will cease, I have been toying around with other ideas, especially after the success of Phil's Manpoo video.  Also, I'm writing a few music tracks.  But daily blogging is done here.   Sporadic video and music blogging may remain.  But if you really can't get enough of me (and who could - unless you've dated me: apparently cynicism, self-righteousness, and bitterness are only funny 30 minutes a week), then you can check me out at the group blog I'm joining.  Starting now, I'll be blogging with Bad @ Life, Scott the Shot, the Drunk Astronaut (that narrows it down), and The Token Female at TickleMyKittens.com.  The first time I read Good At Drinking, Bad At Life, I remember thinking "i should have written that."  So I'm delighted to join a group of like-minded bloggers that reduces my blogging responsibility by 80%.  Hey, I'm lazy.

I'm not good at breakups, so I'll leave you with one of my all time favorite quotes in modern literature:

 "There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing. " Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho

The only reason this is worth mentioning is because I'm the biggest creature of habit the world has ever known.  I don't care if former interests come in - I'll be happy to see them - but no one I've dated can act like they don't know I'll be there.  That's my living room.  That's my family.  My two best friends live 3,000 miles away, my other close friends have moved away or are married.  My bar is not a place for alcoholism - ok, well it is - but no more than every waspy family Christmas.  In this city, you should be so lucky to find something so permanent and reliable.

Which winds this lazy river to my point.  In late 2003, my live-in gf and I broke up.  It was a rough time.  Six months later, I started this blog.  It stands as a chronicle of my experience taking on this city on my own.  It was hard, but I learned with minimal effort, you can find your niche.  And maybe yourself.

So here's the RCR guide to DC.  In group houses you'll meet people you'll learn to hate.  On kickball teams, you'll meet people that you regret fucking.  At clubs you'll meet people who are beneath you.  At college bars/georgetown/any bar you wait in line for... well, you'll meet someone with standards as low as yours.  At Smith Point, you'll meet someone with standards as low as yours and they will post it on a forum.  On Capitol Hill you'll meet... well, there's a reason those places keep burning down.   Craigslist missed connections are from people so uncomfortable with themselves, how could you possible respect them.  The Black Cat and Wonderland might as well do some lock and key party, where random scenesters end up with each other through random selection because god knows anyone who tried that hard to be different has to be the same.

Tattoos are the hypercolor of the oughts.  Being jaded and disaffected is out, being apathetic and self-medicated is in.  The 80's are cool as long as you're real 80's, like Duran Duran, and not 80's, like 90's Duran Duran.  Coke is in, but only as long as you still get a hard on or keep your nose from bleeding.  Pearl snaps are out unless you have a beard, or you're gay, or you used to have a beard, or you're really really into Uncle Tupelo.  Skinny jeans are for people with crotch rot. 

Comparing DC to NYC is out.  Comparing DC to Baltimore is a draw.  If the two cities combined, I think that might be kinda cool.  Comparing VA to MD is like comparing a soccer mom to a lacrosse mom.  Bitching about the heat is par.  Bitching about the cold is par.  Welcome to the mid-Atlantic: the happy trail of America - close enough to smell your morning breath and close enough to smell your sweaty crotch.  But bitching is the District hobby.

DC voting rights?  Representation is for people who aren't disaffected and lazy.  So, you know, well... 

Gentrification might be bad, but without it, who would the gang of tweens rob?  I want DC's youth to learn there is no consequence to their actions.  You were mugged in Cleveland Park?  Yeah, well bus fare is only $1.25.  And forget about those mini motorbikes that the cops seem to ignore as they are ridden up the sidewalk during evening rush hour.  You shouldn't have your iPod so loud that you can't hear a minibike.

You will get ticketed in a zone area before a meter.  Why?  Because meters require marking your time and coming back later.  Meter maids can collect more fines by moving on to the next out of state plate in the neighborhood zones.  

If you you are a new resident of DC, DC will do everything she can to scare you away.  With confidence and perstistence, you will prevail.  Seven years of DC, and I own this city.  But you have to be strong.  By the way, any cute girls, please resond to my Match.com profile name desparateindc@solonely.com.