***Programming note: Yes, I’m aware I published a very similar version of this essay on The Anti DC, but I fear that since I’ve officially “retired” that blog about 10 times now, people have traded reading that one for this one, so I’m cross-posting it here. And I guess for new readers who didn’t read The Anti DC, this can serve as a brief history of my past e-life. Either way, I hope you enjoy! Now on with the sh*t-show!***

I guess whenever you write anything for public consumption, you can’t help but think about who’s actually reading it. Or, for that matter, if anyone’s reading it. And while I suppose this thought also passes through the minds of print journalists (at least it did mine whenever I, you know, had a job), I think it’s even more present in the minds of Web writers, you know, these narcissistic freaks called bloggers.

Speaking of, remember that party I organized in my honor? Well, people actually showed up! My ego is f*cking off the charts! Well, it was off the charts. After dealing with the day-after, which involved watching a few reruns of the A-Team, eating an entire pizza (it wasn’t delivery, it was DiGiorno) and imbibing copious amounts of Mountain Dew, my ego is a bit deflated. My thighs, on the other hand, have never been bigger…

But, sincerely, I want to thank everyone who could make it out on Wednesday for The Anti DC (my old blog) send-off, officially dubbed “I’ll See You in Hell, DC.” Not only did you sufficiently abet my narcissistic tendencies, but you allowed me to finally put a face to many of your names. And, my oh my, what a menagerie of faces there were!

Who knew bitching about DC would unite so many? Republicans, democrats, white-collar, blue-collar, no-collar, black, white, brown, blonds, brunettes, men, women, bloggers, non-bloggers. The only thing that was missing was another horse to keep my helper horse Sven company. Although, he was only there the first five minutes. He had to get to the casino. Something about a slot-machine tournament.

But seriously, I was impressed by the diversity in my e-friends — a group I suppose I can even call my “readership.” Truly, I guess my old blog touched a universal nerve among those possessing a keen wit. (And yes, I can feel my thighs shrinking and my ego getting bigger with that sentence because it takes one to know one.) In fact, it’s too bad I waited until I was leaving DC to host one of these soirees because I’m pretty sure I could be real-life friends with everyone who showed up. Trust me, it helped that everyone seemed to enjoy my jean shorts, or as I prefer to call them my “jorts.”

Vodpod videos no longer available.

Also on the jorts tip, I learned my “audience” (Oh boy! Some of my ego just spilled out of my right ear!) also possesses one other universal quality: They’re an honest group. Not one but two people told me straight-up to stop reenacting the above video.

“Hey! Look what I can do in these awesome jorts!” I said as I took on an incredibly wide stance.

“Uh, you showed me that already.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Like twice.”

Really?!

“Yeah.”

*silence*

As I turn to the next person, “Hey, check out what I can do in these sweet jorts!”

Someone probably should’ve thrown a drink in my face.

But really, thanks for putting up with me. Thanks for the memories over at The Anti DC. And thanks to those of you who find something in my writing that will make you want to read my stuff over here at Marissa’s Big Adventure, even if I’m not bitching about something DC-specific.

By the way, someone asked me what my favorite Anti DC post of all time was. I gotta say it’s a toss-up between the one in which I realize I’m making $2.37 an hour at the sex shop and the one where where I compare DC to asbestos. I really get a kick out of science humor.

And on that note, I’ll leave you for the weekend with this most entertaining and offensive montage I like to call When Photos of Awkward Science Kids and Photoshop Meet:

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