Code Red at Local 16

The language for W's War on Terror (and immigration, for that matter) seeps into every aspect of our lives now.

I was out last night with my friend Laura. Beautiful, tall, lithe Laura of the turquoise boots and hypnotism. One thing I've discovered being out with Laura is that guys are practically tripping over each other to give her their business cards. Seriously.

We met up at Local 16 for one glass of wine that turned into three. And wound up staying out because this one guy farted. I'm not kidding you.

Laura does yoga on U Street and Local 16 is convenient and has nice wine. The bar was full when we got there a little after eight, but there was one stool empty, which we took over.

We were hanging out chatting, catching up on life, when all of a sudden we smelled an overpoweringly terrible smell. Laura smelled it first. I could see her nose twitching. But she didn't want to say anything. So I said, "Oh my God. Do you smell that?"

And I said, "It wasn't me! I promise!"

She said, "I ate some serious soy products last night. But it wasn't me either!"

So we started scanning for possible culprits. We started to giggle and look around. As did other people. We were surrounded by people - all potential farters. Laura did some farter profiling and decided that this one tall, cute, blond fellow was the most likely one. So I tilted my head in his direction and mouthed "Him?"

But he saw me. And said, "I didn't do it! You think I farted, right?"

We started to laugh. We laughed so hard we were crying. It was impossible to deny. But he adamantly denied it. We said we believed him.

Things went back to normal. We resumed catching up.

About 20 minutes later, this guy to my left said, "I did it."

"What?"

"I'm the one who farted. I know you were wondering."

We were a little nervous, because it had been like a WMD, and started to edge away, but he said, "Don't worry - the borders are secure."

And Laura said, "Oh my God. The whole vocabulary for the War on Terror thing pervades every aspect of our lives." Which is true.

So we wound up talking to The Farter for a while. Because he was hilarious.

He and his friend eventually went to Saint Ex and we stayed. And the Accused Farter (AF) and his friends came over to talk to us. They wanted to know why we were willing to talk to The Farter for so long.

"Because he was funny!" Because the truth is, we weren't out to pick up guys. We were just out to catch up and have a good time.

We were chatting with the AF and his friends, who were very fun and interesting.

And Laura then said, "Oh, you have to blog about this!"

The AF said, "She has a blog? You have a blog?"

Laura said, "Absolutely!"

He turned to me. "So, you're a blogger?"

I nodded.

"What's it about?"

"Me."

"You? Just you?"

"Yup. Nothing racy. No sex. Nothing scandalous. Just my plain old life. And I will probably go home and blog about the incident at Local 16 this evening."

We talked a bit about the topics I choose, why I started, what I like about it.

"Huh. So, like, you blog, all the time? Every day?"

Since I am well trained by my father to think on my feet and appreciate shock value, I said, "Yes. It's just like masturbating. Every day and twice on Tuesdays."

And smiled very sweetly.