We’re not too proud to admit that we here at DCist have been on a few blind dates. After all, who has time to let fate decide who we meet? This is D.C., and we have to approach l’amour the same way we do anything else: proactively, with a strategic plan and a list of action items. But we have always operated according to one simple and abiding rule on such liaisons: no matter how unfamiliar you may be with the person across the table from you, whatever you do, don’t forget their name. Write it on your palm so you may discreetly check it during dinner if you have to. And if you do forget it? Follow the rule that has prevailed in D.C. for as long as this has been the hub of government: admit nothing, deny everything.

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Quote of the Week

On a first date in Foggy Bottom:

Girl: “Where are you from?”
Guy: “Chicago. You?”
Girl: “Boston. It’s so funny, it’s like, I don’t even know the most basic stuff about you.”
Guy: “Yeah, it’s weird. I was telling my friends ‘I’m going out with this girl tonight.’ and they’re all ‘What’s her name?’ And you know, I told them I’m not really even sure. It’s Eva, right?”
Girl: “Yeah.”

After the jump, the mystery of the sour cream, climbing aboard the gravy boat, and parties so good you’ll forget your name.

The turkey has been had, and had again, the football games are over, and you’re finally coming out of that nasty tryptophan hangover. You’re probably annoyed enough with your family by now to go out into the world and listen in on people who aren’t related to you. Go have a drink and tell us what you hear, overheardindc (at) gmail (dot) com.

Photo by Flickr user furcafe.