Hares: Roto Router, Hard Drive, S'not, Burnt Sox
THE 3rd ANAL RED DRESS RUN!!!
[Scribe's note: this writeup is a mish-mashed plagiarism of several hashers efforts and muddled recollections (in no particular order): Burnt Sox, Cold Cuts, Cox Stroker, Hi Beams, Poop Deck, Rambo, Roto Router, Snow Fairy, and Stained Sheets. To them I offer my sincerest gratitude, since I was having too much fun swilling beer and showing off my knockers to actually do my job.]
The sun was bright, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the monsoons that have marked the DC summer stayed away, and there was a general nifty excitement in the Crystal City air (that's right, clean fresh air, not smog!) this fine Saturday afternoon. The Third DC Area Red Dress Run was getting ready to kick off!
Insofar as organization is concerned, let's give the hares credit right up front-- markings took you from the Metro to the Crystal City Motel. You didn't even have to remember that you memorized the directions the night before! You could scrub the directions off your inner thigh, scribbled there just in case you got so excited on the train that you might brain-fart at the top of the escalators...But even a blind man could have followed the scent of beer to the Crystal City motel, where a tell-tale collection of WankErs In Red DresseS (WEIRDS) had already begun to assemble, swilling cold beer and making each other's acquaintance. Some think the CC Motel a fleabag [right, Hi Beams?], but I don't think that's very nice-- in this PC town, being entomologically challenged is considered a virtue! A voice in the back of my noggin whispered that we could make hash history today, if we just relaxed and had a good time...who would have guessed that by the end of the day: 361Hashers would attend, including a strong (and we're not just referring to their B.O.) contingent from Tidewater/Fort Eustis-
Total Consumption of Beer: 3 Kegs, 10 cases, and 412 pitchers! Somebody figure how much beer that is per person, and keep track-- we can always try to beat this mark next year.-
No (as in ZERO) arrests! We all must be getting older, folks...
I must say that registration was a flurry blur of activity, seeing people from all over at the registration desk, stamping body parts (there were some choice stampings, by the way-- if you work one of these events, do try to gain control of the ink stamps, for in them resides the power to decorate body parts of the opposite sex).
The registration was remarkable, if for any reason, that it went as smoothly as it did. The Tattoo Parlor was a smashing success, one that needs to be retained in the future. [Mental note to the Scribe: if you can't control the ink stamps, get assigned to the Tattoo Parlor next time]. Suddenly, the hares came out on the 2nd floor balcony to take their bows and further incite the beerthirsty WEIRDS. The roar that went up at the arrival of the hares actually woke up some homeless people sleeping under the 14th St bridge. But I'm getting ahead of myself...
Cox Stroker aptly describes an early incidence of confusion that our presence would create all day: '...someone came up to me for an explanation of the goings-on. Here's the twist to the story. The first sentence out of her mouth was: "Are you Chinese?" (OK, so we can't tell the difference either.) The next sentence was "Do you speak Chinese?" On my confirmation that both my answers were in the affirmative, she then asked: "zhei shi shen ma?" To which I explained, in Chinese no less, the whole hashing and red dress thing. She wanted to know if we got dressed up in women's clothing every week. I guess they don't get a lot of red dresses in Red China, nor men in dresses, either red or proletariate Mao blue.'
The pack took off on flour through an uninhabited warehouse area, noted approvingly by several workers collecting their Saturday overtime. The long red line of WEIRDS was an inspiring sight, weaving its way around corners, through the gap in a fence, and every time you rounded a corner, there would appear a new vista marked by hashers in red. Notable was Hazukashii's large On On foot flag, which waved proudly all day! It would have been truly fitting to have the flagpoles ringing the Washington Monument to all fly the hash foot flag, but I guess we can't extend the hares more than we already have!
The 14th St bridge took us over the Potomac. You reached the bridge by one of two means; following true trail, you got the opportunity to meet some of northern Virginia's less fortunate, lately roused by the chants, shouts, and whistles of WEIRDS thirsty for beer. The bridge brought out the exhibitionist in many of us, and the honking from passing traffic was constant and appreciative. A friend of one of the hares (too timid to be a WEIRDS) commented: 'Saturday I was driving downtown, and when I got to the 14th street bridge, traffic was almost at a standstill. There were all these people running by in red dresses... Good grief, what a sight!' Let it not be said that DC residents can't appreciate quality transvestite talent! At the far end of the bridge we followed an embankment down to the Jefferson Memorial, where sat a Tourmobile full of shocked tourists, taking pictures and videos and screaming their heads off! One observer noted that 'the tourists were totally stunned. The bus almost tilted over, they had to stop it!' In a trice we found ourselves in a parking lot with no fixed address, drinking water and beer, and waiting for a train...A train did swing by during our layover; we waved, and the train driver tooted (his horn; women may toot, but men fart).
From the beer check we proceeded down onto the Mall, stopping traffic at every corner, leaving dazed tourists in our wake. This would be a good time to mention some of the choicer comments made to passersby, as if they weren't stunned enough already:
'We work for the government; be afraid, very afraid.'
'Vote for Clinton, he's just like us!
We're the only skirts he hasn't lifted!'
'Dykes for Dole! Dykes for Dole!'
But most of the NORMAL (NOt Red dress Material At alL) people just wanted to know what the hell we were doing. This I find most curious, namely that many of these NORMALs don't seem to recognize people having FUN (no cute explanation for this; it's not an acronym, it just means FUN). Most folks didn't break into a trot to ask their questions, I suppose they expected the WEIRDS to simply stop in their tracks for a quick interview. Naturally, this necessitated quick responses like 'THIS IS THE RED DRESS RUN!', to which a typical response was 'Oh, OK'-- as if our overly simplistic explanation somehow made it sense!?!
Once though, Stained Sheets & I actually took a short breather on Constitution Ave, where a 40-ish couple were standing with their hot-hot-hot teenage daughter. They were not from the USA, but were fascinated by our garb, sweat, and broad smiles. They told their daughter to pose with us, which elicited a shout of 'Your daughter, sell her to us!' They thought this was hilarious as well, and I couldn't help but wonder if there might be some bridge between the world of the WEIRDS and the world of the NORMALs.
This theory was soon confirmed, because a fellow approached us soon after with loud, joyful shouts of HASHERS!!! HASHERS!!! ON ON!!! Well, you could hardly put this guy into the NORMAL category, yet for some strange reason he wasn't properly attired in a red dress, nor did he find the On In. Obviously, more research is needed to test my hypothesis...
If you stayed on true trail, you know that it led past the Washington Monument, and you probably would be disappointed by my feeble description of those moments. Let me simply state that while shortcutting on Constitution Ave, I looked over my left shoulder to see that glorious red ribbon of hashers stretching up, past and over the monument, and I could only feel humbled to be counted among the ranks of the WEIRDS. Shortly thereafter numerous hashers stopped at the Einstein statue to have their pictures taken; then it was past the Organization of American States, down, and into Georgetown Harbor, where hardly a bite was taken at ANY outdoor cafe, such is the effect WEIRDS have on the appetites of NORMALs. Here we waited for our water taxis, with more water available to the thirsty, and beer on board for the boat people.
Seems the hares had a bit of a laugh, courtesy of the US Park Service. As Burnt Sox relates, 'the Park Ranger greeted us at the gate just after we leaped the fence to leave Teddy Roosevelt Island. "I guess you're the running guys, huh?" Hard Drive: "Oh, yeah, Max forgot to tell that we're wearing red dresses." "Yeah, he did."' Let's have a down-down for Hard Drive for using a nerd name on trail!!!
Water taxi was an ingenious method of keeping the pack together, as well as providing a unique mode of conveyance to Theodore Roosevelt Island. Many hashers commented that the boat drivers were so expert that their feet didn't even get wet upon debarkation!
Here it must be noted that the US Park Service could be inducted as Honorary Hashers, if such a thing were to exist. First, they cut Burnt Sox and Hard Drive a major break by not arresting them near the Jefferson Monument-- once they saw that these hares merely carried flour in their bags, they were allowed to proceed. Even more importantly, the US Park Service OPENED Teddy Roosevelt Island especially for us, after much pleading, cajoling, and begging by one of the hares (you guess which one...)
Up from the island, across the only bridge, and up into Rosslyn, the trail soon led up to that den of perdition, Bardo, On In.
I'd be remiss if I failed to mention the misadventure of Poop Deck, who was stung by a bee on the tongue after making initial preparations for the WEIRDS at Bardo. Seems the bee flew into his beer, and I guess Poop Deck is lucky the bee stung going in rather than coming out ('Doc, I have painful urination and my penis is swollen. Do I have the clap?' 'No, son, you have a drunk bee in your penis.')
Words fail when trying to describe an On In, so I won't even make an attempt. It should suffice that Wilburr won Best Dressed, Got Milk? won Sexist Harriette following two extemporaneous flashings, and nobody could hear the announcements over our newly minted Hash Chant: 'ONE, TWO, THREE, SHUT THE FUCK UP!'-- I counted 360 hashers who wish they could take credit for that one, but I do believe all credit should go to Burnt Sox!
Mud Buns got buried up to her neck in sand outside the Bardo bathroom, and to her horror discovered that the sandbox is used by local cats as a litter box! Could a renaming be in the works?!?
In closing, let me express thanks to the Hares, the Helpers, and the Hashers for creating a day that we will all remember fondly. I realize that these impressions only represent a limited scope of the highlights this day provided, and I wish I could remember everyone's name, home hash, and specific outfitting. If I had time, I would have interviewed each of you personally and included your life stories here in explicit detail. Obviously, time and space force me to edit the vast pile of material generously offered by my fellow WEIRDS. If you are in the least disappointed with this writeup, or if you feel that your unique and frantic hijinx were intentionally left out because I have a personal axe to grind, then you can
ONE-TWO-THREE: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!
My Work Here Is Done.