Before we rush headlong into 2018, let’s take just a moment to pause and reflect on the things we did well in 2017. And when I say “pause and reflect,” what I mean is, “slather ourselves in glory like a gravy-basted Christmas turkey.”
Without further ado, here are the top stories from 2017, minus a few evergreen posts that seem to get thousands of views every year no matter what. (I’m not surprised that so many people are googling “buy legal weed in DC,” but I am a little surprised – not to mention concerned – that so many people are looking for abandoned buildings in DC. I don’t understand it, so I’m just going to blame millennials.)
You know at least ninety-five percent of these clicks came from dudes who, seconds before, had received a Tinder message saying, “so where should we meet?”
I was anti-doorbell before it was cool. After I was woken up three days in a row by neighbors or canvassers mashing the doorbell at the ungodly hour of 11AM (what, I do my best work at night), I just pried the doorbell box off the wall with a claw hammer, and I’ve never regretted it.
BibimbOp is at the perfect midpoint of the restaurant food spectrum, right between too decadent, or not substantial enough. It’s on my short list of potential last meals if I ever end up on death row.
Bad real estate photo are like ginger snaps; they don’t sound that good, but the next thing you know, it’s three hours later and you’ve eaten the entire eight pound bag.
The best part of a hotel staycation is that you can trash the place with impunity. The worst part of a hotel staycation is being hit with crippling guilt an hour before checkout, and cleaning the entire place yourself.
Considering that the last landlord to check my credit told me that it “literally, and I do mean literally, could not be worse,” my credit rating is the same as the guy who defaulted on $51 million Manhattan condo. Not gonna lie, that gives me a little mini-glow of pride.
I always worried my Airbnb guests would use my last coffee filter, but yeah, I guess that guests hosting a huge Craigslist orgy called “The Pantie Raid” would be worse than that.
I’m still mildly shocked that people actually go to the trouble to ride a bikeshare bike to the beach, pick it up, carry it to the water, and hurl it in. That’s a person with too much spare time on their hands.
Fish don’t spend their weekends frolicking up onto land and flailing around in the air. So why do we think it’s such a great idea?
Somehow this gently critical story ended up on the neighborhood listserv of this town’s residents, and within a day, we were being bombarded with irate comments accusing us of being “fake news.” Me and the editors of the New York Times and the Washington Post are going have a hearty laugh about this at the Fake News Peddlers Christmas party.