i usually reserve some of my more odd life stories for dinner time talks with my mom. or non-fiction pieces for class, wherein most of my classmates think i am either lying/the weirdest person they’ve ever met/ a curious mixture of the two. so this is my disclaimer: i don’t know how this stuff happens to me so often or why it does, but i am not creative enough to make this crap up. enjoy. bask in the weirdness with me.
8:00 pm. maya and i bike over to the venezuelan embassy as per the request of my dear former upstairs roommate, naomi. naomi is one of my favorite humans, there was a free concert, and the promise of free food was in the air. or something. i spent the whole day museum-hopping and dancing “the wobble” at the smithsonian folk fest, so i was super jazzed about culture. and stuff. innocent intentions, guys.
8:15 pm. maya and i quickly realize upon entering the embassy that 1. we are severely underdressed. 2. we are not venezuelan. and 3. there is possibly the most attractive man-candy standing next to us. a blonde, gangly clark kent. i am transported to swoon city: population 1. a man near the bathroom also gives me his business card, the band starts playing, and i am given a fan. life is good. weird and good.
8:30-9 pm. conga lines erupt. maya realizes the open bar and free food outside and pillage it of its good like we are leif erikson. blonde clark kent is just as clark-kent-y as ever and i forget that its rude to stare. a lot of poop jokes are exchanged between maya and i. maya and i spend way too much time talking nonsense (“maya, we shouldn’t be allowed in the venezuelan embassy anymore. wine glass monocle”- me, circa 9:45 pm.) a lot of meat is scraped out of free sandwiches presented to us. a lot of very happy plants got to enjoy some pork that night. naomi is notified of our staring at the blonde clark kent and the plot starts to thicken.
9:30 pm. the concert starts to wind down and we exit the embassy. we send our regards to hugo chavez. all of our regards, actually. every single regard for hugo chavez. for some reason i decide a bike helmet will help the whole situation.
9:45 pm. how the hell am i talking to blonde clark kent? how is my head still on my shoulders? wait, am i wearing a bike helmet whilst talking to blonde clark kent? why am i in venezuela? why do i have business cards? hugo chavez? these are all my thoughts as i am somehow talking to the the guy i gawked over scraped-pork sandwiches in venezuela. i am not complaining. i try not to make poop jokes or display my pit stains. so far, so good.
10:00 pm. BCK, as i shall now refer to him, and his posse tell us they are going to walk to the bus, so maya, naomi and i figure we will say goodbye and then grab some food. wrong. so wrong, since naomi knew that i was checkin’ out his bod. she begins following the posse. she quickly wins “wing-woman of the year 2012”.
10:15. wait, where are we? we are now at the bus stop and i quickly realize that BCK is moving to boston in a month and a half. many mental schwings are said in my head. i tell him where to get good burgers and good libraries and hope to be as endearing as possible without accidentally farting or burping or still wearing my bike helmet. we all think we are going to say goodbye to them as the bus comes up to the block.
10:30 wrong. again. so wrong! come on, i don’t get off that easily. “hey! we’ll get on the bus too,” says naomi innocently. and we jump on. best two dollars of unnecessary fare to the wmata ever. i keep on talking to BCK about moving to boston. “hey! you guys should exchange numbers! and mackenzie can be your tour guide!” god bless naomi. god bless venezuela. god bless everything. we exchange numbers and trot off the bus. i think nothing of it.
11:00 pm. we get ethiopian food and debate just how many death stares BCK’s female friends were shooting at us over injera. haters gonna hate. and somehow the picture below happens in the middle of d.c. don’t ask. just know that the origin was belly-splitting laughter and awkwardness galore. we bike the ten miles at home and i sing the beach boys obnoxiously loud to the city folk and it’s still 90 degrees out. business card man from before turns a corner and offers us a ride home. i kid you not. we politely decline and try not to pee.
12:00 am. maya and i get back to college park. we are disgusting. swamp-butt + pit stains abound. bugs (at least for me), dirt, sweat. you think it, we’ve got it stained on our skirts. taking a page from the book the divine secrets of the ya-ya sisterhood, we air out a bit by lifting our shirts up as we walk up to the dorm building. the coast was clear and the breeze felt lovely. it was that bad, guys.
12:03 am. of course. of course two guys walk by us as we try to sneak into maya’s dorm room. of course. we flee the scene and pull our shirts down and try desperately hard not to urinate in a college elevator. and take duck-face photos. and pass the eff out.
by 12 pm. the next day i send a casual text to BCK about how it was nice to meet him + if he never needs advice about boston to let me know.
by 4 pm. we have a date planned.
by 8 pm. i am at another ethiopian restaurant for a punk rock concert. and we go on a walk around logan circle. and get ben’s chili bowl. and it was very nice. and then part ways.
by 12 am. i have no idea why my life is like this, but i am very glad it seems to show no signs of letting up.
in short, venezuela is a very lovely country and i will be glad to visit the lush embassy of venezuela whenever the opportunity arrives.