be greeted by the lovely maya at union station. regret not having a baby wipe handy because you are sweating like a sinner in church, as it is hotter than a witch’s teat (approximately) outside in d.c.
try to forget the heat because there is a hopeful plateful of fried vegetable dumplings coming your way. priorities, guys.
watch some twilight zone marathon with some of maya’s bros. because for some reason the universe is smiling on you.
be the lucky guest star of maya’s radio show, where you play the tunes that were the theme of your friendship and amurrica, for it was the day of the birth of our great nation. which naturally means a lot of songs like these. have a police officer break you into the radio station because you don’t have keys. have said police officer tell you to “shout out to the po-po!” on his way out.
…awkwardly find out that your face has been on maya’s photography business cards for many moons.
almost bike vomit on your ten mile bike ride into d.c. it wasn’t pretty. there was a lot of swamp-butt involved. and a lot of missing boston’s lack of hills.
remark to yourself “man, all of this construction on the mall is really going to get in the way of my instagram pics.”
air out in the air and space museum and feel nostalgic for your floridian upbringing (i.e. eating space ice cream, trips to cape canaveral, watching rockets shoot off in the middle of third period, always. god bless the swampland.)
pose in front of statues and the like at various smithsonian museums (my nerd heart couldn’t believe the price tag for all of them: free! my favorite price!).
as per your dear friend and former neighbor naomi’s request, go off to the venezuelan embassy for a free concert and some pure,innocent fun.
pillage the open bar of drinks and foodstuffs. realize there aren’t any vegan foodstuffs, so scraping the pork off of a sandwich (and into the nearby bushes) and eating the bread will have to do. sorry, venezuela. the bread was really good, though.
notice a really cute boy off to the side of the main room. think nothing of it.
dance with strangers to some venezuelan tunes. wonder why you haven’t immigrated to venezuela, because good bread and tunes are basically all i need in this world.
pose in front of a picture of hugo chavez. of course. when in venezuela. YOVO (you only venezuela once). and so on and so forth.
somehow begin talking to aforementioned cute boy. somehow get boy’s number. somehow have plans to go on date with boy the next day.
such is life.
pre-game said date by doing the obvious (?): learn to dance “the wobble“, see the aids quilt and go to the holocaust museum! i mean, right? that was bad planning on my little heart.
most girls like to actually spend an hour getting ready, but this is me we are talking about. a quick swipe of a baby wipe over your face and airing off at an au bon pain (it was at least 102 degrees outside) and off you go to an ethiopian restaurant…for a “punk dance party”. of course.
stroll around d.c. with said boy ’til midnight and end up eating at ben’s chili bowl and wondering if a bowl of beans could change your life and the final verdict says yes, yes it can.
let your inner history-dork flag fly proudly (and blink in front of the crazy-small white house).
guys, america is really neat. like really, really neat.
(i wanna give a shout out to the caterers inside the riggs library that let me gawk at the gloriously smelly books for ten minutes.
it made my world complete. in so many ways.)
spend the rest of your last day in d.c. biking around with the dear maya. sangria and ethiopian food and facebook chatting and giggling from across the room included.
resolve to go back to d.c. very soon. as in like, two weeks.