Last fling

When I first arrived at DC’s Union Station and my sister and I were walking to the metro, I said, “You know, this weekend is kind of my last fling of the summer.” I meant that the long weekend would be my last scheduled break from work before the stretch between Labor Day and Thanksgiving.

She responded drily, “Great. No pressure, I guess.”

Oh, come on! The only pressure was to live up to the amazing time we had last year, which was a blur of tooting our duck kazoos, eating yummy food, and finding sales. I was not concerned that the two of us could elicit fun out of the nation’s capital.

Thursday

• JG and Ted went to Mimi’s for the second weekend in a row! JG and his assistant coach attended a volleyball clinic during the day, and Ted camped out at the house.
• The report is that Sam is just as fit as ever, after her death-defying leap, and “she and Ted almost played.”
• I made a double batch of cookies to bring with me and cleaned like a maniac, but when I slowed down for the night, I kept hearing strange bumps and creaks throughout the house. Even temporary solitary life was simultaneously blissful and frightening for me.

Friday

• I met up with a former co-worker for drinks at Jaleo. She squealed when she saw my new-to-her haircut, and I shrieked when I found out she was shopping around a book proposal to publishers. Crazy!
• I managed not to get lost during the walk to the metro station, and I rode downtown to meet my sister and her boyfriend for dinner at Zengo, which is by far the swankiest restaurant I have ever seen, much less patronized. The decor was so modern and abstract, and I commented to my sister that “the color scheme was very CSI: Miami.”
• We had yummy mojitos and small plates like edamame, calamari, blackened cod, potstickers, and even a complimentary duck dish. I felt slightly out of place in such a slick, urbane environment, but the food and the service were both excellent. When she examined my ID, our server exclaimed, “We get our mushrooms from Kennett Square!” Now, that is a sign of quality.

Saturday

• My sister and I went Teaism for breakfast, where I had a lovely carrot cake scone. Afterward, we headed straight to Union Square for the first spurt of shopping, followed by a trip to Georgetown
• Whether it was the walking or the carrying that did us in, that first day was totally exhausting. Even last year’s duck tour in stifling heat and humidity didn’t make us nearly as weary as pushing me past my pattern phobia or hunting down bargains.
• That night, I went over to Janet’s (super cute) house for a small meet-up she had organized. I was nervous because the cookies I had brought did not survive the train ride in one piece, and some confusing roads near her place made for a late arrival, but I felt much better once I arrived and Zandria, Jackie, Liz, Heidi, and OPH were so nice. We had dinner in the back yard, and I felt almost no weirdness in crossing over from the blog world to the in-person world.
• In addition to my cookies, Janet served up bacon rice krispie treats for dessert, and much to my glee, everyone was eager to learn The Best Game Ever. Choice moments of the game included Janet guessing “Elle Forest!” when the answer was “Elle Woods,” and OPH guessing “I love swing? I love polka?!” on her way to “I Love Rock and Roll.” Liz and I claimed victory, and I was relieved, though not surprised, that TBGE lived up to his hyperbolic name.

Sunday

• The next day was decidedly less intense, especially since my sister and I spent the morning lounging by the complex pool.
• We stopped by a local mall for a few purchases, and a salesgirl at Sephora stopped us to ask if we were related, and then commented rather emphatically that we had really nice lips, the kind that people want to have. My sister conveniently received a phone call at that second, leaving me to respond on my own, and the girl asked, “Wait, is that weird? Is it weird that I told you that?” And I managed to stutter, “Uh, not really, at a cosmetics store, I guess.” Regardless of the context or content, I hold that complimenting a stranger is inevitably weird, even if it’s with the aim to find a good stylist.
• I had my tamales at Cantina Marina and then a pulled-pork barbecue sandwich for dinner. We went back to my sister’s boyfriend’s condo to watch the Redskins game, and I fell asleep in a leather chair. I am quite the party animal, no?

Monday

• My sister and I grabbed our ceremonial last lunch at Chipotle, and I trotted to my train with a stomach full of chicken burrito, pulling along a rolling bag and a shopping bag stuffed with new purchases.
• I accidentally sat in the quiet car and received a stern scolding from the lady in front of me when I called my sister to let her know I made it onto the train. I quickly called JG to check in, but the conversation basically consisted of, “Hey, I’m on the train, and we’re on time, got to go, love you, bye.”
• I sat in my seat, quietly fuming because I thought it was a somewhat mean of the lady to reprimand me when I had been on the phone for less than a minute and the train wasn’t even moving. As if to prove her point, the quiet car sign nearest to me detached from the ceiling and fluttered down to my lap. Fine, I get it!

JG picked me up from the station and we recounted our weekends. He got a lot out of the coaching clinic, and I was satisfyingly tired from my time in DC, but the real world beckoned. That afternoon, I held the ladder for JG while he took a power washer to the siding, and we hunkered down to make a meal plan for the week. Ah, home sweet home.