When my feet hurt like hell, it usually means it was a good day.
– Ballroom dance practice
– Graduation day (my beautiful shoes just weren’t broken in enough)
– Wandering around and whining in New York because I had blisters from wandering around DC the night before
So why do my feet hurt like hell today?
Because today was the first day of the rest of my life.
But it really was. My dad and I flew into DC this morning, and spent the day walking everywhere, which explains why my feet hurt. You, lucky reader, get an entire recap of my day.
I managed to shove an entire wardrobe and various other things into three large suitcases yesterday (I also managed to forget my dancing shoes, my “Trust me, I’m a reporter” mug and my traveling mug that I got from Rachel for Christmas. I’m sure the list will continue. My plan is to ask my brother to find them and put them in a box for me so Mom and Dad can ship them to me.)
After saying goodbye to various parts of my family, my dad and I boarded our flight to Minneapolis. That turned into the worst flight ever. As I was in the middle seat, I got a cramp in my leg and couldn’t move. I didn’t fall asleep, so I kept fidgeting, which probably led to the two people next to me staying awake the entire time too. I’m sorry, guy from Boston and Canadian woman. I really am.
Anyway, after being rather unimpressed with the Minneapolis airport again (and realizing that the only things I know about Minnesota have to do with pop culture references and sports), we transferred to our flight to DC, which was much better. I knocked out five minutes in, and Dad has a lovely picture of me sleeping.
When we landed, we had the challenge of getting onto the metro and dragging my three very large suitcases through various metro stops and into different taxis. Eventually, we made it to my temporary home in Silver Spring. The house is about a mile away from the metro stop, and so far, I’ve counted three Ethiopian restaurants, one Jamaican eatery, one Vietnamese place, one Safeway and two dry cleaners nearby. Life should be good.
The house is OK. It’s old and it smells like a Filipino market, which, if you are familiar at all with Filipino markets, isn’t very good. I’m going to combat the smell (which is mixed in with this musk smell because the room is in the basement) with air fresheners. I’ve got a twin bed, a dresser and a nice girl living in the room next to me. Her name’s Abby, she’s 20, and she’s a college student. Based on first impressions, I think we’ll get along well.
The house (and room) isn’t somewhere I envision myself living for very long, but as my dad says, it’s a temporary thing that will allow me to save my money until I’m in a more stable situation. We agree that my mom would hate the house if she ever saw it, so it’s probably a good thing that she’s not here.
We took a trip to Target a couple of metro stops away to grab a few necessities (fan, clothing rack, shelf), and I was interested to see that not only was it situated in a mall, but it had two stories! There was an escalator inside of the Target, and it had a separate escalator that you could push your cart into! Weird, but awesome.
Dad and I dropped everything off at my house, took showers at the hotel and then set off. He insisted on visiting Nationals Park (unfortunately, they’re not in town this week, so we can’t see a game). Also, after glancing at the schedule, I’ve decided I want to go to a Nationals game on June 20, which coincides with Father’s Day. I’ll go in honor of my father and to get a free travel mug! If you’re interested, let me know.
We then wandered around near the Navy Memorial and Gallery Place before settling on having dinner in Dupont Circle. I saw three bookstores that will require a visit in the near future.
While eating dinner, I looked around at the people who were also at Pizzeria Paradiso. The setup of the restaurant is very similar to Black Rock Pizza in Sparks, but the general atmosphere was different. My dad says it’s because they’re all yuppies; I neglected to tell him that I have been called a yuppie on a number of occasions. Oh well. Guess we’re not in Nevada anymore, folks.
A couple other things:
– I think I’ve already agreed to try playing softball with my work team. Last time I tried this, it was for the Flaming Peles in 2007, during which I first played catcher until they realized I’m kind of scared of the ball, and then I played outfield because hopefully the ball would never go to me. Should be interesting.
– I will not blog about LOST, but the finale? Oh. My. God. I am still in awe. Bravo. If you think that the finale was stupid, then I think you’re stupid. End of discussion.
– I’ve already got a couple of plans on Friday to meet up with a fellow intern from work and a couple old friends for drinks. Maybe I won’t be a social hermit after all.
– All I have to do to blend in on the metro is listen to my iPod and read a newspaper or book. I’ve got that down pat.
But overall, do you know what the most surreal thing of the lasts 24 hours?
Dad handing me a beer in the hotel room and telling me to drink.
We’ve entered a new time, folks.
P.S. I meant to post this last night, but I was too busy worrying about my bag weighing 15 more pounds than the limit.
P.P.S. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with the humidity.