I got in my car this past Friday morning excited. After a rushed morning getting my oil changed, dropping off a load of stuff at a local charity (which inadvertently included my entire CD collection), cleaning out my car, and filling up my tank, I made the right turn onto I-277 North at exactly 10:48 A.M. I was on my way. You may or may not know this about me, but one of my favorite things in the world is speeding down the highway with some sort of rock music blaring, every single window rolled down, screaming along with the words, my hair tossing and whipping around my face with the constant and powerful wind, on my way to anywhere but here. I absolutely fucking love it. This particular Friday I was driving up to Washington, D.C. (a city which used to be my hometown), and one in which close to all of my dearest friends currently reside. The drive is a relatively long one at somewhere between six and seven hours, but with a beautiful summer day and a long open road, I commenced the journey with a wide contented smile glowing across my face.

After a few hours of 85N unrolling behind me, I was still cruising through relatively dense traffic and making great time. Engrossed in the music and the drive, a green SUV came up from behind me and my periphery caught what looked like two guys climbing wildly back and forth over the seats. Not but a few minutes later, after weaving in and out through some slower cars, the same SUV pulled up beside me again. This time they slowed to match my pace and as we cruised even-necked in the adjacent lanes the driver held a torn piece of paper up to his window, which distinctly said “I think I love you” in quickly scratched pen. Unable to help myself I laughed out loud, smiled at the cute, twenty-something boys and pressed my bare foot to the gas pedal. After about another hour, as I approached I-40, my obviously bored admirers in the green trailblazer pulled up beside me once again. This time the piece of paper had just ten digits on it. I entered them curiously and tentatively into my phone, my thumb hovering over the little green phone on the send button. Then I pressed it.

On the other end of the line was a bristly British accent and I looked over at his car, still keeping pace with mine. Jacob’s scruffy bearded face and coy glance caught my eye through his dark rimmed glasses. He was very cute. After a moment of somewhat awkward chatting with someone about whom I knew absolutely nothing, Jacob informed me that I was beautiful and he planned on reminding me of this every single day. For the record, one week later, he has held to his word. Unshowered and wearing sunglasses, I scoffed at the remark, but seriously, what girl doesn’t want to be hear that she is beautiful every single day? After several hours of texting the question game with Jacob (what’s your favorite color? where’s your favorite place in the world?) I had arrived. I picked up Janine from work and the start of what would prove to be one of the most ridiculous weekends began.

Friday night was sublime. Janine and I went to a goodbye party for two of our very dear friends, Marina and Iva, who happen to be sisters, one moving to L.A., and the other to Korea. After a few hours of drinks at Marie’s place in Adam’s Morgan, Janine and I decided to head out solo. Unfortunately, the two of us were beyond inebriated and the next morning we struggled both to find Janine’s wallet as well as to remember where we possibly could have lost it. We definitely went to Tom Tom, and then to Madam’s Organ. Did we take a cab home? The Metro? Did we walk? The paucity of answers and plethora of questions was something we decided to ignore as we walked to brunch in the stifling heat the following morning. With Janine’s roommate Christopher in tow, we strayed from our usual bottomless mimosa brunch at Red Rocks and went headed to the Heights instead. I will save the details of that delectable meal for the brunch blog, but I will say that there is a story to be told there. After an hour or so of epicurean delight at the Heights, we headed on to the Brightest Young Things weekly hipster pool party at the Capitol Skyline Hotel.

Road to the Capitol Skyline Hotel

Road to the Capitol Skyline Hotel


Now, I know what you may be thinking: what the fuck are the Brightest Young Things, and who are these hipsters I keep hearing about? To be honest, I don’t have an answer. All I know is that hipsters think they are cooler than everyone who is not a hipster, and like to remind themselves of that by starting random websites that celebrate their elite hipster status. That being said, they throw one hell of a pool party. I will refrain from offering any further commentary on the events that transpired on that crowded pool deck in that random hotel overlooking the capitol building, except to say that they were selling Long Islands for five bucks, and the theme of the week was karaoke.

Craaaaazy!

Craaaaazy!


Sunflowery Janine

Sunflowery Janine


Karaoke Madness

Karaoke Madness


Random Daniel

Random Daniel


Winding Down

Winding Down


The End.

The End.

As the afternoon waned to crepuscular, the party wound down like an old watch, and as the obstreperous hipsters filtered out of the now shaded and desolate terrace, we made our way home as well. After drinking from somewhere around noon to six in the summer sun, the three of us were exhausted. That being said, Janine is a narcoleptic, and I, an insomniac, so as I watched her sleep peacefully on the couch, I found no such rest of my own. Around eleven, after several hours of half-resting/half-texting Iva informed me of a hipster party (damn hipsters) in Janine’s neighborhood. Thrilled at the chance to hang out with anyone who was conscious, I showered, put on my favorite yellow dress, and tried to wake Janine, but surrendered my protests against her seemingly lifeless body. I made the long and sketchy walk to the party solo.

I met Iva outside of the house in Columbia Heights and we entered the boisterous soiree, overwhelmed with interesting characters that spilled down the stairs and out onto the driveway. Still struggling to recover from the BYT pool party, I nursed a cup of ice water trying to feel good enough to start drinking again. What? It’s not alcoholism, it’s dedication! This was Iva’s last night before leaving for California and Barbara, (the third of the uncannily beautiful Bijelic sisters) was headed to New York to start law school at Columbia in a week. As such, despite my shaking hands and utter exhaustion, I powered through and managed to make the switch from water to Nattie Light. Considering it’s about as close to water as beer can get, I took a bit of comfort in the idea that I was rehydrating. After a few hours and five or six noise complaints, the cops shut the party down and a select few of us headed up to the rooftop to drink and laugh in the hot summer night with the city watching over us. There is nothing like a city rooftop on dirty summer night. At around four in the morning, sleepy and satiated, I and two-thirds of the Bijelic clan called it a night. Little did I know before the dawn on Sunday morning that my weekend had only just begun.

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