Bus, Train, and Cab, Oh My!
Friday at 5 I took a bus, a shuttle, and a train and arrived in D.C. for a weekend with my East coast family. As soon as I saw MM at Union Station, I felt a sense of comfort and familiarity that I have been missing lately. There was no need to shake my hand and introduce myself, saying, "Hi, I'm Amanda." She already knows me, and she already likes me. And that alone was enough to make the weekend worth it.
We laughed at the absurdity of our lives, exchanged first date horror stories, and looked at each other, both realizing that somewhere between senior year and this day in May, we've have come quite a long way. Really and really. Though in different cities, we're on the same coast and we're on the same page. It was nice to be reminded that I'm not alone.
We had pillow talk like the nights in Theta and girl talk over mimosas in the morning. In the afternoon, we started prepping for MM's bday bash. We blared ghetto tunes like only we appreciate and while simultaneously attempting to give good girlfriend advice, we put on short dresses and red lipstick. We rolled out the proverbial red carpet, popped some Andre, and got that party started. The fashionably early, late, and right on time came over, and if it was possible, I felt even more at home. MC, KD, and plenty of new friends greeted me with open arms and my cold, guarded New York heart started to relax. We talked tunes, took pics, and sampled liquor whipped cream. And of course, we danced. Later, I found myself in front of a rotating fan deep in a compelling conversation about true stories, Bon Iver, typewriters, and married friends. Soon we called a cab and headed to a bar somewhere, where one thing lead to another and I ended up on a ledge. (How does that always happen!?).
The night ended like it does so often, and the morning started like it does so often. I was very, very hungover. Then 6 hours and a cab, bus, and train later, I was back in my city lugging a bag up St. Nicholas Ave with my hangover hair falling in my eyes.
Exhausted, yet refreshed. Lonely, yet alive. I hadn't been raptured, but I still felt pretty damn lucky.
We laughed at the absurdity of our lives, exchanged first date horror stories, and looked at each other, both realizing that somewhere between senior year and this day in May, we've have come quite a long way. Really and really. Though in different cities, we're on the same coast and we're on the same page. It was nice to be reminded that I'm not alone.
We had pillow talk like the nights in Theta and girl talk over mimosas in the morning. In the afternoon, we started prepping for MM's bday bash. We blared ghetto tunes like only we appreciate and while simultaneously attempting to give good girlfriend advice, we put on short dresses and red lipstick. We rolled out the proverbial red carpet, popped some Andre, and got that party started. The fashionably early, late, and right on time came over, and if it was possible, I felt even more at home. MC, KD, and plenty of new friends greeted me with open arms and my cold, guarded New York heart started to relax. We talked tunes, took pics, and sampled liquor whipped cream. And of course, we danced. Later, I found myself in front of a rotating fan deep in a compelling conversation about true stories, Bon Iver, typewriters, and married friends. Soon we called a cab and headed to a bar somewhere, where one thing lead to another and I ended up on a ledge. (How does that always happen!?).
The night ended like it does so often, and the morning started like it does so often. I was very, very hungover. Then 6 hours and a cab, bus, and train later, I was back in my city lugging a bag up St. Nicholas Ave with my hangover hair falling in my eyes.
Exhausted, yet refreshed. Lonely, yet alive. I hadn't been raptured, but I still felt pretty damn lucky.
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