"It's a book about golf"
Being in a military family I have access to something called the PX. Think of it as a Target/Macy’s/Best buy; only it’s cheaper and there’s no sales tax. I’ve been there before, but my mom and I made a trip there this afternoon and I’m wondering why I didn’t take advantage of this earlier. Not only is it a great place for clothes, but there also a place to buy lots of cheap alcohol. I have two years left before I’m not longer a military dependent, and I plan on making sure I make up for some lost time.
Friday I discovered a cool Friday night activity I might include in weekends to come. In the sculpture garden on the mall across from the archives is live jazz starting at 5. Not only can you relax and listen to the music but you can kick back stick your feet in the pond and enjoy of the best spinach and artichoke dips around. The ice cream vendor carts sell expensive wine and its yuppies are abounds but it’s something I’ll have to do again before I leave.
My friend Julie suggested the place, and being the ultra hip city girl she is she rarely steers me wrong. She and I had a great time really talking and just walking around the city for a few hours after we left the jazz. Good friends are hard to come by, and even though she and I don’t hang out all the time we rarely run out of things to talk about. Hard to believe it’s been six years since we met, but she never ceases to amaze me. My smoothness really came through when I spilt water all over myself at the coffee shop in Dupont Circle. O well I never said I was Rico Suave. She suggested I tell it as a story with the pretense that it was a date, and I think that’s probably not a bad idea.
On the way home I had an interesting encounter on the metro. This time it was with a drunken girl who was very interested in what I was reading. Now I had that morning’s Washington Post in my bag along with this month’s New Yorker magazine, but I just so happened to being reading my book on the Masters Golf Tournament. The book itself is fascinating and deals much with the politics of Augusta National than the golf itself. Even so when she asked what I was reading an explained it was a book on golf. Now that I think about it she was drunk enough I should have just lied. I then realized I happen to be wearing a pair of light red (pinkish) shorts and a polo shirt I’d bought at the exchange that morning. O man did I look like a stereotype. Once the train arrived she played with my hair, said I was cute and wished me good luck with the read. Now I don’t care if the person is drunk or not, when a stranger says you’re cute, it makes you feel sort of good about yourself.
Friday I discovered a cool Friday night activity I might include in weekends to come. In the sculpture garden on the mall across from the archives is live jazz starting at 5. Not only can you relax and listen to the music but you can kick back stick your feet in the pond and enjoy of the best spinach and artichoke dips around. The ice cream vendor carts sell expensive wine and its yuppies are abounds but it’s something I’ll have to do again before I leave.
My friend Julie suggested the place, and being the ultra hip city girl she is she rarely steers me wrong. She and I had a great time really talking and just walking around the city for a few hours after we left the jazz. Good friends are hard to come by, and even though she and I don’t hang out all the time we rarely run out of things to talk about. Hard to believe it’s been six years since we met, but she never ceases to amaze me. My smoothness really came through when I spilt water all over myself at the coffee shop in Dupont Circle. O well I never said I was Rico Suave. She suggested I tell it as a story with the pretense that it was a date, and I think that’s probably not a bad idea.
On the way home I had an interesting encounter on the metro. This time it was with a drunken girl who was very interested in what I was reading. Now I had that morning’s Washington Post in my bag along with this month’s New Yorker magazine, but I just so happened to being reading my book on the Masters Golf Tournament. The book itself is fascinating and deals much with the politics of Augusta National than the golf itself. Even so when she asked what I was reading an explained it was a book on golf. Now that I think about it she was drunk enough I should have just lied. I then realized I happen to be wearing a pair of light red (pinkish) shorts and a polo shirt I’d bought at the exchange that morning. O man did I look like a stereotype. Once the train arrived she played with my hair, said I was cute and wished me good luck with the read. Now I don’t care if the person is drunk or not, when a stranger says you’re cute, it makes you feel sort of good about yourself.