First off: most pics are either from Michelle or Joe since this dumb bunny accidentally disabled her iPhone. Long story short I forgot my passcode and freaked out to where I completely blocked up the phone. But, it led me to the coolest Apple store I’ve ever been to — seriously it exists.
Carnegie Library Apple store in the heart of Washington D.C. has live entertainment and staff that immediately greet you and send you over to service area. I loved that their employees were a bouquet of folk living their truths. And thanks to their rescuing my phone, I was able to actually take above pics.
We’re in D.C. for the weekend, and then we’re headed to Arizona to whoop it up with family. This summer is all about re-bonding with family and our country.
Check out the new space suit granny bought for her little munchkin.
Our first night reminded us of how paradoxical our land of the free and brave can be. Since our rented apartment had a very confusing address, our cab driver pulled over to ask a policeman for help.
I was in the back seat and saw what he couldn’t: Mr. Police Officer was busy handcuffing a man, so I yell, “Abort! It’s an arrest.”
Freaked-out driver realizes oh shit and sciddadles the car back into traffic, still unable to locate our damned address (note to Air B&B folk, please provide the exact address for tired tourists to find — not the one that is actually a few blocks away on a different street!). Frustrated, we have him drop us off at a Hyatt, so we can figure stuff out. Turns out our apartment was right across the street.
Our place was on the 13th floor of a lovely complex that included a rooftop pool and barbecue area. Sipping bevies on our balcony and watching the sun light up the capitol dome, we lifted our feet and ahhhhed and oohed over how plush and posh our life can be — and then the gun shots went off, and the ambulances screamed their way through the streets (one was obviously lost and kept going around in circles until we’re pretty sure its driver said eff it and went on to the next call).
The more rhubarb/ginger gin and sparkling wine (I was too lazy to walk to “Big Ben’s” for tonic) we drank, the more we noticed. There were the chihuahua-sized rats playing tag in the McDonald’s parking lot; the trumpet guy (who badly played 5 songs over and over and over again) and his two assistants who waltzed up and down traffic for coins (we learned begging is actually an all-day event); the stoned (did you know weed is legal in D.C.?!) and destitute mixed in with the young professionals walking their assortment of well-bred dogs; and, last but not least, the bodacious lady in neon orange, um, peddling her wares.
Our nation’s monuments, memorials and head offices are all just a few minutes away from where we stayed. This, my friends, is America. All of our layers mixed into one, and it’s good to be home. I love our crazy asses (not our disparity, but you’ve gotta take the good with the bad).
And oh my god I so love that before a server takes your order he or she brings you a tall glass of ice water — and it’s free! Even better: I haven’t had to use google translate yet (although some folk are hard to understand).
So yeah Joe and I get to spend the next 5 weeks exploring bits of our red, white and blue.
It’s not all fun and games though. I shit you not (hehehe) we have a couple’s colonoscopy scheduled on Thursday. I book us rooms at romantic resorts; Joe schedules anal probes. Good God the bitch of being over 50…
Touristing, however, is great wherever in the world you do it. Why can’t we be professional tourists?
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