A Letter to DC

wash-dome-obeliskDear Washington DC,

I moved to you two months ago from LA.  I have no family or friends in you, and I feel that you are consistently trying to defeat me with your nonsensical roundabouts and one-way streets that magically become two-way streets.  The differently timed traffic lights that face the same direction on Rhode Island and 1st is a nice touch.  One light is green and the one directly behind it is red????
Despite your best efforts to kill me on the road, I survive.  No, I THRIVE.  Here’s how:

Moving into you might have been scary were it not for my “Nobody knows me here….I’ll do what I want” attitude.  will fake it till I make it.  I have confidence in my step.  Treat yo’self 2013.  Oh ya oh ya.  These mantras liberate me, and I will take to your streets by foot and metro since you hate my car so much.  I will experience and love you till you love me back.  I will be whoever I want to be, I will go to bars and parties alone until I have friends, and even Beyonce will be proud of what an independent single lady I am.

I will walk from Bloomingdale to the H street Corridor.  I won’t care that it is snowing and I’ll ignore my Los Angelean soul screaming, “I need Vitamin D!  You, know the kind you get from the sun?”  How often did I even actually go to the beach in LA anyway?  Let’s be honest.  Not that often.

Through chattering teeth, I say, “Maybe I should buy a jacket, or something.”  Or something.  The East Coast really isn’t kidding around when it comes to winter, and when a co-worker tells me 2013 has been mild so far, a part of me dies.

My car is frozen in a sheet of ice.  I scrape it off with my “scraper.”  I have a scraper.  “Scrapin’ my car, scrapin’ my car,” I sing to myself, smiling, because the novelty of having to do the chore is fun this first time, but I later learn, it was fun ONLY that time.  DC, ya whateva.  I got this.

There’s nothing like discovering you on foot.  I get a real sense of your neighborhoods and people, and your architecture is eye candy, to say the least.  People are surprised that I will walk from to Dupont to Adam’s Morgan.  It’s honestly not that far, you guys!  I appreciate your residents’ pride and dedication to their respective hoods.  It makes for multiple communities, and the more references I can make to brunch, bottomless mimosas, the green line, and how I think Arlington is weird, the more accepted I feel.  And when I say, “I live in Bloomingdale. It is an up-and-coming city, much like a blooming flower,” I am golden.

My new roommates in my new DC group house are the best, and they even let me get away with never ever talking about politics.  They have lots of friends, so, by association, I do too.

So in the end, I feel cradled by you, DC.  I feel accepted and happy in you.  But most of all, I appreciate how you consistently flag and remove the Craigslist Ads I write pretending to be Obama looking for a roommate to split the cost of rent in the White House.

Sincerely,

Sarah