Most days I love this town. I really do. I love the monuments and the museums and the fact that there are at least three restaurants for every cuisine in the world. I love the Metro and Georgetown and Dupont Circle and 18th St. NW. Hell, I even love the Waterfront and its sucky eurotrash restaurants.
Most days, I am Carrie Bradshaw, skipping around exploding manholes in my Manolo Blahnik-rip-offs.
Then there are DAYS, people. Days where I cannot stand our nation's capital. I can't stand the tourists getting on the Metro at Adams Morgan who positively REEK of the zoo -- of sawdust and BO and panda-funk. I can't stand the protesters who decide that snarling morning rush hour by laying across Massachusetts Ave. or chaining themselves to the Metro turnstiles is a good way to get their message across. (Hint: You're wrong, I hate you.)
I can't stand that a tiny rowhouse costs half a million dollars -- even when one of the "bedrooms" is a literally a walk-in closet. I can't stand the 10% restaurant tax or the bizarre street parking laws. ("No parking anytime 7:00 a.m. thru 6:00 a.m. Monday thru Friday 3 hour limit Zone 3 holders excepted.")
I was just trying to be a good wife today. I had the day off; J didn't. I drove out to Prince George's County to take him out for lunch. (Mmmm, ribs.) 3:30: I'm driving back. It starts to drizzle. Mass slamming on of brakes. Within five minutes the Capital Beltway is at a standstill. The rain stops. We start moving. Inexplicable backup #2 starts new the Mormon temple. I have to pee. We crawl and crawl and crawl. I'm in a stick shift and my foot is falling asleep.
Finally, we get to what has caused this big hullaballoo. A cop has pulled someone over for speeding. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HIGHWAY, GOING IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION.
When I got home I went to cover up our bikes which were locked up on a bike rack near our building. J's bike is gone, and all that's left of mine is the front wheel and the apparently useless Kryptonite lock.