Foreward: This blog is dedicated to the most gracious and generous Suburbanites I know: my Aunt Denise and Uncle Tom, without whom I would've been homeless for the last six weeks.
Last week, against all odds, I conquered the mind-numbing, all consuming process of D.C. apartment hunting. (Yes, you may pause here for libations and cheers). Getting this apartment--this fabulous apartment!--marks my official completion of the D.C. rite of passage known as "finding a random person to live with on Craig's List" and the unofficial beginning of my new life in D.C.
It's funny, though...as I have been desperately endeavoring to escape my Suburban purgatory, my city friends have been flocking toward it. Tasty luxuries like real houses with backyards, cars, big box retail outlets and community swimming pools have proved quite alluring to my city-bound friends. One friend who joined me at the pool last month had a flashback to childhood when she heard the lifeguards' whistles blow every hour on the hour ("Break!") and thought she was hallucinating when the jingle of the ice cream truck approached from the distance. Relax, I assured her, this is par for the course in Suburbia. I'm pretty sure they even pay the cute kids in baby-Crocs (and the young, lithe housewives who accompany them) to splash around and exude their idyllic lifestyles.
Despite leaving all this behind, including what my buddy referred to as "a house from Decorators Showcase," I am jumping out of my skin to ditch my car, shop at sub-par city grocery stores, and eat cheap falafels a block from my perfectly located new home. Don't get me wrong, though, I'll be back next summer when the pool opens...
