In deep water

GUESS WHAT I’M FAMOUS!!! A magazine published my feedback! It’s the British version of Brides! Go buy it! Page 24!

I bought two copies yesterday evening and the ladies working at Barnes and Noble congratulated me … on being engaged, I suppose. I told them I am not yet engaged and I actually just like weddings. I also explained that my feedback had been published in the magazine and asked if they wanted autographs.

Upon hearing this, one of the ladies practically screamed: GIRL YOU GOTTA GO BUY LIKE 10 COPIES!!

I KNOW! IT’S THE GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!

Speaking of weddings, Andrew’s brother got married over the weekend. The wedding featured hay bales, horses, bees, a barn and a general consensus that Sam and Andrew are next in line to be married. I told those who asked to calm down; Andrew and I will get married in three years, unless before then Andrew miraculously decides to start reading my blog and breaks up with me for this post, among others.

The wedding was in Georgia, and to get there, I made the mistake of flying U.S. Airways. When I arrived at the airport, I first stood in a very long security line. Luckily, I was behind two funny gentlemen on whom I could eavesdrop.

As we neared the security scanners, the line forked and you could choose one of two lines. These two men decided to pick different lines and race. As the lines crawled along, they bantered back and forth with each other.

Man 1: It’s too bad I put a giant water bottle in your bag.

Man 2: Well, I put my three extra laptops in your luggage, so good luck with that.

This provided nice comic relief in the midst of this bucket of hell that was the majority of my airport experience.

After security, I found my gate and looked for a seat. I had no luck, however, because U.S. Airways thinks it’s a good idea for ten flights in a row to share one gate. This means people are nearly gridlocked in this small space and just standing around holding heavy luggage and growing grumpier by the minute.

As you hover around, you listen for your flight to be called over the loudspeaker. When a flight is called, people bump into each other as they move to the escalators. These take you downstairs, where you wait in another line. After this, you would think it’s time to get on your plane, but it’s not. It’s time for you to ride a small, hot crowded bus across the airplane parking lot.

People cram onto this bus, where there is not enough room for everyone’s luggage in the luggage racks. So some luggage ends up just sliding around in the aisle and falling over as we ride. The suitcases also receive free water on the way, leaking from the roof of the bus. Considering the bright, sunny day outside, this steady flow of water from the top of the bus confused me.

By the time I am on the plane, I am determined to never fly U.S. Airways again, and I am desperately missing the smart, friendly way that Southwest treats their passengers. I even Tweeted at U.S. Airways to tell them how disappointed I was with their chaotic boarding style. Unfortunately, they were too busy responding to loads of other angry customers so they never got around to answering mine.

When the plane landed in Chattanooga, passengers exited the plane and were surprised to find themselves standing in the middle of the airplane parking lot. I want to reiterate that – we were in the airplane parking lot, where the gigantic airplanes drive around and take off and stuff.

Many seemed confused like me, and I creepily took pictures of them while we stood around. I also laughed to myself like a weirdo.

(I think homegirl may have caught me snapping this shot, now that I look at it.)

Andrew soon happily greeted me inside the airport and I grumpily told him I was hungry. We drove to the property – where the wedding was and where the bridal party stayed – and we soon feasted at the rehearsal dinner. Then we taught the bridal party how to play Salad Bowl.

At the lovely wedding the next day, the groom cried uncontrollably and caused all of the bridesmaids and most of the groomsmen to completely lose it as well. As I stared at them from the audience, I didn’t know whether to cry with them or laugh at them. I ended up crying.

Calling the police

I thought the world was ending last night.

At 3 a.m. I woke up in a panic. Immediately, I called Andrew, my personal police officer. This is the second time this has happened, and I realize how blessed I am to have a nocturnal boyfriend.

In my nightmare, I had been sitting in the living room of the convent, with all the other residents, and news was spreading across the country that the world was ending. Something terrible was happening in Dallas, but no one was saying what it was because it was too terrible. For some reason though, Kenzie was still planning to drive to Dallas.

When I told Andrew this, he pointed out that in real life, Kenzie would not be heading to Dallas under these circumstances. I now see that he was trying to help me realize that my dream was far from reality and I didn't need to be scared.

But I wrongly interpreted his comment as criticism to my dream, so I gave a defensive response: "Well, yeah, I know! But I can't control my dreams! Leave me alone!"

I didn't really tell him to leave me alone. I was still clinging to the phone in fear.

After a brief summary of my dream, I insisted we talk about happy things. But fear soon struck me again when I realized I needed to use the restroom ... and I was too afraid to walk down the hall ... because, you know, the world could end if I venture into the hallway alone.

So I asked Andrew to stay on the phone while I scurried down the hall and then scurried back.

If that is TMI, I apologize.

(Mom, Dad, Grandma – TMI = 'Too Much Information.')

LOL. TTYL.

A lotta gelatah

As I wrote about my betta fish Alejandro recently, I was apparently writing his farewell tribute. Poor Alejandro passed on Friday. … At least that’s when Andrew flushed him down the toilet. He may have died Thursday. Andrew said he hadn’t moved in a long while, so his exact time of death is uncertain.

One thing is for sure though, and that is that Andrew killed my fish. Alejandro was doing just fine until we moved him to Andrew’s apartment a couple of months ago.

I will take only a smidgeon of blame. Perhaps Alejandro would have had a longer, fuller life if I had fed him the supposedly more nutritious bloodworms, instead of regular, run-of-the-mill fish food.

This weekend, aside from dwelling on memories of Alejandro, I ate my weight in ice cream. I also trekked all around the city, so I like to think I walked and sweat most of it off. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

On Saturday, Michelle and I went to a random, obscure Smithsonian museum to see a travelling exhibit featuring Steve Jobs’ patents. Totally neat, but the highlight of the day was the secret delicious gelato we found in the basement of the National Gallery of Art. Who would have known?! Of course, while at the museum, we saw artwork and stuff.

For dinner, I had a huge salad from this great place called Sweet Green, which also sells healthy frozen yogurt. I’m not sure what makes it healthy, but everyone says it is. That’s all I need. So of course, before leaving, I had to eat some … for my health.

Then on Sunday, I walked to Eastern Market to try this gelato place I’ve been eyeing since I moved here in October. After trying an absurd number of flavors, I ordered my pistachio and chocolate. My friends and I then sat outside, on the benches outside of the store. Then, a funny thing happened.

See, there were many benches but no tables. Only one old man had a very small antique-looking table in front of him. At first, I didn’t notice the table. It just blended in as a normal part of the scene.

Then when the man left, he picked up the small table and took it with him. As I watched him carry it down the street, I realized he must have purchased it at the market nearby. If not, he totally stole a table, and no one batted an eye.

In other news, SOMEONE STOP ME FROM EATING SO MUCH ICE CREAM.

Star of the show

Although I enjoy the attention that comes along with a birthday, I don’t like the aftermath, when I start having to tell people I’m 23, instead of 22, like I was last week. … Those were the days.

My birthday was over the weekend, as you may have guessed. So Andrew came to D.C., along with 200,000 Girl Scouts.

On Friday, we checked into our hotel and then received great news – our hotel offers guests two free drinks every night between 5:30 and 7:30. So Andrew and I quickly threw our stuff in our room and hit the bar. After some delicious margaritas, we went to Georgetown for dinner.

We intended to go to Georgetown Cupcakes after dinner but found out it closes at 9 p.m. (On a Friday night?!) I think Andrew cried a little bit.

We then proceeded to drown our sorrows in Haagen-Dazs.

On Saturday morning, we ran into those 200,000 Girl Scouts I mentioned. (Seriously, 200,000, according to CBS. I did research for this blog post.) They were everywhere, wearing annoying little shirts that said ‘Rock the Mall.’

They filled museums and caused lines that wrapped around the block at both the Archives and the Museum of Natural History. I begged and pleaded with Andrew that we find other entertainment, but Andrew insisted on seeing the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. … Snooze.

We stopped at the hotel to freshen up – and to consume free margaritas and Goldfish – before meeting Jackie and our friend Eric for dinner and fro yo.

After taking advantage of the complimentary breakfast on Sunday morning, Andrew left and I returned to the convent. That evening, my friends took me out for dinner at Ted’s Bulletin, which is known for its alcoholic milkshakes and homemade pop tarts … and other real food. I demanded that Laura tell the waiter it was my birthday, in case I could get any attention or free stuff. Sure enough, he presented me with a pop tart featuring a birthday candle. … Oh, you shouldn’t have!

We then convened in the convent cafeteria for our weekly game night, which, as usual, was a rowdy game of Salad Bowl. This time we had record-breaking attendance.

Here are highlights from Sunday’s game, most of which feature me  – For ‘Paul Revere,’ I galloped around the room pretending to shout, and for ‘chicken coop,’ I flapped my arms around wildly and swung at imaginary chickens with an imaginary axe. Also, Jackie acted out ‘Georgetown Cupcakes’ for an entire minute, while giving me a consistent evil death stare throughout.

I also became associated with many words during this game, and for the Password round, my name was given as a clue for Brides Magazine, birthday, accountant, Oh when the Saints, and possibly others. Woohoo! I’m a superstar.

Nancy

According to a study by John Hart, the post office does not care if you use a fake middle name when addressing a piece of mail. Every time I receive mail from John, I have a different middle name. John’s middle name changes, too.

In other news, I saw a celebrity on Thursday! A celebrity politician, really. After dinner, my friend Laura and I walked down the street for frozen yogurt. As we were sitting outside enjoying the weather and the heaping piles of toppings on our fro yo, I spotted an important-looking woman in a blue suit, surrounded by a small posse of people. She had walked quickly out of the restaurant next door to a black car waiting on the street.

Once at the car, she turned around and began to chat with her posse. She was roughly ten feet from us, which is legitimate cause for a freak-out. Laura was facing away from her, so I dramatically grabbed her arm and told her to turn around – Nancy Pelosi was in our presence.

The table next to us then turned around and asked who she was. I kindly told them it was Nancy Pelosi. … Duh.

I then snapped some pictures on my iPhone, and Nancy totally saw me. She basically covered her face.

I am slightly embarrassed and also slightly proud to say that Nancy Pelosi acknowledged my existence. I also am proud to say I have eaten at the restaurant Nancy was leaving. We are basically equals.