*Photo Credit: The awesome shot serving as my header image was taken by the one and only, Maranie Rae.
I am having a hard time motivating myself to make the drive down. Convince me the short amount of time is “worth it”?
I sat on my couch and thought for a second. You can take photos of Cherry Blossoms. Felipe lives across the street. DC’s cobblestone streets are gorgeous. It’s going to be 64 and sunny. A change of scene for a couple days can always give a dose of inspiration.
I pulled shit out of my ass. I just wanted Maranie to get down here.
Since I made the decision to work for myself full-time, I’ve been craving…I don’t know. Interaction? I do not miss working for someone else (never will), but I do miss working with someone else. I miss the collaboration, the random conversations while waiting in line for the Keurig, the late nights that are made slightly more bearable when you have a group to order Thai food.
Maranie is, in every definition of the word, a badass. She is one of the most talented photographers I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. She has this innate talent for really capturing the soul of each individual. Take a look at any one of her photographs, and you feel like you actually know the person.
Maranie and I are total opposites in many ways. I wake up at 6AM and haven’t set an alarm in four years; she stays up til 2AM on a regular Tuesday. She’s a pescetarian/former vegan; I think animals are delicious. She has a slight addiction to carbonated caffeine drinks; I live off water and coffee.
She’s also fucking fascinating. And I love having her around.
Maranie didn’t cross the DC line until 7:30 Saturday night.
It took her a full hour to find parking. Actually, she never found it. I finally threw her license plate on Spot Hero and paid $30 for a twenty-four hour spot.
Roughly fourteen hours after her arrival, Maranie and I would find ourselves sprawled out on my couch trying to recant how we arrived at such splitting headaches. We caught up over a bottle of wine in my living room. We went to the gay bar with my friend Kevin. We left to go find guys who might actually want to take us home. We found those guys. They bought us shots. We realized our mistake. We ditched them.
Also, who buys middle-shelf tequila? We’re adults. We can afford good alcohol.
Had Shake Shack been open, that would have capped off our night. Thank God. I ate Shake Shack the night before. You just can’t eat Shake Shack twice in one weekend. You just can’t.
Yesterday (Sunday) was one of the best days I’ve had in…ages.
Headaches included. We managed to walk across Logan Circle to Blagden Alley for coffee. And with two large coffees in hand, thus started one of the longest walks of my life.
I love DC. I love showing my city off. I can’t ever imagine getting tired of living here. And I just really, really appreciate it when someone is perfectly content breathing the city in. Maranie is one of those people.
I zig-zagged her through some of my favorite neighborhoods. I introduced her to my favorite jeweler at Eastern market. We walked in one end of Union Station and out the other. We stopped and laid out on the Capitol lawn. I stopped two hours in and tried to drain the alcohol from my blood stream with cheese and bean pupusas. I explained the conspiracy theories of Capitol Hill’s underground tunnel system. When she said, “Let’s go someplace you usually don’t explore,” I walked her an extra mile-and-a-half to Navy Yard.
I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say we walked five miles. Then we ran 3.5 back to my apartment.
Last night, we went to her friends’ bluegrass concert at the Hamilton, drank on top of the W Hotel, then took the longest Uber ride of my life. We drank with two banjo players and their sound guy from Australia. I can’t make this up.
**Correction. Maranie informed me it was actually one banjo player, and one played the mandolin. It only gets better.
At 1:30 Monday morning, I waved the white flag. I needed my bed, water, and to stop eating my weight in trailmix in attempt to stay awake.
NONE of this ^^^^ is your typical Kara happenings.
I’m the girl who falls asleep at the bar. I don’t stay out all night. I’m the girl who wakes up super early on Monday panicking about all the shit I have to do. Sundays are for errands, mornings are for writing, and every day is a great day for a to-do list.
This weekend, Maranie and I didn’t plan a damn thing.
There was no agenda. We didn’t schedule our meals or our workout. We didn’t list which sights we wanted to see. We barely checked out phones. We sure as hell didn’t expect to cover nine miles of DC ground in one day. At one point, our Sunday plans were to go home and make popcorn. But things just kept happening.
For someone who is wound way too tight, having a weekend with zero expectations was the best weekend I could have. Every piece was a good memory; every memory was worth it.