Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #5: Our Neighborhood (Part 2) - Angles Bar

We found out about Angles Bar from one of Jesse's coworkers nearly 2 years after we moved into our apartment. She wanted to meet there for happy hour on a Friday after work. It was a joyous Friday because we found a spot on noisy 18th Street that really felt like home. They have a delicious amber bock beer (Angles Amber) that is only $2 a pint at happy hour. For a while, we were meeting there nearly every Friday night. In no time, the bartenders knew our names and would just bring over two pints whenever we would sit down at the bar. The last time we were there, I looked around, and realized that Jesse and I were probably the youngest ones in the room. For clarification, we usually hit the bar early and pass out by 10pm. The ideal evening involves food, drink, and mass exodus before all the 18th Street crowd arrives. I like to be in my small, quiet, and safe apartment before the "whordes" decend upon Adams Morgan. Luckily, our early timeframe coincides perfectly with the regulars crowd (a mixture of old and middle-age bachelors who live in the neighborhood). They are sometimes curmudgeonly (as I aspire to be), but mostly accepting and willing to bullshit with you on just about any topic.

Our love affair with Angles has continued to blossom and eventually we shifted our visits to Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday for the 2 for 1 burger deals. Angles is situated above a really nice restaurant called The Little Fountain Cafe, so all of the bar food comes straight from the cafe's kitchen. Now, I love a good burger, but these are outstanding burgers - worth every penny of their $10 regular price. And the fries, oh the fries, are like heaven. Wash it all down with an Angles Amber and you're set. We seriously think twice before ordering burgers anywhere else because a) they would pale in comparison and b) it kind of feels like cheating.

This past fall, Angles switched up the menu to add a really good homemade veggie burger, a smoked salmon burger, and nightly specials. In the winter, the specials included items like open face turkey sandwiches, roast beef, shepherd's pie, and the best lasagna with bolognese I have ever tasted. On our way home from Graham-uation, we were trying to figure out what to do about dinner. Then, Jesse got a twinkle in his eye and we both said in unison "beer and burgers Sunday dinner!" We hadn't had burgers in months (due to the delicious winter specials) so it was just like trying one for the first time. It was every bit as good as I remembered.

We went back there again tonight to meet the same coworker for her birthday. It was delicious and fun. We waved goodbye to the bartenders, Norm and Anita, and on our 1-block walk home I remembered one of the reasons why I will really miss D.C.

Beefcakes

This is seriously straying from the main theme of my blog - my search for a house, dog and a yard - but what the heck. I suppose my adventures in Newport and Santa Cruz aren't really relevant either. So here it goes.

At The Crane Wife's request, I sat down and pondered my top five, no holds barred, "hot list" for spring/summer 2008. This list is merely a result of my morning thoughts as I was rushing to dry my hair while sipping on my ritual morning White Russian.** The beefcake status is subject to change at any given hour of the day.

1. Johnny Depp: actor extraordinaire. Hands down hottest ever, even as a murderous barber and an effeminate pirate. And the Johnny Depp of which I'm particularly fond: young George Jung in Blow (I'm not into the bleached, bloated, coke head George Jung), Inspector Fredderick Abberline in From Hell, and Ichabod Crane in Sleepy Hollow.

2. Ola Salo: real name, Rolf Svensson, lead singer of The Ark. Why the name change? Because he loves palindromes. Certainly not a beefcake by traditional standards (a beefcake would never wear hair extensions). However, when I saw him perform at the grand opening of the House of Sweden (Swedish Embassy in D.C.) a couple of years ago, I realized for the first time why girls go crazy over musicians and throw their undergarments on the stage.

3. Christian Bale: actor and dreamboat. My dear Crane Wife, I have to admit I was a little disappointed when he came in as a 5th place tie. I've loved him since the first time I watched Newsies. However, like Tim, I respect your decision (at least he made the list).

4. Errol Flynn: actor, professional seducer and womanizer, possible switch hitter, name behind the phrase "In Like Flynn." He may have been a somewhat creepy dude in real life, but as Sharon's grandpa always says, "hate the game, not the playah." He woos me even from the grave in The Adventures of Robin Hood and The Adventures of Don Juan. What? I like men in tights (see also entry for beefcake number 2).

5. Paul Newman: actor extraordinaire, dreamy eyes, badass. I belive the caption for this photo on the internet read, "huba huba." So true. So true.

** and by White Russian, I mean coffee with cream in a short tumbler (like the Big Lebowski, only minus the vodka and kahlua).

Tacos and Pirates

On Saturday, after recovering from Graham's epic graduation day, Jesse and I decided to take it easy. Unfortunately, I was still on East Coast time and sleeping in (for me) finished around 7am. Not wanting to be awake and miserable all by myself, I rolled around a bit and made Jesse get up with me and have Emily's muffins and coffee. Around 10:30, Bob made everyone "second breakfast," which included a delicious omelet, Corralitos breakfast sausage, and OJ.

Larson and Serena stopped by an hour later to get the day started with a leisurely game of mini golf and tacos. I only remembered to take a photo of my tacos after they were nearly gone (thankfully I only ordered 2 instead of 4)! Oh, and I found out that Squirt is quite tasty. Larson ordered the chimichanga, which apparently translates as the Spanish equivalent of "thingamajig." When I first googled chimichanga, I accidentally read the definition as "thanksgiving." Given the size of Larson's meal, I could see why - his chimichanga was about the size of my lower leg.

Anyway, with full bellies we were off to Neptune's Kingdom for a round of miniature golf at the Buccaneer Bay course. This was not our maiden voyage on the course, so we knew the drill: duck whenever Jesse swings, helmets are optional (but recommended), try to keep within the 6 stroke maximum, poop jokes are inevitable. We realized that it had been nearly 2 years since we last played and a new black light room had been created. I wouldn't say that enhanced the game in any way, but it was fun to see Serena's diamond glow like a superpower orb (Larson and Jesse were not impressed). In true form, balls were hit in the water, bounced off walls, and annoyingly stopped short by secret-hidden-bonus bumps in the green turf. Serena was the zen master of defying physics, which resulted in some pretty awesome situations. Maybe it was the all powerful moonstone in her ring, or the lead feeling in our stomachs from the tacos that transferred to her ball. Regardless, it was hilarious and we laughed (with her) a lot. Sometimes we laughed so hard that I thought Larson might get a nosebleed.

Buccaneer Bay mini golf warmed us up for the climactic afternoon at the newest boardwalk game. We got free tickets (for the grand opening) of Desperado, a wild west type setup where you sit on fake horses and shoot bad guys on a movie screen. The more you hit, the harder the horse bucks. I was an ace at the Desperado, scoring 62 points and coming in second place. Larson was also good at shooting, just not at the screen.

Graham-uation

My rock star tour of graduations continued with a West Coast appearance in smoky California. I arrived back in D.C. on Monday morning from Katie's commencement, took a really long nap and called in sick to work. Tuesday flew by and before I knew it, I was transferring my clothes from one suitcase to another, standing in another airport security line, and on my way to Santa Cruz.

Friday morning the house was stirring and by 7:00am, Bob, Mary Ann, E, J, and I piled in the car and were on our way to Berkeley. At approximately 7:15, we hit the worst traffic ever. We passed the time by joking about G's love for basketball shorts, the police officer who was poking at a dead deer on the side of the road, and then J treated us to his rendition of car noises (including the sound of our hubcaps scraping the concrete barriers like the race scenes in Bullitt). Then, a dark cloud covered the Passat because everyone realized that there was no way in hell that we were going to make it to the Greek Theater by 9:00. Luckily for us, the commencement speaker was incredibly long-winded. When we strolled in at 9:30 he was still going strong. Whew. Crisis averted.

Highlight of the ceremony? G's sneakers. When asked if he received the memo that instructed the men to wear dark pants and shoes (about 99% of the graduates were in the loop), he retorted, "hey I wore a collared shirt." J added that at least he didn't wear shorts.

After a nice walking tour of Berkeley's campus, we stopped by Tai and Doug's for cake and champagne. I got great tour of their new house and all the work they've accomplished in the last year. In order to prevent falling over from exhaustion, we all took a walk down Shattuck Avenue while the three brothers headed over to G's favorite happy hour spot, the Bear's Lair.

By the time I arrived at the Lair the boys were well lubricated with pilsner, IPA, and spicy fries. J, in particular, was in rare form. He grabbed a plastic cup, poured me a beer, and embarked on a discussion of the probability of G becoming a major Business "douchebag." Apparently, J is worried about his baby brother's soul and has given quite a bit of thought to the subject. The complex mathematical equation went something like this:

100% Potential for Douchebagdom

- 75 % thanks to G's upbringing by Mary Ann & Bob

+ 35% for graduating in the top 5 of his class at Haas School of Business

+25% for moving to Los Angles

- 60% for wearing the most wrinkled robe ever and soccer sneakers to his graduation ceremony

I can't even pretend to know what the heck he was talking about, but then J gave G a thorough ear massage. Having been on the receiving end of an ear massage or two, I knew at that moment the calculations were all about love - regardless how circuitous they may have seemed. G decided not to sit next to Jesse at dinner when we all met up again at Unicorn (smart guy). We had a wonderful meal and then rolled ourselves out of the restaurant to our respective cars. E stayed behind to celebrate the rest of the evening with G, and J, Bob, Mary Ann, and I headed back to Santa Cruz exhausted from the day, but smiling all the way home.

What a great afternoon!

Wii Commence

Jesse and I are not the only ones in the family who are making a new beginning. My little sister, Katie, graduated from Salve Regina University this weekend. As the Catholics would say, "Thanks be to God. Amen." Technically, she isn't so little anymore, landing her first job and apartment, and leaving me in her shadow at almost 5 feet 7 inches. It's a very exciting time for her and my parents. After nearly 9 years of tuition payments (first me, then Katie) Mom and Dad have written their final check. As the Catholics would also say,"With hearts full of praise, Hosanna in the Highest!"

In case you haven't caught on, Salve Regina is a Catholic University replete with nuns, tradition, and the whole holy shebang. We kicked off the commencement weekend with the Saturday Baccalaureate mass and hooding ceremony. The hooding took about 30 minutes (not bad). Then the Monseigneur tacked on an hour and fifteen minute mass for good measure. We're not Catholic, so I suppose this was our penance for straying from the righteous (or for my cracks about the Popemobile in April). The abridged version of my experience at our 17-page mass: sit, stand, watch others genuflect, sing praises in same monotone tune (5 verses each time), giggling at the thought of singing said praises in my best church-lady voice, stand, sit, check thy blessed watch, and engage in divine eyeball rolling. Amen.

Thank the almighty Lord that I brought snacks, because my head nearly exploded when the Monseigneur invited all 800 people in attendance to take communion. Luckily for me, the holy virgin Queen (Salve Regina) is also the Mother of mercy and love. They set up six communion stations to expedite the process and assured us that Saturday mass counted for Sunday - we didn't have to endure another at the commencement. O Maria!

For graduation, my parents gave Katie a monetary gift to help furnish her new apartment and get settled Newport. She carefully budgeted, made her purchases, and managed to have a little left over for something she'd be wanting for a while - a Nintendo Wii. Katie brought it to our hotel where we embarked on a full-on Wii bowling tournament Saturday night. I was a little rusty at first, but by the end of our playing time I had perfected a wicked spin and upped my score. Wii (hah) played so hard that I woke up on Sunday morning and could barely move my right arm. It was embarrassing. But not as humiliating as when I nearly ate gravel in front of the Breakers following commencement.

More hilarity ensued when I turned around to see the 542 graduates and their families looking on at the tragic scene. At that moment, I secretly hoped Katie would pee in her pants, partially as revenge for laughing hysterically, but also to divert attention from the crowd so I could readjust the blasted pyramidal bumper that I so gracefully knocked askew. In an effort to recover my bruised pride, I challenged her at Wii again that evening - this time bowling leftie. Yeah what? I kicked butt with my non-dominant arm.

And today? I'm still having trouble moving my arms, and my ribs kind of hurt too (I actually feel their presence when I breathe). I also had some trouble getting dressed this morning. The act of putting on a shirt and pulling up my pants was quite painful. I'm not sure which hurt more; the pain in my head from the Baccalaureate mass, my pride from the dramatic walking accident, or the muscle injuries sustained at the Wii graduation tourney. Was it worth it? Heck yeah. At least I don't have any visible scars. And look how fetching Katie is in her cap and gown.

Congratulations, Kay Kay! You rock at life (and Wii).

Adventures in West Virginia

I was in Charles Town, West Virginia twice this week to conduct deed research for a few houses in Harper's Ferry. All of the deeds for Jefferson County are located in the clerk's office at the county courthouse. It's a pretty cool courthouse, and was the site for John Brown's trial in 1863. I liked that the interior hasn't changed a whole lot - the main hallway still has its old creaky floors and doors. It was refreshing to take a step out of D.C. for the day into an entirely different world. Lately, I feel as though you need special security clearance and 4 forms of identification just to get into a Starbucks within a 2-mile radius of the White House. Comparatively, the Jefferson County courthouse was pretty laid back.

Upon entering, I was greeted by an older gentleman who was sitting behind a plain wooden desk next to a simple metal detector. I left my purse on his desk while I walked through the detector and signed in on his clipboard. After I passed the metal test, he asked where I was going. I told him that I was headed to the Clerk's office to research deeds. He looked at me, smiled, and said "you don't have any knives do you?" I told him no and chuckled, and he asked if I was a lawyer. I said no, and explained how I'm a historian and my research didn't involve any legal transactions. He sounded interested, smiled again and said, "sure you don't have any knives?" I laughed, said "no," and he handed me my purse. I wanted to respond by telling him that I gave up knives for nunchuks, but decided to just smile all pretty-like and be on my way. I guess it worked, since he didn't bother to rummage through my belongings.

Two days later, I came back to do more research and the same security guard was at the desk. He gave me a big grin and said "ah my pretty little historian, back to do more research eh?" I got the OK to bypass the metal detector this time, but only after I assured him that I didn't bring any knives. Twice. I wonder if that is standard security protocol in West Virginia, certainly a knife-toter wouldn't lie twice. Right?

I continued my research on Wednesday by stopping by Harper's Ferry Town Hall. It's hard to tell from this photo, but the "Town Hall" building contains the US Post Office, Police Department, Town Hall (mayor's) office, and a liquor store. See the two white doors? The left one leads to the police department, and naturally, I thought the other would lead to the Town Hall office. I opened the door expecting to see the receptionist (who managed to say "blah blah blah" four different times when I called earlier in the day). Instead, I was greeted by the Olde Towne Hall Liquor store owner. I quickly excused myself and decided to stop in at the police department for directions. I was directed to go through the back of the building, make right, and then another right. The Town Hall entrance is in the waaaaay back corner of the building next to the trash dumpster. I walked up the creaky stairs that led me to an office space directly above the liquor store. It's good to know that Harper's Ferry has it's priorities straight with the liquor store located in a prime spot in Town Hall. Jesse said the town gained a few bonus points in his mind - even if the liquor is annoyingly named "Olde Towne."

As it turns out, the research trip to Town Hall was pretty disappointing. I found out that someone made the brilliant decision to chuck any building permits that pre-dated 1998. Almost 200 years of history right down the chute. Oh well, at least I got to put a face (and a healthy helping of gross wrinkly cleavage) to the "blah blah" lady's voice. On the bright side, though, at least my truncated research visit meant that I got to leave about 3 hours earlier than expected. I definitely could get used to getting out of work at 3pm every day!

Our Life in a Box - Artwork In Progress

Friday Date Night wasn't as successful as I had planned. It was fun, but not productive. After dinner and a couple bottles of hefeweizen, I decided that working on my Portland Love Quilt would be a lot more enjoyable than prepping myself for what might be the tightest squeeze ever. On Sunday afternoon I was feeling a little more ambitious and busted out the painters tape, laser level, box cutter, and lots of hope. I measured and taped the floor and Jesse helped out with the walls, since my arms are a lot shorter (as is my temper). We both took a few steps back and gazed at the creation that will be with us until the day we move - no kidding, the tape stays.

Three observations:
1) Eight feet is a lot taller than I imagined.
2) A 7'x7'x8' box is pretty darn small.
3) I kind of like the blue line. It brings order to the chaos.

In college, my professors were always asking us to "create space" with insane things like a bottle of glue, 5 pennies, and a cardboard shoe. While in concept, it seemed like a cool idea, but in reality, uh, pennies? And I have to build my own shoe? Come on. This is Architecture 101 right? Where are the bricks? The mortar? The t-squares? Long story short, I paid my dues and made it through enough studio semesters to get a solid foundation in the principles of design, but eventually dropped out of architecture school. Instead, I pursued more concrete studies that involved actual buildings.

Last night, I was telling my friend Jon about our blue tape box that morphs out of the corner and bleeds into the furniture. As a bit of background, Jon was also in my architecture program at Philadelphia Textile and actually became a real architect. I attribute his success to the fact that he was way more open to the studio critiques (which is just a nice word for esoteric bullshit) and loved things like drawing window details and memorizing electrical code. When I was describing my insane idea of fitting all of our stuff into a tiny wooden crate, Jon said that the box was like a new beginning and that we had essentially embarked on our own little installation art project. He also suggested that I check out Michael Landy, who shredded all of his belongings in 2001 (including his car) as a form of expression. Ha. Very funny, Jon.

Anyway, back to me, the brilliant installation artist. I don't need to go to a museum now because I create art in my own apartment. How very abstract and forward-thinking of me. I will definitely have to put on a beret and monochromatic garb for my next post on "creating space." You know, for authenticity. (Note to self: must quickly think of concept for my space creation. Must critique something...or nothing...which is it these days?)

It will be interesting to see how long we can stand the wait before we start boxing things up and shoving them in our perfect little blue box. It will also be interesting to see how many crates it really takes to get us out there!

Not-So-Guilty Pleasures

During the period between 4:30 and 5:30 at work, a time that I usually term the "death hour," I often stray from my usual activities of researching and writing to check out a few of my not-so-guilty pleasures. For a while, a local animal shelter website called Hart90 was on the top of the list. It features dogs (and cats, but I don't care much for cats) with their weight, color, personality profile, and usually a heart-melting photo to go along with their sad story. Jesse calls it my Doggie Porn, but I prefer to think of it as a free dating service for my future pet. I get to know the traits I want in a dog and Jesse gets the privilege of me sending him links to my favorites.

Billy Brown was (and still is) my favorite pound puppy at Hart90. He was dog and cat friendly, liked long walks in the park, needed love, and of course, desperately wanted to come home with moi. I would imagine having that grassy patch for him to romp around and would dream about mushing his puppy cheeks while rolling around in the dirt. When Mika came out with his song "Billy Brown" just after I found my dog love, I would remind Jesse how awesome it would be to have a secretly gay pooch. Instead of breaking out of our fence to chase rabbits and squirrels, he would run wild and hump other dude dogs. Ah dreams.

Anyway, it's been a while since I've checked Hart's website. Mostly because it became more of an abuse than a pleasure to see dog after dog adopted (and not by me)! Also, things have been kind of busy in D.C. and my focus has shifted from obsessing about a dog to obsessing over portable storage units.

For the past few months I have stalked our neighborhood looking for the various companies that will plop a moving storage crate along the streets of Adams Morgan. There are several companies, but only a few will move long distance. Now that we're starting to get serious about this moving stuff, I have started looking into how much it's going to actually cost. What I've found out is that most of the companies have a standard container size that is approximately 7'wide x 7'deep x 8'tall - give or take a foot here or there. I have 4 companies that have provided quotes and the difference in cost is pretty shocking - some companies are almost $1000 less than others. Now the question that lingers is: how many square feet of crap do we need to jam in a wooden box? My new found frugal self would like to say exactly 7'x7'x8' worth. The realist in me, however, is shaking her head and belting out a malevolent chuckle.

So, tonight, Jesse and I will be spending date night with a six-pack of Paulaner hefe-weizen, and a blue roll of painters tape to mark out a cube shape in the apartment. Date night will be choreographed with the new Delays album blasting in the background. Hopefully Jesse won't pummel me mid-frolic as I meticulously measure and tape.

Bacon, Babies, Bowers Oh My!

Saturday night we went over to the Schickers' apartment (Bret & Stephanie's) for an evening of playing cards. We've all been so busy lately that I think it's been nearly a month since we last met up for some fun. Their daughter Ava, the Schicklette, is nearly a year old and is probably the cutest thing ever. We showed up a little early to have some Ava time, since she usually conks out by 7:30.

Ava's a little leery of strangers these days, so when Jesse approached her upon our arrival, she burst into tears. I, on the other hand, was smarter and bribed her with Cheerios. I could see the love growing every time she shoved one in her mouth with those cute pudgy fingers. We were BFF's in no time. After she realized that Jesse was an OK guy, she let him hold her for a while. The whole time though, she treated him as if he was the dorky kid in middle school who just asked her for a slow dance. While polite enough to accept, she behaved like a total dead fish - looking around at everyone else in the room, and vowing to hate Led Zeppelin as long as she lives for their epic ballads.

Oh, and newsflash, apparently my BFF status with Ava was totally in my head. Yesterday afternoon I found a baby-sized hand mark on the back of my shirt. It's made out of (what I assume is) a teething biscuit and drool. Dude, Ava-cakes, you can't just wipe stuff on the back of your BFF's clothes and expect to get Cheerios next time.

Since the Schickers cooked shrimp scampi for dinner(very classy), we decided to bring along salad - Bacon Cup Salad (also very classy). I'm sad to say that I didn't invent the ingenious woven meat basket. I got the idea from Not Martha. Essentially, you make a bacon bowl/cup to hold your lettuce, tomatoes, etc. It's pretty easy, I just stuck them in the miserable oven at 400 degrees and baked for about 20 minutes. The end result was tasty and a huge hit with Bret, the tater-tot casserole king.

Of course you really can't fit very much salad inside, so we all went back for seconds and thirds after the bacon bowl was all gone. Once dinner was devoured, it was time to play cards! I think we and the Schickers have endured 3 or 4 whole years of card-playing mayhem. Happy Card Playing Anniversary to Us!

(Speaking of anniversaries, big 'ol shout out to Serena and her Little Lady. We send you a marriage toast with our bacon cups.)

Just like any relationship, card night comes with routine, ritual, and the natural up's and down's. We always play the same game, sit in the same order, divide into the same teams, and pass around a bowl of chips clockwise. Inevitably, the game goes on for one round too many and yelling ensuses. Saturday night was no exception. "Eight-bid-Erin" (my card-playing alter ego) astonished all of the participants, including her own partner, by outbidding Jesse without the joker or either bower - the three highest cards. Ballsy? Yes. Smart? Eh, not so much. Did she pull it off? Totally, it was a classic move.

At the end of the evening Bret and I always make up (I say I like him, despite his faults, and he forgives me for flipping him the bird). Then, Jesse and I walk home exhausted. Unfortunately for us, this will probably be one of the last few card games for a while. The Schickers are bound for Arkansas in just a month or two. We are going to miss our occasional weekend games. But mostly, though, we're just going to miss the Schickers...a lot.

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #4: Our Neighborhood (Part 1)

Since I've been hating on D.C. lately, I thought it would be good to revisit some of the things that I really will miss when we leave. Last night Jesse and I took a pretty cool walk to a part of D.C. that we didn't even know existed. It's practically in our back yard, just right off of Massachusetts Avenue - a street we've walked up a dozen times or more. Usually, we never veer off the main road to see anything other than the variety of embassies and chanceries that line the way. This time wouldn't have been any different, except that I had other motives.

Lately, I've been conducting a series of mini scavenger hunts to seek out buildings that would potentially enhance the D.C. Modernism study that I'm trying to finish at work. I usually drag Jesse along, expounding the tenets of Modernism and building up how cutting edge the building was for its time, blah, blah, blah. Then (as it usually goes), we get to the intersection where the building's supposed to be, and nothing. I think he's starting to doubt my super sleuth skills (as am I). Last night we arrived at what I thought was the right address, and there was a big cleared lot with a brand new (albeit historic-looking) monstrous house plopped right on the corner. Something wasn't right, the house I'm looking for would never have been placed on a corner like that, but either way, it was a total strikeout.

The walk wasn't completely worthless though. It gave us a chance to find a spot in the city that has the largest houses I've ever seen, and has a totally different feel from the urban hustle and bustle found everywhere else. On our way back home, as we rounded the corner from Kalorama Street to Columbia Road, our apartment came into sight and Jesse said, "wow, I really love it here." It's true. We really love living in D.C., particularly in our apartment building, on our street, near so many things that we need.

Even though the houses we saw on our scavenger hunt adventure aren't technically in our neighborhood, I pretty much feel that if you can get there in a 20-minute walk or less, then it might as well be an honorary member. There are a lot of things we can access within a 20-minute walk from our apartment: our offices, 4 grocery stores, 68 Zipcars, Target, the best deli in the city, dozens of great bars and restaurants, abundant green space, 4 different Metro stops, hundreds of bus stops, need I continue? The convenience of it all is pretty great, but we love it for so many other reasons than convenience alone. This is the neighborhood where we went on our first date, and got our first apartment together. Everything about it has helped to define who we are now as adults on our own.

I'm ready for the next step and a new city, which has made it easy to highlight all of the annoying stuff about D.C. (believe me, there's a lot). But unlike our miserable stove, the city will have a special place in our memories. I want to make sure I capture as much of the good stuff as I can in the short time that we have left.