Look at these lovely, lovely men. Don't they look awfully well~behaved? Someone's trained them beautifully.
Pretty little Georgetown. And sweetly nestled in this lovely historical gem lies my heart's weakness and comfort...
Anthropologie.
O, Cupid's arrow has found its welcome mark;
how seepeth my heart with consuming desire to maketh thee mine,
for thou art an adorably sweet, abundantly-petticoated frock
with wondrous buttons of sunless obsidian night.
Merrily would I enshroud myself in thine exquisite loveliness,
Triton's pearls kissing my throat & fuck-me heels cradling my feet,
to prettily henceforth vacuum the house, roast a fine turkey,
and serve my Love a dirty three-olive martini...
Damn the expensive price tag!
Damn the expensive price tag!
*sigh*
Georgetown at night, featuring the incandescence of Artemis, Zeus, and Aphrodite.
Contrast Georgetown's serenity with the madness of the following day, when there was a shooting merely two blocks from Saint Cat's apartment. Apparently, this is not uncommon. Yay!
Police chopper cutting rather close up overhead...
That's SC's apartment. DC is awfully exciting, you see.
On my last day, I did what I traditionally do and hit up all of my favourite haunts. First stop: Heller's Bakery, across the street from the apartment with the shooting, and for which I must thank for eight pounds of the most delectable apple strudel and croissant it applied directly to my tummy and thighs.
It was so surreal, because there were times when I was in here that I was absolutely convinced I was in Montréal, visiting Saint Cat and going on pilgrammage to the local Mom'n'Pop bakery for strudels, rugulach, croissants, and other irresistible baked treats. I kept expecting to pull out colourful Canadian rubles to pay for my goodies... and then I realized I was in DC, then America, and would have to shake off the mind-garble I kept finding myself lost in.
Yummy, yummy Heller's. They use really good European butter (Plugra, perhaps?), which you can see seeping onto your fingers as you tear into their decadent almond flaked and marzipan croissants... Oh, man...
Our new tradition of going to Busboys and Poets for our seeing-off brunch of paninininis, fries, and fruit.
More Obama-love, just outside the restaurant/bar/café/bookstore/performance space.
One last shot with my beloved Saint Cat before heading into the airport...
My perennially favourite thing at Chicago O'Hare. This dino just makes me so smiley inside, poor bugger.
What kind of luck is it that my seatmate from Chicago to Seattle is a world-class martial artist/labour psychologist who teaches Greco-Roman wrestling, judo, and BJJ a few miles from here? Not only was he showing me nifty techniques in our seats, but his adorable kid ~ who never seemed to stop chuckling ~ also offered a few cool pointers.
We were continuously half-expecting air-marshalls to come striding up and snapping a gun in his face for allegedly assaulting a female passenger. I think our fellow passengers were a little weirded out when we announced at the end of our flight how lovely it was to meet, and do keep in touch! Now, please don't mind me as I'm just getting my passport off the floor... and no, I'm not giving you a blowjob this time. Yes, it was that kind of (chortly) flight.
Yay. This entry *finally* concludes coverage of my lovely little DC trip, and now I'm free to start writing on the other stuff I've long had simmering insidiously on the back-burner. No hints, though rest assured: there is no shortage in my magic hat of good old-fashioned sex, wacky violence, and juicy rock'n'roll! Whoooo-hoooooooo!!!
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