Requiem to a DC real living wage happy hour

So… I feel like an ass. This is really nothing new, but tonight I have a reason.

I have this weird quirk: I don’t always commit to things because once I commit, I will do anything in my power to live up to that commitment. It’s not that I’m a particularly good person or anything. I just can’t stand the feeling that I’ve let anyone down. It doesn’t matter how much I’d rather stay home; if I say I’m going to be there, I will be there. Period.

Take tonight, for example. The Brokekid politico, aka my brother, forwarded an email about the “DC Real Living Wage Happy Hour” to the Girls with Drinks. I posted it to the blog and pretty much considered myself committed. I talked it up with friends, with the Brokekid and pretty much tattooed it on my brain.

Then, I got into an accident. My tank of a Jeep Wrangler utterly demolished a piece of plastic formerly known as an Altima bumper. Nobody was hurt and other than the bumper, both cars seem fine, but the police came. Insurance got involved. People yelled at me and I was that girl, the traffic-blocking, I-damaged-your-baby, girl.

I was shakier than I thought. A cotton-ball canister met its end and I found myself scooping up pieces of broken glass around midnight, not unlike an act that required stitches (an unmet requirement) and resulted in a very nasty scar exactly 349 days ago, the day I met my ex (a number I keep track of more because of the scar than the ex).

But I diverge. Last night = no sleep. Today = stressed, rickety, tired. The Brokekid bailed out on account of some serious sickness. The Girls with Drinks couldn’t make it for various reasons, and I wavered. I really did. Around five, though, I shut down the computer, picked up my bag and metro’d over to Dupont.

Now, I’m also one of those horribly anal people who maps everything, checks out addresses, websites, reviews, everything before I go, but like I said, today I was off. I knew I was going to Andalu. Dupont Circle. 12-something 18th Street, Northwest. Piece of cake.

Piece of baked Alaska maybe. I spent about an hour wandering around Dupont Circle, up and down 18th Street and Connecticut Avenue with the occasional foray down 19th or along the cross streets. I even tried the old standby – duck into a bookstore, look at DC guidebooks and confirm the address – to no avail.

I got a little frustrated. Especially as I saw other people laughing, drinking, walking around without 50-pound messenger bags and killer, accident-induced headaches. I grew reminiscent of the first six or seven times I tried to go to the 18th Street Lounge and just couldn’t find it.

I wanted to give someone my money! I wanted to support “DC Real Living Wages!” I wanted a glass of wine!

In the end, I pressed my nose against the window at Krispy Kreme for a while, cried a while more, and climbed down to the metro home.


8 Comments:
At 1:08 AM, Velvet said...
You should have called me and I would have looked the address up online for you!!! I'm always near a computer and since all my friends know this, they call me to look up phone numbers, addresses and the like. Kinda like that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer becomes Moviephone??? That's me.

You are a fab writer! And when was that accident - last night?


At 7:36 AM, Kristin said...
Accident Wednesday night. I'd just dropped of my brother at the 9:30 Club and was headed home.

It was a "I'm looking over my shoulder, trying to merge with traffic and I thought the woman in front of me pulled out when she started driving" kind of thing. Apparently, she pulled out and stopped. Fortunately, we were both starting from a stopped position so it wasn't too bad but it sucks.

It's my first accident. Ever. And hopefully my last.


At 8:13 AM, Michelle said...
Damn woman! You have had a trying couple of days. Saturday...my house...cab to the party...drink all day....troubles go away! (at least until new ones develop as a result of drinking all day!)


At 9:33 AM, Kristin said...
Saturday - I'm sure I can find Blocktoberfest.

You know, my phone is Bluetooth enabled but I don't know what that means or how to use it.

I will definitely remember Velvet in Duport for on-star-type support (and for fantastic dating stories).


At 9:47 AM, Kayla said...
I was at work (a 5 minute walk from Dupont) at day gig until 6:30, knowing the day you had - I would have come met you for a drink (even if the only cause we were supporting was our own).

If you need accident consolation, you know you can always call me - hi, i have been in 6 (accident free for 5 years :)) accidents. (Before anyone thinks I am the driver from hell, not all were my fault - I swear)...

I will definitely pick you up tomorrow. (although, after that last sentence - you may be just a little too scared to get into a car with me)


At 11:50 AM, Berk said...
The car accident is karma for not giving me the extra Blocktoberfest ticket.


At 3:48 PM, Dennis! said...
Sorry to hear about your crappy experiences.

BTW, for what it's worth after the fact, Andalu is the downstairs bar next to Sesto Senso and Five (and the Mattress Discounters).

sekacpe


At 5:36 PM, DireWolf said...
I think even I would have skipped the happy hour if I had been in an accident, minor or not, and I planned the damn thing.

It's funny, we had a bunch of people show up asking if Andalu was the 18th Street Lounge. They're next to eachother.

We'll see y'all at the next one in late October, which promises to have live cuban salsa music.