I just returned from the imperial capitol, as father-of-Lizzie's-in-Paign calls it (see how I protect his anonymity?). That's right. W-A-S-H-I-N-G-T-O-N baby, D-C. Alternative Spring Break was light on the body shots and heavy on the informational interviews, so just how I like it. I seriously had a fantastic time. Highlights were seeing a Frenchy movie about public schools (El-Nugs and I later debriefed on the accuracy/nostalgia angle; both of us had repressed the memory that gym was called "E.P.S."), dining at a chic restaurant with my lovely Chambana roommate and her fun pals, shopping like we ladies love to do, and enjoying public transportation that did not involve waiting on a dark sidewalk (I am referring to Champaign, although this also describes my MegaBus experience. I need to either get a chauffeur or learn to drive. Anyone need a good driver in need of a passenger?)
Back to the frozen prairie, I guess. In an hour and a half I will turn 25 on a bus. That is either kind of funny or deeply sad. Let's go with the funny angle, shall we? I am waiting for this quarterlife crisis business to set in, but I feel ok about my whereabouts (except for the immediate, bus whereabouts). I like my career direction, I like my dude, I like my friends a lot (though a good portion of them are on the Eastern Seaboard), I have all my teeth. What's not to like? This makes me worry that I will have a TERRIBLE midlife crisis, though. I am totally going to have dye my hair with Grecian Formula and buy a Lamborghini (which I maybe still won't be able to drive?)
Next week in L-I-P: California: knows how to party.
