75 Cents Later and I’m Still Lost

“Where are you guys?? I’ve checked 4 Starbucks twice each.” 

I grimaced as I sent 75 cents over the invisible rabbit trails we call 4G. 

Apparently my text arrived 2 hours later. 

It wasn’t supposed to be difficult. Two friends and I set off to the White House at about 11am. We were going to explore the city a bit, see what we could see, photograph what we could photograph, and I was going to find my internship. It wasn’t supposed to be difficult. However, we were not expecting it to be 97 degrees, either. And in this humidity, that is hot hot hot. We split up, for their health. We agreed to meet at the Starbucks on K St, where they could cool down while I visited my internship site. I was supposed to be about 10 minutes behind them, give or take a few. 

But when I went to find them, they were not there. 

Nor were they at the other Starbucks. Or the other one. Or the other one. 

And when I say I went to four Starbucks, I’m must clarify: this is not Vancouver nor Seattle. Four Starbucks do not exist on the same block. I searched high, I searched low, but I was facing a scary reality. I was alone in the heart of D.C., 40 minutes from my apartment, in 97 degree heat. 

So what did I do? 

I bought a Starbucks drink, duh. 

Once I realized that they had probably left, I was able to stop stressing. I wasn’t worried that they were waiting on me somewhere, because the only Starbucks I hadn’t checked twice was probably in the basement of the White House. I meandered the city streets and smiled at the homeless, talked with the locals, greeted tourists, and avoided the mafia. For being a country-raised suburbs child, I was neither mugged nor murdered. It was a good day after all. 

Here’s the building I will be interning at!

On Friday night I went to a D.C. Nationals versus St. Louis Cardinals baseball game. It was more fun than I had been expecting. The last baseball game I went to was about 8 years ago, at a Seattle Mariners game. As I’m never one to pass up a humorous happenstance, I can now say that I go to baseball games about once in a blue moon. (A blue moon, if you don’t know, is what we call the second full moon in a month). Friday was indeed a blue moon, and I was indeed at a baseball game. I’m off the hook until 2015, apparently (http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2012/08/tonights-blue-moon-wont-be-seen-again-until-2015-.html). Although it was a slow game, I got a free t-shirt and socialized with about 30 of my classmates. I think my favorite part was the Washington Monument sticking out of the backdrop of the stadium. It just seemed so classically American. 


Thanks Kylie, for this great photo of us before the game started.

A cruel reality has set in. I have come to realize that I am not on vacation. “What?” you ask. “But your blog posts are so funny! Surely this must be your real life?” Alas, I have mislead you. My stories of adventure and daring glamour have been grossly misleading. I actually spend most of my time reading “Generous Justice” by Timothy Keller, or “To Change the World” by James D. Hunter, or “The Call of Stories” (gag) by Robert Coles. And I’ve only begun one class. Once the other two and my internship begins, I enter the real world. My secret hope is to inundate you with so many blog posts beforehand, that you are grateful for the blessed silence you’ll hear between October and December. 



Here’s a picture I snapped this evening from our rooftop. We’ve had Isaac raging over the city all night.

My mom sent me a whole loaf of maple toast. It was all shut up in a shoebox to keep it from being squished. Let me just say that this maple toast is heaven. It tastes like the lunch version of French toast, a slice of Canada in the capital’s Capitol. Ma had frozen it, packed it away, and shipped it off. I’ve been eating it in frugal servings; I pull no more than 4 slices out of the freezer at a time. It doesn’t taste exactly the same as it did at home. After all, it’s now been frozen and unfrozen twice, and I have to grill it on the panini since our toaster is manic. However, it does taste like victory. How many people do you know who feast on bread from 2400 miles away? According to Google, it would take me 888 hours to walk that. That’s a big deal. 

I think I’ve said more than my 2 cents. It’s almost 1am here, and I have church tomorrow morning. I’d best get to bed. 

Much love,



2 thoughts on “75 Cents Later and I’m Still Lost

  1. Emily, if I ever need a laugh, YOU ARE MY RESOURCE. We have thoroughly enjoyed reading your blogs Love you, Gramma Helen

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