First and foremost, a big thank you to His Royal Highness, King Friday XIII. His work in my absence was excellent. Except of course for his claim that I promised him oral sex in return for his guest blogging duties. In actuality, I promised him beer. Perhaps he misunderstood what I meant by "frothy head"?
I got back into town Sunday at 2:45 pm. My suitcase ended up on the National Airport conveyor belt at 3:42. 57 freaking minutes of my life spent standing around uselessly. 57 minutes gone forever. This happens at National every single time. Every. Single. Time. When do they break ground on the Silver Line to Dulles? 2012? Ugh.
After I finally get my tasteful flower-print suitcase, I head up to the Metro platform. I was quite relieved to see that a Yellow Line (my preferred method of National Airport travel) train would be picking me up in three minutes. The next train, on the Blue Line, wouldn't be arriving for another eleven.
Well, we all see where this is going, don't we? That three minutes turns to two. Progress! Soon after, that two turns into nothing. A black void where a number should be. Uh-oh. A minute later, the entire train disappears. It's like it never existed. *Poof* into the ether.
I'm amazed that this stupid city had used up all that disgusting good will building inside of me for the past eight days in only an hour. It took an hour for me to remember why I hate this place so much.
At least there's that one thing I love about Washington: going to Eastern Market on a Sunday morning. After spending the last two Sundays on Cape Cod, I can't wait to go back!