It's impossible not to get excited in this city.
Yesterday, I didn't have my phone on me, for the most part, but today... today was a different story.
The phone was on me and I was paparazzi-ing shit all day.
Let's start out with how big of an idiot I am.
So, I wake up early because Rafa makes me in charge of talking to the pest control guy.
Me: WAIT! You have rats?!
Rafa: Mice. I have mice. Not me, it's in the building and I saw it once in the cupboard where the gas comes in. It's running loose somewhere in the building.
I feel bad for those who have to pay rent here (five grand a month... lucky for bro, his shit is stipend... or something like that... the government pays for his shit, basically. Hello, budget crisis)... expensive living (and you have grocery shopping. Cost of living in this city's a fucking joke. Expensive as fuck) and you still have to deal with rodents.
Anyway, I ended up waking up at six in the morning... and it felt like the unholiest shit in the world... to be awake at that time.
It's 3 in the morning back home... THREE IN THE MORNING!
Ok, so pest control dude comes, he's a sweet dude, tells me what the deal is with the damn rodents, and I then go on and get ready to head out for Rafa's swearing in at the Department of State.
Now, I was under the impression that Rafa's place of work was nearby... and that we were going to take a taxi down there. As always, I was WRONG.
Rafa had me walking in five inch (brand new) heels... on cobblestone streets... for six blocks.
I was ready to murder him by the time he finally hailed a cab. MURDER, I tell you.
There was mad traffic by the state department (like how I interchange that? I have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about) due to a protest and some sort of Iranian celebration (Yo, cousins!). By the time I entered the damn building, I was sweating bullets... my cream-colored dress was a wreck... my hair completely flat, drenched with sweat at the nape of my neck. A DISASTER.
The workers at the State Department were nothing but awesome... I've never met such helpful and kind people before... especially the main secretary, who had the same name as I, and we immediately clicked.
The whole time, Rafa had us walking all over the place. We explored the entire first and second floors of the Harry S.Truman Building. My feet felt as if they were going to break... by the end, I was sliding all over that fucking linoleum like a newborn fawn... luckily, there wasn't too much covered in that shit, since the majority was marble, and I'm used to that surface.
ANYWAY, Rafa then walked us out... and we had to go to another part of the fucking building. I was ready to cry by now... and I was still sweating profusely (he took us to the gift shop--yeh, the state department has a fucking GIFT SHOP-- where I purchased a bath towel--with the official state department seal-- for the sole purpose of wiping my disgusting sweat from my exhausted, overheated body. How's that for classy?), luckily, once I went through security, all was well with the world and I was finally in an air conditioned room, where I could sit my ass down in a pretty, cushioned bucket seat.
Once I sat down and had time to myself, where I didn't have to stand there with my fake smile and greet throngs of families, I took off my heels and assessed the damage to my feet.
Left foot, inner arch was a medium sized blister (I'll spare you the gory photos), right foot had a similar blister on the similar spot as the left foot, but it also had a popped blister on the outer side of my ankle... making sense?
Anyway, the blister was oozing (TMI? Imagine the people who had to look at it!), and I decided to change into my non-matching, black flats. It didn't go with the dress, but ask me if I cared... I had an oozing blister! Fuck looking good!
After the ceremony ended, Rafa decided to show my folks the Lincoln Memorial, since we were so close... and once there (where I terrified a lot of the tourists once they caught a glimpse of my jacked up feet), he decided to walk us through the Vietnam Memorial,the WWII Memorial, the Washington Monument (where I got to see the cracks... it's bad, guys), and we went on to the subway, where we high tailed it to China Town...where we had Pho like the South East family we really are.
Once home... Rafa and I went down to the grocery store... which was a terrible idea... since all these folk are freaking out over the hurricane. The store was PACKED, with people fighting over carts... no bottled water available... lines as long as the isles... a scene from an Armageddon film.
All I wanted was some freaking yogurt... and we stood in line for an hour and a half.
Come on Irene! I'm ready for your bitchass!
Yesterday, I didn't have my phone on me, for the most part, but today... today was a different story.
The phone was on me and I was paparazzi-ing shit all day.
Let's start out with how big of an idiot I am.
So, I wake up early because Rafa makes me in charge of talking to the pest control guy.
Me: WAIT! You have rats?!
Rafa: Mice. I have mice. Not me, it's in the building and I saw it once in the cupboard where the gas comes in. It's running loose somewhere in the building.
I feel bad for those who have to pay rent here (five grand a month... lucky for bro, his shit is stipend... or something like that... the government pays for his shit, basically. Hello, budget crisis)... expensive living (and you have grocery shopping. Cost of living in this city's a fucking joke. Expensive as fuck) and you still have to deal with rodents.
Anyway, I ended up waking up at six in the morning... and it felt like the unholiest shit in the world... to be awake at that time.
It's 3 in the morning back home... THREE IN THE MORNING!
Ok, so pest control dude comes, he's a sweet dude, tells me what the deal is with the damn rodents, and I then go on and get ready to head out for Rafa's swearing in at the Department of State.
Now, I was under the impression that Rafa's place of work was nearby... and that we were going to take a taxi down there. As always, I was WRONG.
Rafa had me walking in five inch (brand new) heels... on cobblestone streets... for six blocks.
I was ready to murder him by the time he finally hailed a cab. MURDER, I tell you.
There was mad traffic by the state department (like how I interchange that? I have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about) due to a protest and some sort of Iranian celebration (Yo, cousins!). By the time I entered the damn building, I was sweating bullets... my cream-colored dress was a wreck... my hair completely flat, drenched with sweat at the nape of my neck. A DISASTER.
The workers at the State Department were nothing but awesome... I've never met such helpful and kind people before... especially the main secretary, who had the same name as I, and we immediately clicked.
The whole time, Rafa had us walking all over the place. We explored the entire first and second floors of the Harry S.Truman Building. My feet felt as if they were going to break... by the end, I was sliding all over that fucking linoleum like a newborn fawn... luckily, there wasn't too much covered in that shit, since the majority was marble, and I'm used to that surface.
ANYWAY, Rafa then walked us out... and we had to go to another part of the fucking building. I was ready to cry by now... and I was still sweating profusely (he took us to the gift shop--yeh, the state department has a fucking GIFT SHOP-- where I purchased a bath towel--with the official state department seal-- for the sole purpose of wiping my disgusting sweat from my exhausted, overheated body. How's that for classy?), luckily, once I went through security, all was well with the world and I was finally in an air conditioned room, where I could sit my ass down in a pretty, cushioned bucket seat.
Once I sat down and had time to myself, where I didn't have to stand there with my fake smile and greet throngs of families, I took off my heels and assessed the damage to my feet.
Left foot, inner arch was a medium sized blister (I'll spare you the gory photos), right foot had a similar blister on the similar spot as the left foot, but it also had a popped blister on the outer side of my ankle... making sense?
Anyway, the blister was oozing (TMI? Imagine the people who had to look at it!), and I decided to change into my non-matching, black flats. It didn't go with the dress, but ask me if I cared... I had an oozing blister! Fuck looking good!
After the ceremony ended, Rafa decided to show my folks the Lincoln Memorial, since we were so close... and once there (where I terrified a lot of the tourists once they caught a glimpse of my jacked up feet), he decided to walk us through the Vietnam Memorial,the WWII Memorial, the Washington Monument (where I got to see the cracks... it's bad, guys), and we went on to the subway, where we high tailed it to China Town...where we had Pho like the South East family we really are.
Once home... Rafa and I went down to the grocery store... which was a terrible idea... since all these folk are freaking out over the hurricane. The store was PACKED, with people fighting over carts... no bottled water available... lines as long as the isles... a scene from an Armageddon film.
All I wanted was some freaking yogurt... and we stood in line for an hour and a half.
Come on Irene! I'm ready for your bitchass!
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