DC'd*

Living in the District, you come to expect certain things: conversations surrounding politics, fines for jaywalking, the inability to register a vehicle, the occasional rodent wandering the streets (or in my case, inside my house). But every now and again, despite knowing what to expect, you find yourself getting DC'd.

And this past Saturday, I found myself getting DC'd. Over and over and over again.

It started off innocently enough. I awoke in my aunt and uncle's home in Ballston eager to head back over to the Hill to partake in my Saturday morning yoga ritual. (note: I took a temporary break from my Cap Hill home following the fumigator visit on Thursday to let nature takes it course…more on this later.) The class begins promptly at 10, so I leave adequate time to drive (gasp!) the twenty minutes it takes to get home. Seems as though most of the World had the same plan in mind as I approached what appeared to be a parking lot extending from 66E to 110S to 395N to my exit. Instead of the twenty minutes I anticipated, which would cause me to arrive at yoga just in time for it to begin, I spent the hour-long class in my car on 395N. Talk about getting DC'd. Nothing like bumper to bumper traffic heading into the city on a non-workday morning.

Having missed the entire class and now extremely frustrated for spending an hour and a half increasing my carbon impact on the environment, I decided I would make up for it by enjoying the beautiful 80-degree autumn(?) day. I walked on over to the Capitol and when I got there, I pulled a Forrest Gump and kept on going. As I made my way down the Mall, I was instantly surrounded by mobs and mobs of families (presumably from the mobs and mobs of cars on 395 N that morning). And the tents! So many tents! Turns out, my innocent walk landed me smack dab in the middle of being DC'd again! How typical. A festival on the Mall. Tis the National Book Festival time of year, and the crowds were certainly out for this one. I strolled in and out of tents to find unrecognizable famed authors, costumed characters from children books, Harry Potter fanatics, and the Magic School Bus (to my dismay, no sight of Ken Kesey & his Merry Pranksters on this one). Once I saw what there was to see, I received my free tote bag and commemorative poster and continued on down the Mall.

I walked over to the Lincoln Memorial, stared up at Abe, and then it occurred to me that it had been awhile since I had spent a good amount of time at the Jefferson Memorial. So, I walked around the Tidal Basin and eventually found myself in a very non-DC'd moment-- the Jefferson Memorial was nearly empty. The way I like to remember the Jefferson Memorial is crammed full of tourists non-stop sneezing and itching their eyes out from the Cherry Blossom Festival (it always goes back to a festival here).

I took a short break at the desolate memorial, and eventually turned around to head back home. Off I went down Independence, unsuspecting of the ultimate DC'd moment that was upon me. As I approached 7th Street, I was faced head-on with anti-war protestors. And, I must say, those protestors have quite the catchy chants, especially when it's coupled with the steady rhythm of a bongo drum. For the remainder of the day, I had their catchy phrases ringing in my head:
"Whadda we want?"
"TROOPSOUTNOW!"
"When do we want it?"
"NOW!"
"Whadda we want?"
"TROOPS! OUT!"
"When do we want it?
"NOW!"

And now it's stuck in my head again.

Anyhow, I had to make it across 7th Street to make it home, but the protestors kept pushing onward, blocking the entire street. What was I to do other than join the masses? Even when the masses include an elderly fellow wearing a Devil costume, holding a red pitchfork, and covering his face with a President Bush mask. Hmmm, I wonder what message he was trying to convey? What a cryptic man.

So I said a little prayer, took a deep breath, and embarked on a real life game of Frogger as I stepped one foot forward, one foot right, one foot forward, one foot left, and so on, until I made it safely across the street. It's true, on Saturday, September 29, I inadvertently joined a war protest for one or two of the longest minutes of my life.

As I was finally on the homestretch, I called my friend and neighbor, Kelli, to see if she wanted to meet up and hear about my DC'd-up day. We decide to meet up over on Barracks Row, and what do you know, it was celebrating it's very first Octoberfest. Need I say it? DC'd again.

*DC'd: Just when you think you know what to expect from this town, it continues to amaze you with how it lives up to its stereotypes.