The Imperial Death March

Tonight Washington was a blurry grey mess of rain, sleet, ice and a little leftover snow. Not a pretty place to be, unless you're behind on your Christmas shopping, like, say, me. In that case, it's the best thing that could possibly happen ten days before the damn holiday, since it means all those suburban wackos will be at home and you can shop near your home in the city in relative peace. So I did just that. Rocked the ever-handy Blue Bus to G-town's main strip, visited the hipster wannabe's best friend for a Napolean themed gift for my niece, and trolled the upscale haunts of Wisconsin Ave. in search of something, ANYthing that would work for my Grandmother, Aunt, Brother or Father. That part was largely an unsuccessful mission, so I decided to soothe the hurt with grease of the Five Guys variety.

Burger and fries in hand (they even had plastic bags to protect it from the 'wintry mix,' mad props five guys!), I set out for home. And then, it hit! I got to the side roads and the sidewalks were sheets of ice. The roads themselves were perfectly fine to walk on, but those lovely brick sidewalks which I consider so charming and historic most of the time are seriously uncool in winter. The only safe course was to walk through the puddles since they'd melted the ice below them, but then, you walk all the way home with wet sock and THAT is a fate worse than death. It took nearly a year and a half to get home, and I heard the Imperial Death March in my head the whole way. Apparently when I take small, quick steps, I move to the beat of John Williams. Wacky.

But, on a positive note, the burger and fries survived and were still quite tasty. Plus, I got home to find a Christmakkah Bar-mitzvakkah on the OC. Awesome. Although if Johnny and Marisa ever do get together and have babies, their kids would be the worst actors EVER.