Woo-hoo, Packer season begins! And crazy season is almost over for me - leave on Friday, come back the next Saturday, and then maybe give my blog the love it deserves. Or more accurately, give my brain time to reflect on life.
There is something I have noticed, though - two experiences, coincidentally both in Adams Morgan, witnessed by the same two best buddies - that made me realize I am actually a true resident of my not-so-large city. This may seem obvious after being in the area for 3 years, but I have been a nomad for about 10 years (moving from dorm room to apartment after apartment to new city times three). Although I've met many people, I still often feel like a stranger - both because of my transient lifestyle and the fact that my coworker and her parents have nicknamed me Suzie-Who, as no one ever remembers meeting me (and have decided I should be a spy).
First we were strolling up 18th St. at night, on our way to enjoy drinks and the breeze of a rooftop bar, and my early-summer bus driver crawled by on the stopped-traffic strip. He's always yelling and leaning out the windows so I yelled 'hi' over to him and he got all excited and yelled greetings back. It was a surreal moment, especially since he used to drive the Rosslyn-Tysons route at 8 in the morning. And how often do you greet your bus driver in a bus while walking down the sidewalk.
Second was yesterday, while enjoying people-watching during Adams Morgan Day in the cool temp of Anzu. DJ Greene was warming up the crowd and not five minutes after walking in, the guy I dropped earlier this summer for my man walks in. There we were, all together in one bar, and this went on for about 3 or 4 hours. It wasn't overly weird or anything, but I thought - this could only happen to a true resident. Usually I move away too quickly for those types of run-ins to occur.
So I guess I have a home. For NOW, that is.