Teeny Tiny Apartments and Metro Buses

DC. DC. DC. I loathe you right now.

A little story that happened this week: 

A childhood friend of mine who happened to end up in DC invites me over frequently for crock pot dinners and wine (just like how our mom's hang out back home...maybe sans the crock pot). It had been awhile since we had seen each other (we had TONS to catch up on) and he invited me over for Wednesday dinner. It ended up that his place with a bit chaotic to have dinner that night so I offered to host since I never host.

I mean let's be real, I eat lucky charms and frozen burritos for dinner when I am at my place.  I am just a serious disaster in the kitchen when it comes to cooking. I do know how to bake. Baking and cooking are NOT the same thing. You can see this story is not going to end well.

All bright-eyed-and-busy-tailed to put on the bestdinneryouhaveevereatandohandreadidyoulearntocook?, I left work headed to the grocery store and even managed to remember to buy an appetizer. At home I quickly shove things in my closet, picked up the bathroom and made sure to have the table set complete with entertaining candles. Cheese platter out, bottle of pumpkin beer cracked, I slice, dice, stir and prep for a meal of brussel sprouts with bacon and shallots, creamy parmesan polenta, and grilled petite fillet steaks. B arrives, we crack the wine, are swapping work horror stories, and I finally get the steaks on the grill pan. Smoke starts to accumulate despite my fan and open window efforts. My teeny tiny apartment doesn't come with a hood fan, so naturally it just gets worse and worse.

Logical option: open the front door so I am getting cross ventilation from the hallway.

The part I didn't think about with opening that door. Central fire alarm system. BEEEEEEEEEEP!!!BEEEEEPPPP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Oh that's right. I set off the BUILDING's fire alarm. First instinct was to flee the scene of the crime, but logic took over and I knew it was best to fess up so they didn't end up searching the entire building and getting the fire department all up in arms. After 7 painful minutes with the entire building standing outside, the building manager arrived and I fessed up to my stupid cooking mishap. Luckily, she was INCREDIBLY understanding. She probably knew the humiliation of having everyone in the building know it was me was enough punishment. We avoided having the fire department show up, but it was bad. Really bad. B did his best to make sure we ate our cold meal and finished that bottle of wine, but I won't lie... the minute he left and I was alone, I burst into tears. 

This wasn't even an incident where I burnt something, or things were going to end up tasting bad. This was my teeny tiny apartment, not having the shit that an apartment at the price I pay would have anywhere else. I start to over think that "why am I doing this anymore? what am I getting out of being here anymore?" and it became way more than a stupid fire alarm and cold steak dinner. It was a "I am really tired of all of this" cry.

Then there has been the buses. Last night, making me late to meet friends by almost 30 minutes. This morning I waited 20 minutes for a single bus to show up. Overall commute took 45 minutes when I could have (and should have) just walked.

So DC, you and your over priced, teeny tiny, pathetic excuses for apartments can just leave me alone for awhile. I am tired of your public transportation that just makes me claustrophobic and antsy, and I will say it...I will trade in my metrocard for a new car and a commute any day at this point. Just show me where to sign.