Heather Anne

Dear Diary,

Remember when you were just a regular diary where I wrote my dirty little poems about Vick’s Vapor Rub — before I came to DC and you started busting at the binding with the SHEER AWESOMENESS of my entries?

Today Jennie!, Kat!, Abigail!, Seth! and I took the Chipotle Challenge, which Abigail! kind of made famous on her blog a long time ago. Basically, it’s burritos for the win! Unless you can’t finish your burrito. In which case: LOSE.

Seth won on account of he ate his whole burrito, plus what was left of Kat’s. I’ll let the pictures tell the rest of the story.

Abigail!

Kat!

Jennie!

Heather! Anne!

After we were all full of burrito, we went sight seeing, and Dear Diary, we walked about a hundred gazillion miles, and it was some of the greatest hundred gazillion miles of my whole life. We saw all the best DC things, and Kat and Abigail narrated most of the whole trip. Abigail doesn’t live in DC, but it’s her favorite city and she has a disease where she has to look up everything on Wackopedia, so she had a lot of information. Like, did you know that there is a stone missing from the Washington Monument, and it is called the Pope Stone, and who knows who stole it? (No one.)

As we were walking beside the reflecting pool on the way from the World War II Memorial to Lincoln, Jennie started singing the state song from Schoolhouse Rock, and it was beyond impressive. And even more impressive was that we happened upon this couple that was full-horizontal canoodling, and Jennie just kept a-singing, whipped out a camera, and took their picture. Like a historical-genius paparazzi, with a lovely singing voice.

My favorite monument was probably Einstein on account of he wore sandals and he had a kindly smile and you could sit in his lap. Unlike Abraham Lincoln, who reunited the Union, but had a very grumpy face. (And you cannot crawl on him.) Abigail got stuck atop Uncle Albert, and I got amused.

Jennie said Uncle Albert looked like he was made entirely of poo. And kind of, she was right.

After the touring we went to Kat’s and watched Harry Potter, and Kat sat down beside me and started saying the Harry Potter thoughts in my mind out loud. My thoughts in her mouth. And also she pulled out her copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone to research a question. Research Harry Potter. Well, in that moment I knew just what it was like when Anne Shirley met Diana Barry for the first time. It took everything I had not to clasp Kat’s hands tightly in my own and say, “Oh, Kat, do you think—oh, do you think you can like me a little—enough to be my bosom friend?” Fortunately for Kat everything I had wasn’t much since I was pretty exhausted from the sightseeing. Instead of making a fool of myself, I fell asleep on Abigail’s shoulder and drooled all over her favorite Patagonia fleece.

We had dinner at this pizza place with the best pepperonis ever, and I’m not just saying that because I was sleep-deprived and full of being smitten. After dinner we went to Rocket Bar, and met Mystery! Girl! and Heather! B! And Dear Diary, Mystery Girl must keep her identity a secret because she doesn’t want to be stalked. She is gorgeous. And I kind of wanted to jump up and hug Heather! B!, because of her awesome presence both internet-ly and in-person, but I did not. Because I wanted to maintain the illusion of being cool. Which lasted about six minutes, until someone brought the game of Sorry to our table and I was all, “Bunny up! Oh, looks like you all lose and have to be on teams. Heather Anne (Monica Gellar) plays alone, bitches!” And sadly, I did.

A lot of other things happened at Rocket Bar, like Heather B. kept giving me quarters to play Mrs. Pac Man, and Kat kicked all our asses at Big Buck Hunter. And Abigail got, well, a little drunk. And she talked me into doing the OK Go treadmill dance, without a treadmill.

Back at Kat’s apartment, Jennie and Kat tied fireworks to some balloon animals, and I nearly had a panic attack, because: toss bears and my fourth-grade bus driver into that equation and you have all my worst fears in one room. The scary thing, the truly terrifying thing, is that Jennie seemed seriously experienced at wrapping a balloon-dog around a firecracker. Like maybe it wasn’t her first time. Or her second time. Like maybe she does it all the time. I think Jennie may have a fire addiction.

My flight left super early in the morning, so Kat, Jennie, and Abigail stayed up with me all night. Abigail said it was like The Night (from Friends), and actually she was very correct. We also got tattoos, for posterity’s sake.

Early, early, before the sun, I took a taxi to Washington National and flew away. And I know it’s soppy, but before my plane left the ground, I missed those little lambs already. (Still do.)

Jennie says maybe we’ll get together again on Arbor Day. And I hope she’s right. Because if anyone can make Arbor Day a hoot, it’s Jennie. And Abigail. And Kat. I’m probably going to start praying it will happen. And in the words of my hero, Anne Shirley: “I’m going to think out a brand new special prayer in honor of the occasion.”

I have to go to sleep now. I'm as pooped at Albert Einstein's Birkenstocks.

XOXO

Heather Anne

(Nearly all these pictures were stolen from Kat, Jennie, and Abigail.)