Britt-Britt Goes to Washington
Hi, it’s Britt aka Brittomart aka Britt Stacks aka Fiona Cheesecake aka Fat Furiosa aka The Obese Khaleesi.
I just got back from a trip to Washington, DC to see one of my favorite bands, MUSE in concert. MUSE is my Phish or my Grateful Dead. Even if they put out an album of fart noises, the back catalogue is good, so I’m gonna go see them on tour if I can. I want to give a shout out to my best friend because if it hadn’t been for him footing the bill, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near DC. I’m so broke. S/O to my aunt for giving me some gas $$$ to make it back home. S/O to my employee discount being applicable to any store nationwide.
My BF and I drove to DC, and the ride up was wonderful. Clear skies and highways with minimal traffic right before we hit the city. Once we got into the city, things changed. The sky went from blue to grey, and the wide interstate lanes dissolved into narrow city streets. We booked a room with Airbnb less than a mile away from the concert venue. First time users, but I know people who have been Airbnb guests & hosts, hearing nothing but good experiences with this service.
Excuse me, we are about to reach the petty AF section of this post.
Like I said, we drove to DC from North Carolina, so obviously we would need to stay somewhere we could park the car. This host’s listing said he had parking available. Cool. We got there, and GUESS WHAT? There were some nuances to this “available” parking. Before that, we knocked on the door to the townhouse. The guy answered the door. He looked like a wannabe AJ McLean from the Backstreet Boys who just discovered Crossfit. He looked like his Dean from Community cosplay is on point. He could pass as a guy who drove a car fueled by french fry grease — okay I’m done roasting. I’m only upset because right after he introduced himself & handed the key to my best friend, our unnamed host explained that we parked in the wrong spot, and probably won’t be able to fit into what HE believed qualified as “available” parking. Dude stressed that our best bet was definitely street or garage parking.
If our best bet is street or garage parking, then you do not have parking available, bruh. So we maneuvered ourselves out of this tiny spot we managed to fit into, and then drove around for an hour trying to find overnight parking in DC, which was impossible. We called a Hilton Garden Inn and reserved a room where they parked the car for us. Cancelled on the Beanie-wearing, receding-hairlined, I-Wish-I-Was-In-Silicon-Valey software developer host, and we had to move on with life. Airbnb graciously refunded the room. At this point, we were ready to find some grub and see the show.
I’m a fiend for chinese food, so of course, we have to eat in Chinatown, right near the Verizon Center. The place we chose was SO good, you guys. Pork + dried tofu was excellent. The service was fast, and I witnessed my first dine & dash in action (I didn’t know people actually did that?). The man sitting next to us had one of those “I’m a picky eater” cards, and that’s something I seriously thought was internet folklore.
After dinner, it was about a 5 minute walk to the concert. While waiting for the show to start, BF & I discussed the incoming Iowa Caucus results. It felt so weird to talk politics in DC, but I guess it comes natural to the locals. When the show started, there were no political concerns or divides. I love live shows because everyone is unified. The only thing that matters is showing the band your love & support, singing along to your favorite songs, screaming your heads off and shaking your booty if you’re of good health & able. X Ambassadors opened, proving to be the strongest live opening act I’ve ever seen. The lead singer played guitar, saxophone, and he even played drums for a little bit. Great precursor to MUSE. And then mah band showed up and blew my mind.
After the show, we walked back to the hotel room. It’s midnight at this point, and we were pretty tired. We grabbed some late night McDonalds, turned on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon and prepared to crash. UNTIL I discovered that on the way home, we were gonna drive past The White House. Then I asked, “How close are we to The White House?” Turns out? A 7 minute walk.
Me: OMG we have to go to the White House right now!!!!
BF: (snuggled in his bed, in boxers) What? No, we can go in the morning. It’s midnight.
Me: WHAT? NO! There will be a bunch of tourists, and you know we’re not gonna actually go.
BF: I’m in bed. I’m not going. It’s just a house.
Me: All I have to do is throw on a bra, so I’m GOING. It’s THE WHITE HOUSE. At NIGHT. My Daddy ain’t ever seen the white house. My Mama didn’t ever see The White House; my brother ain’t seen it — I’m the first one in my family to be this close. I’m GOING to the White house.
(I know my best friend isn’t going to let me walk the streets of DC alone at midnight because he loves me and has invested too much money in me at this point to let me get kidnapped.)
BF: (begrudgingly throwing back the covers) Ugh, fine, but you’re buying me so much breakfast in the morning for this.
My silver sparkly Toms were still wet from walking in the rain earlier, so I put on some black socks to keep my feet dry. My pajamas were those flowy, wide-legged pants that look like pajamas but somehow women managed to pass off as actual pants last year. I was wearing a tank top and a green Stalls & Dean varsity jacket. Thus, in the weirdest outfit ever, I’m going to The White House, dammit.
Why was it so important to me? Because I’ve seen this place on TV my whole life. I love political dramas. I’m a huge fan of the Obamas. I HAVE to do this. It wasn’t lit up, but standing outside the gates I was still in awe. Earlier that day, I resented DC something fierce. Here I was, walking around in Forever 21 leggings & a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt while I saw people in skirts, slacks, and overcoats. I’m a part-time barista — not as important as those people. They’re bustling government officials, venture capitalists, hedge fund managers, etc., with somewhere to BE. I’m just here to see the band, man.
When I walked to The White House at midnight in my pajamas, the streets were quiet. Nobody was running around. I liked DC for those precious few minutes. I stood in front of the gates, and I felt something I can’t quite put my finger on. It was romantic American feeling, being so close a landmark that I knew existed but hadn’t ever seen for myself.
So I got my patriotic bucket list fix, and we went back to the room. I fell asleep watching an old Martin rerun. We left the next morning, and that was that.
