brat-alert

I've tried several attempts at making this very braggy post into something cute and writer-ly, but none of them seem to take.

So I'll just be a brat and say that I spent last night drinking (way too much) wine and champagne, slurping oysters and clacking around the Library of Congress with some girlfriends. And for a gal like me, who is equal parts wino and history nerd, there is little that beats reclining in a club chair in the Senate Member's room with a glass of really excellent Pinot Noir as the sunset glances off the Capitol right outside the window.

And the fizz in the champagne is that last week I paid all the rent and the bills for the month, and have only $53.14 to live on until payday next Friday. One minute I'd been Googling area stores to see who has the cheapest house brand kitty litter, the next I'm saying things like "ugh, who would drink Arnold Palmer's wine at this event?"

Although, really... who would drink Arnold Palmer's wine, period?

This is what I love about Washington, and American cities in general-- if you have a decent outfit and know someone who knows someone, you can be a total pauper but still wind up doing something disgustingly decadent out of the blue. God bless special interest groups and their swanky, alcohol-soaked affairs.

Of course, life is not all coffee-encrusted lamb chops served by tuxedoed waiters (surprisingly tasty) (the lamb chops). Tonight, I'm going to run three miles and then eat me some chicken noodle soup. Living the dream, people. Living the dream.