Milkshake! Give Me Some Fries and Cake, Today . . .

Sorry to all who were quite enthusiastic at the idea of IP–I mean, ME–taking over this blog. Not gonna do it simply because I ponied up the $100+ for a year’s worth of sonnet87.com, not IP, um, ME. So if you’re glad I’m back, God bless you. If you’re missing IP, that’s the way the cookie crumbles, honey.

The title? Oh, you’ll have to ask my older brother. I have no idea what the name of the song we parodied with food is.

Anyhow, I just got home after spending nearly two hours on the Metro. The immigration protests are today, of course, and if it weren’t for a little thing called work, I probably would’ve joined in on the fun. However, being squished on the Orange Line was not fun at all–by the time I got to Farragut West, I was ready to vomit from the cramped quarters and the body heat generated therein. Something positively evil possessed me today and forced me to buy a milkshake, so by the time I hit the West of the Farraguts, someone was about to have vanilla milkshake spit up all over them (I have a history with that–but that’s another story). So instead of proceeding to Metro Center, which was only two stops and 15 minutes away (hey, by that time, I’d been on the Metro for 43 minutes, don’t knock me for exaggerating), I was ready for some fresh air. Deciding that losing a few cents was well worth not dumping my stomach contents on some poor unsuspecting passenger ready to rally, I cut out of the train (thank God I was near a door) and headed over to Farragut North. Walking to the station calmed my stomach and cleared my head–I hopped the Red Line from there, actually had a seat all the way home, and blessed the close, walkable distance between the Farraguts. A protester doesn’t know it, but he or she should be thanking God right now for the short distance between those two stations.

Part of me really wanted to just transfer at Rosslyn to the Franconia-Springfield Blue Line, then switch over to a Mt. Vernon Square Yellow Line, then transfer to the Red at Gallery Place, then go home. However . . . well, that’s just too much work. And it really wouldn’t have given me the opportunity to enjoy the fresh air. Again, praise the fresh air between Farragut West and North and the relative emptiness of the Red Line train. I’m all for the immigrants, I really am since I am a legal immigrant, but I could not stand another minute on that Orange Line train. Neither could my milkshake.