So I'm definitely not in California anymore. Gone are the beaches and uninsulated apartments, flip flips and 70 degree winters. Come 5 o'clock eastern time I will have resided in the District of Columbia for 72 hours and although that does not qualify me for in-state tuition or allow me to compete in the Miss D.C. pageant, I have already compiled a list of East Coast fears. And more specifically, since I have yet to venture anywhere outside this stretch of land along the Potomac River save Georgetown, D.C. fears.
North Face - After walking around for two days I became incredibly aware that EVERYONE sports a BLACK coat and a North Face at that. I looked through the 10 coats I packed with me in my red thrift store suitcase and realized I do not own a black coat. Long or short. I have a black and tan coat and a black and white coat. Green, purple, brown, white, floral, flannel, you name it! But not a black one. This place is like a cult full of trendy mountain wear and I, well, I have been against trendy since forever and therefore refuse to conform and purchase such a jacket no matter how warm and superior they are to what is in my closet. I am determined to make known to everyone that I was born and bread in California and I will forever and always have Golden State blood running through my veins.
Adams Morgan - Well, I found D.C.'s version of P.B. I know you are thinking that I probably shouldn't be afraid of such a place; that I should be thrilled and feel at home, but that is exactly what I'm afraid of. Pacific Beach was a fabulous place to live and Adams Morgan resembles it only in that it is lined with bars and pizza and hookah and burgers for say six continuous blocks. Sounds like a great time right? But if my nights out here are anything close to my nights out in PB - filled with too much tequila and whiskey - then not only do I have something to worry about but my dear roommates do as well. It definitely isn't a 5 block walk home or a 10 dollar cab ride. It's escalators and metros routes and walking unfamiliar streets. Unlocking two front doors and scaling 3 flights of stairs. And then it's remembering not to undress in my bedroom with the light on...
My cousin and current floor mate, Lo-Baby - She is quite possibly one of the sweetest 18 year olds maneuvering her way through the end of high school in anticipation of receiving her Dartmouth acceptance letter, but I feel the need to be cautious around this little one when it comes to details of my social life. "Mommy, can we dress Taylor when she gets asked out on her first date?" were the words uttered out of her mouth as we browsed a less than stylish store in Georgetown yesterday. Dress me? What would she dress me in anyway? One of her many formal gowns in my 15" closet? A pastel pant suit? A pair of flats and a bright colored scarf? Not only do I refuse to let this little lady dress me for a date or any other occasion but I am adamant about keeping my California style, which leads me to my next fear:
Preppy Attire - Four words --> Polka dots and stripes. This is what the world is coming to. Although we still have another six weeks of winter here nearly everyone has released their spring lines which are full of vibrant pastels and shorts with embroidered dogs on them? For the low price of $99 you can purchase a headband from Vineyard Vines - as in Martha's Vineyard. Never in my life have I spent $99 on a piece of clothing let alone an accessory and I swear I'll never be caught dead in pink shorts, a polo shirt, and loafers. Come May you'll find me in jean shorts a strapy tank top and, yes, you guessed it, Rainbows from our very own San Clemente.
So there you have it. After 72 hours I'm afraid of the mountain wear cult which will soon turn into preppy rich kids in silly shorts drinking booze down in Adams Morgan while I stay home fending off Lo-Baby's attempts to dress me. :)