Up in the air

My editor cracks me up. This evening when he was confronted about his political affiliation he said.

"I'm not a democrat, I am a journalist."

At almost 80 he won't show bias. Beautiful

I do realize I may be overshooting my daily blog rituals regarding my stay at DC, but when you have days like these it's kind of hard not to share with people the experience.

First off my second day on the job taught me a few things about DC

1. Grocery bags are five cents each

2. I walked about three miles today and saw a bunch of Bank of America branches an infinite amount of Starbucks, the presidential motorcade but not a single Wells Fargo.

Meaning: I'm screwed. But the day got a little better.

The office where I'm working is located inside a 10-floor apartment complex. My publisher and his son live on the seventh and operate their daily business in an office on the first-floor lobby.

The restrooms are right next to the office, but if one so desired to handle their business they would need a key to get in. Our keys (one for the gents and one for the ladies) are pinned to the hangers of a shelf in the office.

Earlier today I used the restroom. I went in, put the restroom keys in my pocket, handled my business, went back to office, and carried on with my day....

After work I went to my editor's apartment to have dinner. We ate, I had a beer and excused myself after about an hour of conversation.

I went outside hopped on the bus and came home to the apartment. I reach into my pocket for my keys only to find I was holding the restroom keys.

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I'll let you figure out what my stream of consciousness was thinking at that point. You can fill out my thoughts and verbs on that dotted line thank you very much.

I hopped on the bus, went back to the seventh floor. Ask them for the keys to the office. Went down to the office. Passed by the shelf where we hang the keys to the bathroom.

BINGO

I got my keys hopped on a bus, bought some lotion for my croc-looking skin and came to the apartment.

Some times I'm a clueless bimbo. Now I know why men marry. They can't figure crap out on their own. Every girl I met always seems to be thinking ahead. They could be messy, an emotional chaos, but even in their worse days they are always thinking ten steps ahead. I can't even plan the next two seconds of my life let alone figure out anything else.

I think we become better with women because they make you get it together or at least appear like you have some composure.

So wherever you are come find me. I'm a mess.