OK so: the bakery across the road from my office (Baked & Wired; for those of you who are interested) has quickly become the epicentre of my universe. This can only mean one thing: BAD Chloe making BAD choices.
S'not my fault, though! Everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) that I try in there tastes like it was baked (or brewed, as the case may be) in God's own personal Aga. Coffees, cakes, brownies, oh MY! Currently I'm drinking a chai latte and nibbling on an onion and goat's cheese scone to supplement the hasty banana I ate this morning while running for the bus. Suffice it to say I'm in a hazy food coma of pleasure.
This is in addition to the divine experience I had in Whole Foods yesterday. I know we have them in England but I've never really bothered going in until now. It was a veritable visual feast: the fruit was neatly arranged in beautiful organically-grown rainbows (somewhat predictably I ended up buying almost one of each thing, making my basket look like a gastro-version of Noah's Arc), the vegetables piled into plump little mounds, the organic bars of handmade soap glistening like a pastel rock face under a waterfall. I felt how I imagine a pervert would feel walking into a brothel.
The only problem with this was that the Whole Foods I visited was near my work, so the divinity of the event was somewhat attenuated by the fact that I then had to lug two heavy (albeit posh brown paper) carrier bags home in the fiery heat of hell. Honestly it was hotter than Satan's ball sack out there. So I arrived home, drenched in sweat from my armpits to my wrists where the weight of the bags had clamped my arms to my sides (yeah, that might be TMI, but watch me not giving a shit) and tenderly laid my precious purchases in the fridges and cupboards. And just like that I was happy again. Especially when I started munching on the chocolate pretzel balls I'd bought. Oh yes.
I hear what you are thinking; it sounds like this girl has an unhealthy co-dependency problem with food. Well; you are probably right. Again: watch me not-care the shit out of that issue. I have cheesy popcorn and succulent watermelon; you don't.
This past week in DC has been a good one. Steadily falling in love with my housemates (yes, I'm talking to you Kenzie, Paige and Elizabeth) who are all crazy loveable bitches. We helped Paige make dinner the other night while she project managed us (which more often than not probably felt more like attempting to control a bunch of excitable three year-olds off their tits on strawberry laces), and I believe it to have been a triumph. Though I may have gotten a bit overexcited with chopping the cheese and thus stripped the meal of its 'healthy' credentials.
There are two new girls who have moved in towards whom I am currently ambivalent. I feel they will need to do a little more work to gain my affection. As obvs it's completely worth the effort. Love me and I will (sometimes) love you in return. That's my morally ambiguous motto.
The highlight of the week was most definitely the fleeting visit I received from Ms. Julia 'Dodgy-Man-Magnet' Root-Gutteridge. Within minutes of arriving in the city and without even exiting the station she had purchased two pairs of beautiful shoes, and I had been offered a job by the extremely camp but lovely store manager at Nine West ("You're cute and fashionable and British; customers will love you!") despite my protestations that I already had a full-time job. After receiving some bar recommendations from the male cashier who was clearly hoping for an invite but where none was forthcoming; we eventually left the station and grabbed some lunch in an Irish pub, ordering what can only be described as a savoury French Toast sandwich. Mega yum.
After returning to my house to shower and freshen up, we headed off in the direction of the nearest bar in Adams Morgan. It turned out that Jules was harbouring a fervent desire to bar-hop - as was I. And bar-hop we did. Starting out with cocktails on a twinkling fairy-lit rooftop at Perrys, then onto a relatively empty karaoke bar, and onwards to a sports bar so Jules could watch the end of the 6'ers game. Needless to say I was placated by her generous purchasing of buffalo wings and nachos. Then onto the Towne Tavern for a spot of boogie-ing and finally a jam-packed club where Jules once again demonstrated her unique and uncanny ability to attract any North-African man within a 20-mile radius.
The next day consisted of a delicious brunch at Clyde's in Georgetown, a spot of shopping along busy M Street, and all too soon there was a mad dash for Jules to catch her train back to Philly. It was truly wonderful to see her and it lifted my spirits immeasurably to have had a little piece of home with me here in the States. Countdown now to my parents' visit in August! Happy days. :)
It's almost the end of the working day now so I'm off to go and get plastered at a nearby bar with some of my brand new friends.
Y'all have a nice day! (I use that salutation ironically, of course) xx
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