Sunday, July 31, 2005


Where have all the 22 year olds gone?

It all started at the hotel near E's apartment. We went to the convenience store to get candy (classy, I know. It's "the new Loft") and while in there I saw this HUGE jar with a picture of a miniature schnauzer on it. E and I started laughing as I talked about buying it for my mom in memory of Cleo.

All of a sudden, I hear a snicker at the ice cream freezer. I turn and there's a young blond whippersnapper. I smiled and ask (beguilingly, I bet!) "Are you laughing at me?"

He responds, with the razor sharp wit of a teen - "No, the ice cream is funny."

I laugh and then tell him about Cleo and whatnot. (obviously I need to work on my flirtatious repartee) Then his little bro comes by to join in on the fun of chatting with a Mrs. Robinson, and E and I take that as our cue to jet out of there.

I must be honest. Calling him 19 is probably being generous. But he talked to me first, darnit!

The next night E, C-note, T and I go to "Tom Tom" - my version of Hell. Loud, dark, crowded, full of drunk skanky people. Being anti-social, I found a couch upstairs and sat down. Soon a bevy of boys sat down around me, probably hoping that I'd feel awkward enough to leave them the couch to themselves. No such LUCK, Boys! I stayed there, and Nate and I started talking. Turns out he's interning on the Hill, is a student at Yale. Going to be a junior. After I asked him how he got in there ("oh, I've had a fake since I was 15") he offered to buy me a shot and I said okay.

Yeah. A 19 year old bought me a shot at a club/bar. And it was good! He was probably afraid I was going to tell on him to the bouncer, haha. (for the record, I wasn't going to. just to let all of you know)

The next day I decided to walk from the Mall to the Lincoln Memorial. I walked up there, sat on the steps and cracked open "Gone with the Wind". It was especially poignant since the book is about the Civil War and I was sitting on the steps of the place that reveres the man that is most hated in the book. After a bit, a male sat down near me, and he was just staring into space looking at the view. My kind of guy.

His cell phone rang, he talked a bit, repeated an address, then hung up and asked me if I had a pen for him to borrow. Being the nerd that I am, of course I had one. We ended up talking, and he's an archtecture student at some university in Florida. I offered to walk him to the place he didn't know how to find (being the kind and solicitous tour guide that I am) and he accepted my company. At the end of the walk, he asked for my phone number.

Dear Jorge is 19.

Where have all the 22 year olds gone?

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