What a day, What a day, What a mighty mighty good day!

What a day, what a day, what a mighty mighty good day. Sort of.

Well, it's Saturday. Orientation concluded yesterday with the Dean's Barbecue. Barbecue chicken, hot dogs, vegetarian patties, and of course burgers were on the menu. Laid out beautifully for incoming students to choose, right off the two-inch hotel half pans. That is, cafeteria style. The barbecue had to be moved inside because of inclement weather. So, they packed everyone into the dining hall again, though, it wasn't required and was thus a little easier.

Dean G is a man's man, with a thick spanish/chilean accent ( I couldn't tell you the main difference) and a list of accolades longer then the three men closest to you put together. He's been everywhere, speaks at least 4 languages, probably more, and can hit his heartfelt jokes in a tired welcome speech every time. Awesome. Nothing else to say about the man other than he makes any accomplishment you've done pale in comparison.

It's actually a little exciting.

Today's adventure.

It was to be a simple enough day: buy a book from the book store, do some homework, eat a little lunch, meet my student mentor at a bar, let him assuage any fears I may have, return home for dinner.

Book.

After waking, having breakfast, and getting ready for the day, I made my way to the bookstore. My legal rhetoric and research class requires several texts. After having purchased all of them I came to find out yesterday that the store has the wrong book on the shelf. Perfect. I've returned my books once at this point in order to repurchase all of them with a 10% discount; now I'm heading back to return another book. Oh well. I arrive at the store, backpack and smile on. Hit the shelves and find, not to any real surprise, they are out. I guess when 350 students find out that they have the wrong book, most of them will want to pick up the correct one. Oh well. I grabbed a pocket black's law dictionary, a small picture for my empty walls, and an weekly homework planner instead.

Homework.

After returning home from a failed adventure at the bookstore, I managed to hit the books. Really just one book, and after having read the entire 20 pages of my handbook I was exhausted. Well, it was about 1:30 and I figured a little nap wouldn't hurt. So I took one. Really, I took about 3 all jammed together.

Lunch.

I woke up at twenty to four, and was supposed to meet my student mentor at 4. I ate a banana.

Mentor.

The bar we agreed upon was only 3 miles away and so could be easily biked in 20 minutes. Brickskeller, sounded cool enough and they dozens of varieties of bottled beer. So I grabbed my bike and took for the door. It's raining. No, It's more than raining, it's pouring out. Without a lot of time, and dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, I grabbed my helmet and a long-sleeve shirt thinking that the storm would probably let up in ten minutes; the same as the other storms form the week. It didn't. After getting lost, I showed up to Brickskeller at about 4:10 drenched. All of my clothes stuck to me, everywhere. My shorts were now see-through. Upon trying to lock my bike, and realizing I have no idea what my mentor looks like as this'll be the first time I meet him, a dude standing in front of the bar yells at me, "Are you going to the Brickskeller?" Brilliant, I thought, that was a pretty smart move just waiting outside. I said, "yeah", and he informed me that he was my mentor and all that. He then continued to tell me that Brickskeller was closed until 6. On the corner I saw another bar called "the Fireplace" and they had a nice fireplace in the outside wall. I suggested, we agreed, so we hit up the corner fireplace.

After parking my bike, we strolled in. I was dripping everywhere, my clothes were stuck to me, and I was still wearing a helmet. Looking to sit next to the fire we strolled over and after getting a look from the 3 thin curmudgeons at the high table next to it, we sat one table down, close enough to hang my long-sleeve on the fire's glass gate. After the denial I finally noticed the music playing. A darker bar with deep wood tones, high tables and the bar in the center; playing a mix of european electronica and pop-divas. Huh. Everyone likes different music, and you know, I think that the bartender might've had some feminine tendencies. Still sopping, I asked where the restroom was and the well-groomed bartender smiled and pointed the way to the other side of the room. Strange there'd only be one restroom, but it was a small bar.

Stranger still was that this one small restroom had a sign that said gentlemen. Huh. Maybe there was a ladies room around the corner in the hallway nearby. Well, after trying my best to use paper towels to dry up my clothes and self I walked out and caught the eye of more than one gentleman at the bar. Matter of fact, they were only gentlemen at the bar. Matter of fact, there were only gentlemen in the bar. Huh. Every inch of me is covered in sopping wet clothes; I look like something that the cat dragged in, ate, and then spit up again; and I'm just now realizing that most of these men are probably looking at me and my drenched t-shirt. Now I'm feeling a little embarrassed 'cause I know that some of them are thinking, "Ugh, how tacky," and worst of all they're right.

We had a beer there, while I tried unsuccessfully to dry off. I came to find out, through my mentor's friend's text, we had stopped in the 'gayest bar in DC'. I'm not sure if that's true, but the house didn't really get hoppin' until Beyoncé started playing. These men were into it. We talked a bit, and really just talked about a few things here and there, histories and futures. He didn't have any of my professors, and had only heard of one of them--so any fears that I may have had were not necessarily assuaged.

Dinner.

After the Fireplace, we walked to "The Big Hunt". Watched the majority of the Red Sox and Yankees game. I was starving. So along with my double dead-guy ale (thank you rogue on tap), I ordered cajun chicken tenders and fries. Mmmm-mm! Fried chicken tenders sound good. And they were. And after not having saved $20 on dinner like I had originally planned my taste buds were satisfied. My lips were burning a little, but overall my palette was content. Standing up and heading back to my bike, and my mentor's car, I felt like someone had laid down some bricks inside my stomach and then moved into their new home. It was heavy. It was gross. It was not a fun bicycle ride home.

Afterward.

To make my stomach feel better, I joined the family. Everyone having arrived at last, they were partaking in an apero while they prepared a little gazpacho for their dinner. They were making mojitos. It was probably the best way to finish. A little rum, a little mint, some sugar and seltzer water. Everything settled and I had nice chat with the newly returned family. So, in my day where nothing planned went right, it's nice to return home and be able to just sit down with a comfortable drink, in a comfortable chair, and have a nice conversation with the family... even if it is somebody else's.