This weekend, Dylan and I went out with some of his friends in DC.


We started at The Passenger on 7th. Neither one of us had been there before but we heard they have really great cocktails. Dylan got himself a beer and told the bartender that I wanted a cocktail, not too sweet, with gin. What I was got a mixture of gin, lime juice, and creme de menthe.

Weird? Certainly.

Delicious? Yes. I wish you had been there.

From there we went to American Ice on V.

We had to wait for like fifteen minutes to get in. This is an estimate that could be way off considering I was one whole drink in by this point and a leetle bit tipsy. Oh, and hungry, bordering on hangry. You guys, shut up. It’s a thing.


We got inside and found out the kitchen was closed, which meant I got to be a pouty brat and Dylan got to love me anyways. But then, this happened:


Alright, so this picture doesn’t really do it justice.

My PBR tallboy a little bit steals the spotlight.  Can you see what’s going on there?


I’ve never enjoyed a kamikaze more and that is the TRUTH.

Roughly a half hour after this picture was taken, Dylan + his brother and I finally went for pizza on U Street.

I ate a slice bigger than my head.

I was a happy girl.

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