Ms. Smith (and K- Rock, Special K, Nay Nay and The Suz) Goes to Washington

"Tomorrow, summer ends. Doesn't it feel like it ended a long time ago?"
--The Suz

As if she knew we would need a cure for the soul-crushing malaise that sets in this time of year, K-Rock was on a mission Friday afternoon. That mission: get 4 (mostly) single women and one newlywed into a car, make them brave the Jersey Turnpike on a Friday evening and get them to our nation's capital to stalk the prevailing celebrity crush of American women over 30 with slightly liberal-leaning sensibilities.

Apparently there's nothing wrong with us that a little milling around on the Mall and a dodgy hotel room can't fix. By Saturday afternoon we had established a toehold on the dodgy hotel room and started counting the days until Oct. 29.

Sunday afternoon The Suz said to me, "This is so quintessentially us."

Well, it used to be us, anyway. That was before we got steady jobs and mortgages and dogs and lawnmowers and major appliances. Now we have to wait for three months out of the year to actually have the lives we wanted. Three months just seems a little shorter each year. It's not enough.

Remember Festhaus? Remember when we'd wake up on Saturday morning and drive 4 hours to go drink beer and ride roller coasters?
Remember that time I got sick in the trash can by the boat thingy that swung us upside down? Remember what that boat thingy was called? Because I don't.
Remember that time I had to bail you out of the pokey in some podunk town on the way to the beach because you got caught speeding?
Remember the morning in London that ended up in the ER? Speaking of London, surely you remember the guy who exposed his balls in the off-license?
Remember when we used to decide to go to Maine for dinner?
Remember when we woke up on the floor of the Motel Six in New Haven? Remember spending the next day in New York swilling Pepto from the bottle because you were a trooper?
Remember Vegas? Yeah. Me neither.

So it used to be us. Maybe for one weekend in October, it can be us again. But there will be more of us, looking for a summer that won't end this time.

But it will only be quintessentially us if we get ourselves arrested in Jon Stewart's hotel.