An ode to monuments at night, taking the train alone and being legally brunette

Elle Woods never saw it coming. The poor thing.
And to be honest, I don’t think D.C. did either.

But ready or not, within the past week or so, I not only stole Ms. Woods’ thunder as sorority girl gone legal expert, but I like to think that maybe, just maybe, I stole a little bit of THE capital’s limelight, even if it was only short lived.

Ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages – a reenactment.

Straight from New York City for five days only to the lovely, historical, spotless town of D.C., the one, the only (drum roll please)……… KP (or Katie Packer – because the least I can do in a town which requires all of its workers to wear suits daily is use my formal name).

From my humble abode I made my way to Penn Station – all by myself, I may add. My 40lb. suitcase and I hobbled up and down staircases and across crosswalks until I reached the Acela Express waiting area. Sitting and slurping on an iced coffee with a book in hand, it hit me that for the first time in my life I was a “big girl” – traveling for business all by my lonesome to a city I knew very little about. I somehow managed to not only get my ticket, but make my way down to the train tracks, get on the train, snag a seat (though I rode backwards the entire time), and get safely to D.C. Once at Union Station in the capital, I reaffirmed my “big girl” status by hailing my very own taxi cab and getting to my hotel in Arlington, VA safely.

The purpose of my trip, which I believe I failed to mention, was to represent my sorority, the Delta Kappa chapter of Delta Phi Epsilon, at our biennial convention. Essentially, it was the convergence of 70-some-odd chapters and our national staff. As the president of my chapter, I attended meetings, participated in rituals and even got to carry my chapter’s flag during what I have dubbed “The March of the Girly Girls.”

While I learned a lot about my sorority and the other chapters at this highly anticipated convention, my favorite part – by far – was Grand Chapter. Though I can’t divulge too much (sisterly secrets, ya know?), I am proud to say I chapter of y secrets, you know?), her chapters at this highly aniticpated convention made a difference. With my business-attire clothing and my glasses placed firmly on my face, I stood before the entire grand chapter and contested a proposed amendment to our national constitution – using Robert’s Rules of Order, of course. When it came time to vote, nearly every delegate chose to strike down the proposal. Mission accomplished.

To add a cherry on top of my deliciously sweet triumph, when I went to the bathroom during a break, one of the alumnae delegates spoke with me even though I never met her before.

“Hey, Delta Kappa,” she said. “Thanks for that.”

Move over Elle. Legally blonde just became officially legally brunette. Well folks…that’s it. I’m sold. Law school, here I come.

When I wasn’t tied up being a mover-and-shaker, I ventured to Georgetown to meet up with a best friend from college, Chantalle, whose classy nature and love of good food lent themselves nicely to a wonderful night. We went to Mei nYu for Asian-fusion food and some time to catch up. We blabbed on and on about our internships, our lives and, of course, boys. We vowed to meet up again in Georgetown before I left to go back to the city, so that’s exactly what I did.

I took the other delegate representing my chapter, Danielle, with me to brunch at Leopold’s, where we met up with Chantalle again. Though this visit was much shorter, Danielle and I made some time to stroll through all the shops on M Street, which seemed to be an exclave of Soho, before heading back to more meetings.

After our long day, Danielle and I, along with some new friends from the convention, were itching to tour the famous monuments at night. We climbed the steps to the Lincoln Memorial, gazed into the Reflecting Pool, stared up at the Washington Monument, walked around the World War 2 Memorial and posed by the gates of the White House. So much history in so little time.

Though I do admit I enjoyed my five-day stay in the foreign city where the Metro stops at midnight and the street are freakishly clean, my heart couldn’t help but beg, “Take me back to Manhattan,” so I took the Acela Express back to my fantasy island. Home, sweet home, at last.

Jess missed me probably as much as I missed her, so to celebrate my homecoming (and her sister’s stay at our apartment), we went into Brooklyn for “NYC’s best pizza” – as rated by Zagat’s and New York Time Out.

The place: Di Fara’s.
The locale: A small, smoky pizza parlor with only two people working – the cook and the person taking orders.
The cost: Between $20 and $30 a pie….and they take cash only. Quite an operation, if you ask me.
The patrons: At least 20 people gathering around to order pies.
The history: Apparently, the owner (aka the sole cook at the place), who is easily more than 60 years old, has been operating his business since the 1960’s and refuses to let any one else make pizzas because he has to touch every single one to make sure it has his stamp of approval.
The result: Amazingly delectable, thin crust pizza made with only fresh ingredients (fresh basil, fresh olive oil, fresh mozzarella and fresh veggies). But because the owner/chef is older, to put it nicely, you end up waiting an hour and a half for your food.

Was it worth it, you ask? Well despite having to wear our sunglasses at night and in the restaurant because the smoke from the older-than-old pizza oven was burning our eyes (Purple Haze should be rewritten as Pizza Haze) and despite the long wait, the pizza was better than we imagined. After one slice each, we were stuffed to capacity and got a box so we could take the rest of our pie to go.

One pizza box and twenty minutes later, the three of us girls decided to get in our exercise and walk from Brooklyn back to Manhattan – Brooklyn Bridge style. We crossed the mile-long bridge and ogled at the NYC skyline that resembled Lite-Brite. We snacked on our cold pizza. And we even got a glimpse at the “hidden” waterfalls coming from the bridges.

So while you may say that age-old monuments and clean streets are so much better and more historical than a bridge with water falling from it and pizza that takes nearly two hours to get, I would respectfully beg to differ. D.C. has nothing on my NYC – my dear, old, dirty town. The country's capital won't become my capital any time soon.