The Blizzard Aftermath

Okay so maybe "aftermath" is wee bit melodramatic. You get the picture.

The following day wasn't too bad. The city started plowing the main streets and the sidewalks outside our building were cleared -- made it somewhat easier to get around

Tired of Rick Bayless' oh-so-yummy chicken tortilla soup from the night before, Joe and I ventured out to King Street in Old Town for some lunch. Not having blizzard-attire, my brother opted for Subway at the ground-floor of our building.

A ten-minute walk later, we arrived at our destination to have:

I'm sure they mean women too. Anyhow, I've taken pictures of my burgers before, so here's a close up of the fries. They are heaven and a must if you're ever in the DC Metro area.

On our way back home, we found that someone took the time to make a snowman in front of their shop. Joe insisted I have my picture taken with him; just disregard the pained look on my face.

Sometime after I took that last picture, my brother called to tell me that his flight back to San Diego was on-time, as scheduled. With the Metro shut down and after several unsuccessful attempts to get a cab, we had no choice but to brave the streets and (safely) haul a$$ to get to over to Reagan. We were surprised to see how easy it was to get in and out of Reagan; the difficult part was getting my brother home. After several delays, a late-night cancellation and a flight home scheduled two days later, my brother was able to fly standby and get home 18 hours later. How's that for blizzard aftermath?