any plaza named after a dude named after children is not the plaza for me

There are only a few things on this planet that scare me: cats, ancient Egypt and children. So, when I had to go down and do some wonky work this morning at L'Enfant Plaza, which I'm assuming you already know means "the child" in French, I was understandably shaking in my awesome new patent leather shoes (which I bought at the same time as, um, these equally awesome new patent leather hooker ankle boots).

But The Anti DC giggles in the proverbial face of fear, so I soldiered hobbled on (one must sometimes sacrifice comfort for badass shoes). However, when I finally exited the sh*t-tastic metro (a story in and of itself, I might add), I found myself in a concrete hell. L'Enfant Plaza sucks.

Seriously, this has got to be the ugliest part of DC. If ever there was a gnarlier group of buildings, I have yet to find it. Honestly, save for all the American flags, the sh*t down there looks more Soviet than goddamn actual Soviet buildings. Ugh. See for yourself:

Those colors may not bleed, but they sure look sad.


Союз нерушимый республик свободных;
Сплотила навеки Великая Русь.
Да здравствует созданный волей народов
Единый, могучий Советский Союз!*

Do you see??? I'm not pulling this sh*t out of thin air here. L'Enfant Plaza is hideous.

But even worse than the squatty, chode-like architecture there is the near total lack of street signs and building numbers. Luckily, I've started packing heat my camera, so I took some evidentiary shots myself for proof.

Dude, where's my sign?

Where's your sign, dude?

Seriously, no street signs? Clearly, like Stalin, L'Enfant Plaza hates freedom. No longer could I forge my own path to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I had to ask three people (and we all know how I feel about people) to figure out what street I was on and an additional two to find out the building number, which begs another question: What are all these lost people doing in L'Enfant Plaza? It's like the effing Bermuda Triangle but without the ocean scenery and warm weather.

"Sweet Jebus, will I ever escape the clutches of this godforsaken plaza?" I asked myself. But I refused to let this tool-infested Bermuda Triangle engulf me in its sea of douche. Ironically, I realized the one thing that could save me from succumbing to my fate was my very own coup de douche -- my GPS-equipped BlackBerry.

Apparently, it takes a douchey item to save yourself from a douchey nightmare. Irony's the best, n'est-ce pas?

*This is the first verse of the Soviet national anthem. The lyrics translate to English as, "United forever in friendship and labour/ Our mighty republics will ever endure./ The great Soviet Union will live through the ages./ The dream of a people their fortress secure." Yeah, that didn't work out so well for them...