Pagan Night Out

Now I am the devotee of Epona who gets lost in every city. Five times it took me to find my way over the Key Bridge into Dundalk when I began to go to the esbats of Briar Rose back in 1999, using instead two tunnels, around and straight through the heart of Baltimore. I get lost with homemade maps or Map Quest. I get lost following other people. And my luck hasn’t changed with my move to Glen Burnie. I attempted two weeks ago to go to a local drum circle in Odenton, never to find the place.

Friday night last proved only slightly better, when I decided in some stroke of brilliance to drive to the D.C. Pagan Night Out in Arlington. Little did I know that I could have taken the train and the Metro, which would have let me off right across the street from the restaurant. Oh no, I drove. And I thought I was making pretty good time when I crossed the bridge just a few minutes after seven. Perhaps I would have been a mere fifteen minutes late, had I not then spent two hours lost in Virginia.

The first hour was my complete fault because when I got the Map Quest, I didn’t zoom out enough to realize there are two Arlingtons. So merry little me, I turned west on 66 and went out to the other Arlington, where there is actually another intersection of Lee Highway with that same route. When none of the streets were named as they should have been, I began to get a sinking feeling. So I called 411 and got connected to the Queen Bee. Turn around, they said, you idiot pagan.

Tail between my tires, I went bombing back into the city only to get off at the right exit. I could not believe my luck. No really, I couldn’t, so I turned around and tried to retrace my route just to check. And got lost again. I ended up at a gas station, only to find that no one my age apparently eats around Arlington, or they live on air. But for once, the gas station attendant knew what the hell I was talking about. Go back, he said, you idiot pagan.

So after nine, and after parking without getting a ticket in some underground garage (thank the gods for employee breaks), I finally stumbled into the D.C. Pagan Night Out. Pretty good people, and I also meet Killina for the first time, and an awesome blonde Liz and Bert. And the resident wack who stirred forth to quiz me on my misplaced devotion to “spirits.” Epona got down to business with the sugar packets, and I ended up vowing never to cheat on Ramen noodles with Vietnamese soup again. When all was said and done, Epona and I turned around (31 minutes later) to hoof it back to GB. I’m sure she’s out there in the parking lot right now reading my warranty, to see how many more screw-ups this witch gets before she can trade me in as a lemon, or I suppose, a pumpkin.
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