A few Fridays ago, I left work to drive five hours to Washington D.C. to meet my older sister, Julie. We were going to see my new favorite band, Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings in concert at the Black Cat.

It took me five hours because I had a bit of difficulty navigating the Beltway. Once I realized I had taken the wrong 95 direction off the Beltway and driven more than an hour in the wrong direction, I began to wish I hadn't even come.

"You said 95 south. I think I was supposed to take 95 north," I said accusingly, when she called to see why I hadn't arrived yet. "We can't eat out now, or we'll miss the concert."

Times like this, I wish I was a flight attendant, like my three other sisters. She just hopped a flight here. Less than an hour from New York. No beltway. No traffic.

The concert started at 9 a.m. and, with only a few minutes to spare, I pulled into the hotel she had booked for us just outside of D.C. Another evil thought flashed through my mind. Earlier in the day, I had given her my Discover card to reserve the hotel. She apparently felt it was necessary to stay at an Embassy Suites.

Once I saw her, my anger was relaced by embarrassment. Why hadn't I dressed better? Julie used to be a model, on magazine covers and everything. For our night out, she dressed to the nines.

"You look great," she said, getting into the car and handing me a cd she burned me, a belated Valentine's Day gift of all my favorite songs including "Brand New Key" by Melanie.

"We can go through McDonalds," she said. Instead, we found a coffee house, Sparky's, just down from the Black Cat on 14th street, and we talked over salads.

When we arrived at the club, more than an hour later, I can't say we were the first ones there. We might have been the fourth and fifth through the door.

--More to come.