Once upon a time (on a recent Saturday),
I bravely and boldly (and stupidly), attempted to go to the DMV.
Why would I go to the DMV (located in the mall) on the FIRST SATURDAY of the MONTH in DECEMBER during PRIME HOLIDAY SHOPPING TIME?
Because I'm an idiot.
Somehow, I did not realize that my plates had expired on my vehicle, and every second that I spent out on the road, felt like a ticking time bomb.
At any moment, one of "Fairfax County's Finest", could pull behind me and notice the NOV 10 tattooed to my car.
This is how it went down.
The mall was crowded because...............well, as I mentioned, it was the first Saturday in December,
so I parked in the "overflow" lot, requiring me to walk across the busily traveled
four lane road that circles the mall.
I waited for a break in the traffic, then quickly ran across to the other side.
My foot was almost touching the curb, when the driver in an oncoming car blared his horn at me,
while giving me an ANGRY look, and throwing up his arms, as if to say,
"What the hell are you doing, crossing the street?"
Startled (to say the least), I stopped and looked at him in disbelief,
and threw MY arms up in the air, as if to say,
"What the HELL is your problem?"
A nearby car full of people gave me sympathetic stares, shaking their heads at the
"unpleasant person" who practically ran me over.
"And HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO YOU, TOO, MR. SCROOGE!" I said (in my head).
With that, I continued onward, towards the mall, and to the DMV.
Just as I thought.
THE LINE WAS LONG.
REALLY LONG.
Actually, a LOT longer than I realized, for as I stood at (what I thought was) the end of the line,
I looked to my right, and realized the line extended
ALL THE WAY DOWN THE SHOPPING MALL CORRIDOR.
Well, I KNOW what a 2 1/2 to 3 hour long DMV line looks like,
and this was at least DOUBLE the wait.
NO (bleeping) WAY.
They are going to have to take me away in a straight jacket.
So, I did what any sane person would do.
I left, I borrowed a friend's car for the weekend, and I went back on Monday, when the experience was MUCH more feasible.
In the meantime, my faith in humankind and the spirit of Christmas was restored Saturday evening,
with a visit to the quaint little waterside town of Occoquan
(and the location of one of my favorite "watering holes"),
where the store fronts and streets were dressed for the holidays, making everything look and feel.....................................magical.
Driving through the town, embellished in white lights and greenery, and having a wonderful dinner
with "my kind of people" (the ones who GET me, and don't yell at me for crossing the STREET), as well as a NICE COLD BEER, replenished my soul with warmth and peace.
And as I raised my glass in a toast that night,
I believe my thoughts were something like............
"Go Scrooge yourself, Mr. Scrooge!"
Fa la la la LA, la la la LA!
The End.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Blue Jeans. Blog Worthy?
My jeans and my skin care products.
That's all I need.
I can deal with losing anything else (non-living, materialistic items)
but, when I can no longer find my jeans,
and if, heaven forbid, they should stop making my skin care products
I JUST MIGHT DIE.
Okay, maybe I won't . . . DIE.
But, for sure, I will be OUT OF SORTS.
COMPLETELY.
Well, I can no longer find my favorite jeans.
Years ago (once upon a time), a company made the most BRILLIANT jeans.
They camouflaged all of my flaws,
leading the world to believe that I had long, slender, beautiful legs.
Not to mention, they complimented my ass(ets).
Friends would ask me,
"Where do you get your jeans?"
Weeks later, they would thank me, declaring,
"These jeans have changed my life!"
BUT(T), they are no longer.
Victims of "fashion pressure", they caved in, they gave up . . . they conformed.
They CHANGED their jeans, giving them names like "SKINNY" and "TAPERED" -
names that I had always tried to avoid.
They felt tighter around my thighs, made my legs look shorter,
and, most certainly, did NOT compliment my ass(ets).
So . . .
Sadly, I am now in search of a new pair of jeans.
Maybe not "life or death",
but definitely "blog worthy".
That's all I need.
I can deal with losing anything else (non-living, materialistic items)
but, when I can no longer find my jeans,
and if, heaven forbid, they should stop making my skin care products
I JUST MIGHT DIE.
But, for sure, I will be OUT OF SORTS.
COMPLETELY.
Well, I can no longer find my favorite jeans.
Years ago (once upon a time), a company made the most BRILLIANT jeans.
They camouflaged all of my flaws,
leading the world to believe that I had long, slender, beautiful legs.
Not to mention, they complimented my ass(ets).
Friends would ask me,
"Where do you get your jeans?"
Weeks later, they would thank me, declaring,
"These jeans have changed my life!"
BUT(T), they are no longer.
Victims of "fashion pressure", they caved in, they gave up . . . they conformed.
They CHANGED their jeans, giving them names like "SKINNY" and "TAPERED" -
names that I had always tried to avoid.
They felt tighter around my thighs, made my legs look shorter,
and, most certainly, did NOT compliment my ass(ets).
So . . .
Sadly, I am now in search of a new pair of jeans.
Maybe not "life or death",
but definitely "blog worthy".
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Possibilities - An "Outer Banks" Thanksgiving
My kids were with their Dad this year.
Along with divorce, unfortunately, comes letting go of certain traditions.
I could have stayed in Virginia and continued the tradition without them,
but I felt the urge to step outside my box, and experience something different.
I wanted to go away somewhere . . ANYWHERE,
let go of the old traditions,
surround myself with new people,
experience unfamiliar surroundings.
I found a small, pet friendly, condo just steps from the beach.
My "partner-in-crime" and I packed up the convertible on
Thanksgiving morning, and headed south.
Unexpectedly, some friends, who were staying just north of us,
invited us to join them for Thanksgiving dinner.
How perfect!
We had a FABULOUS meal, and the people were wonderful,
making us feel welcome the moment we stepped in the door.
For the rest of the weekend,
my mornings would start with a wake-up whimper from Charlie.
As my partner slept in, Charlie and I would walk to the beach,
soaking in the fresh, sea air, along the way.
I could feel it cleansing my pores, and my very existence.
Unleashed, I would allow Charlie to run free.
With unbridled joy, Charlie took full advantage - chasing the birds,
digging in the sand, playing at the water's edge, as it teased him . . .
watching him was sheer delight, and an energizing start to my mornings.
Our days were filled with warm sunshine and sea-filled landscapes.
We ate a hearty breakfast at the local "dive"
where the hand written sign above the cashier read,
"Unattended Children will be Served Espresso
and Given a New Puppy".
We drove to unexpected places, taking photos to my heart's content,
filling my art spirit to the very brim of happiness.
We discovered new friends in Lane and Gabriela,
with whom we sat with for HOURS on the front porch
of Zillie's Island Pantry, on Ocracoke Island.
We raised our glasses in a toast, celebrating their anniversary,
as we shared the warmth of the stone firepit -
hypnotic flames dancing across the sea colored rocks.
We witnessed the ending of yet,
another day from atop the majestic sand dunes,
watching the sun drop beneath the water colored landscape, just below -
the air, filled with the melodies of Christmas.
Giant kites, lit up festively, were hovering, up above -
anticipation of the new holiday.
And, while, along the way, I could not help but think about my kids,
wishing they could share my experience,
I knew that they were enjoying themselves, too.
I knew that they, too, were happy, even . . . without me.
I guess this is what "growing" is all about.
So, I did the next best thing.
On my way home, I picked up a dozen
from Duck Doughnuts to let them know that I was thinking of them.
Will I return to the Outer Banks for Thanksgiving next year?
Who knows.
But, it is nice to know that the possibilities . . . are endless.
Along with divorce, unfortunately, comes letting go of certain traditions.
I could have stayed in Virginia and continued the tradition without them,
but I felt the urge to step outside my box, and experience something different.
I wanted to go away somewhere . . ANYWHERE,
let go of the old traditions,
surround myself with new people,
experience unfamiliar surroundings.
My "partner-in-crime" and I packed up the convertible on
Thanksgiving morning, and headed south.
Unexpectedly, some friends, who were staying just north of us,
invited us to join them for Thanksgiving dinner.
How perfect!
We had a FABULOUS meal, and the people were wonderful,
making us feel welcome the moment we stepped in the door.
For the rest of the weekend,
my mornings would start with a wake-up whimper from Charlie.
As my partner slept in, Charlie and I would walk to the beach,
soaking in the fresh, sea air, along the way.
I could feel it cleansing my pores, and my very existence.
Unleashed, I would allow Charlie to run free.
With unbridled joy, Charlie took full advantage - chasing the birds,
digging in the sand, playing at the water's edge, as it teased him . . .
watching him was sheer delight, and an energizing start to my mornings.
We ate a hearty breakfast at the local "dive"
where the hand written sign above the cashier read,
"Unattended Children will be Served Espresso
and Given a New Puppy".
We drove to unexpected places, taking photos to my heart's content,
filling my art spirit to the very brim of happiness.
We discovered new friends in Lane and Gabriela,
with whom we sat with for HOURS on the front porch
We raised our glasses in a toast, celebrating their anniversary,
as we shared the warmth of the stone firepit -
hypnotic flames dancing across the sea colored rocks.
We witnessed the ending of yet,
another day from atop the majestic sand dunes,
watching the sun drop beneath the water colored landscape, just below -
the air, filled with the melodies of Christmas.
Giant kites, lit up festively, were hovering, up above -
anticipation of the new holiday.
And, while, along the way, I could not help but think about my kids,
wishing they could share my experience,
I knew that they were enjoying themselves, too.
I knew that they, too, were happy, even . . . without me.
I guess this is what "growing" is all about.
So, I did the next best thing.
On my way home, I picked up a dozen
from Duck Doughnuts to let them know that I was thinking of them.
Will I return to the Outer Banks for Thanksgiving next year?
Who knows.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Color of Gratitude
My friend and I went out to dinner with my parents the other night.
We went to Dolce Vita, which has been a favorite Italian restaurant to frequent, over the years.
The tone is always hopping, even on a Sunday night,
or maybe it was because it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving.
The pasta dishes are all wonderful,
but it is usually difficult for me to pass up one of the daily fish specials -
Our meal - accompanied by a nice bottle of red, of course.
At one point, the owner came over to clear some items out of our way.
"Don't touch that bread basket!" my mom announces, protectively.
As he pulls his hand back in laughter, I tell him,
"And she's not even Italian! Can you believe that?"
"I'm French," she says, with confidence.
My dad quickly throws in,
"And German."
"Oui, oui, Madame!" says the owner (Joe).
Then, he leans in close and says,
"You know the difference between an Italian mother and a French mother?"
Unfortunately, I do not remember the punch line,
but it had something to do with the French mother using her knuckles.
After our meal, the waiter asks if we will be interested in dessert.
"YES!" we all respond, without hesitation.
With a smirk on his face, the waiter retrieves the dessert tray, for us all to salivate over,
as he describes each one in detail.
We pick three to share for the table - something with chocolate, something with almond,
and something with coffee.
Along with our dessert, a strolling accordion player stops by for a few requests.
My dad is always good for that, and throws out a few suggestions.
The accordion player delivers, performing not one, not two, but three songs for the table.
We clap and graciously thank him, leaving a few dollars in his tip jar, on our way out.
When we leave, the hour is still early, and I am not yet ready to call it a night.
The energy of Dolce Vita has filled me up, and leaves me craving for more.
My friend and I meander over to The Wine House in Fairfax City,
where the mood is much more subdued - the ambiance much more dark,
but the smiles and warmth, along with the anticipation of a good glass of wine,
convince us to stay.
The wine is excellent - a glass of cabernet sauvignon.
Surprisingly, I find myself still hungry, and wanting something to nibble on while I sip my wine,
so we order a cheese platter, beautifully displayed with crackers, bread, and fruit,
to accompany the four types of cheeses of our choice.
Our evening ends with a visit to the Fair Trade shop next door, filled with wonderful, unique gifts.
Fair Trade, if you are not aware, are socially conscious, sweatshop free,
environmentally sustainable crafts made by people from countries all over the world,
providing low-income artisans and farmers with a living wage for their work.
The simplicity and the craftsmanship that goes into many of these gifts always fascinates me.
So many unique items to look at, I could spend hours appreciating each one,
with all of the colors, textures, scents, and sounds.
I leave with a few unique Christmas gifts (my first of the season),
and a new, festive accessory to brighten up my living room.
I walk away from the evening feeling very happy and full, both in appetite and in spirit,
and the crimson colored pillow that now sits upon my couch - a sweet and comforting reminder.
We went to Dolce Vita, which has been a favorite Italian restaurant to frequent, over the years.
The tone is always hopping, even on a Sunday night,
or maybe it was because it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving.
The pasta dishes are all wonderful,
but it is usually difficult for me to pass up one of the daily fish specials -
rockfish, tilapia, or grouper
that melts in your mouth the moment that first bite lands on your tongue.Our meal - accompanied by a nice bottle of red, of course.
At one point, the owner came over to clear some items out of our way.
"Don't touch that bread basket!" my mom announces, protectively.
As he pulls his hand back in laughter, I tell him,
"And she's not even Italian! Can you believe that?"
"I'm French," she says, with confidence.
My dad quickly throws in,
"And German."
"Oui, oui, Madame!" says the owner (Joe).
Then, he leans in close and says,
"You know the difference between an Italian mother and a French mother?"
Unfortunately, I do not remember the punch line,
but it had something to do with the French mother using her knuckles.
After our meal, the waiter asks if we will be interested in dessert.
"YES!" we all respond, without hesitation.
With a smirk on his face, the waiter retrieves the dessert tray, for us all to salivate over,
as he describes each one in detail.
We pick three to share for the table - something with chocolate, something with almond,
and something with coffee.
Along with our dessert, a strolling accordion player stops by for a few requests.
My dad is always good for that, and throws out a few suggestions.
The accordion player delivers, performing not one, not two, but three songs for the table.
We clap and graciously thank him, leaving a few dollars in his tip jar, on our way out.
When we leave, the hour is still early, and I am not yet ready to call it a night.
The energy of Dolce Vita has filled me up, and leaves me craving for more.
My friend and I meander over to The Wine House in Fairfax City,
where the mood is much more subdued - the ambiance much more dark,
but the smiles and warmth, along with the anticipation of a good glass of wine,
convince us to stay.
The wine is excellent - a glass of cabernet sauvignon.
Surprisingly, I find myself still hungry, and wanting something to nibble on while I sip my wine,
so we order a cheese platter, beautifully displayed with crackers, bread, and fruit,
to accompany the four types of cheeses of our choice.
Our evening ends with a visit to the Fair Trade shop next door, filled with wonderful, unique gifts.
Fair Trade, if you are not aware, are socially conscious, sweatshop free,
environmentally sustainable crafts made by people from countries all over the world,
providing low-income artisans and farmers with a living wage for their work.
The simplicity and the craftsmanship that goes into many of these gifts always fascinates me.
So many unique items to look at, I could spend hours appreciating each one,
with all of the colors, textures, scents, and sounds.
I leave with a few unique Christmas gifts (my first of the season),
and a new, festive accessory to brighten up my living room.
I walk away from the evening feeling very happy and full, both in appetite and in spirit,
and the crimson colored pillow that now sits upon my couch - a sweet and comforting reminder.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Me and My Muffin Top - No Baking Required
My personal favorite is banana nut, though I really like pumpkin.
It's definitely a close second.
I do NOT, however, appreciate the one that has developed around my mid-section.
No baking required - just zip up my jeans.
I had heard roomers of such a thing, from those who have been here before me.
"Just wait 'til you're in your forties!" they would say.
But, I did not believe them.
THAT won't happen to ME, I thought.
But, it did.
When I first noticed, I tried to use my stern "mom" voice.
"Go to your room, until I tell you to come out!"
And, like a rebellious teenager, it did not listen.
It just continued to grow.
Time to regroup, I thought.
Exercise more? Check.
Eat less? I can do that.
Give up my wine? Silence.
As a parent of (more than one) rebellious teenager,
I do not typically recommend this advice,
but I may just have to become friends with my muffin top.
It just continued to grow.
Time to regroup, I thought.
Exercise more? Check.
Eat less? I can do that.
Give up my wine? Silence.
As a parent of (more than one) rebellious teenager,
I do not typically recommend this advice,
but I may just have to become friends with my muffin top.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Autumn Rain
Grey skies
drape the colored landscape.
Clouds,
too heavy to contain their tears.
Nature's call to be awakened.
Like a warm hug,
the earth will embrace
with open arms.
~ Leslie Ellen Wynn (Morrissette)
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