Crash into me

Jules was in town this weekend. It was a quick trip, but long enough for our annual Nutcracker excursion, White Christmas viewing whilst drinking large quantities of tea, and some Christmas shopping. We had a great weekend, save for one tragic occurence:

???

What's that, you ask?  Let's take a closer look.

WTF?

Anticipation, part 2

I would like to thank Jules for ruining the game for the rest of you, because she correctly guessed all of the photo locations. Either she is very good at Pictionary or she knows me really well.  Honorable mention goes to Aunt Jane, who thought that photo #2 was Russia. I wish.  But points for creativity, Aunt Jane! 

The answers, for those of you who are keeping score, are after the jump:

Anticipation

In the last couple of days, spring and summer plans are starting to develop.  Is there anything better than the anticipation of a great getaway? 

I'm have a number of exciting trips in the works, of varying lengths. Some hints:

#1

#2

#3

#4

#5

#6

#7

Any guesses?

Autumn in New York

So. I literally started this post a month ago. At that point, we had just had SEVEN CONCERTS in EIGHT DAYS for work, oh my aching head, and the week before that I had made a quick getaway to visit Jules and Michael in Ithaca, NY. It was a whirlwind trip, and I had two requests: apples and fall leaves.

The most wonderful time of the year

No, not Christmas, though that's pretty excellent, too. I'm talking about fall. I love fall. Looooovvvvve. For a number of reasons, among them mild days, crisp nights, Tennessee football, scarves and sweaters, pumpkin spice lattes (which, not caring for lattes, I've never actually tried, but they SOUND delicious), and the onset of boot weather. I bought new fall boots three weeks ago, and it's killing me that I can't wear them yet.


But last week, the weather started to turn here in DC. It was over 90 degrees again this week, but instead of the oppression of summer, the humidity remained at bay, and it still felt as though the end was in sight.  Fall is, indeed, imminent.


I've spent the last couple of weeks wrestling my calendar in an attempt to shoehorn a few weekend trips in amongst the work-related symphony concerts, jazz shows, and piano recitals. Among the destinations: home to Tennessee for a football game at my high school alma mater's brand new stadium; a quick trip to upstate New York to glimpse the autumn leaves and perhaps go apple pickin' with Jules; and a solo jaunt to New York City to catch a few shows and maybe see an old high school friend. Last weekend was spent in West Virginia with my sister, featuring a bit of shopping, visiting with my cousin and grandparents, and watching hours and hours of Sports Night episodes and DVD extras.  (However, despite the fact that the US Open was on, we watched NO tennis, much to G's great joy.)


Hopefully all these trips will work out, but if not, I'll be content here in DC.  The summers are brutal, but Washingtonians are rewarded by beautiful, glorious falls. Stay tuned...

Beach. Books. (Battlestar Galactica.)

Last night, I commenced my official pre-beach countdown, because as of next Sunday evening, that is where I will be for a week, along with my parents, grandparents, G, and G’s boyfriend Ryan.   It can’t come soon enough. 

For many people, a week at the beach includes activities like spending hours in the sun, perhaps some fishing, maybe the consumption of quantities of frosty beverages.  Mom, Grandma, and G usually have some sort of project going on—painting or necklace-making or knitting or what-have-you.  My dad and my grandfather nap a lot.  As Dad says, “The biggest decision I have to make today is whether I should read now and nap later, or nap now and read later.”  Many books are read.  Many games of Michigan rummy are played.  Many of Dad's made-to-order milkshakes are consumed.

I, however, take the reading thing to a whole other level.  The whole point of the beach is to see how many books I can devour in a week, and a highlight of my summer is the careful cultivation of my beach-reading pile, stocked through leisurely ambles through the stacks at the library and the perusal of summer reading lists compiled by everyone from the New York Times to NPR to Entertainment Weekly to Glamour.  Unless Harry Potter is involved (or, God help me, A Suitable Boy), I tend to average one book a day. 

As such, I’ve been assembling on my beach-reading pile for the last two weeks, requesting books from the library; monitoring waiting lists in the hopes that the 17 other people in D.C. who are ahead of me on the list for The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake will, I don’t know, get tired of waiting and buy it (which I refuse to do) or for SOMEONE to return How Did You Get This Number, because I’ve been #1 on the waiting list for three weeks; perusing the catalog for audio books on cassette (because Lola is old school and doesn’t have a CD player) for the endless hours on I-81.  But that’s necessary when I spend an entire week moving from here...

… to here … 

... to here … 

...to here … 

... to here. 

Usually with this ...

or this.

It is glorious. 

Anyway, suffice to say that the countdown has begun, the book pile currently numbers 11, and I’m itching to load up Lola and hit the road.  Unless… does anybody know of a flight from D.C. to Charleston, SC that doesn’t cost $500?  Or some frequent flyer miles that they’d like to unload?  Because that would be excellent, too.

Homeward bound: a story in 248 parts (or, the weekend I learned to tolerate coffee)

It is friggin' cold here in D.C., though--in the interest of full disclosure--when that phrase goes through my head, as it does at least thrice daily, "friggin" is not usually the first adverb that comes to mind. On top of the cold, it's windy, which is just all-around unpleasant during the trudge to/from work.

The one thing it really isn't doing is snowing. It flurried a bit last night--maybe even an inch or so--but that has ceased, and now it has returned to being friggin' cold. I would rather it snow. But Hannah, you say, didn't you have more than enough snow during the blizzard the weekend before Christmas? Well, you'd think so, except that I wasn't in D.C. for it and thus was unable to enjoy the Monday off from work. Why?

BECAUSE I WAS STUCK IN RAPHINE FRIGGIN' VIRGINIA. Good luck finding it on a map.

Due to the impending snowstorm, which was scheduled to start on our around Saturday, December 19, I left town early--at 1:30pm on Friday--bound for the homeland. All was going according to plan until I reached Harrisonburg a few minutes before 4pm. It started to spit snow. I pressed onward. By 5:15, it was sticking to the highway and traffic was slowing down. By 5:45, aware that I was obviously not going to make it home that evening, I began watching for hotels. At exit 205, I pointed Lola toward the off-ramp and the distant lights of a Days Inn, the only hotel at the exit. I crept up the snowy hill--the car in front of me skidding and fishtailing--pulled into the lot, and tromped through the already accumulating drifts into the lobby. (Word of advice: Chuck Taylors are not meant for snow. You're welcome.) Clearly, plenty of others had had a similar idea.

By 6:30, I was ensconced in my room taking stock of my food supply (Corn Flakes: 1 large box. Brownies: 1. Bottle of water: 1.), watching the news (BLIZZARD! SNOWPOCALYPSE! MAYDAY!), and trying to figure out where the hell I was. According to the sticker on the phone: Raphine, Virginia.

I have driven I-81 probably 100 times. Never before had I even noticed Raphine, Virginia. Probably because it consists entirely of a Days Inn, a gas station/Wendy's combo, and The Smiley Face truck stop/liquore store. (If I'd known what was coming, I might've stopped there on the way into "town."

Anyway, as we all now know, the east coast got pounded with snow that weekend, gracing the metropolis of Raphine with about 2 feet. I-81 South was closed for a large stretch, and we were stuck.

Luckily, I had a half-dozen new books to read, a (rather spotty) wifi connection, and exactly sixteen TV channels, seventeen if you count the fuzzy TBS. For food, I had the aforementioned cereal and brownie and the rather unappetizing contents of the third floor vending machine.

On Saturday morning, once it became clear that no one was leaving, the residents of the Raphine Days Inn settled in for a day of, well, boredom. Periodically, people would wander down to the lobby for some bad coffee, to see if anyone had any news, and to speculate about when the plow would arrive to clear the parking lot. (Answer: never.)

I met three other people around my age: Maddie, a Towson University student; Tommy, a dude travelling from PA to FL; and Johnny, headed from DC to Charlotte. We trudged down the hill to the gas station/Wendy's for lunch, taking orders from the less-nimble older folks at the hotel and returning with sacks of burgers and fries.

We sat around for a while.
"Too bad nobody has a deck of cards," one of us said.
There was general agreement, followed by silence as we pondered the endless hours of amusement lost.
"Oh hey!" said Johnny. "I have Hannah Montana playing cards."
A pause. "You have...Hannah Montana playing cards?" I said skeptically.
"What? They're a present for my little sister. We'll have to unwrap them, but whatever."
I don't know if they ever did, because I disappeared outside to see about digging Lola out for our eventual escape. Tool of choice? The trash can from my hotel room.

On Sunday morning, muscles screaming at me, I was up and outside at 7:30am to re-scrape Lola, pack the car, and GET OUT of Raphine. A posse of men--fellow refugees--spent the morning digging people out and pulling cars out of icy, snowy holes. "What ya gotta do," one burly fellow told me, "is ROCK the car." I responded by handing him my keys. Seven minutes later, after some grunting (the men) and anxiety (me, as I watched my wheels spin wildly on the ice), I was on the road.

Four hours later, at 1:30pm, I pulled into the driveway at home, exactly 48 hours after I left D.C.

Weirdest. Road trip. Ever.

My Best Friends’ Weddings

In the last month, I have successfully married off four of my best friends.
What a relief. That’s four dowries I don’t need to worry about anymore.
September was a whirlwind. Ed and Val’s wedding on the 12^th was a circus—in a good way, naturally. J and I drove up on Saturday, after a false start to go retrieve his best man toast.
*******

[on his toast]

J: I start off talking about the public option and wrap it up by talking about Jesus.

Me: Sounds like a barn burner.

*******

And from there, the weekend was chockablock (to use an apropos British-ism): the rehearsal and dinner on Friday, a late night at The Old Corner, lunch with the bride and all the gals on wedding day, the ceremony (duh), a fabulous reception (and NOT such a late night—we were tiiiiired), and wrapping up with a post-wedding brunch on Sunday morning. A large group of us—AU alums, London mates, and current DC friends—came to fete the happy couple, and it was awesome. The best weddings are the ones that reunite friends and family from far and wide, and this one was exactly that.

London mates

Frankly, the weekend could only have been improved if I had managed to avoid spilling food on my dress ten minutes into the reception—AGAIN.

On Sunday afternoon, it was back to D.C. to unpack, repack, and spend a few days in the office. Ash and I spent our evenings with the phone glued to our ears as we feverishly assembled a gorgeous scrapbook for our beloved Jules….

If I never see another glue stick, it will be too soon.

Ash logged hours on FedEx’s website tracking another special package ….

Possibly the coolest gift of all time. If we do say so.

…and I painstakingly be-dazzled a t-shirt for the bride. (I freely admit that I stole this idea from Valerie’s sister, who gave her a similar one.)

Thursday I was off to Ohio, stopping to fetch Ash at the Cleveland airport on the way in. And then it was time for Round 2. Friday featured a "Julebilation Celebration" (TM Ashley) with the bridesmaids (tea and mani/pedis)…

The bride and 3 of her 4 maids

…the rehearsal…

…and dinner. And Saturday began bright and early with preparations…

Jules getting beautiful. Or, rather, beautiful-er.

...followed by photos, the ceremony, more photos, and the reception. Sunday morning, we took breakfast over to the B’s house for a few more hours of quality time before we hit the road.

Family photo

Having known both the bride and groom for so many years, it was like a family wedding for me. (Jules’ dad? Washed my car. It was sitting in the driveway while we were out, and when we got back, it and their red Taurus were shiny and clean.) I know the parents, siblings, grandparents, many of the aunts, uncles, and cousins, and even some of the high school friends. College friends assembled from Missouri to Chicago to DC and more. It was surreal and wonderful. There were many (happy) tears, much laughter, and a whole lot of dancing.

This is what happens when you put "Cotton-Eyed Joe" on in M's presence.

And now it’s all over. Three weddings down, one to go!

Adventures with Lola: Automotive Mishap (kinda)

So. Lola and I have been estranged for the last few weeks, due in large part to my reluctance to relenquish the excellent parking spot that I had in my neighborhood. (And, yes, I was out of town for a weekend.) Anyway, I went out on Saturday evening to head to CZ's birthday party over near Eastern Market and discovered (as soon as I had pulled out and someone else had jumped into my spot, of course) that Lola had a flat tire. Oh, the tragedy.

So I called AAA--who, to their eternal credit, sent someone to fix it within 45 minutes--and then proceeded to the party via cab, arriving quite late and quite sweaty, but alive nonetheless.

(TANGENT: And, by the way, I am FAMOUS. I got to CZ's house, and both of her roommates and several of her friends were like, "Oh, HANNAH, we've heard so much about you! It's so nice to finally MEET YOU." Which was kind of disconcerting, but apparently I am beloved.

TANGENT EXPLANATION: CZ was my assistant/sidekick/partner in crime at the Previous Job. I adore her, and if I could create a position for her at Current Job, I would do so immediately.)

Right. Anyway. So, on Sunday morning, Lola and I and the temporary spare "donut" tire trundled out to Montgomery Mall to get the injured tire checked out. The injured tire, of course, wasn't punctured on the tread (which is usually fixable--this I learned from the very helpful Vincente at Sears Auto Center, who, btw, used to live not far from where I live now... Anyway. Sorry, back to the story), but rather on the SIDE of the tire. Hence...new tire! There went $90 that I wasn't planning to spend.

We also got Lola's oil changed, in preparation for our impending journey to South Carolina, as well as a nice car wash on the way home.

And then, of course, I inadvertently took the Bumpiest Road Ever back into town. (Oh, so you just got the cast off your broken leg? Good thing, because you have to SCALE THAT MOUNTAIN to get home.)

So now Lola is well and has four working tires, though the clean car lasted less than 24 hours before a bird christened it.

Inner monologue during the last 90 min of my drive from TN on Sunday

The following is entirely true.
***
The scene: Interior of Lola the Corolla, I-66 East.
The time: Sunday, May 11, 2008. 8:10-10:30p.m.

[Feeling self-righteous.]

HA. And Mom thought I would hit storms in Roanoke. Shows how much she knows.

[Keeps driving...driving...driving....]

[Drizzle begins.] Guess I'll turn off the cruise control, don't want to hydroplane.

[Drizzle turns into steady shower.]

...

[Steady shower turns into downpour.]

...

[Downpour turns into monsoon.]

Well....damn.

[Slows to 50mph, attempts to avoid using brakes.]

Okay, seriously, God. I get it. Don't doubt your mother on Mother's Day.... Well, this will let up soon.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER...

[Hunched over, gripping steering wheel at 9 and 3, and squinting out the window like Miss Hazel out for a Sunday drive. Truck passes, kicking up mist and obscuring view of the center line]

F***.

Oops. Didn't mean to say that...or, rather, think it.... Though Bispo and I were just talking about the therapeutic properties of a well-chosen curse word. But I should try to avoid that one.

TEN MINUTES LATER. DARKNESS HAS FALLEN...

[SUV passes, splashing water over the center line]

[out loud]

F***!!

[Thinking, again]

Oh, I give up.

[Keeps driving. Traffic has slowed to 45mph, though, luckily, isn't particularly heavy.]

What is that in the ro--DEER!

[Swerves, slowly, since I'm a good 200 yards away from the deer. Praises self for cat-like reflexes.]

Good recovery, good recovery.

[Anxiously focuses on staying in lane. Loudly curses anything or anyone that impedes ability to see the dotted center line, including but not limited to large trucks, SUVs (WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, GOING 75mph IN A RAINSTORM?!), the headlights of cars on the other side of the highway, portions of the highway without the reflector thingys ON the dotted line, etc.]

How far to Manassas? I need gas. And possibly a massage.

...

Eleven miles. Hallelujah. You can totally make it 11 more miles. ... Don't get cocky, Hannah. Eyes on the prize.

...

I'm really tired of this [some Elgar concerto is playing on my iPod] but I'm afraid to take my hand off the wheel to change it.

...

Dude, there is no WAY I'm going to make it in time for Brothers & Sisters.

[Keeps driving. Manassas exit approaches. Exits. Pulls into BP and parks. Reflects on how quiet car is without wipers on high.]

Time for rain boots!

[Puts on boots. Fills up with gas. Takes deep breath and creeps back onto interstate.]

Ah, feels better with the rain boots on. Better traction, less chance of hydroplaning. Actually, that makes no sense. The CAR isn't wearing boots. But I do feel more at ease now! ...Heh, imagine if Lola had rain boots. That would be funny...cars with rain boots.

...Wonder what color rainboots Lola would wear? Maybe red? Or a nice icy blue, to match her silver paint job.

...Wow, get a GRIP.

[Keeps driving.]

So now the question is, do I attempt the Beltway, or go in through town? 495 will probably be hell. But Rock Creek could be flooded, so going through town might be worse.

[Exit to 495 approaches.]

Eh, what the hell.

[Takes exit. Immediately regrets it because NONE of the dotted lines have reflectors. Forges onward anyway.]

Five miles to River Road.
...
Two and a half miles.

...

One mile.

...

YES! Totally made it.

[Exits and merges onto River Road. Approaches intersection and realizes that the only thing 66 had been missing to make the lanes harder to read was....traffic lights! Which reflect wildly on the wet pavement.]

Chill out, Hannah. Not home yet. Oh man, you are never going to find a parking space. Probably going to end up three blocks away on Porter.

....

Seriously, Hannah. First things first. You are not there yet. And they say 50% of all accidents happen within 5 miles of home. Is it 50%? Or is it 25 miles? Whatever. I should call BMac again, he always used to say that.

[Continues on River Road. Reaches old neighborhood.]

If I still lived at 4321, I'd be home by now. Heh. Remember in college, Dad would say that about every school we passed on the drive to DC? "If you went to Emory and Henry, you'd be there by now." "If you went to Virginia Tech, you'd be there by now." "If you went to Hollins, you'd be there by now."

[Gets to apartment. Braces self for a hour of circling the block for a parking spot. Discovers two spots (!!!) on the back street. ]

Okay, this is too good to be true. There's gotta be a catch. Why is nobody parking here? ...That is a pretty big tree. It would sure suck if it fell on the car. ...Okay, now you're being paranoid. Or maybe not. ... Is it dead?... Doesn't LOOK dead. Maybe everybody else knows something I don't.

...

[Split second decision.] I'm going to risk it.

***

So I did. And I hauled my luggage up the street and into my apartment, where I promptly dumped my soaking wet suitcase, duffel, and purse on the bathroom floor.

The end.

Whatever Lola wants

I hope that Lola* is okay with long distance driving, because she's being subjected to a lot of it these days. She's been a peach so far, aside from petulantly hiding various items from me. We're leaving AGAIN this afternoon to drive back to Tennessee AGAIN for Nick and Shelley's wedding, returning to DC on Sunday. I am sure there will be stories upon my return.

* the Corolla (my car)

No missing socks, unfortunately

So it turns out that my mother HAD gotten me an ice scraper (sorry, Mom!). It was wedged snugly under the passenger seat (where I swear I'd looked), along with Jules' missing sunglasses. This means that I can return the spatula that had been acting as Interim Ice Scraper to my kitchen. Hooray.

Wellies and Car Stuff

It is snowing. Yay! I have no meetings or anything, so I decided that today is a jeans day. I'm also wearing my wellies:

They are a curious shade of reddish pink. JCrew calls them "cayenne." CZ and I think they're really more watermelon.

This is also the first snow we've had since I got my car. I went outside this morning, suitably booted and bundled up, to commence defrosting and scraping the car windows.

**Here I need to break in for some backstory. When I got my car, Mom presented me with a huge bag of Car Stuff, everything I could ever possibly need for my car: Jumper cables, polishes and cleaning supplies, first aid kit, special hammer that performs the dual functions of smashing the windows and slicing through the seatbelt in the event that I drive into a large body of water, etc. **

Anyway, I got out the bag of Car Stuff and discovered that she had, indeed, gotten me everything I could ever possibly need for my car. Except an ice scraper.