One thing that you just have to love about America is that we couple every holiday – secular, religious, what have you – with a one-day only sale. Celebrating the birth of Christ? Why not join together your solemnization with the purchase of a new cashmere sweater (30 percent off!). Breaking bread on Thanksgiving? Don’t forget the following day is Black Friday! It all sounds pretty ridiculous, but I have to admit, it’s one of my favorite things about holidays. And plus, the economy needs all the help it can get right now.
As Craig and I did Memorial Day-esque activities on Saturday and plan to on Monday as well, we spent Sunday showing our love by spending our money. Nothing sings patriotism like a crisp new wardrobe! That theory makes sense in my head by the way…
It’s funny the logic and reasoning I will use when shopping. It goes a little something like this: “Look at these nice clothes. I better buy them now. And why should I buy them now? Because these new clothes will redefine me as a person and reestablish my place as a mover and a shaker in this world. I will portray the power and put togetherness that I have since lacked solely because I am not yet in possession of these must-have shoes I just found. Plus, they happen to be 25 percent off. Coincidence? I think not. And $300 is not that much to spend on shoes that will actually change my life, so I better snap them up before some less-worthy woman does!!!!!” Yup, that about sums up the insanity that goes through my head…on occasion. And when it does, I am lucky to have my friend Mastercard. And even luckier to have my paycheck coming to me on Tuesday.
The joy that comes with that buying high as portrayed in the movie Shopaholic!
As I said in yesterday’s post, Grey’s roommate Matt from the Naval Academy came to visit with us for a few days this weekend. I can honestly say, due to us moving on Friday, the house has never been more disgusting for a house guest. Of course, of all visitors, Matt could have cared less. The fridge was stocked with Pabst Blue Ribbon (only the best for our guests!) and that seemed to be all he and Grey needed (besides a few rounds of golf) to keep them happy.
Matt certainly kept Ollie entranced by his charms. One morning at breakfast I overheard Matt telling him things like, “Unit, Core, God, County” and “Stop eyeballin’ me, boy!” Ollie was both scared and in awe of his Uncle Matt, which, oddly enough, was my first impression of him too.
Our dinner conversations were unlike any I’ve had in ages, including topics like the joys of a vasectomy and untimely boners. At night, while watching sporting event after sporting event on TV, the guys swapped sea stories and reminisced about their time at the Academy when neither of them had any regard for authority. As true girls’ girl, I felt privy to a world of man-talk the likes of which I’d only dreamed! We had a great time catching up!!
It was great seeing Grey's good buddy! Here are the two guys at Matt's wedding (where Grey was his best man). We can't wait to get down to HOT-lanta later this summer to visit Matt, his wife Laura, and their two kiddos!
Last night we went to Cantler’s in Annapolis with Grey’s roommate Matt who was in town for a few days visiting since he had a work event. The first batch of blue crabs of the season didn’t disappoint, not to mention our little feast following a day of the pool, golf, and sunshine — so all of us were in a great mood.
However, the people sharing our table at the restaurant — a party of 13 no less — were a total nightmare. We couldn’t help but overhear how rude they were to our waitress (who was a cute college kid just trying to make a few bucks). They were complaining that their crabs were too small and at one point, one of the girls actually got out a ruler and measured one. Even though they were clearly just jerks, the waitress brought them a bunch of new crabs on the house and the party had the gall to tell her to send them back because they “are never coming back anyway.” Then they proceeded to call the waitress of slew of names including moron and bitch. I have never in my life seen anyone, let alone that many people, so obnoxious at a restaurant before.
Maybe it’s the fact that I was a waitress in college, but I can’t stand it when people are rude to their server for no reason. These people didn’t even bother to leave a tip and actually haggled with the manager about even paying their bill! Despite being well dressed and outwardly normal-looking, these people were pure trash. It’s pathetic this poor girl probably got way more of a tip from our little party of three and a baby than a group of thirteen!
So I wanted to dedicate this post to waiters and waitresses — especially this weekend where lots of drunk, sunburned patrons are coming into restaurants everywhere acting like assholes. Thanks for putting up with a whole lot of rude crap for way too little money!
Ollie of course was more interested in all the boats than in smiling for the camera or eating crabs.
Of course, he was totally pumped about getting to use a wooden mallet all through dinner. If all restaurants offered blunt weapons on the table, Ollie would be a diner's dream!
Today, since it’s Memorial Day weekend, Craig and I decided to drive to Gettysburg, PA and do a little reenacting. Or ghost whispering. You know, all those cool things one can do when trampling over Civil War battlefields. For the most part, I hurled my body in front of cannons and offended the tourists walking by. That said, Gettysburg is really beautiful. The hills and fields where the battle was fought are really calm and beautiful. It’s so sad to imagine the 11,000+ men who lost their lives there.
Of course to me, one of the most important things that came from Gettysburg is the Gettysburg address. As a writer type, I have always appreciated the power of the pen over the sword and I think Honest Abe’s amazing address embodies that belief. Craig and I took a tour of the David Wills house in the town of Gettysburg where Lincoln slept the night before he delivered his speech. It was also where he finished writing the famous address. It felt really amazing to stand in the room where he finalized it. I was waiting for some sort of literary genius to be passed on to me, but you know, just being in the same quarters was good enough. Lincoln actually started his speech at the White House, where I have been as a tourist and for work a few times, but you tend to forget that kind of thing when you’re there.
So during this memorial weekend, I want to say thanks to honest Abe (and the folks that keep his memory alive) for writing what I think is the greatest speech about war – and peace – in only ten short sentences.
Another casualty of Gettysburg! I had a grand old time offensively reenacting scenes from the great battle. Hopefully the bus loads of tourists didn't hate me too much.
THREE DAY WEEKEND! I am so excited. Like shout from the rooftops and kiss strangers excited. BBQs, one-day-only sales, and my two favorite words: free time. I haven’t been at home for the past two weekends and am just thrilled to become one with some weed killer and turn my lawn from neighborhood eyesore into something that might not cause Martha Stewart to vomit.
I’m also looking forward to having some time with Craig. Lately, I have only spent quality moments with him while asleep. But that’s all going to change this weekend. He’s still at work, but I just bought a $100 worth of Cajun style chicken gumbo ingredients and plan on actually cooking something for us to eat, instead of making him live off party hors d’oeuvres. And I am also spending a great deal of time on my new favorite website, cosmopolitan.com. How on earth did a liberated gal like me not peruse this site before?
“The top 10 places to have sex (besides your bedroom!),”Today’s featured video – would you do him outside?” “My online boyfriend wasn’t real!” and “77 sex positions in 77 days.” Yes, those are all current headlines on cosmo.com. Wow! Who needs the A-section of the Washington Post. Clearly all the news that is fit to print is on cosmo.com.
As I read all about what guys think about my hair, I noticed two beige anatomically correct stick people going at it on an inner tube. What on earth? Well, it’s Cosmo’s position of the day – the Tawdry Tube! According to Cosmo, this is why I will love it: “This face-to-face position is seriously intimate. Since the tube is hollow in the middle, the splashing water created by your thrusting hits both of your down-there domains, adding to the titillation.” I mean, what’s not to love? Seems I will have to go buy an inner tube. But if I don’t have time, there is always the “Row His Boat,” the “Octopus,” the Cosmo Cat,” and 361 more to keep me entertained. Good thing it’s a long weekend. Let the games begin!
The Beach Ball Booty. A private-ish beach might be necessary for this one.
The Tub Tangle. A must do on a summer day in my opinion.
The other day as Ollie and I were driving back to Arlington along the PA turnpike, it warmed my little black heart when I saw car after car with Penn State bumper stickers. I remember hearing the statistic that one in 90 Pennsylvanians is a Penn Stater and one in every 900 Americans is a Penn Stater. Now, I’m no math genius, but wouldn’t that make Penn State’s enrollment like over eight million students? I don’t understand the logic behind those stats, but the bottom line is that lots of people love the school. I personally love Penn State AND their alumni. People that have gone to PSU are loud, proud and bleed blue and white. It’s like a cult – and I mean that as a compliment.
I got curious about our alum after the drive (I mean, I had six hours to think about it) and so today I actually Googled notable PSU alumni and wasn’t disappointed. Did you know Hillary Clinton’s dad is a Penn Stater? And Herman Fisher? Founder of Fisher-Price toys? Gene Kelly, the guy that dreamed up “Rambo,” George Bush’s cardiologist, inventor of the anti-wrinkle compound Retin-A, and the brains behind the Slinky — yep, they all graduated from Happy Valley.
However, my personal favorite, and probably the man to whom I am most indebted, is John Aniston. Yes, he’s Jennifer Aniston’s dad, but more importantly, he’s Victor Kiriakis on the soap opera Days of Our Lives. I cannot tell you how many hours of my childhood and teen years I spent whiling away my time with both eyeballs glued to “Days.” My favorite Days era was when Stefano made Marlena possessed by the devil (depicted as a crazed person in a red rubber suit). Yes, it has nothing to do with Victor’s character, but the fact that a Penn State Alum is involved in a theatrical masterpiece like this show makes me proud nonetheless!
What kid doesn't remember chucking a slinky down the stairs hoping it walks? All thanks to a PSU graduate...
We’re back in DC after our trip to Erie and of course, it’s hotter than a pair of sweatpants full of BBQ. The only respite from the heat seems to be the pool, which thankfully opens tomorrow. I plan to do the same thing I did last time I was pregnant: sport a bikini as long as is socially acceptable — actually, even longer.
It’s not that I have some crazy-hot pregnant body. I. Don’t. At. All. It’s just that maternity bathing suits look so frumpy. Last time around, I wore my regular J Crew bikinis until well into my third trimester. I pretty much looked like a floating Venus of Wilendorf at the pool — I was all boobs and belly. And since we got to the Army Navy pool, we’re like the youngest pool-goers by about 40 years and and by month eight, I started getting a little uncomfortable when all the retired Captains and Admirals looked at me as though I were Shamoo. So I finally opted for the more traditional, belly-covering maternity suits — some of which are so big you feel like a pregnant Druid or a living parachute.
However, for a while there, I really got a kick out of people’s reactions to a girl with a huge belly in a bikini. Twelve and thirteen year old girls were the best. I could pretty much see the disgust dripping off their faces. I remember going to the pool with my friend Kris who was also pregnant and of the mindset that knocked-up bellies are not meant to be hidden. A gaggle of middle school girls watched us as though we were an after-school special preaching the benefits of abstinence. I guarantee we convinced all of them to remain virgins for as long as humanly possible.
Though I was only away for 24-hours, it feels like I’ve been to the moon and back. It was a week filled with the craziness of making a magazine in one tiny room with a lot of frustrated people. But it went to print today, and I am back from shooting our summer fashion spread on the Chesapeake Bay. The setting was gorgeous, the models looked beautiful, and our hangovers from the little skinny dip adventure were pretty intense. But worth it!
So when I rolled home after the shoot, I made it exactly two feet before I collapsed into a sunburnt mess on my couch and watched two hours of The Real Housewives of New York. Ahh, what a fabulous guilty pleasure all those Housewives across the country are. From Jill’s rants to Kim’s weave, I just love to watch these women letting their estrogen fly. And soon, very soon, the show is coming to DC. Everyone knows the Salahis now, aka the White House crashers, but if you are out and about on the tiny Washington scene, you have known them for years! I remember the first time I saw Michaele. It was at a YouthAIDS gala in 2006 and she weighed about 90 pounds and was flittering around the room chatting with people including Sir Richard Branson and Ashley Judd. Washington Life mag even sponsored the Salahis polo match for years (we opted out this year though…). And now they will be America’s reality TV sweethearts. Or something like that. As for the other women who will be on the show, I can guarantee will be pretty entertaining too. They’ve got boy toys, botox, and husband’s with boring government jobs.
Yep, Washington DC, the red-headed stepchild of the entertainment industry, is going to have the celeb blogs buzzing thanks to the good old fashioned cat fight known as Real Housewives. Can’t wait!
Don’t judge me, but my favorite Housewife is Alex! Love her and Simon. I know, I know. But I do. Plus, I respect her BMI after birthing two children.
The Salahis!! Can't wait to see them on Real Housewives DC. Finally, a Washington reality show that won't be insanely boring.
What a day, what a day…what a loooong icky day. This was supposed to be the day we went to print at the magazine, but of course after working three days straight, we still weren’t ready to upload. Thankfully we had our fashion shoot planned at the Inn at Perry Cabin in St. Michaels, Maryland which we could not reschedule. Madness escaped! For a little while anyway.
So four hours later than we had hoped, Kelly, Ali, and I headed for the shore. The Inn at Perry Cabin is an absolutely gorgeous property where they filmed the movie, “Wedding Crashers.” And very much like the stars of said film, the gals of Washington Life arrived and headed straight to the bar. I mean, it was dark anyway, why not enjoy the wonders of the indoors? So we drank wine and a trough of whiskey and let ourselves recover from the day. And what was our master “recover from horrible crap day” solution?Skinny dipping! Well fueled, the three of us headed out of my wonderful room and down the manicured lawn of the property wearing fluffy white towels. Under the light of a full moon, the dock beckoned and we cannonballed right into the Chesapeake Bay in our birthday suits.
I must say, I’m thankful the water was warm, that the moon was full, that Dan tending bar was so entertaining, and that Ali and Kelly are always down for a little dose of f-u-n. I’m also thankful that the above mentioned. along with our amazing stylist James Cornwell, took the time to write thank you notes for the good old blog. They’re scanned below!
Tomorrow Ollie and I will be making the trek home to DC. Of course, the majority of the six hour drive is spent on the PA Turnpike — probably one of the most annoying roads in America. There’s not one thing that makes it so irritating, but many: tons of trucks, ghetto rest-stop food, never-ending construction, and sometimes stand-still traffic.
However, there is a light at the end of the tunnel — Breezewood. Whenever I get to this commercial dungeon where the PA turnpike intersects with I-70, I know: only two more hours to go! The worst is over! Of course, I pass through as fast as humanly possible and usually spew a stream of expletives and four letter words while there, but I am at least grateful for the motivation this hell hole offers me to keep on driving.
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