WashingTina

Wonderful Husband and I went to the beach this past weekend with Party On and The Funny Man (does that sort of remind you of Chico and the Man?).  Anyone familiar with the drive from D.C. to Rehoboth knows that it's often a treat for the senses.  For the uninitiated, you drive past a lot of chicken farms and through rural landscapes. It's not beyond the pale to smell some form of stink (often lingering) as you drive down the two-lane roads.  This is as good a time as any to point out that Party On is averse to any mention of poop (she also does not tolerate "fart" or "douchebag").  And while I'm not particularly an embracer of the scatalogical, it does make it difficult to make certain allusions from time to time.  (On a side note, I will say I have my doubts about her aversion.  This is the same woman who once passed around a photo of her cat's dingleberry during happy hour, so grossing out the Gay Lawyer , that he refused to open picture message...

What can I say?  I like a little alliteration (hey, look at that, I did it again).  I also like a trend.  Not all trends, though.  I mean, I haven't jumped on the Bieber bandwagon, I don't watch any of the Real Housewives shows, and I still don't have an iPhone. But one trend I have latched onto with both of my hands (and my teeth) is the food truck .  D.C. has been innundated with them this summer, and I couldn't be happier. We've been introduced to the pizza truck, a curry truck, a "global cuisine" truck, and even a cupcake truck (talk about double dipping in the trend pool -- the only thing trendier than a food truck in D.C. is a cupcake  -- heck, there's even a show about it).  And so, while I usually leave the food blogging to my friends over at I Flip For Food (which you should be reading for great recipes and restaurant reviews, by the way), I couldn't resist weighing in on this growing trend. Farragut Square, near my office, is a prime ...

I've been having a bout with a recurring stiff neck, so I was telling WH that I probably needed to go back to yoga.  He agreed that it would probably make me feel better, but he also reminded me of a little something he likes to call "The Seven Steps to Get Deleted From My Cell Phone."  Just one of these things on its own won't get a person deleted, it's a process that builds on each step, so one must check all seven boxes in order to be deleted.  Let's examine them for a moment, shall we (in his words): Start taking yoga. After taking yoga for a while, a regular plastic yoga mat will not do.  You have to order one from India made out of natural fibers with a handmade mat carrier. Then become a vegetarian. After that, start talking about how much better you feel now that you've given up meat. Start talking with your "inner voice" and blinking slower than normal people. [This one was my particular favorite, as he demonstrated the "inner ...

No one would ever accuse anyone in my family of being cool under pressure.  We are a group that would crack under the stress of a flat tire, leaky pipe, or broken glass.  We are the family that would, quite literally, cry over spilt milk.  So when we are faced with a real crisis, we crack like an egg underfoot.  Little Sister is known for her hospital visits.  The girl loves the emergency room (don't we all?).  It's been quite frequent (though not recently) that she would end up in the hospital for a three-day stay after becoming dehydrated.  When asked, as she was being hooked up to an I.V., "Why didn't you just drink some water?" she would answer, "I forgot."  One time, when my father fell extremely, critically ill in a hotel on a trip to West Virginia (during which he declared, "Please don't let me die in West Virginia!"), my mother, out of her mind with worry, grabbed an innocent bystander who had come to help by the lapels and s...

As I've said before , riding the bus during the off hours is an unparalleled treat.  I'm not sure why that is, but I had a fun ride yesterday afternoon.  It started before I even got on the bus, as a matter of fact.  I was waiting on the bus stop when a generic looking man (slacks, button down, gray hair, about 55) walked up to the bus stop and, after standing there for a few minutes, declared very loudly to no one in particular, "Don't forget, beer gives you charisma!" He then walked away.  I exchanged a puzzled look with the other woman on the bus stop and went back to my magazine.  Then the 42 arrived and the real adventure began. The driver, a woman, was the most cheerful I've ever experienced (though I'm pretty sure her charisma wasn't due to beer consumption).  She was giggling and chatting with passengers as they got on at each stop.  At one point, a young woman crossed the street against the light in front of the bus.  Our driver sa...

I don't actually know any of the  " Real Housewives of D.C. "  In fact, nobody I know knows any of these purported "real" women.  This ridiculous program, which premiered tonight, claims to highlight a unique set of people indiginous to our city.  But I know real housewives. I was raised by one. This moniker, housewife, has a lot of connotations to it.  They are simple, they are shallow, they are desperate.  Except that they aren't.  In fact, I find myself continually disgusted by the Bravo version of what a housewife is.  This definition has reduced something honorable, something amazing, to a trite, ridiculous caricature.  If we are to believe what Bravo is feeding us, via D.C. or N.J. or Atlanta or the O.C., a "housewife" is a vapid, empty, shrew whose only concern is where she might find her next pair of Jimmy Choos or blonde pool boy.  But my version, the real real version of a housewife is so much more th...

I almost killed someone on the bus today. No, it was not some grand case of bus rage.  I was aisle surfing when, during a sudden stop, I went flying into a lady seated near me.  It was early, I hadn't had my Diet Coke rush yet, I was hauling my usual 47-pounds of miscellaneous purse-stuffs, and I foolishly took my hand off the pole to scratch a mosquito bite on my elbow.  In short, it was a perfect storm for a near-miss bus-icide.  I nearly knocked my fellow passenger out with my bag before landing in her lap. Luckily, I'm agile like a cat! I would say I go aisle surfing at least once a day.  For the uninitiated, aisle surfing is when you're stuck standing in the aisle of the bus or train.  You can hang on to one of the poles for dear life as the bus careens around corners, but you'd darn well better brace your feet too.  This usually involves standing with your feet at least shoulder-width apart (wider if there's room and you can claim the space...