WashingTina

The Prime Minister of Israel was in town this week to meet with President Obama. From what I could tell, he was staying at the Mayflower, not far from my office. I say this because there were motorcades and security crawling all over the area for several days. Seeing these motorcades swarming as I was walking home from work reminded me of another motorcade from years ago. My friend, the Australian Adventurer, was in town for a visit. It was a warm spring day, and we were heading down Connecticut Avenue to dinner. We arrived at the intersection of Florida and Connecticut and were stopped by police in the street. A typical Washington occurrance, traffic had been halted to permit a passing motorcade. Police on foot, on motorcycles, and in cars lined the streets. So we waited on the corner until after the motorcaded had gone by and it was clear for us to pass. One woman who was also waiting with us decided that she'd had enough waiting and ventured out into the intersection to cross th

The fur is flying in Washington, D.C. this week, my friends. Hard to believe, especially since we've had lovely weather for the past few days. I met my friend PR Pete for lunch today, and as we were sitting in Farragut Square Park eating our lunches, a variety of fashion-challenged individuals walked by. I could spend hours -- days in fact -- talking about the sights we saw, but I'd like to focus specifically on our fine fur-covered friends who were prancing around the park today. I know that you're hoping that my friend Fur Coat Lady put in an appearance, but FCL was nowhere in sight today. But don't worry . . . there were other optical treats that I hope to adequately describe for you here. One lady walked by, bundled up as if it was December, in an all off-white ensemble, capped off by a pair of fuzzy white Ugg-like boots with pom-pom's dangling off strings around the top. They were stunning. And silly. But Fuzzy Boots Lady was nothing compared to another gentl

Spring has sprung in Washington, D.C., and with it a tradition that is as reliable as the cherry blossoms. As soon as the weather changes and the sun comes out, the clothes come off. You would think this was Alaska or something, the way a 60-degree day sparks partial nudity in this city. Lest I sound like the modesty police, let's just clear up the fact that nobody is looking more forward to flip flop season more than I. I can't wait to shrug off the wool sweaters and bulky coats of winter in favor of sundresses, strappy sandals, and other summer staples. However, I am willing to wait until summer to pull out the tank tops. Not so with many of my compatriots in D.C. Reveling in the temperate, sunshiny weather, I opted to walk home in lieu of the bus. On the course of my walk, I saw a variety of scantily clad cityfolk. I think it's fair to exclude runners and bikers from my judgement, because at least they were exercising. There was one woman who was wearing a teeny, tiny li

Walking down the street, I often run into people I know or get stopped by someone for directions. Every so often, I'll have a less-than-normal run in with someone (it is me, after all). I don't mind it, especially because I love it when someone adds a story to my repertoire. One time, on a summer afternoon, I was rushing down Connecticut Avenue to meet WH for happy hour. A woman stopped me and said in a heavy accent, "Ezcuze me?" "Yes?" I replied. "Are you French?" she asked. Eyebrow raise, "Pardon me?" I thought maybe she wanted to know if I spoke French. No, she wanted to know if I was French, "I said, are you French." "No, sorry," I replied (though I'm not sure what I had to be sorry about). "Oh," she said. "Well you look French to me!" and with that she was off on her merry way. I still don't know what looking French means, exactly, but I choose to believe it means thin, chic, and only

I've been laid up with a terrible cold for the past three days. It's about that time of year. And I'm pretty sure I know just how I got this little viral monster: on the bus. In these days of swine flu, hand sanitizers, and coughing into your sleeve, it's practically inevitable that you'll eventually catch something when you're in close quarters with strangers every day. Short of wearing one of those paper masks that I've seen from time to time on the Metro (and that always look ridiculous), I'm not sure what the solution is. About ten days ago, I squeezed in next to a woman with a sniffle and a raspy cough. Of course I realized it too late. Besides, you never know what might be causing this . . . a cold, a smoking habit, allergies, morning stuffieness, etc. I'm definitely not a germaphobe, but I'm also not a fan of people, particulary in cramped public spaces, openly hacking in my general direction, which this lady was doing -- with no effort

Last night, after Law & Order, Channel 4 showed a teaser about booze prices going up in Maryland. This set WH off on one of his famous ruminations. It went something like this: WH: What? First they raise the prices on Metro, and now on booze? What about the miners? WT: The miners? WH: Miners, you know, working people. Hardworking people whose only pleasure in life is having a beer with their buddies. WT: Miners? WH: Yes. And factory workers who like to have a couple of Buds with their friends. It's not fair. It's all they have. WT: What about lawyers? WH: The lawyers can afford their fancy drinks. WT: But not the miners? WH: Why are you mocking me? Why don't you have a little compassion? The workers of this country are being bullied, and it's just too much. When will it stop? First it was the airlines and Metro, and now they want to take their Bud away? It's disgusting! This went on for some time. WH seemed to be honestly upset about the price hike (which at th

What a day it was today in D.C.! After an up and down period, same sex marriage was finally legalized in the city today. The morning news showed scores of couples lined up outside of the courthouse building ready to apply for marriage licenses. This brought me back to when Wonderful Husband (then Wonderful Fiance) went to apply for our own marriage license. Anyone who's ever gotten married in this city knows what I'm about to say. The courthouse is not generally happy place. And the Family Court section might be one of the least happy areas. It's so bad that when you arrive at the courthouse, the security guards easily notice you. One said to us, "You must be here about a wedding. Fifth floor." When you're preparing for wedded bliss, you can't imagine that anyone else might not be so happy as you. And then you go to the Family Court section of the D.C. Courthouse. Upon arriving on the fifth floor, you walk down what WH and I christened "The Hallway o

Since starting this blog in January, I've been reflecting on what to share, how to share, and when it's just TMI. But how do you know? Where is the line? I think it's clear that I don't mind sharing embarassing stories (I certainly have my fair share ), but to go beyond into intimate details just seems inappropriate. Then again, I'm from a different generation than some of the more prolific sharers, so the question is, when do you share and when do you hold back, and when are you just an old fart who keeps things close to the vest? (Hey did that just sound a little bit like The Gambler - you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em . . .) I'll admit that I'm an habitual Facebook status updater, and a newly initiated tweeter on Twitter. But I also know that I value my privacy and I surely don't want to cultivate a stalker by oversharing. Many of the statuses (stati?) that I share on Facebook I would never share to the "wide world&q