WashingTina

I just got back to the house from the most horrific cab ride I've had in months. I realize that this story is going to be in direct contradiction with my previous story extolling the virtues of D.C. cab drivers, but it's one that has to be told. WH and I went to dinner near Foggy Bottom, and were on our way home when we hailed a cab. We got in and WH screamed, "AAAHAAARGGH!" I thought he'd banged his head getting in the car, but that was not the case. As we sat in the car, we were hit with a whiff of something so foul, it could evoke screams from my mild mannered husband. The entire, extra-warm car hung heaving with the "funk of 40,000 years" (as Thriller once told us). It was a steamy green bad breath odor. Not a chewing-on-onions-for-breakfast bad breath, or even a spicy-curry-for-lunch bad breath. No, this was a just-woke-up-in-the-morning bad breath (though, perhaps the night before he did chew on onions or have a spicy curry). It was one of those s...

LS and I were talking last night about the Olympics, and she declared that she hadn't seen any events except the one "where they shoot and ski." The biathlon, or as I prefer to call it, the Sarah Palin Classic, involves cross country skiing and rifle shooting. You could add a helicopter and make it really interesting. This, of course, got our minds working as we tried to think of two other oddball things that might be paired up for sport. She insisted that she would like to participate in the haircut/beatbox event (to be performed simultaneously). Unbeknownst to me, LS apparently has quite a talent for beatboxing. Go figure. But who would want to watch that? Now a jetskiing/haircut event, that's something I can get behind. Or perhaps rollerskating/cocktail mixing. Or maybe base jumping/yo-yo-ing (all also done simultaneously, because otherwise why watch?). Just think of it . . . all the obscure pairings imaginable could be Olympic sports. As previously mentio...

I got my hair cut tonight after work. My Little Sister works near my office (she's a hairdresser), so I went over there for a new 'do before heading home. We decided to share a cab home, so we could keep talking (and save a few bucks). We were walking up Connecticut Avenue, when LS stuck out her arm, in a very strange way. Not your usual hailing of a cab . . . more like heil -ing a cab. She looked like she should be wearing jack boots and marching in goose step. Fortunately, the cabbie wasn't deterred by this strange display, and stopped to pick us up. Meanwhile, I couldn't stop laughing at her. We got in the cab, and started on our way home. This got me thinking . . . cabbies in D.C. are really interesting. Many of them are from other parts of the world, which in itself isn't particulary different from other cities. But what I have found here is that our cab drivers are extremely well educated, culturally aware, and in tune to current events (contrary to ...

The Olympics are here. Is there a better demonstration of national pride than the athletes who represent our country at the games? Wonderful Husband has been fascinated with curling and looking forward to it's start. His questions around curling entail the broom (doesn't everyone's?). He wanted to know does the broom guy have a special broom, or will any old broom do? Does he carry the broom in a special carrying case like one might do for a hockey stick or tennis racket, or do they just carry it like a cleaning product? We discussed this for some time, but never reached any conclusions. But unlike WH, I had less existential dilemmas than what to do with the curling broom. You see, I have a very strong desire to join the ranks of the Olympic team. I'm pretty sure I could do it. Not skiing, or snowboarding, or even the broom guy in curling. Oh no, ice dancing. I just know I have what it takes to become an Olympic ice dancer. I took skating lessons as a kid, and I can st...

We've all had 'em, those days where you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, ready to grouse at the first person (and every subsequent person after that) that you see. No matter what you do, nothing short of going back to bed and getting up a day later will erase this dismal mood. I did not have one of these mornings. I woke up just fine; tired, but fine. I got ready for work, and on my way, went to my doctor for a physical. You know how sometimes you know exactly where your mood has gone wrong? I can poinpoint the exact moment. I'm not overly fond of doctors to begin with, but visiting one is not enough to turn my mood. In fact, my doctor is rather amusing. He's a low-talker and often perches himself on the edge of the paper-covered table, while I (the patient) sit in the chair. This juxtaposition makes me smile. And smile I did until he ordered the inevitable blood work. My doctor's office is in an old house, and the room where your blood is drawn is ...

Yeah, I know, snow, snow, and more snow. What else is there to talk about? When there's three feet of it and the streets run white with it, why bother talking about anything else, right? After four days off, the masses headed back to work in D.C. today, across the great white tundra that our fair city has turned into. I don't know about anyone else, but I really would've liked to have had a team of sled dogs to take me to work today. (And speaking of dogs, can we please do something about the yellow snow? Enough already!) But without the dogs at my disposal, I opted first for the bus. Fortunately, the one that runs by my house qualifies as a "snow emergency route," which were the only ones running this morning. I waited for twenty-five minutes, only to have three buses pass me by (one full and not worth stopping, and two out of service). Not to mention, had the bus actually come, I would've had to overcome a mountain of snow tantamount to scaling the Andes in...

With 50 mile per hour wind gusts, snow drifts, and sideways falling snow, there really is no reason to go outside. So why would an otherwise sensible person and her equally sensible husband venture out into the blizzard? One reason only: McDonald's. Really, who can resist a fried burger and the salty goodness of their fries? Because we are a sensible couple, WH called the Mickey D's on 18th and Columbia before we bundled up and left, and (hooray!) they were open. So we layered on our gear (I opted for the plastic bags to protect my feet from my leaky boots ) and set out on our two block mission of mercy (our own). There were very few people out, which is strange for our neighborhood. At one point, we climbed onto a snowdrift and quickly fell in up to our hips. But we had our goal in sight (though barely in the white out conditions), and persisted. When we got there, McDonald's was eerily quiet. There were a few people sleeping in the booths, and three people behind the coun...