WashingTina

I was watching TV just now and saw a teaser run across the bottom of the screen "Tonight at 11: Hamburglar Arrested." Could it be? Could the most notorious hamburger thief of all time have finally met his inevitable end? I started to think about the Hamburglar and what might've lead him to his life of crime. I came up with a couple of possible sources: His name. Hamburglar. Much the same way as a mother who names her kid Trinity, Starla, or Diamante must know from the start that her daughter is going to grow up to be a stripper, the Hamburglar's mother must've known that he'd turn to a life of crime. It's right there in his name: BURGLAR. No brainer. Poor verbal skills. Perhaps the Hamburglar, despite his inauspicious moniker, had a strong beginning in the world. But he didn't start talking as fast as the other kids, and when he finally did, all he could manage was a weak, "Robble, robble." His parents lost faith, stopped paying ...

I don't generally feel the need to commemorate September 11.  But it's inevitable that it brings up memories.  We can all remember where we were and what we were doing on that fateful day.  I was teaching seventh grade that year and a week away from major surgery on my neck.  I remember sitting in the classroom -- we were doing practice testing that day -- as another teacher came in to tell me that a plane had hit one of the Trade Center Towers.  A horrific accident, it must've been.  Until the news came of the second plane, and, later, the Pentagon and the crash in Shanksville, Pa.  I remember watching my kids taking their tests and thinking how their world was about to change, how they hung in blissful ignorance for just a little longer than the rest of us.  Then the calls started to come to the classroom from the main office, "Can you send Nathan to the office, his mother is here to pick him up?"  "Layla's dad is here to get her." "Pleas...

I'm back.  Did you miss me?  Did you even notice I was gone? Wait, wait, don't answer that.  I took a brief summer haitus -- I figured if Congress can do it, I can too.  I've been participating in straw polls, kissing babies, giving speeches, invoking the Constitution, and eating corndogs at a variety of state fairs.  Oh wait, that wasn't me . . . that was Michele Bachman.  Sorry.  I often get the two of us confused.  My summer wasn't quite as exciting as Michele's.  First off, I managed to make it another year without experiencing the joy that is the corndog.  I wasn't asked to give any speeches, and the only time I even came close to invoking the Constitution was one time when WH asked me to pick up my pajamas and I said, "It's a free country. I don't have to."  It didn't really go over so well, so I think I'm going to have to brush up on my knowledge of the Amendments so that I can find the one that allows me to leave my jammie...

I often joke with one of my coworkers that I am a "Local Personality." I've been writing this blog for a year and a half and on Twitter just about as long.  I blog and tweet about inanity, but often tweet to and about businesses and restaurants that I like.  My favorite food truck, @DCEmpanadas often gives me a little something extra when I get my lunch, sometimes I'll get free drinks at a bar, and I one time I even won a $50 Friendly's gift card.  These are the perks of local celebrity, I suppose [please note the sarcasm].  And besides, who doesn't like free stuff? Speaking of free stuff, last night I was invited to opening night at Arena Stage's production of Oklahoma! by their publicist.  I was so flattered to be asked (as media -- imagine, me, a lowly flack by day invited as  media* !), and happily accepted.  Normally WH would come along with me, but I know musicals are not his thing so my mom came with me instead.  The evening starte...

Today at happy hour WH and I got into a familiar conversation.  You see, he's no fan of Spongebob.  In fact, he has full-on malice towards him.  Here's how it went down: WH:  Fucking Spongebob. WT: Huh? WH: You know, they said Tom and Jerry were too violent for children. WT: Who are they ? WH: They are they .   You know, they said the guy who made Alice in Wonderland was on acid.  They said talking animals set children up for unrealistic expectations.  They said it's not proper those animals don't have pants on.  They said all of that.  WT: It kind of sounds like the teaparty.  Are they the teaparty? WH:  They are they . WT: Ok. WH:  So with all of that corrected, they came up with the idea of Spongebob.  He's proper.  He wears pants -- which are square -- and it's unlike Alice in Wonderland, made by a sober person.  It's a fucking sponge who wears square pants and lives under t...

When I was a kid, I loved to write and receive letters.  I would find any excuse to write someone a letter, just in the hopes that I'd get one in return.  In third grade, my Brownie troop was matched up with another troop across the country in California and we got penpals.  This was in the early 80s, so there was no email or Skype . . . just good old fashioned paper and pen.  I couldn't have been more excited!  My penpal, Stephanie, lived in Long Beach -- a strange land that meant surfers and beaches and suntans.  What did I know, I'd never been to California.  Photo by Happy Batatinha via Flickr  For years we corresponded, through the ups and downs.  She was a couple years older than I, living with her mother and brother.  Years hence, my mother had a meeting in Anaheim, not to far from where Stephanie lived, and I got to tag along.  And we met for the first time in 10 years of having exchanged letters.  But our frien...

Every family's got one -- that one aunt who names her shoes; the eccentric uncle who talks about himself in the third person; or the granny who drinks a little too much and flashes back to her childhood in Kansas.  And we've got one in my family too.  A second cousin from the deep south is that "one" in our family.  So, what makes my Southern Cousin such a character?  Let's put it this way . . . shortly after I got engaged, SC informed me that he was not only a florist, but also a wedding planner.  He offered to "come up a week before the wedding" and plan everything for me.  In a week. During one of his previous visits, he had shared all about his nursing career.  He's had as many careers as there are letters in his name (maybe more), and some at the same time. He lives in a small town with his Momma, who he talks about incessantly, and takes care of (in between his shifts at the many jobs).   What got me thinking about this was the rec...