Not So Attractive

Because we are similar in age and working out frequency, my good friend, Lisa, and I found ourselves at separate MRI appointments on a recent Wednesday morning to address some knee overuse issues. 

But that, dear reader, is where the similarity ends. You see, I went to an MRI office that was housed in a medical complex near a hospital. It was very straightforward, and I got my imaging done in the office and it took 30 minutes start to finish. The only surprise was the complete nonchalance about all the metal I have in body (pins and screws in both wrists, a bottom retainer in my mouth, and a nose ring). The technician waved me off when I brought this up and asked me only to "indicate if it starts to feel warm near your nose ring when the procedure begins."

Lisa, on the other hand, had quite a memorable time. You see, after she checked in for her appointment, the technician asked, "did they tell you we'd be doing your scan in the satellite location?" Lisa assumed this meant they'd be headed to another office space in the building. Alas, she was directed OUT of the building and to this: 

Yup. Her MRI took place in the back of a semi. Please note: this turn of events is not unusual if you've been tracking Lisa's medical appointments with me through the years. 

However, because I am naturally a curious, inquisitive type, I had many questions upon hearing her tale, namely:

• How did you get into the truck?
• What was your reaction when you realized your medical procedure could be done at an all-night diner right off the interstate?
• Did the technician also possess a commercial driver's license?
• When the procedure was finished, did the technician say, "10-4, good buddy"?
• And, perhaps most importantly, Did you fear it would be like the Child Catcher from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" and that the technician would lure you into the truck, only for the sides to fall away and reveal it was a cage? (No? Just me?)

                                                                        The fear is real. 

Also, even though we've been conditioned to believe that a tiny nose ring's worth of metal will impale and kill us once the MRI scanner turns on, she was allowed to keep all of her clothes on, including her bra and her shoes. Interestingly, she did have to remove her nose ring. And an estrogen patch. She also climbed five metal stairs to access the scanner. If I may use a medical term here, the rules around metal in the MRI machine feel very "loosey goosey."

Lisa is not the only one that has experienced some interesting appointments through the years. I had a colonoscopy appointment a few years back that involved the following:

• The most attractive human man I have ever seen in the wild was the PA at the doctor's office who checked me in and asked graphic questions about my "stools" 
• Walking into the procedure room where I was greeted by two completely bald men in identical black turtlenecks who were each wearing nametags identifying them as "Jimmy"
• Noting that the usual medical cabinets in the procedure room had been replaced by a large black-and-red Craftsman tool box

All (apparently) went well and I was given a clean bill of health by the Jimmys. Although I did find it unsettling when they informed me I was a quart low. 

Filtered

Recently, I was required to get a new professional headshot at work. My team is doing a complete web site overhaul and part of that initiative is getting photos of the exec team that are from the same decade. 

After my photo session, I was looking through the proofs with the photographer, who assured me he would fix stray hairs and other minor imperfections in post-production. I asked how much editing he planned to do and he replied, "That's up to you - I can do anything from a minor amount of retouching to a major amount - just let me know."

To which I replied, "I would like the amount of retouching that results in utter disappointment from anyone who meets me in person."

He laughed. I laughed. Although you'd never know I was capable of such an emotion based on the complete lack of smile lines in my photo. 

And P.S., I love it!

Ceasing and Desisting

Over the weekend, I got together with some friends I met in high school. One is a photographer who also bartends in his DC Capitol Hill neighborhood, so we visited him at his restaurant - a popular eatery that has on its menu many delicious treats including their version of Pop Tarts (registered trademark) made in-house, and a minty Oreo (registered trademark) milkshake.

Interestingly, these delicious treats resulted in TWO cease and desist orders from "Big Dessert" for our buddy. You see, when speaking with customers, he'd refer to the in-house version of Pop Tarts as "Pop Tarts" (which, duh...how else do you describe them?) and even better, called the minty Oreo milkshake a "Girl Scout" milkshake, as it tasted to him like their iconic Thin Mint (registered trademark) cookie. But that's not all - when patrons would inevitably ask, "What's in the Girl Scout?" He'd reply, "A very happy Boy Scout."

I asked the logical question of how he kept his job after receiving cease and desist letters from the legal counsel of both Kellogg's and Girl Scouts of America, and he patiently explained, "you take photos of your boss's wedding." 

This followed his story of Phil, a neighborhood denizen who frequently ingests substances slightly stronger than ersatz Pop Tarts and weirdly sexualized milkshakes. Phil walked into the lobby of the restaurant one day and screamed "Fuck y'all. Fuck all y'all," while sweeping his hand across the bar, sending dozens of glasses crashing to the ground. He then proceeded to pass out in the center of the floor, so our friend called the authorities who promptly revived him with Narcan (registered trademark) and sent him on his way. Which was quite a welcome to DC for the two women sitting at the bar who had moved to the neighborhood that very afternoon and were excited to see what the area had to offer.

Trivial Pursuit

Once again, I found myself at my favorite local trivia night last night. And once again, I cared way more about potentially winning the "best team name" designation than I did the actual trivia contest. 

Which is a good thing, as our team came in 17th out of 26 teams. (It was a tough night.)

I am, however, delighted to share that WE WON BEST TEAM NAME with the following:

"I like my beer like I like my Spice Girls...English and bitter."

D - I - Yeccchh

A faithful reader shared that she recently read an article about at-home pap smear tests. 

Without even considering the gymnastics required to execute this maneuver, let's remember that OB-GYNs go through multiple years of higher education to learn to do this effectively, safely, and correctly. My medical training exclusively consists of playing the board game, "Operation" and watching The Pitt.

This disturbing revelation follows my complete horror a few years ago when I discovered there were at-home colon cancer screening tests (looking at you, Cologuard). I began reading about these when I heard them advertised on NPR and then abruptly stopped when I learned what they entailed (tail...heh). Look, the reason you go to a medical facility for a colonoscopy is so you don't have to deal with any of this. In a medical facility, you take a nice nap, wake up, refuse eye contact with your doctor, and hope everything is normal so you don't have to endure the shame for another ten years when that doctor has hopefully retired. You know, the way god intended. It is far superior to the at-home method.

The real kicker here is that with the insanely high and rising costs of health insurance, we are now being directed toward doing much of our own medical testing. So without going too far into a spiral of how we're paying so much more for so much less, I've decided to focus on the potential upsides of where taking on our own medical care could potentially lead, including, but not limited to, the following:

• Prescribing prescription drugs. >sings< "Popular. I'm going to be pop-uuu-lar." 
• Using medical lingo. I look forward to tossing around phrasing such as "looks like a case of borborygmi secondary to an acute abdominal catastrophe" instead of saying "I have a rumbly in my tumbly."
• Requiring people to refer to me as "Dr." My parents will be instantly prouder and I cannot wait to attend my next high school reunion for the name tag alone.
• Wearing scrubs. The adult garanimals. Sign me up!

I can write my own doctor's note to miss work,

Brutalism

Impossible To Say This Name Without Gesturing

While celebrating my mother-in-law's 85th birthday this past weekend, we spent some time looking through photos my sister-in-law had included in a video she created for her mom. 

As they are part of an Italian Catholic family, many of the photos were from baptisms, first communions, and other Catholic rites of passage. 

When we came across a photo of my husband's baptism, someone asked, "Who is that person in the photo? Who is Tim's godfather?"

To be funny (and because I hate silence), I was about to insert, "Vito Corleone” into the conversation, as he is perhaps the most well-known, quintessential Italian godfather of all time. 

But before I could speak, my mother-in-law blurted out, "My uncle, Gigi Pepe!"

Ladies and gentlemen, I stand corrected. Gigi Pepe is unequivocally the most quintessential Italian godfather of all time.

Capisce?

Brutalism

Dilettante 2.0(26)

Last year's attempt at trying something new every month was a rousing success - ergo, I'm doing it again! This time, I'll include costs of activities and may do more than one a month, because I love it.                                                                              

February - Float Therapy, True Rest Float Spa, Alexandria, VA - $105 with Groupon

I once looked forward to a liver biopsy because I knew I'd get a great anesthesia nap out of it (this is absolutely true), so when I learned of this float therapy where the ENTIRE PURPOSE is to get you to clear your brain in a pod full of warm water and not have to do anything for an hour, I was ALL IN. God, I love warm water. And clearing my brain. And not having to do anything for an hour. FYI, Groupon is the worst - it is clunky and stupid and after we drove all the way to Alexandria for our reservation, we learned that we had to use the same pod as True Rest did not reserve two for us, because of Groupon's ineptitude. Anyway, they offered us services to make up for it in another visit, but that meant that my 6'4" husband and I would be in the same pod. Fortunately, it was big enough to accommodate both of us. True Rest emphasizes thoroughly showering before going in the pod, we learned, and I used the waiting time before the reservation to google how and how often these things are cleaned as I may have made mention of "not overthinking the human soup" aspect of the pod on the drive there. When we got into our room, we stripped naked, put in earplugs, showered, and then got in the pod, with a foam headrest provided to support our heads. Per the advice we received, I began counting backwards from 300 and got to about 240, which was the last thing I remember before the music came back on indicating our hour of floating was over. I was slightly disoriented, as we had done a complete revolution inside the pod and it took a minute to figure out how to exit. But I felt FANTASTIC. This is the greatest thing, ever! And bonus: Later that night, I slept better than I have in ages. Not sure if it's the 1,000 pounds of Epsom salts, the sensory deprivation, or the warm water, but this was heaven. And no biopsy required.

The pod

Canetto. Chillin'

February - Meditate with a Monk, Shirlington Library, Arlington, VA - free

I have been tracking the progress of the Monks as they Walk for Peace, and am hopeful I will have a chance to see them as they get closer to their endpoint of Washington, DC, this week. And in the spirit of this, I took advantage of a local activity I found that provided the opportunity to "meditate with a Monk" from the Mahamevnawa Meditation Center. My husband graciously agreed to be my plus one for this activity, which took place in one of the meeting rooms of Shirlington library on a Sunday afternoon from 3:00-4:30pm. I have a hard time sitting still and focusing, so this was an excellent practice for me. The volunteers from the meditation center set out mats and cushions for all of us and we sat cross-legged and listened to the Monk, who was very helpful (and surprising to me - very witty) as he explained how anger is not productive and is essentially a disparity between what we expect and what actually happens that we can handle in much better ways, and then led us through some silent meditations. Happily, I was able to sit still and breathe and got into the zone. There's something soothing about sitting still and "being" and I really enjoyed this. 

I had to take a very covert photo as the volunteers
were setting up for the meditation.

February - Don't Tell Comedy, Venture X, Fairfax, VA - $27/person

As it becomes increasingly difficult to find things to laugh about, this event really appealed to me. Don't Tell arranges comedy shows and keeps the exact location and comedians secret until the day of the event. Tickets were $27 per person, and they encourage you to BYOB and BYOSnacks. Yesterday morning, we learned that the event would be held at Venture X, which is a coworking space near the Mosaic District. When we arrived at the space, we were very excited - mostly to see about 60 people in the audience, as prior to arriving, I was having flashbacks to an indie film screening when my daughter and I were the ONLY people in attendance - but also because the seating and lighting made it feel very intimate and very cool. Right at 8:00pm, the emcee started the show, which consisted of five comedians (including him) and the comedy was excellent! We laughed out loud throughout, and each of the comedians had such great POVs and did not rely on raunchy humor for cheap laughs (a peeve of mine with a lot of comedy). Will definitely be going again. 

# # #

Last night was my first activity, and my friend (and one of the original Dilettantes), Amy, joined me.

January - Norwegian language lesson (beginner, obvs), Norway House, Fairfax, VA - $20/person

Back in early December, I received an email with area holiday events that included a holiday market at the Norway House in Fairfax. This place is about six miles from my house and I was not aware it existed, so I spent a few minutes perusing their web site. During this perusal, I learned that the Norway House provides Norwegian language lessons every Thursday night, with a beginner lesson at 6:00pm, and intermediate lesson at 7:00pm and conversation at 8:00pm. I emailed the instructor and she assured me that even though the class began in January of last year, anyone could drop in at any time and pick up where they were. There were about 20 people in attendance for the beginner lesson, everyone was lovely to us and made us feel welcome, and they offered Norwegian cookies and coffee before we began. And if I may steal an adage from our Greek friends, from there it was all Norwegian to me. It was obvious that over the past year we had missed some crucial vocabulary and masculine, feminine, and neutral articles that would have made this a little more "beginner." Additionally, there are some words that just don't naturally form in this American's mouth (see "kjeks" below), though I did try with varying levels of success. I so want to go back because everyone was so kind and it would be so much fun to learn this, particularly because I absolutely loved Norway when we visited a couple years ago, but I feel we missed the bat (Norwegian for "boat") in actually getting in on the beginner level. Also, sticking with something to the point of mastery goes against all that being a Dilettante means. 

The Norway House

Name of a bakery the instructor owns. 
I appreciate this.

Lesson 1 - I was delighted to learn that 

"Sara has a birthday soon" is "Sara har

bursdag snart" in Norwegian. Really, what

more do I ever need to learn?

Correct -ish

My mother has a tendency to remember names of things her own way. That is to say, her brain translates them into often more accurate phrasing that is not correct, but is one hundred percent more entertaining. She is not only well aware of this, but also refers to this propensity as "CE" meaning "close enough," - you can enjoy a couple of examples I previously wrote about here. 

She was at our house for Thanksgiving dinner this year. While I was setting the table for dinner, I included a Christmas cracker at everyone's place, which we opened after the meal. In addition to some groaner jokes and trivia, the crackers had a list of charades prompts, so we all took turns acting them out and guessing.

One of my prompts was "SpongeBob SquarePants." I began by signaling that it was television, that it was four words, and for the second word, I flipped the ends of my hair into a bob hairstyle, which my daughter immediately guessed. Maintaining that momentum, I went to the third word, and outlined a square shape in the air. It was at this moment I could see my Mom had determined what the answer was and she excitedly blurted out: "SQUARE BOB SHORT PANTS" 

Which I repeated, while hyperventilating from laughing, about sixteen times. 

When I recovered, her husband noted, "that's almost as funny as her recently referring to Post Malone as POST MORTEM." 

Which I think we can all agree is a much catchier name for the singer. 

To My Credit, It IS A Fartsy Foto

I was recently reminded of this exchange on Facebook after I had posted a photo my daughter took on a trip to London. Darren is a friend from high school who suffered through AP Art History with me. 

This may explain why I did not get a five on the exam.

 

 

License To Ill

When our daughter was first learning to drive a few years ago, we asked friends and neighbors for recommendations for behind-the-wheel training - and the same name kept popping up. To protect the instructor's identity, I will refer to him as "Steve" and his driving school as the "Hello" driving school. And feedback we received about Hello Steve were not so much endorsements as resigned, "well, everyone seems to use him, he has availability, and his pass rate is extremely high" comments.

As we are big proponents of mediocre-to-fair instruction for the next generation of drivers, we enrolled our daughter with Hello.

A couple of weeks later, Hello Steve appeared in our driveway, looking like an aging hippie with his long, gray hair and faded Hawaiian shirt. Our daughter hopped in the car with a few of her contemporaries and off they drove. It turns out their instruction from Steve consisted less of driving rules and more of him sharing rumors and gossip about other students who had previously enrolled in his school. Our daughter noted that every time he drove into a neighborhood and they passed a house of someone Steve had instructed and assumed the students might know, he'd dive into the salacious details the student had naively confided in him. 

Something else she learned during a subsequent lesson was that if they provided Hello Steve with Crumbl cookies or other treats, they would receive higher scores on their skills assessments. 

They may not have learned the finer points of parallel parking, but the teen drivers were certainly getting many life lessons under Hello Steve's tutelage.

Probably the most puzzling Hello Steve story occurred toward the end of our daughter's instruction. He began the lesson that day by requesting our daughter drive to the grocery store four miles away so he could retrieve the shoe (singular) he had left in the store's parking lot. He asked this nonchalantly, as though things like this happened often...and to everyone.

She obliged, they found and retrieved the shoe, and later that day, Hello Steve gave her a passing grade in the behind the wheel class.

Avoid Oakton roads,

Brutalism

A completely unrelated driving school photo. 

Pot Luck

While in Virginia Beach recently to celebrate my Mom's birthday, she suggested we go to a new event she had recently learned about: a backyard concert. This was only the third week of this recently-launched event, which is much more elaborate than it sounds. People show up with their lawn chairs, bring food to share, BTOB, and are rewarded with some amazing musical acts. It's a really nice evening and the homeowner/host/lead musician is a former neighbor of ours who has numerous musical awards, did a stint in Nashville chasing his musical dreams, and now coordinates this event to bring other talented musicians together on Saturday nights.

When my Mom asked if I remembered this neighbor, I had to share that it was a vague memory. He is six years older, so when he lived across the street, he was a cool high school kid and my sister and I were still elementary schoolers, so we were not contemporaries. However, I did vividly remember the aftermath of a party he had. It was a rager, and the next day, we found two small pot pipes among the discarded beer cans and other party debris in our front yard. 

Rather than throw these away, I washed them and included them as game tokens in a school project I was working on about avoiding drug usage. As I recall, the game board was a giant hypodermic needle fashioned out of blue poster board and I was excited that the pot pipe game tokens added a touch of realism to my 4th grade health project. 

On the day my project was due, I trotted off to school and happily presented the project to my class and my fourth grade teacher. 

One would think this resulted in a call home, a visit to the Principal's office, or at the very least, questions about why those were in my possession. But, alas, these were Virginia Beach City Public Schools. Not only was this completely accepted, I also received a A+ on my project. 

Game tokins'

Brutalism

Taking A Page From The Dilettantes

You may recall I was founder and member of The Dilettante Club back in the mid 2010s. During the time that club was active, I and the other three members managed to try almost EIGHTY unique activities. Doing some quick back-of-the-napkin math, it would appear we did every available activity in the DMV area and there is nothing left to do, amen.

Do you really think I'd give up that easily? 

After failed attempts to get involved in activities in preparation for my daughter going to college, I decided to revive the Dilettante Club. This time, inviting one friend to accompany me to each activity. (So "club" is not really an apt descriptor, but being able to coordinate with even one person's schedule feels like quite the achievement. Leave me alone.)

And so far this year, I've managed to try something new every month. I'll keep track of the activities here by updating this post each month and am cautiously optimistic I'll end 2025 with 12 new activities under my belt. Here's hoping one of them is not "Don red robe and rename myself Oftim." 

The activities?

JANUARY - Paper quilling, Trupti's Craft, Oakton Elementary School, VA

FEBRUARY - Blacksmithing, Lawless Forge, Sterling, VA

 

  

MARCH - Making hammered brass earrings, The Grounds of Livev, Oakton, VA

APRIL - Real Roots Meetup, Salazar, Washington, DC

This is a meet-up for women to get matched with a group of like-minded women in their city (in my case, in DC, as there were none of these scheduled for Northern Virginia). A facilitator guides conversations designed to build lasting friendships. If you love your group, you can continue with a six-week series together. Even though this was way out of my comfort zone, I went and am glad I did. The women were accomplished and very interesting, and the facilitator did a great job of getting our group to know each other in about 2.5 hours. Will I continue with the group for the next six weeks? TBD, but doubtful. Did I swap info with several of the women with the intent to meet up at some point in the future? Yes. I liked it and would definitely commit if it was more geographically desirable. 

MAY - Trying Durian Fruit, Oakton, VA

Click here for YouTube video of the experience. 

JUNE - "Not Another Home Movie" Film Screening, Vienna, VA

A professor at George Washington University who teaches storytelling courses and workshops screened five of her students' short films on a weekday at the Vienna Community Center. I asked my daughter to go with me, as I could drop her at her job after - and both of us were so glad we went! The films were poignant, sweet, profound, and silly. And gave us so much insight into each filmmaker in just a few minutes. Bonus: I'm now talking to the professor about how I can potentially help promote her annual film fest and just drafted a Comms plan that I'll help implement. 

JULY - Visiting the first Buc-ees in Virginia, Rockingham, VA

Disclaimer: I also saw Beyonce in concert this month. But the trip to Buc-ees won out because it was ridiculous, while the Beyonce concert was AH-MAZING! 

With half a day at our disposal and armed with the information that the first Buc-ees in Virginia had opened just three days prior, we headed toward Harrisonburg to check it out ourselves. Takeaways: gas was so cheap, it would almost be worth the two-hour drive to fill our tanks, bathrooms were huge and clean, and the rest was a convenience store on steroids. Fun to check it out, and bonus to walk around the JMU campus where I went to college. 

AUGUST - Clay Mosaics at Caboose Brewing, Mosaic District, VA

SEPTEMBER - Scavenger Hunt in the Town of Vienna, VA

OCTOBER - Pasta Making at Church Point Manor in Virginia Beach, VA

This was a dinner hosted by friends of mine - one of whom I've known since elementary school. They had recently returned from a trip to Italy where they had learned how to make pasta and then taught us how to do it. And it is every bit as much fun as it looks. 

NOVEMBER - Electronic Time Capsule Experiment and Meeting, Virtual

In November, I received an email I wrote in 2005 for this experiment sponsored by Forbes and Scientific American magazines. Back then, the publications requested people write an email that would be returned to them in 20 years. There was nothing paticularly prescient or revelatory in the email - it was mostly just sappy and included several extraneous commas, which I blame on having a newborn at the time. I attended a Zoom call with thousands of other people who participated in this experiment, and it was fascinating - mostly to discover I'm one of the few who still uses a yahoo email address. You can read more about this here.

Identity Crisis

Last weekend, our college kid attended a fraternity formal with her boyfriend. They enjoyed a nice dinner and dancing at a winery about half an hour from the university. 

At one point during the night, she bellied up to the bar to order a beverage. A quick scan of the drink list drew her eye to peach sangria, which was listed along with the prices for a glass and a pitcher, thusly:

                            Peach sangria  10/26 

With the unbridled confidence of an underage, hopeful drinker, she asked the bartender for a (and I quote), "Peach sangria ten twenty-six." 

Having obviously worked college functions before, the bartender promptly retorted, "ID, please."

Gentle reader, it was a peach sangria-less night. Alas.

Pancakes...all exciting at first...

Over the weekend, a friend reminded me of a story I shared with her from when my daughter was young:

I've always been a little overprotective, which has manifested in an assortment of ways throughout my daughter's childhood that she can unpack through intensive therapy. It didn't help my neuroses when a friend shared a story about a friend of his - an adult woman who choked to death on cottage cheese when she was home alone several years ago. This horrific story lodged itself in my brain and has haunted me ever since. (Aside: the guy who shared this makes a living as a comedy writer, completely disproving the old adage that tragedy + time = comedy.) 

Hearing that one story made me realize that even though we fully trusted our daughter to be at home by herself from the time she was about 8 years old, I did not trust her to eat when she was there because God Forbid she would choke on something. Thus was the impetus of the "no eating when home alone" rule.

I mean, she was allowed water and clear broth...I'm not a monster. Just nothing that required chewing.

Having become familiar with my nonsense, she rolled her 8-year-old eyes but obliged without too much resistance.  

Until one day when I was at my office and she had just returned home from school and texted me to let me know she was home safely, but was very hungry. I was not focused as I was finishing up a work call and also realized I was about ten minutes late to a meeting with a financial planner my husband had scheduled. So....when my daughter casually asked if she could make pancakes, I distractedly replied, "Sure. Just text me when you're done."

I then finished my work call, hopped on to the financial planner call, and when that was over it occurred to me that about an hour and a half had elapsed since my daughter asked about pancakes and I had not received the promised text from her. 

Slightly concerned, I texted her. She did not reply. I then called her. Also, no reply. I panicked. And continued to try and call her. Nothing. 

This is when the terror set in. I was already processing how the one time I was distracted and let her eat when she was home alone, she had choked on pancakes and was wondering how I'd ever live with myself. This was happening while I was hurriedly shoving my laptop into my backpack and heading to the elevator in my office building while continuing to ring her phone. I raced the four miles home WAY over the speed limit, continuing to call her phone and continuing to receive no response. 

When I finally reached the house, I pulled into the driveway and flew into the house screaming her name at the top of my lungs. I apparently sounded so panicked and looked like such a depraved lunatic that when she finally emerged from the guest room downstairs, wiping sleep from her eyes while trying to figure out what was going on, she burst into tears. 

To be fair:

1) the kid had never taken an afternoon nap before

2) she had also never not replied to a text and ESPECIALLY a phone call

3) I'm a lunatic

Brutalism

P.S. The post title is stolen from comic genius Mitch Hedberg. RIP.

Brutalism Digest

1) I'm in my skin cancer era. 

And while "A Mohs on my Nose" sounds like an adorable Seussian tale, it's not as much fun as one might think. I look forward to a dermatologist visit that does not result in the doctor commenting, "Hmm...I don't like the look of that" but am grateful that most of the time, she just freezes away the problem and I go sunbathe in celebration. 

2) We recently decided to replace the upstairs carpeting with hardwoods, so this week Mr. Brutalism and I are preparing for contractors. Some may view moving all the furniture, contents of every closet, and every piece of artwork hanging on the walls as a bonding experience for you and your spouse - that whole 'working toward a common goal' thing, right?

Yet when my friend texted last night to ask what I was doing, I shared, "Moving furniture with my soon-to-be-ex-husband." 

(ed. Know your audience when making a comment like the one above. I was workshopping it with a woman in my exercise class this morning who I don't know well, and she looked stricken when I said that and I had to explain it was a joke.)

3) We made it three whole weeks before we gave in and visited our first-year college student. (We miss her so much - see "massive home renovation project to keep us occupied" above.) She managed to find time to visit with us in between parties, friends visiting from another school, the football game, and volunteering. I managed to keep my nagging and lectures to a minimum. I had asked her to avoid using the electronic scooters around grounds because they are dangerous. And she has abided by this. Instead, she has driven her roommate ON THE SAME EBIKE AND WITHOUT HELMETS many miles around the city. So, fortunately, there was time for one small lecture. (For those with seniors, note it is called the "Common app" and not the "Common sense app.")

4) Recently went to see The Boss at Nats Stadium with my best friend from elementary school. This is the first time either of us had seen Bruce Springsteen live and the show was everything we heard it would be. He played almost four hours, he and the band sounded great, the weather that night was ideal, and we were so glad we went. (This is the same friend with whom I saw Tom Petty at Forest Hills Stadium in Queens a few months before he died. On the subway on the way to the show, Andrew Shue and his son entered our car and Andrew Shue sat right next to my friend. She claims to have been a fan of Melrose Place but interestingly, did not realize it was Andrew Shue sitting right next to her. Nonetheless, she proceeded to chat him up for the 45-minute train ride from Manhattan to Queens, explaining how we've loved Tom Petty since high school and that Tom looked like a high school friend of ours, blah blah blah. When we got to our seats, I was finally able to share that her new BFF was BILLY!)

5)  And finally, if we can locate our clothing and shoes and are still on speaking terms, Canetto and I are going to see Kumail Nanjiani this weekend. Cannot wait!

Grudge Match

Last year, I was cleaning the marketing closet at my office and came across about 50 perfectly good certificate frames that were taking up valuable space. After my company moved to fully remote work post-COVID, we realized our employees did not want framed certificates to hang in their home offices. Hence, the surplus.

In an attempt to find a use for the frames, I posted the whole lot on the Buy Nothing Facebook site in my area. And almost immediately, I got a taker - someone who could use all of them for a volunteer organization with which she was involved. Perfect! 

She agreed to meet me at 2:00pm to pick them up at my office, which is just a few miles from our neighborhood. As an added service, I told her I'd meet her curbside and help her load the frames into her car. 

She replied, "I'll message you when I'm on my way. That sounds great. We'll head over shortly. My kids can help, too." 

With the help of my daughter who was assisting me in the office that day, we piled the 50 frames onto a cart, rode the elevator down 11 floors, and navigated the unwieldy cart to the loading area in front of the building.

And then, we waited. And waited. At 2:33, I texted the woman again and asked, "Do you know what time you'll be here? We're waiting outside." She replied, "I'm on my way. The kids ended up going to the pool. I'll be there in a few."

At 2:54 pm, I texted her for the third and final time, stating, "I had to get to an appointment and left the frames in front of the building. Please let me know that you got them." Which she did, about ten minutes later. 

So, yes, she KNEW I WAS WAITING OUTSIDE for almost an hour and by way of explanation, told me she had taken her kids to the pool, and she certainly did not apologize. What I should have done was take the frames back upstairs and not answer any subsequent texts from her. However, I did not want her volunteer organization to suffer for her boorishness. 

I shared my frustration with a friend who is part of the same Buy Nothing site. Both she and I occasionally post items on the site and remind each other not to give them to this woman when she shows interest. (Everyone needs a Solidarity Sister.)

Oh, do you think that's petty? 

Well, buckle up, daffodils...

'Frame Boor' emerged again recently, posting items she was giving away on the site in the past few days. (She turns up every now and then to taunt me. I'm already on edge about the election this year and am seemingly ready to rant about the most mundane things. This being the latest of them.) I texted my friend, who replied to me a few moments later with, "Go back and look at her post." My friend had replied very politely to the woman's post asking for very specific, detailed measurements about the items the woman had posted. 

Frame Boor took the time to provide my friend a rather meticulous list of every possible specification for her items. To which my friend sweetly replied, "Sorry, that won't work for me." 

We plan to continue this operation until we have made up the hour the woman cost me last year. It may take a couple of years, but the long game is somehow more satisfying.

(Also? Harris. Obviously.)

Chain Yanking

 Mr. Brutalism seems to think I have the IQ of a piece of toast, based on a recent text exchange:

I mean, who DOESN'T know 
'yabba dabba doo'? I assumed
he was entertaining me...

Took him until "Peter Griffin" to realize I was goading him.  

Ironically, I Feel The Need To Hug It Out

Our lil cul de sac displays luminaries on the evening of January 1st - a tradition that began last year thanks to our neighborhood organizers. In addition to being lovely, it provides a nice way to casually gather with neighbors as we help to set up, light, then clean up the luminaries.

A couple of days ago, as I approached the organizer's house to help fill bags with sand and candles, I saw another neighbor already there. As I leaned over to observe her process for filling the bags, she pulled away quickly and exclaimed, "No hugs! I'm fighting a cold!"

I was NOT going in for a hug, but I'm also not very good about responding to things like this when I'm caught off guard, so I didn't say anything and simply let the awkwardness hang in the air for the rest of the bag assembly period. 

Of course, I texted another neighbor I'm friends with about this later and asked her, "Have I EVER hugged a neighbor? Do I have a reputation as a neighbor-hugger?" She assured me I do not. 

I also let her know that more neighbors showed up after this uncomfortable exchange...and that I hugged none of them. 

Embracing the awkward (<--- see what I did there?),

Brutalism

Welp

We were recently invited to our next door neighbor's holiday cookie swap...and we were very excited to go. They're the third set of neighbors who have lived in the house since we've been in the neighborhood and all have been very good next door neighbors. (The turnover is probably not our fault.)

They're extremely considerate, have an adorable four-year old, and decorate for all holidays, which we admire and enjoy but never seem capable of doing ourselves. 

The cookie swap began at 4:00pm to accommodate little ones' schedules and me, my husband and daughter made the short walk next door a few minutes past, passing a large, inflatable gingerbread lawn decoration in their front yard in the process. 

And we had a blast! Other neighbors were there who are in the midst of a major home reno project which has required them to have a porta potty in their driveway for the construction workers. While they were decorating their house for the holidays, they went ahead and strung some lights on the porta potty, too. (One hopes they will capture the magic of the holiday season by capturing a family photo in front of it.)

After a couple of hours, our daughter left the party to meet some friends. We stayed a little while longer, then packed some cookies in a bag and headed out for the (now, dark) walk next door. About five steps in, my foot got tangled in the cord for the gigantic inflatable gingerbread man and I stumbled, threatening to take us both down. I righted myself, but when I stepped forward again, I again stumbled, and he bent, but did not fall over. I finally extricated myself from the gingerbread man support lines and escaped with at least the decoration intact. (My pride, not so much.)

Later that week, I was setting up the heating pad for my daughter, who had a sore back. After I plugged it in, I almost tripped over the cord, and it reminded me of the gingerbread man incident which I shared with her, laughing. 

To which she proclaimed, "NO WAY! When I left, I did the exact same thing! Except I fell and the cookies and one of my shoes went flying. I stood up, picked up all the cookies, looked around to determine if anyone had witnessed this, and then muttered, "welp" out loud to myself before walking home."

Welp,

Brutalism

"Adulting"

Yesterday, my husband included me on an email reply he sent to some folks at a financial planning company.

To acknowledge I had received and processed this information, I had many solid options. I could:

1. Do nothing
2. Thank him in person for handling this when I saw him at home later
3. Reply "received," "acknowledged," or the classic "thanks"
4. Reply, "money money money money MUH-NEE" 

I, of course, went with option 4. He is used to my adorableness, so this wasn't out of the ordinary. 

For him. 

It may have been a little out of the ordinary for the six financial planners I mistakenly included in the missive.

I will never be a grownup. 

Apologies to the O'Jays,

Brutalism

Nash Vegas, The Sequel

For our kiddo's 18th(!!!) birthday this past weekend, we headed to Nashville to celebrate. 

When you see a T-Rex heading to baggage
claim, you know the trip is starting out well.

As we did the countdown to her birthday, we were sure to keep her posted about how many hours she had left to commit a felony before she'd be charged as an adult. (Spoiler alert: She totally squandered this opportunity.)

Our last family visit to this city was in May 2015, at which point it was just beginning to become the all-hours/every day drinkathon it seems to have become. (Seriously. Party buses and drinking start around 9:30am and every single bachelorette party takes place here. On the upside, there is great live music in all of the dozens of honky-tonks on Broadway at any time of day or night, which is pretty amazing.) We returned to The Second Fiddle to recreate a photo we had taken during the first trip:

October 2023

May 2015

Our hotel was about eight blocks to downtown - a nice walk that took us past the Country Music Hall of Fame, National Museum of African American Music, Bridgestone Arena (where Phish was playing for three nights while we were in town), and the historic Ryman Auditorium. In keeping with the theme of all music/all the time, our hotel made available record players and albums to check our during our stay - which of course, we did:

The first night we were in town, we met up with friends who live about an hour outside of Nashville: grandparents and their grandkids we met on a trip to Peru in 2021. They are a cool bunch and we had a blast catching up with them. (The grandparents are close to 80 years old and heading to Bonaire in a couple of weeks for a dive trip, if that gives you any indication...)

October 2023

December 2021

During the weekend, we shopped at several vintage shops, including one that had a lot of rock 'n roll paraphernalia. I had just about convinced my daughter she needed a super cool Sid Vicious t-shirt when she looked at and saw the $200 price tag.

Nashville has also become a lot more fancy.

As we made our way back to our hotel, we stopped to try hot chicken, going with "medium" over "hot" in a last-minute decision. That did not make it in any way palatable. No fans of hot chicken, we.

What evil tastes like. 

One evening, we walked past a karaoke bar and decided to go in. Almost to a person, the people singing karaoke could sign a contract to become recording artists. Our daughter, who is not known to be a singer, really wanted to go on stage, but was understandably apprehensive about getting up there alone. Not to be dissuaded, she found a group of four women singing together and approached them as they came offstage to see if they'd be interested in singing with her and THEY WERE. 

They sang Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne and KILLED IT!  

Also at the karaoke bar, we saw an assistant coach from our daughter's high school football team. At her request, he took a photo with her then made a quick exit, probably wisely surmising that photographic evidence of him with a drink in hand at a bar with a student may not be that well-received.

We headed back to Broadway at midnight, so Ave could be among the party people when she officially reached adulthood: 

Some Phish-goers. 

Our last day in Nashville, we made good on a promise for my daughter to get her inner ear pierced. She claimed it was painless, but the thought of it was unsettling enough for her to pass out cold in the lobby of the piercing studio, which is apparently not great for business as they immediately shuffled her off to a back room where she could lie down.

After regaining consciousness, 
Ave asked hopefully if I had taken a picture of her in 
the passed-out heap. I informed her I did not, as
I was busy pretending to be a concerned parent.
The above is a re-creation of what she looked like.

Once Ave felt stable again, we wandered over to the Country Music Hall of Fame, which was very interesting, had lunch at Pinewood Social, and headed to the airport. When we landed at IAD, she was reminded that due to the time difference, she had one more hour to celebrate her birthday in Virginia. 

More pics from the trip:

Honesty = best policy

Shelby Street Bridge

Broadway

Hard to believe she's an adult.
At least chronologically.

A Very Involved Process

I'm becoming acutely aware of how little time I have left in my current position. 

I'm not referring to my full-time job - that will continue for the foreseeable future. I'm talking about my part-time job - the one where I provide administrative, catering, and emotional support to my kid. I can't even think about it most days, as we have been a lil team of three for more than 18 years and knowing our time with her will be limited in less than a year is a big, fat kick in the gut.

In anticipation of having a lot more time to myself, I've determined I better start filling up my schedule NOW, and have looked into different activities and classes to see what sticks. (Side note: You may recall I was a founding member of the Dilettante Club, so "finding something that sticks" is not really part of my DNA.)

So far, this little venture has gone about as well as anticipated. 

Attempt at Getting involved #1: 

Mr. Brutalism and I went to a recruitment meeting for a local volunteer organization to which we were invited. Deciding this would be a good way to learn more about our community and meet new people, we followed up with the recruitment chair asking if we could join even though we could not make EVERY SINGLE WEEKLY MEETING HELD AT LUNCH TIME DURING THE WORK DAY (capital letters are for purposes of this blog post - I promise we were much more genteel in our correspondence with him). 

Result: No response to our email. (Yes. We were ghosted. For a volunteer position.)

Attempt at Getting Involved #2: 

As a kid, I took fencing lessons through the Virginia Beach Parks and Rec department for a couple of years. I remembered enjoying it and figured I may want to re-visit this as an adult, so I was DELIGHTED to learn that a local fencing academy is only a few miles from my house and has beginning adult classes. I emailed the contact and she replied almost immediately about dates and times that were available for me to try a free introductory class. I was riding in the car when I read this, and started to reply to her email when I realized I'd need to check Google calendar for my availability first, and put my phone down so I could talk to my husband, who was driving.

Result: Apparently, when I put my phone down, I recorded whatever (made up song lyrics, "your mom" jokes, and other ridiculous/typical) conversation Mr. Brutalism and I were having, which went into the body of the email I had opened earlier, and then I somehow SENT THIS TO THE FENCING LADY. I did not realize this until I received a reply from her saying, "Excuse me. What are you talking about?" I still have not read what exactly was included in the talk-to-text because I think it's better for my mental health. I will also not be pursuing fencing until I move to another country. 

Attempt at Getting Involved #3: 

I convinced my friend, Lisa, to take a self-defense class at our local community center and we attended our first session this week. After an initial snafu of the class being scheduled for one room and the instructor being in another, we finally found each other and began the class.

Result: When Lisa asked me what I thought of the class the next day, she said she expected it to be more women-centric, with more practical methods of self-defense, such as screaming "no" and stomping on the attackers' feet. I agreed with her, as it seems like what we were taught had more to do with martial arts and street fighting. I suggested we review the class description from the online catalog and read the following:

Small details that we both seem to have glossed over. But hey - when the next rumble breaks out in Oakton, we'll be ready to go! 

At this point, it may just be easier to adopt a baby,

Brutalism