Not Your Grandma's Sunday Afternoon Book Club

Question: What do you do when your book club chooses a book that everyone agrees will elicit about 15 minutes worth of discussion?

Answer: Host a fantastic dinner party wherein all participants are required to wear a wig and bring a delicious dish. Thank you, Liza! It was a beautiful night; everyone participated in the merriment; and there was so much laughter - a great success!

For August, we read Ruth Reichl's Garlic and Sapphires, a memoir chronicling her six years spent as The New York Times' food critic. During her tenure, she found it necessary to dress in disguises to hide her identity and gain a realistic dining experience at the restaurants she reviewed. Hence, our themed evening.
It was an okay book. The author began to take on the persona of the different women she embodied - talking like them, acting like them, empathizing with their plights, which was sort of interesting. She included an assortment of recipes, none of which anyone brought to the party, which Caroline astutely pointed out as being curious. She also reprinted her published reviews from the Times, which after reading the accounts of her various experiences in prose, was simply overkill. It was certainly not a meaty enough idea to fill all 328 pages of book.

On the plus side, we had a marvelous time at the party and selected our books for the next few months:

September - To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
October - The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
November-ish - The Ha-Ha, Dave King
December-ish - The Secret History, Donna Tartt
January - The Last Tycoon, F. Scott Fitzgerald
February - Kitchen Confidential, Anthony Bourdain
March - The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
April - Water for Elephants, Sara Gruen

Additionally, Liza and I had a very interesting day wig shopping Saturday. I won't go into great detail, but let's just say when a wig store owner tells you there is a five-wig-try-on-limit, that is precisely what she means. And don't try to go down the street to another wig store. She will alert the next merchants of your behavior and the next merchants will monitor you with in-store cameras. Five wigs, dammit. That's it.

Easy Rider

I have ridden my bike to and from work for the past two months, except for one day last week when it was raining and Bonnie gave me a ride. I'm convinced one of my peers put a hex on me by asking if I'd had any trouble with poor weather conditions. "Not so far," I replied cheerily. And of course, downpour the next morning.

I like riding. It's good to get the skunk out of the boat in the morning and, in the evening, it's a nice way to blow off steam. Yesterday I cursed under my breath the whole ride home. It was glorious. And by the time I walked in the front door I was totally over whatever it was.

Thursday is my least favorite day to commute. It's trash day and the whole ride smells like garbage. But nine out of ten normal-smelling commutes is a pretty good record.

Have Dabber, Will Travel

I come all the way from Vero Beach, Florida - land of canasta, bridge, and bocce ball - and what do I do?

Play Bingo.

I would have felt marginally guilty about this lapse in coolness, but I must say it was quite entertaining. In fact, it was the very definition of good, clean fun.

We went on Quilt Bingo night. Meaning: the prize for each game was some sort of quilted throw or wall hanging or table runner. If that doesn't make you want to rush out to your neighborhood bingo hall, I don't know what will.

For twenty dollars at the door they gave us our game cards (I'm guessing we played about 20 games) and a nifty, hand-made, one-of-a-kind tissue holder (as seen above). You might say that everyone went home a winner. Plus, in between each game they auctioned off baked goods; there was a raffle for various donated items; and there was a silent auction going on throughout the night.

Proceeds went to Race for the Cure.

I may or may not have spent $25 on a box of home-made fudge. But how often do I get to eat fudge? And it was for a good cause. AND, I used the delicious treats as a friend-making device throughout the night. I was very popular. Apparently, there is a serious fudge deficit in Richmond.

I had fun out-bidding the lady at the next table. Although, I was jealous of the woman who went home with the cake shaped like a cartoon chicken. Now that's a fancy dessert!

No, Thank YOU, Department of Motor Vehicles

Commonly, the DMV is synonymous with torture. In movies it is portrayed as the pinnacle of doldrums: flickering, fluorescent lights, a grimy scene washed in blue/green hues, a large room populated by the most dubious types, linoleum floors, beads of sweat, tapping feet, popping gum, screaming children, numbers called, general confusion.

I spent Saturday morning in this lovely setting, waiting for my number to be called. Finally (finally!) the glorious sound came over the loudspeaker: A-25! Valiantly, with hopeful anticipation, I marched up to the window only to learn that I did not have the proper credentials needed to renew my license. And upon further examination of the list of acceptable documents to prove my Virginia residency, I realized it may be months before I can obtain such a paper. Is my situation really that unique?

Twice I have done my hair and makeup for these people. Yes, this was my second foray into hell. What is the problem?? Is it me? It must be me.

And to the guy who sat down next to me for the five minutes I tried courteously not to move: Yes, the stench of booze and cigarettes IS detectable - even at 11:00 in the morning.

Adding to my misery: I am officially driving around with an expired license. Ugh.

On the plus side, I ride my bike to work. So there, DMV! Victory is MINE! Ha!

My Exodus from Youth

Do you like my green cardigan?



You know how there are those ages that seem slightly more momentous (read: horrifying) than the ones before it or the ones to follow? Well, that's how turning 29 has felt to me.

I'm happy to report nothing has changed. I have no new aches or pains; I'm no wiser than I was at 28; I haven't begun wearing mom jeans; I am feeling a little puffy, but that may have more to do with the copious amounts of wine I've consumed in celebration of the grand occasion.

Last weekend my mom came to visit. Part of the beauty of moving to Virginia is that it's only a short five hour drive to mom's house. We had a blast - more wine, of course. Saturday we went to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, which reopened in May upon completion of renovations. It was marvelous. We saw the Tiffany exhibit, which was exquisite - beautiful mosaics and leaded-glass windows. I wanted to tell the docents to just wrap everything up and put it in my car. No? But it's my birthday!

Next weekend I'm driving to mom's to attend a birthday party for one of her good friends. He turns 50 in November and has decided to celebrate the entire year. Now THAT'S what I call a party. You're my hero, Curt.

Doing My Part for Virginia's Infrastructure

The trouble with getting lost in Richmond is that there are many, many tolls. What should have been a mere $.70 quickly turned into a highway shopping spree. I just spent about $6.00 trying to get home from Target. I got so turned around I think I heard my GPS snort.

Luckily, I have the E-Z Pass, so it never feels like I'm spending money. And that little green "thank you" light is just so congenial. You're welcome, Virginia:)

Admittedly, I have been proud of myself for making it around so competently since I've been here. Mom gave me a Garmin GPS for Christmas, possibly the most inspired gift ever given. I named her Lucy and knew that we would quickly become best friends after my move to Richmond.

Lucy's usually great. My complaints are that she takes a long time to get her bearings and sometimes doesn't tell me to turn until we are rolling through the intersection. Really, Lucy?! Turn HERE?! Lately she's been stuttering a lot. T-t-t-turn r-r-i-i-i-ight on Fra-a-a-nk-nk-nklin; then t-t-t-urn l-l-l-e-e-eft. Lucy, are you okay??

If you know me, you may know that I have a hopeless, chronic affliction that can only be characterized as severe geographic idiocy. I am looking forward to really knowing my way around. But these things take time.

A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words

Incidentally, there is no picture to go with this post. I am slaving over three measly pages for my screenwriting course, which meets Thursday night. This is the fourth class in a six-week series and I am one of two people who have not yet submitted pages. I MUST have something for my classmates to tear apart with their vicious, judgmental teeth this week.

Actually, everyone is very nice and seems interested in contributing in a helpful way. It's just SO hard. It's way harder than I thought it would be. I know, I know...if it were easy, everyone would do it.

But here I am with a copy of M. Night Shyamalan's "Signs" in front of me, trying to fashion the first three pages of my floundering comedy into something other-worldly.

On the plus side, I suppose the difficulty means I'm learning something. And I'm enjoying it. Marginally.

Beating the Heat...Virtually

One race. Two adorable shirts. What a deal.

On your marks...

Done...and done


This morning Kate and I participated in the Richmond Fire Beat the Heat 5K. I was also running a virtual 5k sponsored by my dear friend Kat karlandkat.com. Are these shirts the cutest things you've ever seen? Incidentally, I fit right in with the yellow.

This is the type of multitasking I like to do. I essentially completed two races, but only ran one. Genius.

We finished in under 30 minutes, which I consider to be a great success. It was hot, but the course was shady and for some reason seemed mostly down hill. Strange, considering it was up one way and back the other, meaning at some point we must have been traveling uphill.

Holy Redneck Fraternity Party, Batman

The highly anticipated, zany "shrimp mustache" photo

Beer trucks = successful shindig

Cornhole: fun for the whole family

Electric Slide: need I say more?

Before all the seafood in the gulf (and at this rate, surrounding oceans) is obliterated by oil, we were fortunate to attend the Mechanicsville Shrimp Festival where we enjoyed a healthy plate of delicious sea fare and countless pints of refreshing, domestic beverages that poured right out of the side of a truck.

It was a college kid’s dream. Budweiser said, “Ha!” to the measly keg and found a way to distribute several different kinds of beer to several different kinds of people all at one time. It was glorious!

But I digress…the seafood was outstanding. Each plate weighed about two pounds and was piled high with boiled shrimp (served chilled), hushpuppies, fried whitefish (yummm) and coleslaw. I felt so guilty throwing away leftover shrimp, but there was honestly no way any self-respecting human could have stomached that much chow. I assure you, no Shrimp Fest attendee went hungry this year.

To burn off some of those calories, there was a dance floor with a live d.j. and several games of Cornhole going. The cost of all this fun, you ask: 20 clams (see what I did there?).

If BP can get its top hat on straight, I will definitely attend in 2011. I’ll let you know if anyone goes hungry next year.

It's Not Facebook Official Yet...

...but I think I got a job. In fact, I think I got THE job! That is, working at the VCU School of Dentistry as a dental assistant. But then, who wouldn't want to hire this professional? She looks so trustworthy and ethical. Thank you, Liza, for my entire ensemble. You are the smartest dresser I know. I think it was Mark Twain who said, "Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society."

If I understand correctly, I will have my own little operatory where fourth year dental students can treat patients in a simulated private practice. It will be an exercise in time management and the students' getting an overall idea of what it might be like when they have their own practice.

I'm stoked. It sounds like such an interesting job. Plus, technically, I will be a state employee, which my dad is thrilled about. He has always maintained that government jobs are the best based on the benefits (and perhaps job security?).

In other news...I have lots to post. I have neglected my blog and my many followers, but I do have several Richmondian events to report on. It may not happen this weekend, but it will happen. Teaser: one picture involves me holding up a piece of shrimp as if it were a mustache. Hilarious, no? I can think of few things funnier than a shrimp mustache.

Dogs Are a ... Squirrel's (?) Best Friend

Whoever’s idea it was to invite all of Richmond’s tail waggers to the ballpark last night is a genius. If you thought there could be nothing more fun than a mid-May evening baseball game, add a couple hundred dogs and you’ve got Bark in the Park. It should really be a weekly event.

I have neglected to mention the cutest member of my super foster family: Elvis. He is a rescue dog with possibly the most adorable face I have ever seen. He enjoys guarding the front door, daily morning walks with mom and dad, sleeping all day, and nighttime treats of pig’s ears and cheese.

In short, Elvis is such a good dog and just as loveable as they come. So when Kate suggested we take him out on the town to this hilarious-sounding baseball function, I couldn’t have been more excited.

There was one point of concern, however, and it had to do with the chosen mascot of Richmond’s minor league team: the Flying Squirrels. I’ll spare you the details of Elvis’ indiscretions with the furry creatures. Suffice it to say that Bruce sometimes brings an extra baggie on their morning walks in case there’s a corpse to clean up. Elvis occasionally contributes happily to the circle of life.

We took our chances last night and luckily, Nutzy, the mascot, nary made an appearance. He either took the night off or craftily stayed out of the three designated dog sections. Smart squirrel.

Anyway the night was a great success. The park was well equipped with pools of drinking water, duty-calls bags and dog treats. Lots of locals brought their pooches to the park. And it was a great way to mingle – for both two-legged and four-legged animals.

READ THIS: The funniest part of the night happened right when we arrived. Everyone rose for the national anthem and as the singing began about 15 dogs started howling along. Talk about a soloist’s worst nightmare!

Faster Than a Speeding Bullet

The top pictures are of Kate and me after the Carytown 10K yesterday morning. She’s just said to me, “Ew, you’re back is really sweaty.” Notice how her arms are in rocket ship position.

That’s right; we’re still standing (and smiling) after running 6.2 miles. The weather was gorgeous, the course was magnificent, and more than 1,500 people participated. What a perfect way to spend a Sunday morning.

Plus, the race coordinators did a fantastic job. They posted the times almost instantly after we crossed the finish line. And when I checked my email yesterday afternoon, they had sent me a congratulatory letter including weather conditions for my personal running records (ha!), as well as where I stood in relation to everyone else, amongst only the women, and within my age group. How organized is that?!

The bottom picture is of the blister on my left foot. I am debating on whether to perform surgery on it. I think I’ll leave it alone for now and see what happens. Blisters are tricky.

Pretzel, Anyone?

So, I understand that Bikram Yoga is not specific to Richmond, but I feel compelled to share my experience since my first encounter with Bikram took place here.

Now, I consider myself to be a fairly fit person. I’m not going to win any speed races or bodybuilding competitions, but I do work out on a regular basis and I would not call myself a stranger to the yoga mat.

My super foster family practices Bikram Yoga regularly. “You must try it,” they said. “You’ll love it,” they exclaimed. “You’ll do great,” they added.

Did I “do great”? No.

Did I “love it”? No again.

Must I have tried it? Well, I’m no expert on life’s necessities, but I probably could have gone an entire lifetime without it.

Does my attitude toward Bikram make me feel like a weenie? Perhaps, but I will say the people with whom I endured those 95 minutes (don’t try and pretend like it was 90 minutes as the schedule said – I can read time) are warriors. The sweatiest, most focused warriors I have ever encountered.

Allow me to recreate the circumstances that led me to my conclusions. Before class I met with the instructor who gave me some pointers. They may sound like stern rules to the inexperienced, but she assured me they were just helpful hints:

• Do not leave the room during the entire 90 minutes (ahem, 95 minutes) for any reason. I could feel my tiny bladder tensing up with anxiety.
  
• You may feel dizzy during your first session, so when that happens, sit or lie down on your mat and wait for it to pass. WHEN that happens?
• Don’t wipe the sweat from your face or drink any water for the first 25 minutes of class. The salty beads were already accumulating on my forehead.
  
• No talking. Hahahahaahahahaa! Oh, seriously??

I was getting nervous. This was going to be a challenge.

As we walked from the locker room to class, my friend examined my measly 24 oz. of water and let me know I should have invested in a bigger bottle. I could only pray that I would be passed out in a corner before thirst set in.

Walking inside the yoga room, I was assaulted by heavy, musty, cumbersome heat. It felt like someone had thrown a king-sized blanket recently drawn from a boiling cauldron of peanut butter over my body. It seriously must have been 120 degrees, though the thermostat only read up to 99.

We sat down without a word and class began shortly after. “Ninety minutes,” I coached myself. I can do this for 90 minutes. And I did. Ninety five, actually, in case you missed that detail. I twisted and stretched and bent my back in ways I never thought possible. I balanced and reached and probably lost about five pounds of water weight by the time it was all said and done.

I could possibly improve if I chose to attend class a second time. But as long as I live in America, I just don’t think that’s going to happen.

Mother’s Day is rapidly approaching, people

It’s a well known fact that no matter what your age or how creatively stunted you may be, your mother with always, ALWAYS cherish a hand-made crafts project from her perfect little angel. I have discovered a place you can go that will cover all manner of creative inadequacies and will afford you, precious angels, the ability to give your mother the greatest gift ever. It is called All Fired Up, “Richmond’s Original Paint Your Own Ceramics Studio.” getallfiredup.com

You can select from one of its many pre-made ceramic pieces or craft your own in the wet clay studio. Next, you choose your paint colors. And finally, you create the best Mother’s Day present ever. The glazing process takes about a week, and the final products are food safe and (I think) dishwasher safe.

I am, to put it lightly, hopelessly incompetent in the art department. I can construct a grammatically correct sentence faster than you can say “eats, shoots and leaves,” but painting and drawing have never been my strong suits. The pressure was on, but I was quickly engrossed.

It was fun, therapeutic and well worth the reasonable cost. The only thing that would have made it more enjoyable is if there had been wine involved. But I suppose alcohol in a ceramics studio is never a good idea.

My Super Foster Family

Did I mention my fantastic living situation? I’m staying with some long-time family friends who have generously offered to put me up until I can stand on my own. They are the nicest, most laid back people you will ever meet. Plus, we share the common trait of loving a good time.

Kate and Liza are around the same age as I am and we’ve enjoyed family beach trips together since we were wee ones. The best part: they grew up in the city and know just about everything there is to know, plus they currently live here and appreciate Richmond as adults. This is all to say I am a very lucky girl because I have built-in tour guides who enjoy laughter every bit as much as I do.

In a Nutshell

Aside from the requisite day of shopping on Cary Street (the greatest place on earth), we also went to a Richmond Flying Squirrels baseball game last Saturday. It was a blast and a great way to kick off my first weekend in town - bright lights, crisp air, $2 hot dogs, healthy competition, cute guys in uniforms, and the biggest, coldest beers in all the land. Oh, and BONUS: the Flying Squirrels reigned victorious! If you haven’t had the pleasure of cheering on the Squirrels, it’s time to grab your foam finger and head out to the ball park.

In The Beginning

I’ve spent the last six years on Florida’s Treasure Coast, a beautiful, sleepy cluster of beach communities with plenty of fine dining opportunities and pristine golf courses – perfect for any retiree looking to relax, enjoy the beach, and do not much else. It was great while it lasted. But something has occurred to me recently: I’m 28 years old, and I’m not ready to retire.

Last Friday I moved to Richmond, Virginia. I am excited about what the city has to offer socially and professionally. Already I’ve had to stop myself from smiling goofily while watching all the pretty young people go by. If you saw a day-dreaming fool with her tongue hanging out of her mouth last Saturday in Carytown, I’m very sorry. It’ll sink in eventually, but for now I’m just soaking up the style, the people, the fashion, the attitude and all the beautiful sites.