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.