Shirlington Ho s

In today's blog post, I am going to share my Saturday adventures with you.  My seester came to visit for the weekend and much fun was had by all.  Shenanigans galore (I'm going to skip the telling of the "shenanigans" that involved laying on the couch in baggy sweatpants and stick to the fun bits).  This tale will largely be told in picture form, because we took a lot of damn pictures.

We began the day's adventures with a late breakfast at Busboys & Poets.  I had chili, Kristy had mimosas.

Ok, I had mimosas too.

Happy, in a mild mimosa fugue state, we camped out in a local Starbucks (the mild, mimosa fugue state only lasts so long before the extreme post-mimosa sleepy state settles in), where Kristy did some homework (about five minutes worth, as a matter of fact) and I did a hours and hours wee bit of work-work.   I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that we didn't get much actual work done, but our grand intentions should count for something.  We did enjoy each other's company, as well as the many silly things we found on Reddit.

As our breakfast was more of a brunch we didn't have an actual lunch, and after exhausting ourselves with all the hard work and whatnot, we were starving by 5ish.  We headed off to Jaleo -- a spectacular Spanish tapas place in Crystal City -- at 5:30 to have dinner.  With the rest of the geriatrics.

Our first course was sparkling white sangria.

According to Kristy:  "This tastes like heaven."
Also, "It looks like we're drinking vegetables.  There's a lot of green."

Next came the tiny cheese with tiny breads with tiny spreads.  And more sangria.

Heather says, "This cheese is the most disgusting thing I have ever put in my mouth."

(says Kristy)

Needing meat (*wink*) in addition to the sangria (and mostly just to expel the horror that was the taste of goat cheese out of my mouth forever), I ordered spicy chorizo wrapped in potatoes and my oh-so-very-favorite, fried dates wrapped in bacon (why yes, they are as amazing as they sound).

I look the same in every single picture ever, so here, the important things:
booze and fried bacony goodness.

In honor of my I WILL TRY LOTS OF NEW THINGS month, I threw caution to the wind and ordered Conejo En Salmorego Con Pure De Albaricoques, or Canary Island-style (tiny, fluffly, adorable) rabbit confit with apricot puree.

Skeptical Heather is skeptical.

But Heather, the charming and graceful eater that she is, dug in with gusto.  (Why do I keep referring to myself in the third person?)

Does my mouth need to be open that wide?

And you know what?  Cute, sweet, fluffy little bunnies ARE DELICIOUS!

On the outside I looked like this...

... but on the inside, my mouth and tummy were doing this.

Dessert seemed like the next course of action (see what I did there?), but looking at the dessert menu, we were flummoxed.

Kristy:  I DON'T UNDERSTAND ANY OF THE WORDS HERE.

Truth be told, we were in such a happy, blissful sangria state, it didn't matter much what we ordered.  We had something with apples in some kind of sauce in some kind of magical bread pouch-thing and it was scrum-diddly-umptious.

And finally we were done and full and happy and in need of HOOKAH.  Off to Andalusia we went.  A tea and hookah joint, to be precise.  Hookah.  Tea.  Hm, I see hookah, and tea, but... but... where's the WINE?!  Alas, wine was not to be had at Andalusia, but I will say the hookah was top-notch, as were the random friends we made while sitting outside, enjoying the night and our shisha.  (Or however you spell that.)

Still, we were sad to lose our sangria-induced happiness and being the classy ladies we are, we (we being "I") popped over to the 7-11 and bought a few small bottles of wine, which we sipped surreptitiously throughout the evening.   All class, my friends, all class.

We rounded out the evening with yet more wine at Capital City Brewery in Shirlington and had grand plans to head back to the homestead after finishing our drinks and end our evening with a rousing bout of Dance Central on the XBox, but instead, we went immediately to sleep.  Immediately.  I don't think we could have managed to turn on the XBox, much less rustle up enough coordination to play any sort of game.  Unless it was a sleeping game; that we would have rocked at.

Shit, we couldn't even manage a decent self-portrait.

"Kristy, why can't you get your head in there?"

....alllllmost.

"Kriiisty, I don't want a solo picture."

"Here, I'll take the picture."
See, perfect.

As good as it's going to get.  At least that night.

(OHFORTHELOVEOFGODANDALLTHATISHOLY!  It should not be this difficult to format multiple pictures at once.  Make this better, Google!)

And that was our very fun Saturday.  Our Sunday involved the couch, the television and not much else.  Totally worth it.

To go back to the challenge a bit, here are some other things I have tried this month:  a new chili recipe, duck (at a Peking Duck place -- I'm glad I had the experience, but I find it perfectly acceptable to never eat duck again.  Bring on the wabbit!), chocolate covered edamame (do not want again).  Um, shit.  Wait, no, I didn't eat shit.  I meant "Shit!" in an exclamatory fashion because I can't remember any of the other things I've tried this month.  Next post... (which will be a less boozey post).

This is where I live and would now, and forever more, like to be known as a "Shirlington Ho" (..s).

Shannon

She's waiting for you, Shannon.  She misses you.

Apparently I only take pictures of myself after I go to the gym.
Also, I don't know what's scarier - my face or the doll's.

Hello Cupcake!

A few years ago – six, to be exact-ish – my body made the rash and misguided decision to no longer allow dairy into its delicate and rather fractious system.  A war was waged, finally resulting in my reluctant and anguished surrender to life as a Lactose Intolerant.  I learned to live without dessert, without the sheen of cheese bubbling and browning on top of baked ziti, without my mother’s butter and Velveeta-laden homemade macaroni and cheese.  Sure, there are dairy-free alternatives to both cheese and dessert, but let’s face it folks, none of them can compete with the likes of velvety cheesecake or Doritos dripping with chili con queso.  But, humans are remarkable creatures and like the many sufferers of all things dairy who came before me, I learned to adapt. 

Goodbye forever, dairy products.

Years go by.  I, for the most part, refrain from cheese and dessert.  It is not a life filled with pizza or molten lava chocolate cake, but it is a good life nonetheless.

Enter the cupcake craze.  Suddenly, cupcakes everywhere.  Do you know, dear readers, who cupcake dealers strive to accommodate?  Everyone.  Everyone, everywhere.  Not only do they bake delicious, delectable, buttery, creamy, lactose-filled cupcakes of all flavors and varieties, many have added gluten and dairy-free options to their repertoire to satisfy those less fortunate delicate flowers such as myself; we champions of label-reading, we "can-you-please-put-the-cheese/dressing/whipped cream-on-the-side" wretches.

The cupcake craze incited my journey to find the perfect, the best, the most drool-worthy vegan cupcake the world has to offer.  (And by “the world” I mean the “Washington Metropolitan Area”.)  I wanted to enjoy dessert again – not merely eat the dry, gritty, strange concoctions I was presented with as my only alternatives.  I won’t take the time to extol the virtues of the man fine cupcake establishments I have visited (and in some cases, frequented) over the years.  No one has that kind of time and the point of this post is to tell you about the near-orgasmic cupcake experience I had last night near Eastern Market in DC.

After a lovely stroll and dinner with the equally lovely and charming Katie and Kristy, we executed a quick Google search in hopes of finding a nearby cupcakery.  We were lucky enough to find Hello Cupcake a mere two blocks away.  With its ooey-gooey-happy pink awning, it was easily spotted.   Experience has taught me to always enter a cupcakery with an air of apprehension, as I have left many a shoppe feeling sad and disheartened when no Heather-friendly options were available.  But I was in luck last night!  Not only did I have options – I had THREE options.  A chocolate cupcake with chocolate, vanilla OR strawberry icing.  Choices!  I had choices!  I opted for a strawberry-iced cupcake because they’re a rarity in the vegan world and it looked oh-so-inviting.  Cupcake and ginger soda in hand, I settled down at the table and took a tiny taste of the icing.

(I love you.)

AN EXPLOSION OF FLAVOR!  DELICIOUS!  DELECTABLE! AND OTHER ADJECTIVES AS WELL!  It was thick and creamy, no weird grittiness or texture issues, no off-putting after taste.  The flavor was spot-on, the strawberries bursting through.  Is this too good to be true?  The cake bit has to be horrible, right?  But, no!  My socks were cleanly and swiftly knocked off after the first moist, chocolatey bite.  Again, no disconcerting texture issues, no cardboard-like consistency.  And a bite with both icing and cake?  A perfect, heavenly combination. 

I have found my cupcake mecca folks.  As an Arlington resident it couldn’t be more out of the way, but I will gladly venture there as often as my waistline will allow.  I still have two other flavors to try, after all.  Thank you, Penny the Pasty Proprietress for a truly surprising and enchanting cupcake experience.  I look forward to round two.

Hello Cupcake has two locations (and they deliver!).  I highly recommend a visit.

Dupont Circle

1361 Connecticut Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20036
Just south of Dupont Circle, across from the Metro

Capitol Hill (Barracks Row)

705 8th Street, SE
Washington, DC 20003
3 blocks south of Eastern Market Metro

Ray's Hell Burger (MEAT-O-LICIOUS)

These will likely be the only words you'll read in this post because I believe the pictures will speak for themselves.

.... and scene.

Siblings, You'd Best Skip This One

Hello, boys and girls!  You know what today is, right?  It's meat day.  Meat Party.  A meat party in my mouth, to be exact.  It's meat-o-riffic.  Meat-o-licious.  Meatasbord.  Meatanza.  Supermeatifragilisticexpialimeatocious.  (I'd like you hear you say that one out loud.)

First stop, Harris Teeter.  No chance I'm going to eat that low-fat, non-greasy, boring-as-heck turkey sausage I have in my freezer.  After 30 days of no meat?  I don't think so.  Bring on the grease and fat.

That's what I'm talking about.

Just grab a handful and squeeze it out.

You are beautiful.

Your sizzle is a beautiful sonata; it's magic for my ears.

...ssssssssssss...

Oh, yeah, you get nice and black, sausage patty.  You get all hot and crusty.  I'll even give you a dash of maple syrup to help things along.  That's how much I care for you.

Who's got the nicest crust?
YOU'VE got the nicest crust.

Little patty is lonely and needs some egg friends.

Egg friends are the best of friends.

And now it's time for all of this to go in my mouth.

You are delicious and beautiful and I love you.

(Being a bit on the brown side, you may think those eggs look unappetizing, but you'd be wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  They're brown because they were cooked in SAUSAGE FAT AND GREASE.  Ain't nothing unappetizing about that.)

A perfect bite.

(You're a perfect bite.)

So that was my morning.  How was yours?

For the Sake of Pete

I'll be honest, I haven't gotten rid of a damn thing yet.  I am a lazy procrastinator (it's a terrible combination, folks).  I do have a pile of stuff earmarked, ready for a new home.  Ten things, as a matter of fact.  I'll add something else to the pile when I get home this evening.  Man, I really need to clean my apartment.

Oh, wait!  That's a lie (not the bit about cleaning my apartment; that shit's for real).  I have officially gotten rid of one thing and it hurt my heart.  Hurt. My. Heart.

Don't ... don't just leave me here.

How tragically sad this this picture?  It looks so lonely in the hallway all ... alone.  Is it only sad to me?  Because I've formed an attachment to it?  Yeah, I can see that.  I bought that little guy when I was in the Air Force, stationed at Ramstein AB in Germany.  It was 1997ish and I was about to move off base into a little basement apartment and needed furnishings.  My friend, Renee, and I went to the Airman's Attic, which is basically Good Will for military folks, and snatched that little guy up for a song.  $15?  $20?  Definitely not more than $20.

But here's the thing, it hasn't aged well.  It's all warped and stained on top.

Meh.

And some years ago the left legs shit the bed, so I had to be very careful not to move it or wiggle it in any way or the whole damn thing would come crashing down.  I tried fixing it once.

Guess I shouldn't quit my day job.

Obviously I didn't put too much effort into it (hammering nails is hard) and I don't know why I never removed the nail, but it's been there for at least five years and wherever that table is now, I bet the nail remains.

Regardless of its rather rough appearance, I found it surprisingly difficult to put it out in the hallway (where all residents put their unwanted belongings; they just ... disappear).

(The belongings, not the residents.)

(Or maybe the residents disappear too.  I really can't say.  The hallways are pretty empty.)

It's not that I wasn't using the little guy; his drawers were crammed with random shit and I had a nice little framed picture on top of him.  But, I live in a one-bedroom apartment and spent a good chunk of time last weekend trying to make space for a new futon so I won't have to share my bed with my sister my sister will have somewhere to sleep this summer, and I realized that I didn't really need that ugly-ass table.

I emptied its drawers (mostly into the trash) and put it by the front door.  Where it sat for three hours.  I'd pick it up, start to carry it outside, only to put it right back down and reconsider my decision.  It's only a table, for Pete's sake.  (I don't think Pete really cares about my table)  But I remember when I bought it.  I remember how exciting it was moving off base.  I remember how much fun Renee and I had in Germany.  I remember all the trips we went on, all the countries we visited.  How much Sauer Apfel we drank.  I don't need the table to hang on to those fantastically happy memories, but it's inextricably tied to that time of my life and sometimes it's just god-damn-shitting hard to let go.

But I did.  I let go.  It is only a table after all.

I threw you up a lot.
A lot.

PELICANS!

I have alluded to my trip to Nevis a few times now in my little blog.  Now that I'm nice and drunk and it's been a month+, I suppose now's a good time as any to talk about it.  Really, there's no reason other than sheer laziness and procrastination for having not written about it sooner.

Here's the least you need to know:  My friends, Nick and Eliza, invited me and some other super awesome folks to join them for a week at Eliza's parent's house on Nevis, a wee island near St. Kitts in the Caribbean.  I accepted their offer and proceeded to have the most decadent, wonderful week ever.  Ranks in my top three vacations, along with Peru and Tanzania.  You also need to know there will be a lot of pictures.

A few months ago I posted this picture, my first mention of the trip:

I AM SO TALENTED!

I didn't see a shark, but I totally wore that bathing suit and there was lots of drinking.  That plane is pretty spot-on too.

We stayed in this house:

 

This house is on the market, but my secret wish is that it never sells.

But seriously, it was a beautiful house; they spared no expense and our every need was met and then some.

See how close I was in my artistic rendition?

I  lived in this pool.

That entire outdoor porch/patio area?  It had automatic screens we could put down, along with misting organic bug spray shit, to save us from the mosquitoes.  Ridiculous. 

We all flew into St. Kitts, but I got there a bit later than everyone else so I missed the public ferry.  I'm pretty sure I just hopped on some random dude's boat and made my way over to Nevis.  "Oh, here's a dock.  And a boat.  You going to Nevis?  Sweet.  Can I bum a ride?"  Yup.  I showed up at the house to find everyone wearing what are clearly the greatest t-shirts ever made:

I hate this picture of myself, so you just get my boobs.
Thanks to Nick & Eliza for dressing us in such fly gear.

It took me a bit to notice.  "Why is everyone wearing green shir....  OMG!  THAT'S MY ART!"  (This is one of those times I wish there was a 'sarcastic' font.)

<And then lots of super-fun-awesome stuff happened.>

Seriously though, everything about that week was glorious -- our dynamic as a group couldn't have been better; we fit together like happy little pieces in a silly, drunk puzzle.  We relaxed, we laid by the pool, we read books, we laughed, we cooked delicious food (actually, I should scratch the "we" from that sentence because I didn't cook a damn thing), some of us climbed a volcano, some of us went snorkeling/SCUBA diving, etc., etc.  The weather was perfect, the house was perfect, the week was ... damn near perfect.  I don't mean to sound all Pollyanna-wearing-rose-tinted-glasses, but it really was a phenomenal vacation.  I don't have have a single complaint and I wouldn't have changed a thing.  I probably could have napped more, but other than that...

The sunsets were breathtaking.

I want to live here forever.

And don't even get me started on the clouds.

So puffy.

The clouds are real, but these were enhanced by the "dramatic tone" setting on my camera.

Even the storms are pretty.

(Quick aside:  As I type this up and drink my wine, I'm watching "Iron Man" for the twelfth time and there was just a scene where Obadiah/Jeff Bridges was smoking a cigar all up in Iron Man/Tony Stark/Robert Downey Jr's face.  What the hell did his breath smell like?  Did he have stank cigar breath?  I think about this all time, during every single movie I watch, ever.  Do they have good breath during these close-up, smoochie scenes?  Is there a mint guy on stand-by?  Is he like the gaffer?  A mint gaffer?  Or is that just a draw-back of being an actor?  Living in a cloud of someone's stank breath?)

Get this man a mint!

Anyway.  There were also pelicans.

PELICAN!

I found it surprisingly difficult to sit around and do nothing all day.  Not nothing-nothing; I was up by 6:30 or 7:00 most mornings, immediately jamming myself into my bathing suit and propping myself up pool-side.  I breakfasted, read, floated and breathed it all in.  That's something.

My "how ridiculous is my breakfast location?" face.
With ears.

I did read a book or two and as I said, there were lots of fun shenanigans, but mostly we just ... sat around.  I've never lounged and relaxed so much in my entire life.  It was hard, ya'll.  Hated it.

What I hated most though was the leaving part.  It's never easy to go back to the "real world" after a vacation, but this one was surprisingly difficult.  I've always known my friends are awesome -- I wouldn't surround myself with a group of drama-queen-douchcanoes -- but I was amazed at how easy it was to spend a week with them.  Seriously, wouldn't change a thing.

PELICAN!