The Cup Returns

I’ve been soaking up the charm (and libations) (and great food) (and baubles and music) of Baltimore for the last few days. I meant to post while there, but the evil corrupter (and great travel companion) French made me drink too much, and my fingers couldn’t stay balanced on the keyboard.

I’ll write more about Baltimore this weekend. It definitely lived up to its Charm City nickname, and Fells Point is high on my list of to-move-to places.

Coming up: the friendliest drinking guys on the Eastern Seaboard … how I embarrassed myself with Peter Buck … chatting up Scott McCaughey and Robyn Hitchcock.

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A Pickled Olive

Had a few minutes to kill this afternoon, so I slipped away to the wildly entertaining Coaster Punchman’s World, a virtual place where I can relax and giggle and vicariously live the hip Manhattan lifestyle. Mr. Punchman had earlier posted a nice piece about Little Miss Sunshine, and I was eager to read his response to my witty retort. Imagine my surprise when I found that Dale had (no doubt lovingly) suggested that the photo of the adorable Olive character was instead a shot of moi. Well, I’m here to prove Dale … um, damn near right.

Here’s a movie still of the Olive character:

And here’s my fourth-grade photo:


Good Lord. The nine-year-old Cup is the real-life embodiment of this year’s celluloid nerd. I’m off to drown my sorrows in Kool-Aid and Absolut.

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My un-Labored Weekend

I spent last weekend in the loveliest spot of the state: Lake Burton, in the North Georgia mountains. I meant to write about the weekend earlier, but I took way too many photos and just finished sorting them.

My brother-in-law’s father owns a house on the lake. He rarely goes up, so my sister, brother-in-law, and I took over the house for the holiday weekend. After months of stress and heavy workloads and worries and traveling, it was wonderful to just be for a few days — no makeup, R.E.M. and Zevon T-shirts and cutoffs, hair curling wildly. We took boat rides, read, hung out, enjoyed the view.

And the house has a porch. A big porch. With railing. Overlooking the lake and mountains. My kind of hangout spot.

So, let’s start with the most important part of the weekend: the cocktailing.

My sister and I decided to cocktail for twelve hours straight on Sunday, and we pulled it off. We also imbibed much of Saturday and Monday, too. The nice thing about marathon cocktailing is, if you're a pro, you can maintain a level of buzz that's not too far over the edge. With no hangovers or embarrassing drunk dialing.

You know the pose; now meet my weekend pals.

Sister's award-winning frozen margarita

A margarita on the rocks (we tired of blending)

Chik-Fil-A lemonade with Absolut Citron

A glass of red from Garretson Winery*

A chilled glass of Naia

*Paso Robles' Garretson Winery is owned by a Georgia boy, Mat Garretson. (His older brother was one of my college radio station buddies.) The winery is known for its viognier, and I recommend it. The red we're drinking is a Georgia Bulldogs label that my brother-in-law picked up; not bad at all. Mat must know what he's doing with those grapes.

More Lake Burton stories to come this weekend.

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Oh, No You Didn’t

It was, after all, Thursday night. Your favorite cocktail night. A birthday celebration and Texas margaritas at the hip new taqueria. Giggles, gossip, and crush confessions fed your undernourished mood while fish tacos fed your overnourished belly.

You went home. The buzz fit you like a favorite sweater, the most comfortable you’ve been in days. So you kept it alive with a glass of white wine. Relaxed on the porch. Answered the thirtysomething e-mails that came in after you left the office. (Damn, that Mary makes you laugh out loud every time.) Another glass of wine as you returned calls. You remember gliding toward the boudoir, thinking you looked like Elizabeth Taylor in Butterfield 8, when you probably looked more like Liz after a weekend bender. And then it gets fuzzy. But you got some sleep for once.

The alarm clock welcomes you back to Soberville. You’re running late (of course; one should always run late on Mondays and Fridays, darling), so you dash to the shower, the makeup mirror, the closet, the baubles drawer, Starbucks — all in 37 minutes.

After that second sip of latte, the brain clouds open up and last night’s dreamscapes float through your brain. Or did you actually …?

Panic sets in. You grab the cell phone. Check the dialed numbers. Oh, sh*t. View the call info. Cringe when you see that this call you can’t recall lasted 43 minutes. F-bombs fill the car as you bruise the heel of your hand on the steering wheel. Did you Mel Gibson yourself last night?

And you’re afraid to check your e-mail sent folder, just in case you …

Must. Stop. At. Two. Margaritas.

You know that contraption habitual DUIers get, the one you must blow into before the steering wheel unlocks to make sure you’re sober enough to drive? You need one for your cell phone. One more round of tipsy telephoning and you’ll have to move to Toledo.

UPDATE: My beloved French to the rescue.

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A Grand Time Was Had by All (Well, Me)

Another Monday nearly done. I can finally exhale and relax … and remember my weekend that just ended. It was a typical weekend, and a great one at that.

Friday

Friday is my night. Time to slug, to veg, to fade away. I tend to cocktail a lot on Thursday, so Friday gives me a chance to recharge for the rest of the weekend and decompress after five days at the office. A perfect Friday night has yoga pants and R.E.M. T-shirt, take-home Thai and a good bottle of wine, a guilty pleasure movie and the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly. I don’t want to expend any energy beyond pulling the cork out of the bottle or flirting on the phone. You may be able to lure me out with the promise of cocktails and a cute guy clutching a microphone, but I’d rather share the sofa with my cats.

This past Friday night was perfect. An early Mexican dinner with a couple of magaritas, followed by my yoga-panted self drinking wine and watching Bridget Jones’s Diary. Twice. The 9 p.m. and the 11 p.m. broadcasts. (A call from a cute and tipsy boy at 9:03 made me miss Hugh Grant’s entrance, so I had to watch it all the way through a second time.) I know the dialog and facial expressions by heart, and can tell you to the minute when the elevator doors open on Hugh Grant and “Respect,” or when Colin Firth gives Bridget that look at her birthday dinner as “Dreamsome” plays in the background. I never tire of Bridget Jones’s Diary. It’s like watching a documentary of My Life as a Single Girl. And, well, it has Colin Firth and Hugh Grant.

Saturday

It was too darn hot for a delicate Southern flower such as myself to go outside (we mustn’t glisten around the menfolks, you know), so the canine nephew and I spent the morning watching a fun movie — Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Rent it today, and thank me tomorrow. Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer are excellent in it. Added bonus: Robert Downey Jr. sings the song over the closing credits; downloaded it yesterday and like it.

My friend Jennifer, whom I’ve known since high school, came over Saturday night. She recently went to her class reunion (she was a year ahead of me), so we drank wine (well, I did; she’s a much stronger soul than I), studied each Flickr reunion photo (Jimmy Knight is still very cute and very tall, and his gold band is very wide), listened to the Retroactive channel, and talked and talked and talked and talked. Jennifer’s a very cool woman, and I should see her more often.

Jennifer and I were on the newspaper staff in high school. I was the first sophomore to make the staff, which was a big deal since we had the best paper in the state. I thought I was selected because I was one helluva writer with raw talent waiting to be tamed. But Jennifer and I soon found out we made it because we had short, dark hair … and the photography editor had a thing for cute girls with short, dark hair. But I learned how to write and today support myself as a writer, thanks to everything I learned during my three years on The Panther Tracks.

Speaking of Jennifer, her son is in an up-and-coming Athens band. Check out Thunder Chizzle; go see them if you’re in the Athens area.

Sunday

A good Southern Baptist, I helped my mom fill in as teacher for the fifth grade Sunday school class. The kids were a lot of fun, and we got to arts-and-crafts it.

After we completed our Christian duty, we raced up to Lake Burton [for you non-Georgians, it’s a lake in the north Georgia mountains, one of the prettiest spots in the state]. My brother-in-law’s dad owns a home on the lake, and sister and hubby were spending a long weekend there. We had a fried chicken lunch on the porch, then the brother-in-law took me on a fast, fun boat ride. I’m considering pursuing the dad so that I can marry into that house.


And that was my weekend. I need to figure out how to live on five-day weekends and two-day work weeks.

Note to Self

No matter how scintillating the conversation ... no matter how cute the waiter's Argentinian accent ... no matter how long it's been since you had a great girl's night out (and, dammit, you deserve one) ... do not, please God, do not say yes to a fifth margarita swirl.

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Rainy Night in Georgia

Friday night. Out on the deck, toasting the rain with a crisp white wine, staring into the trees, using as little brain power as possible. Been out here since I got home from work (my deck’s covered; I haven’t been sitting in the rain, silly). The evening began with a loud, booming thunderstorm (we do thunder well down here in Georgia). That soon gave way to light, steady rain — enough to cool the night and freshen the air. The sound and smell of rain, the damp breeze — relaxing, calming, cleansing — my Zen moment. Even took a short walk in the mist (OK, so maybe I am dumb enough to go out in the rain, but it was wonderful).

Maybe I’d like living in Seattle.



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Musings on a Memorable Memorial Day Weekend

There’s nothing better for the overworked soul than a three-day weekend … except for that clutch in the stomach around 5 p.m. Monday when you realize it’s nearly time to head back to your desk. (I really need to pursue my lottery retirement plan.)

I had a glorious weekend, although it was a bit too hot for me. Among the highlights:
… damn good sushi with my niece …
… watching my nephew master his hacky sack …
… cocktails and lounging with my out-of-towner …
… a Beatles tribute band, with a bit too much wine and beer …
… a fun afternoon tea at a friend’s — mimosas, girlie sandwiches and gooey sweets, rambling and entertaining conversation …
… a drunken cry about OM with my brother (we both needed it) …
… coffee with condo negotiations …
… mediocre yet entertaining movies …
… family dinner at Red Lobster. I don’t even know the last time I ate at a Red Lobster, but it was good …

Hope your holiday weekend was wonderful, too. At least we’re going back to a short work week.

Speaking of going back to work, GOOD LUCK to Paige on her first day at her new job, as ministry asssistant for the new Home Life minister at our church. I know she’ll bring a lot to the position. It will be interesting to see where this path takes her.

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Food, wine, and friendship

Had dinner last night at one of my favorite places with one of my favorite people: on the front porch at Rice (the original Roswell location) with Holly. I had a wonderful panang with pork … we shared a bottle of a good Spanish white wine … we laughed and cried … we talked about deep topics and silly things. I love nothing more than going out to lunch or dinner with a friend; it’s a great way to connect and relax. I’ve been under a lot of stress and had a bit of the blues lately, and I left Holly feeling better than I have in weeks. ----------------------

Holly’s shadow — I love this photo!

Holly is one of my dearest friends in the world. She doesn’t allow me to use the tagline “one of my oldest friends” … so I’ll just say that we’ve been friends since the fourth grade. Holly’s married to another of my favorite people — Randy — the coolest, wildest boy in the seventh grade. Who would have guessed that he’d turn out to be the best husband in our graduating class?

Holly, me and Randy at Vinocity on my birthday.
Doesn't the scarf looks good?

I’m very lucky to still be close to the friends I grew up with, and I value our times together. Thanks for a great evening, Holly! Next time, I’ll come up to the lake.

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One of these days

I met Karen tonight for dinner at “our place” — Casa Grande, on Peachtree near Collier. We had our usual, sharing the fajitas for one and downing a few margarita swirls (there’s sangria in those swirls, friends). It just doesn’t get any better than dinner with a beloved friend after a rough, soul-draining week. We laughed. We confided. We talked about changes happening and coming. Two hours later, I walked out relaxed and happy and unburdened — the best I’ve felt in a couple of weeks. I needed to let everything go and be myself again.

Things have been rough lately, but I now see a light at the end of the stress tunnel. Maybe it’s time to make some major changes in my life, to take some big risks. I’m thinking through the hows, and hope to be leading a different life by my next birthday. I’m excited about what may happen.

I’m now sitting out on my deck, listening to and singing along with Emmylou Harris’ “Elite Hotel.” I may have new-wave heart, but I believe that the angels in heaven will sound like Emmylou, Vince Gill, and Gram Parsons. It just doesn’t get any better than this moment, sitting outside, singing “One of These Days,” feeling the damp spring air, smelling the rain. I think I'll sleep well tonight.

One of these days it will soon be all over, cut and dry
And I won't have this urge to go all bottled up inside
One of these days I'll look back and I'll say I left in time
‘Cause somewhere for me I know there's peace of mind
There's gonna be peace of mind for me, one of these days

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It was a great birthday

My birthday weekend has come to an end. It was a wonderful, joyous birthday — and I still feel 15 years younger than my birth certificate claims. I woke up this morning feeling very loved and blessed for having a great family and so many friends.

Friday night: Mom had us over for steaks to celebrate my birthday and my brother’s birthday, which is two days before mine. Happy surprise: My niece, Lauren, came up from Georgia Southern. (She also gave me a tongue lashing since I haven’t written about her, so expect a Lauren post soon.) Had fun, too, with my nephew, Matthew; we played with my new cell phone. Dinner was delish, hanging with the family was nice, and I received some cool gifts.

Saturday: Birthday!!!!! Mom and I had planned to go to Madison for the day, but she came down with a stomach flu. I spent the morning lazing around (boy, did I need it after the last few weeks at work!) and answering calls and e-mails from loved ones. I spent the afternoon bumming around — flirting with the guy-only staff at Starbucks, visiting Mom, shopping for my summer perfume. It was a beautiful (but chilly) afternoon; the sky looked liked the opening credits for “The Simpsons” (yeah, I’m an arty girl, all right). I spent an hour doing one of my favorite Saturday things: just driving around, the sunroof open, singing along to R.E.M., the Ramones, Nirvana, and Neil Young on Dave FM.

Late Saturday afternoon: Paige and I met for our semiannual birthday sushi dinner at Circle Sushi (highly recommended for those in Dunwoody, Sandy Springs, and East Cobb). It was good to have just the two of us hanging, sharing sushi and beer, chatting about life.

Saturday night: We had a great time at Vinocity. (I took several photos, but every one is horrible, so you’ll have to take my word for it.) A few cosmopolitans, several glasses of great wine, yummy appetizers, fun folks. Clark selected a great syrah (Cape Mentelle winery, from Margaret River, Australia), and most of us drank that for the rest of the night. Closed out the evening doing one of my favorite Saturday night things: a late-night drive from one end of Peachtree to the other, with the sunroof open and good music blaring. In fact, while sitting at the traffic light in front of fellow March 25er Elton John’s high rise, Dave FM played — and I loudly sang — “Bennie and the Jets.”

Sunday: As covered in yesterday’s post, Dan took me to Table 120 for a birthday brunch, then we saw the Chuck Close exhibit. I can't say it enough: the new High is fabulous, and you have to plan a trip there this spring.

Sunday night: I closed out the weekend with a bottle of pink champagne and an old friend.

I received tons of great birthday calls, cards, and e-mails. I also received two beautiful vases of flowers from friends, as pictured below. Ruth sent the Peruvian lilies on the left; Karen sent the tulips on the right.


And I still I have celebrations planned for this week and next. Damn, I love birthday month!

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