Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #6: Rock Creek Park and the National Zoo

Most days I take for granted the awesome park and zoo that is only about a 10 minute walk from our house. It's lush (and cooler) in the summer, beautiful with color in the fall, and is one of Jesse's favorite running spots in the morning. The bridge you see in the photo is the Connecticut Avenue (or Taft) bridge and is just one of the many magnificent structures that span the Rock Creek Valley. Rock Creek originates somewhere up in Maryland, snakes through D.C., and ends at the Potomac River. The creek is much less impressive than the beautiful natural areas that inhabit the valley, as well as the hiking/biking trails throughout. The National Zoo is located near the southern end of Rock Creek and is a little oasis within the city. Oh, and did I mention that it's FREE?!

I love the fact that there is no pressure for us to see and do everything in one visit. If one afternoon I want see the pygmy hippos and Jesse wants to watch the gibbons, we walk on down and explore only the areas that are of interest. We both have pretty fond memories of the zoo and frequented the park early on in our relationship. Why? Because, well, animals are always surprising and it was a cheap way to get away from grad school papers and stress. Jesse's first apartment in Adams Morgan faced the zoo and in the early morning if he had his windows open, we could hear the gibbons screeching their distinctive call and response. One Saturday morning, we decided to take a walk over to try and catch the gibbons live. I don't remember if we made it in time, but I think the payoff was worth it. The animals are all so much more active in the morning. Maybe it's because of an early feeding time, or they get up at dawn and then nap through D.C.'s oppressive afternoon heat.

As we rounded the corner from the gibbons area, we noticed that one of the orangutans was making her daily trip from the Think Tank to the Great Ape House via the "O Line." It's basically two ropes that span from giant towers throughout the park and the orangutans are free to come and go as they please. On this particular morning, the lady orangutan had gathered quite a crowd below and she was in no hurry to scoot along. There was a frantic park ranger trying to shoo people at least 15 feet away, and I thought, "oh god, she's going to jump." But no, she stuck out her rump, and dropped a giant poo right on the sidewalk. I'm pretty sure I saw her chuckle as she continued on her way down the O-line. The crowd let out a giant gasp and turned away in horror. The cleanup crew was there in seconds to wash it all away - apparently she loves targeting unsuspecting tourists. When we both turned to each other and cracked up, because poop is hilarious, I knew it was true love.

If you're not a morning person, then I'd wait to go in the late afternoon, say around 3:30-4:30pm. It's an unofficial witching hour that sets off internal clocks within most small children. During this hour you can witness the distinctive animal-like behavior that goes along with total brain meltdown. No amount of ice cream or snacks can prevent child unraveling during this crucial hour, so grab a bench and prepare to ride out the wave of terror at the zoo. The signs of pending toddler explosion include: irrational and unintelligible screaming/moaning, jello-like bones that make walking an impossible feat, and disheveled hair and clothing that is usually smeared with red and purple snow cone juice. These children are always accompanied by a set of ragged parents who are feverishly speed-dialing their pharmacy for extra reserves of birth control (while dragging the aforementioned jello-boned child). Don't try and feed the worn-down family, and for god's sake don't make direct eye contact - unless you enjoy getting a stroller or box of popcorn in your face. Just bow your head and walk quickly away from the scene.

Ahh. I will miss our afternoon walks in D.C.

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #5: Our Neighborhood (Part 2) - Angles Bar

We found out about Angles Bar from one of Jesse's coworkers nearly 2 years after we moved into our apartment. She wanted to meet there for happy hour on a Friday after work. It was a joyous Friday because we found a spot on noisy 18th Street that really felt like home. They have a delicious amber bock beer (Angles Amber) that is only $2 a pint at happy hour. For a while, we were meeting there nearly every Friday night. In no time, the bartenders knew our names and would just bring over two pints whenever we would sit down at the bar. The last time we were there, I looked around, and realized that Jesse and I were probably the youngest ones in the room. For clarification, we usually hit the bar early and pass out by 10pm. The ideal evening involves food, drink, and mass exodus before all the 18th Street crowd arrives. I like to be in my small, quiet, and safe apartment before the "whordes" decend upon Adams Morgan. Luckily, our early timeframe coincides perfectly with the regulars crowd (a mixture of old and middle-age bachelors who live in the neighborhood). They are sometimes curmudgeonly (as I aspire to be), but mostly accepting and willing to bullshit with you on just about any topic.

Our love affair with Angles has continued to blossom and eventually we shifted our visits to Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday for the 2 for 1 burger deals. Angles is situated above a really nice restaurant called The Little Fountain Cafe, so all of the bar food comes straight from the cafe's kitchen. Now, I love a good burger, but these are outstanding burgers - worth every penny of their $10 regular price. And the fries, oh the fries, are like heaven. Wash it all down with an Angles Amber and you're set. We seriously think twice before ordering burgers anywhere else because a) they would pale in comparison and b) it kind of feels like cheating.

This past fall, Angles switched up the menu to add a really good homemade veggie burger, a smoked salmon burger, and nightly specials. In the winter, the specials included items like open face turkey sandwiches, roast beef, shepherd's pie, and the best lasagna with bolognese I have ever tasted. On our way home from Graham-uation, we were trying to figure out what to do about dinner. Then, Jesse got a twinkle in his eye and we both said in unison "beer and burgers Sunday dinner!" We hadn't had burgers in months (due to the delicious winter specials) so it was just like trying one for the first time. It was every bit as good as I remembered.

We went back there again tonight to meet the same coworker for her birthday. It was delicious and fun. We waved goodbye to the bartenders, Norm and Anita, and on our 1-block walk home I remembered one of the reasons why I will really miss D.C.

Beefcakes

This is seriously straying from the main theme of my blog - my search for a house, dog and a yard - but what the heck. I suppose my adventures in Newport and Santa Cruz aren't really relevant either. So here it goes.

At The Crane Wife's request, I sat down and pondered my top five, no holds barred, "hot list" for spring/summer 2008. This list is merely a result of my morning thoughts as I was rushing to dry my hair while sipping on my ritual morning White Russian.** The beefcake status is subject to change at any given hour of the day.

1. Johnny Depp: actor extraordinaire. Hands down hottest ever, even as a murderous barber and an effeminate pirate. And the Johnny Depp of which I'm particularly fond: young George Jung in Blow (I'm not into the bleached, bloated, coke head George Jung), Inspector Fredderick Abberline in From Hell, and Ichabod Crane in Sleepy Hollow.

2. Ola Salo: real name, Rolf Svensson, lead singer of The Ark. Why the name change? Because he loves palindromes. Certainly not a beefcake by traditional standards (a beefcake would never wear hair extensions). However, when I saw him perform at the grand opening of the House of Sweden (Swedish Embassy in D.C.) a couple of years ago, I realized for the first time why girls go crazy over musicians and throw their undergarments on the stage.

3. Christian Bale: actor and dreamboat. My dear Crane Wife, I have to admit I was a little disappointed when he came in as a 5th place tie. I've loved him since the first time I watched Newsies. However, like Tim, I respect your decision (at least he made the list).

4. Errol Flynn: actor, professional seducer and womanizer, possible switch hitter, name behind the phrase "In Like Flynn." He may have been a somewhat creepy dude in real life, but as Sharon's grandpa always says, "hate the game, not the playah." He woos me even from the grave in The Adventures of Robin Hood and The Adventures of Don Juan. What? I like men in tights (see also entry for beefcake number 2).

5. Paul Newman: actor extraordinaire, dreamy eyes, badass. I belive the caption for this photo on the internet read, "huba huba." So true. So true.

** and by White Russian, I mean coffee with cream in a short tumbler (like the Big Lebowski, only minus the vodka and kahlua).

Not-So-Guilty Pleasures

During the period between 4:30 and 5:30 at work, a time that I usually term the "death hour," I often stray from my usual activities of researching and writing to check out a few of my not-so-guilty pleasures. For a while, a local animal shelter website called Hart90 was on the top of the list. It features dogs (and cats, but I don't care much for cats) with their weight, color, personality profile, and usually a heart-melting photo to go along with their sad story. Jesse calls it my Doggie Porn, but I prefer to think of it as a free dating service for my future pet. I get to know the traits I want in a dog and Jesse gets the privilege of me sending him links to my favorites.

Billy Brown was (and still is) my favorite pound puppy at Hart90. He was dog and cat friendly, liked long walks in the park, needed love, and of course, desperately wanted to come home with moi. I would imagine having that grassy patch for him to romp around and would dream about mushing his puppy cheeks while rolling around in the dirt. When Mika came out with his song "Billy Brown" just after I found my dog love, I would remind Jesse how awesome it would be to have a secretly gay pooch. Instead of breaking out of our fence to chase rabbits and squirrels, he would run wild and hump other dude dogs. Ah dreams.

Anyway, it's been a while since I've checked Hart's website. Mostly because it became more of an abuse than a pleasure to see dog after dog adopted (and not by me)! Also, things have been kind of busy in D.C. and my focus has shifted from obsessing about a dog to obsessing over portable storage units.

For the past few months I have stalked our neighborhood looking for the various companies that will plop a moving storage crate along the streets of Adams Morgan. There are several companies, but only a few will move long distance. Now that we're starting to get serious about this moving stuff, I have started looking into how much it's going to actually cost. What I've found out is that most of the companies have a standard container size that is approximately 7'wide x 7'deep x 8'tall - give or take a foot here or there. I have 4 companies that have provided quotes and the difference in cost is pretty shocking - some companies are almost $1000 less than others. Now the question that lingers is: how many square feet of crap do we need to jam in a wooden box? My new found frugal self would like to say exactly 7'x7'x8' worth. The realist in me, however, is shaking her head and belting out a malevolent chuckle.

So, tonight, Jesse and I will be spending date night with a six-pack of Paulaner hefe-weizen, and a blue roll of painters tape to mark out a cube shape in the apartment. Date night will be choreographed with the new Delays album blasting in the background. Hopefully Jesse won't pummel me mid-frolic as I meticulously measure and tape.

Bacon, Babies, Bowers Oh My!

Saturday night we went over to the Schickers' apartment (Bret & Stephanie's) for an evening of playing cards. We've all been so busy lately that I think it's been nearly a month since we last met up for some fun. Their daughter Ava, the Schicklette, is nearly a year old and is probably the cutest thing ever. We showed up a little early to have some Ava time, since she usually conks out by 7:30.

Ava's a little leery of strangers these days, so when Jesse approached her upon our arrival, she burst into tears. I, on the other hand, was smarter and bribed her with Cheerios. I could see the love growing every time she shoved one in her mouth with those cute pudgy fingers. We were BFF's in no time. After she realized that Jesse was an OK guy, she let him hold her for a while. The whole time though, she treated him as if he was the dorky kid in middle school who just asked her for a slow dance. While polite enough to accept, she behaved like a total dead fish - looking around at everyone else in the room, and vowing to hate Led Zeppelin as long as she lives for their epic ballads.

Oh, and newsflash, apparently my BFF status with Ava was totally in my head. Yesterday afternoon I found a baby-sized hand mark on the back of my shirt. It's made out of (what I assume is) a teething biscuit and drool. Dude, Ava-cakes, you can't just wipe stuff on the back of your BFF's clothes and expect to get Cheerios next time.

Since the Schickers cooked shrimp scampi for dinner(very classy), we decided to bring along salad - Bacon Cup Salad (also very classy). I'm sad to say that I didn't invent the ingenious woven meat basket. I got the idea from Not Martha. Essentially, you make a bacon bowl/cup to hold your lettuce, tomatoes, etc. It's pretty easy, I just stuck them in the miserable oven at 400 degrees and baked for about 20 minutes. The end result was tasty and a huge hit with Bret, the tater-tot casserole king.

Of course you really can't fit very much salad inside, so we all went back for seconds and thirds after the bacon bowl was all gone. Once dinner was devoured, it was time to play cards! I think we and the Schickers have endured 3 or 4 whole years of card-playing mayhem. Happy Card Playing Anniversary to Us!

(Speaking of anniversaries, big 'ol shout out to Serena and her Little Lady. We send you a marriage toast with our bacon cups.)

Just like any relationship, card night comes with routine, ritual, and the natural up's and down's. We always play the same game, sit in the same order, divide into the same teams, and pass around a bowl of chips clockwise. Inevitably, the game goes on for one round too many and yelling ensuses. Saturday night was no exception. "Eight-bid-Erin" (my card-playing alter ego) astonished all of the participants, including her own partner, by outbidding Jesse without the joker or either bower - the three highest cards. Ballsy? Yes. Smart? Eh, not so much. Did she pull it off? Totally, it was a classic move.

At the end of the evening Bret and I always make up (I say I like him, despite his faults, and he forgives me for flipping him the bird). Then, Jesse and I walk home exhausted. Unfortunately for us, this will probably be one of the last few card games for a while. The Schickers are bound for Arkansas in just a month or two. We are going to miss our occasional weekend games. But mostly, though, we're just going to miss the Schickers...a lot.

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #4: Our Neighborhood (Part 1)

Since I've been hating on D.C. lately, I thought it would be good to revisit some of the things that I really will miss when we leave. Last night Jesse and I took a pretty cool walk to a part of D.C. that we didn't even know existed. It's practically in our back yard, just right off of Massachusetts Avenue - a street we've walked up a dozen times or more. Usually, we never veer off the main road to see anything other than the variety of embassies and chanceries that line the way. This time wouldn't have been any different, except that I had other motives.

Lately, I've been conducting a series of mini scavenger hunts to seek out buildings that would potentially enhance the D.C. Modernism study that I'm trying to finish at work. I usually drag Jesse along, expounding the tenets of Modernism and building up how cutting edge the building was for its time, blah, blah, blah. Then (as it usually goes), we get to the intersection where the building's supposed to be, and nothing. I think he's starting to doubt my super sleuth skills (as am I). Last night we arrived at what I thought was the right address, and there was a big cleared lot with a brand new (albeit historic-looking) monstrous house plopped right on the corner. Something wasn't right, the house I'm looking for would never have been placed on a corner like that, but either way, it was a total strikeout.

The walk wasn't completely worthless though. It gave us a chance to find a spot in the city that has the largest houses I've ever seen, and has a totally different feel from the urban hustle and bustle found everywhere else. On our way back home, as we rounded the corner from Kalorama Street to Columbia Road, our apartment came into sight and Jesse said, "wow, I really love it here." It's true. We really love living in D.C., particularly in our apartment building, on our street, near so many things that we need.

Even though the houses we saw on our scavenger hunt adventure aren't technically in our neighborhood, I pretty much feel that if you can get there in a 20-minute walk or less, then it might as well be an honorary member. There are a lot of things we can access within a 20-minute walk from our apartment: our offices, 4 grocery stores, 68 Zipcars, Target, the best deli in the city, dozens of great bars and restaurants, abundant green space, 4 different Metro stops, hundreds of bus stops, need I continue? The convenience of it all is pretty great, but we love it for so many other reasons than convenience alone. This is the neighborhood where we went on our first date, and got our first apartment together. Everything about it has helped to define who we are now as adults on our own.

I'm ready for the next step and a new city, which has made it easy to highlight all of the annoying stuff about D.C. (believe me, there's a lot). But unlike our miserable stove, the city will have a special place in our memories. I want to make sure I capture as much of the good stuff as I can in the short time that we have left.

Top Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #1: Local Treats

In my spare time I often think about the things I will miss when we eventually leave D.C. As much as Jesse and I are eager to move on, there are a lot of things that will make it hard to say goodbye. Of course the obvious comes to mind, like close friends and all of the connections we've made over the course of our 5 1/2 years, but what will really hit home are the little things that have made our stay so unique - both good and bad. As they come to mind, I'm trying to write them all down!

Today was the first day since I started my blog that I was reminded of something I will miss. I was at Safeway this afternoon picking up a few things for lunch (and plenty of snacks to get me through the day) when I spotted something that I hadn't seen in a while. Way down at the bottom shelf in the cookie aisle, there they were, Murray’s Cookie Jar Classics Chocolatey Chip Cookies.

These cookies are probably the one item that I most associate with visiting my grandparents in Louisiana as a kid – that and the Mardi Gras beads and doubloons I would get to take home. My grandmother would always have an avocado green Tupperware container full of these little flower-shaped cookies (appropriately placed on a low shelf so my sister and I would always have access).

My favorite part about the cookies was that they were not only shaped like flowers, but they had a little hole in the center that was just big enough for your finger. I would stretch out my hand, put a cookie on each, and nibble the petals one by one. Or, I would slide them down past the knuckle and admire my lovely, buttery (and sometimes chocolatey) jewels. Apparently, my fingers were much smaller back then.

The package doesn’t lie when it says “Southern Favorite since 1941," because when we moved to New Jersey they were impossible to find. Murray's cookies are just one of many regional brands or types of foods that are only found in grocery stores in the South. Occasionally, my Mom would get my grandmother to send over a package or two for a treat.

It made me sad standing there in Safeway to think that they have probably been here all this time and I never took advantage. True, they aren't terribly good cookies (as punctuated by the ARTIFICIALLY FLAVORED declaration below Chocolatey), but they haven't changed in 28 years and somehow that makes me smile.