Tag Archives: friends

I guess I might need some tips on hosting.

30 Apr

As I get older, I find I’m less spontaneous than I used to be. Mainly because I’m generally exhausted, but also because I no longer have spontaneous friends who call and propose something fun, last-minute.

So I’m pretty proud that this week I seized on two different opportunities — one was a last-minute dinner at Indique with my friend Betsy, who texted me on her bus ride home, proposing dinner. Awesome. The other was last night… as I was leaving yoga at 7pm my friend Seth texted. I called him and we agreed to meet up an hour later for dinner at my place. Double awesome.

Since I’d just exited yoga, it was a bit of a whirlwind — I walked to Homemade Pizza to pick up a pizza and salad, getting home all of 20 minutes before Seth and Johnny were slated to arrive. I did a quick clean-up of my place, tossed a bottle of bubbles in the fridge, then changed clothes and put on a touch of make-up so I wouldn’t frighten them.

Up until this point, you’re probably pretty impressed with my ability to host on a moment’s notice. I know I was. Where I think I need some help is what to do when my guests arrive. Because while we had a great time catching up, I’m going to guess there are a few parts of the evening that the boys would rather not repeat.

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A little taste of Spain in the District.

24 Apr

Image Credit: ©2010 Estadio - http://estadio-dc.com/gallery/

To thank us for dog-sitting Shadow in March, my friends Mike and Betsy treated Alan and me to dinner last night at Estadio, a tapas restaurant in Logan Circle. I’ve often walked past and drooled at the offerings through the window, but I’ve been slow to pull the trigger on a meal there because I’m a) frugal and b) a bottomless pit, which makes tapas a doubly-expensive proposition.

But I’m so glad to have generous friends with good taste, because we were treated to an exceptional evening. I’ll do my best to recreate the meal, just to make my foodie friends hungry…

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Kind of like dueling banjos… but a bit less melodic.

30 Jan

My friend Krista was in town this weekend, so last night a group of us headed to an Indian restaurant for dinner together. Because I have a bladder the approximate size of a golf ball, as soon as we arrived, I cruised to the bathroom.

There were two (one for the men, one for the ladies) but they were of the single room variety, where you lock the door behind you rather than seal yourself into a stall.

So imagine my surprise when – after locking the door – I found myself facing THIS arrangement:

I’ve seen some crazy bathrooms in my day (one word: Italy) but this was by far the most thought provoking.

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A Non-Pithy Post: Welcome to the World, Natalie!

28 Oct

Dear Natalie Ellen,

I learned via a text message from your mother that you arrived in the world this afternoon. From your mom’s perspective – it was not a moment too soon. She’s been ranting for the better part of a week that she was ready to have you.

In fact, just yesterday she publicly stated that she was going to “plead her case” to the doctor. I, on the other hand, have been hoping you’d take your sweet time and come on Devil’s Night so I could pass the cool birthday baton to you. For your sake, I’m glad you arrived today!

But enough about your entry into the world – I’m sure your mom will never let you forget it, so I’ll leave that to her.

I want to tell you about the family you’re joining. Your mother is my oldest friend – we’ve known each other even before we started nursery school together – so I think I can paint a fair picture.

First, be prepared to be photographed. A LOT. Your mom comes by it honestly and can’t help herself. When you get irritated by it, ask if you can watch one of the old VHS tapes of her playing softball, swimming or at a dance recital – and then you’ll realize it could be much worse. And if she EVER tries to make you take piano lessons, ask her to play something for you first. I assure you: that will end the conversation.

Second, let me tell you now: You WILL be a Spartan fan. Some of your favorite childhood memories will be of tailgating with your parents in East Lansing and hanging with the children of your mom’s college roommates. You will learn from an early age how to “Sparty On!” and you’ll be able to sing the fight song before you enter kindergarten.

Her text from the hospital said, “We’re all doing fine. I’ll be home for the big game Saturday!” (For the record, MSU is currently ranked 5th in the nation and is 8-0 thus far this season. You’ll appreciate that when you’re older.)

As for your grandparents on the Dickinson side… they were like second parents to me for much of my childhood. They took me on my first trip to Cedar Point in second grade – when I was still too short and skinny to technically ride the Gemini. Your grandpa rode that ride with me and held me in the seat the entire ride. That’s the kind of guy he is – he likes a good time and wants the people around him to have a good time too. (Oh, and there’s the time when I completely ruined the cream colored upholstery in his new Oldsmobile Cutlass – because I’d gotten grease all over my ass at a McDonald’s – and he didn’t even raise his voice when he saw the damage.) That one is a very cool cat.

And your grandma – who doesn’t like to be called Grandma because she’s entirely too young for that – is one of the craftiest people I know. Had it not been for her sewing skills, I would’ve been fated to dress as a ghost every year for Halloween because my mom couldn’t sew. Instead, I always got to wear your mom’s costume from the year before – a dog, a dinosaur, a witch, a clown, a tea bag… (I know, that last one doesn’t quite, fit, does it?) She also taught me to cross-stitch and how to make a “Triscuit pizza” in the first microwave I ever laid eyes on.

As for your dad… make him your ally. Your mom is a pretty tough customer, but your dad has mastered the art of giving her what she wants and getting what he needs. That’s a subtle art, and you will undoubtedly need to call on it – especially when you’re in high school and hate your curfew. (If he sometimes embarrasses you because we owns binoculars and goes birding, let me tell you: you will one day find that AWESOME, so go with it.)

Your brother? Well, I’m sure initially he’s not going to be your biggest fan because you’re new to the scene and stealing his thunder. BUT, about the time you hit middle school and kids are jerks, you’re going to be VERY glad to have Nolan hovering around ready to kick some asses. Oh – and when he’s 21 and you’re not yet legal – you’re REALLY going to appreciate him.

There are so many stories to tell; I could write for hours. But you have years to hear the other stories, and trust me – the older you get, the better the stories we’ll tell you. One day you’ll fully appreciate what it is to be the granddaughter of a BOM. Just wait for it.

In the meantime, just know that you couldn’t be luckier. The world welcomes you and I can’t wait to meet you.

Love,

“Auntie” Alison

PS~ It is a LOCK that your mom is drinking a Miller Lite tonight to celebrate, if I know her.

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You say goodbye. I say hello.

10 Sep

Liz and Holly came over Wednesday for a major milestone: OUR LAST WINE NIGHT.

No, we’re not all suddenly jumping on the wagon (though that might not be a bad idea)… rather, Liz is moving to Atlanta on Tuesday.

Gasp! I know, right? We’ve had almost a decade of regular late nights, swilling and sharing stories.

I first met Liz in 1999, when I moved into her group house on N Street NW in DC. One of my favorite memories of our time living there together is when she came home from a night out and remembered that she was supposed to make brownies to take to work the next day.

Tired (and probably a little drunk), she mixed up a batch, put them in the oven, and — fell asleep on the couch, only to awake hours later in a smoke-filled living room! Never a quitter, she turned the contents of that pan out into our yard, and made another batch for her co-workers. When we moved out months later, that black brick of brownies was still in our yard. Not even the rats could eat it.

Shortly after we vacated the N Street house, Liz moved to London for a six month assignment with Accenture. It was at her going away party (at The Big Hunt? Lucky Bar?) that I met Holly. While Liz was in London, Holly and I started hanging out regularly, and when Liz returned (in 2001), we had our first three-person wine night and a tradition was formed.

During the past decade we’ve witnessed a lot: there have been boyfriends and break-ups, new jobs and promotions, long distance relationships, sisters moving and marrying, shared vacations, law school,  a proposal, a wedding, a pregnancy and a baby.

I’m definitely going to miss Liz and miss wine nights. But I have to remind myself: had she not moved to London, we wouldn’t have even had wine nights. So maybe her move to Atlanta, instead of marking the end to a tradition, is only the beginning of a new one.

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