Dont Mince Words

Libby Hill Sledding Party

I like Fall. I like rain. I don’t mind one minor (< six inches) snowstorm a year. When blizzard conditions were forecasted for my birthday weekend, it was just another excuse to stock up. My southern California dog and I were ready.

Blizzards aren’t new to me. I was born during one. However, my snow skills are rusty since moving back to Virginia. I knew I needed alcohol and coffee. My neighbors told me I was on a good grid and it was unlikely my power would go out. I made soup and waited.

In the end, I was reminded why I love city living. It all goes back to that walk score. While my bless-their-hearts suburban friends were stuck in their cul-de-sacs, I was walking to restaurants, bakeries, and coffee shops. My neighborhood was drunk. Seriously drunk and happy. We had a good weekend and got more FitBit miles in than most.

Now the thaw is on and hopefully all will be back to normal in time for the recycle truck to come and dump our heaving bins…. until the next storm…or birthday.

Today was the 40th anniversary of the landmark Roe v. Wade decision and my first date of the new year.  Two days from now, I become a less-remarkable 47 year old.  The one constant in my life is the light in my car is the best for tweezing unwanted hairs.

Nutty week, right?

First natural wonder.  If my mom had a choice, would she have…. ?   I’m pretty sure the answer is no because she liked staying home and kids gave her an excuse to be home.    I mean she wouldn’t want the neighbors talking about her.  “I hear she just stays home, watches General Hospital, and drinks.”  If you have kids, you can do all that and more.  As a pro-choice advocate, it’s hard to believe it has been 40 years and we’re still debating what life is.  Well, I’ll tell you, life is staying home, mixing drinks, and watching Intervention.

Listen up Detroit.  I believe focus groups with women resulted in the car cupholder.  Or maybe minivans.  I don’t know what came first, but I’m pretty sure it’s from a woman complaining.  So, we all know the best light is in the car.  Tweezer holders.  Please.  While I am getting older and my eyebrows thin, the hair is reappearing elsewhere.  I don’t have a choice here.

My first date of the new year was with a guy who was also too old to be an abortion.  He called, he picked the place (but asked me if it was a good choice), and he paid.  I had beer and I got to check another dive bar off my must-do list.  Win-win.

Nice choice week.

Yesterday was my birthday. No big deal and usually a nonevent for me, but when other people need an excuse to celebrate, I’m game. I mean, if there’s chocolate or beer involved, how horrible could it be.

GC took me to dinner at a swank place last night. As he held my hand and looked into my eyes he asked, “how old are you anyway?” I guess in our early courting rituals, we never got around to that detail.

“I’m 43. You too can look like me if you start your eye cream habit early,” I revealed.

“Oh, so you are only a year and a half older than me. We don’t look our age,” he said.

When it came time to order dessert, I knew I had matured. I got the baked apples instead of the chocolate gateau.

Another year wiser.