DCostco

It would make sense that people who live in DC would like to shop local, but in the "taxation without representation" district it's not an option if you're thinking Costco. Costco is in Virginia. And all those DC folks, along with everyone in the states of Virginia and Maryland, were in the Pentagon City Costco parking lot today. Every darn one of them. I'm sure of it.

I hadn't even considered what Costco would be like here. It's been part of my life for eons. I drive there, I park (yes, sometimes I have to park way out yonder, but I park), I shop, I load my car, I head home. Done. Simple. The Costco Experience as it should be.

Not in DC (VA). Costco is not easy here. Let me just say that we had to validate our parking receipt, roll a shopping cart through the Costco parking lot, through the adjacent mall, up a floor or two via elevator (an elevator only big enough for one cart at a time, so we waited in line for our turn), and across at least five rows and several aisles of parked cars before we could load up the car, then pull out cautiously (because several cars were already vying for our parking space), hunt for our validated parking receipt, drive to the exit, wait in line as people hunted for parking receipts or dug in pockets for change and then one-by-one exited so that we could finally pay the attendant ourselves, wait for the gate to lift, pull out of the parking garage, and then finally, totally exhausted, head home. And that was only our departure from Costco.

The arrival was worse, beginning with 1 1/2 blocks of backed up cars waiting to ENTER the parking lot through the gated entrance, each car required to stop and grab their parking receipt and wait for the gate to lift before entering. Then a minimum of 5 laps around the parking lot before giving up and heading to the adjacent mall's tiered parking behind Costco, maneuvering for a parking space, hunting down the correct elevator (which takes you to the mall), walking through the mall to exit into the Costco parking lot (note: this is where we started), and then weaving cautiously through an unbelievable number of frustrated drivers pulling wildly in and out of parking spaces, before grabbing a cart, showing our membership card, and finally entering Costco.

Once inside, you might as well be in St. George, UT, or Issaquah, WA, or Albuquerque, NM, or San Bernardino, CA, because all Costco's look the same on the inside, with a few minor exceptions. But this was the Pentagon Costco, in Arlington (Pentagon City), Virginia (no, it isn't built in the shape of a pentagon, it is still your basic big box warehouse store).

So, no, the minor exception today was not design, it was inventory. The exception today was a missing refrigerated shelf with uncooked tortillas. Nada, nunca, nil. None. No where. No how. And those yummy tortillas were our main reason for braving the risky DCostco experience. Kyle and I wanted those tortillas (Kyle a bit more than me) since having yummy Cafe Rio-style sweet pork burritos at Kelly's last weekend - in home-fried fresh, soft, warm tortillas.

So, as happens any time you venture into the wilds of the Costco aisles, we managed to purchase $250 of "non-tortilla stuff", but not one real tortilla. Cooked or uncooked. Not one.

I'm not sure that was worth risking our lives and sanity, but then again, I am sure that we'll do it again sometime. It's hard to pass up those free samples. And where else are DC/VA/MD folks actually friendly?

It's just the way we roll in the DC area. At least when we're not stuck in traffic.

Under Cover. Again.

As a born and bred Cali-girl, I am used to a lifetime of fretting over a pair of sandals, or which jeans to wear with what tank top. Here in DC, the land of coats and dagger-looks, it's all about winter wear. Coats, scarves and boots (which look rather odd when paired with shorts and a tank top - unless you are on the cover of People mag).

But, coats, boots and scarves it is; a new reason to go shopping! 


Black is the color of choice, unless something crazy and wild shouts out a demanding "I was made just for you!" from the much-looked-over racks and racks of wool and big buttons.

Bright colors are an option, and I have a shiny mustard raincoat to prove it, however it's a bit odd that when I put it on I feel very fashionable, but as I walk down the sidewalks of DC, passing women in tailored black wool coats which are flapping neatly around their laced and buckled black leather ankle boots, I lose that previous sense of vogue confidence. I don't feel sleek. I feel outlandish.

So, back to the "new reason for a shopping" trip, I go...mustard raincoat slung jauntily over my shoulder to hide my embarrassment, last year's ankle boots worn proudly beneath a tailored pant, and the California tank top neatly hidden beneath my denim jacket (a quasi-substitute for the jeans cut-offs I used to wear in my younger, thinner days).

I'm a Cali-girl with a love of blue jeans, tank tops, cowboy boots, sterling silver and turquoise. What can I say? 

Besides, black wool is the perfect partner for denim, don't you think? And you can wear turquoise at any age, and any size. 


Add a pair of black tights and I'm ready for winter!

DC(undercover)

Little did I know that the title of this blog would be a realistic reference to DC as a place. I thought I was being rather cute when assuming I would author an unnoticed, undercover-like personal blog about quirky things in DC, when in reality it was more like an unknown news journalist naively stating the facts without any knowledge of doing so.

DC is a place where you find yourself, more often than not, under cover. Whether it's dashing from shaded sidewalk to awning-covered entrance, or splashing through reflective puddles of rainwater beneath the wished-for-protection of an umbrella, DC is a place where under is better.

And if under is better, "under the weather" says it all. Whether sneezing from the local allergies brought on by a higher than normal pollen count or coughing from some germ that managed to send the entire office to bed in waves of feverish misery, living in DC is also synonymous with "under the weather".

Chilling goosebumps that follow your every movement until the dampness in your hems and shoes finally dries in the late afternoon of a long day. Humidity in both cold and hot temperature extremes. Dripping trees that offer less than optimum protection from the rain. Gray clouds that quietly roll in to wrap themselves around you and the tall gray buildings around you in their insidious attempt to claim your soul. And of course, what DC is best known for, the strange bed partners in power plays and immoral relationships who spend time undercover under covers in DC.

And DC really could claim your soul. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened. Power and lust and egos reign in this place. They reign and it rains.

Damp basement parking garages built under the office buildings above. Long trench coats flapping around your calves and transforming your smooth, professional appearance to one of someone under cover as you splash through the muggy gray.

DC is not my favorite city, of that I am sure. And I don't think that will change. I have a lot to learn and see and experience in this area filled with history, cloaked with mystery and filled with people, things and places that might be best left undercover,and I am excited to get on with it.

Truth be known, and this is a recently discovered affinity of mine, but I love sloshing through the streets of DC in my trench coat and galoshes. I like being undercover, to be one of the thousands on DC sidewalks that appear to be sleuthing along the sidewalks.

That being said, right now, I really do want to be undercover. Under covers that  is. Clean sheets and layers of quilts. Warm, dry, safe, calm. No busy streets or trench coat or damp socks. Or tall gray buildings. Just dry warmth. And quiet.

Under covers in DC. Or DC(undercover).

There's really not much difference when you think about it.

Then again, there really is.

The Slow Demise of the Futon Era

Between home and office I tug a wheeled briefcase. It makes me feel as if my life is together.

But it really isn't. It's not that I have too much going on, in fact it's the exact opposite. Between home and office I have a half dozen or so personal belongings (not counting clothing, shoes, personal items). It's not that I have too much going on at all, It's that I don't have enough going on.

But this is about to change...

Yesterday a recently ordered area rug arrived for my office. Today I am expecting to see two new lamps. And tomorrow *drum roll*  the moving van arrives outside my condo. Life is about to become a bit more normal, which will be an amazing relief.

Soon I will see familiar belongings and spend hours placing a single piece of furniture or hanging a long-loved painting. It will be heaven; my new life and world will begin to seem more like home.

In response to an email from me explaining my schedule this week (which will be arranged to accommodate boxes and furniture and moving help), my boss declared the end of the futon era. All I could think of as a response was "Praise be and hallelujah!"

It's been a very slow but sure transition from NM to VA, but it's finally coming to an end. And not a moment too soon. 

Once my things get here, I will feel more familiar and I will be able to pretend that I am home. 

I wonder if that will ever really happen again. Me at home. Maybe in another era.

For the next few days, I'm still in the futon era, preparing for whatever is next. 

Bring it on.

Puddle Jumping in Heels

Take note. Black heeled pumps - so appropriate for the office - just don't work on the uneven sidewalks of DC in the middle of a storm. Puddle jumping in heels is not an Olympic sport, but it should be.

Let me backtrack a bit. This morning I woke up to thunder, lightening, dark skies and sheets of rain pounding on the drenched sidewalks two floors below my bedroom window. Following a near mid-life crisis of locking my keys in my condo (requiring a $251 visit from the local Arlington VA locksmith - a Sumo wrestler look-a-like with no fewer than 1000 keys dangling from his belt), the skies cleared just long enough for me to arrive at my office completely dry. Several monitor-staring hours later, it was time to head home, so I packed up and headed down to L Street only to find rain drops falling on my head, so I "did me some talkin' to the sun"...well, kind of. And for two blocks I implemented what I believe will become known as a best practice forward motion in a rainstorm. I did not wear my flip flops, remembering that they get slippery when wet. I did carry an umbrella to protect me AND my rolling briefcase from becoming drenched. And I paced myself, I didn't run or race down the sidewalk to beat the parking garage gate as I usually do.

I wore heels and jumped carefully over any puddles while maneuvering the uneven and flooded sidewalks of DC tugging a rolling briefcase behind me. Today was my first rain day and I prevailed. I think my attitude made all the difference (of course, I didn't really have a choice), and I owe that to Paul Newman and Robert Redford: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

And so there you have it. Today I met a Sumo wrestler, felt rain drops on my head, talked to the sun, sang in the streets of our nation's capitol, went puddle jumping in heels and trained for the Olympics. All for the cause of freedom. How many people can say that?

Just another day in DC.  Tomorrow I'm buying galoshes.

Disenchantingly Enchanting

DC is a strange world of its own. It's a melting pot. It's a humid place in the summer. It's a cold place in the winter. It's where our President lives. It's a destination for a global audience. It's not part of the United States, and yet it is. It's our nation's Capitol. It's where I live - well, within a few miles since I am actually living in Virginia. It's where I work.

And it's gray. Gray streets. Gray buildings. Gray suits. In this fashion year, gray purses, gray shoes. Lots of gray hair mixed in with the bold and bright colors of the young and restless. Sometimes (often?) gray sky.

But still, there's something about this place that can't help but grab you. The history. The monuments. The power. The people. The possibilities.

I drive by the Washington Monument every day. I cross the Potomac twice a day. I walk the streets and wonder who might have just walked there before me, or who might come along after. I marvel at the lighted monuments when I pass them at night. I shake my head in wonder as I turn left or right to avoid the heavily guarded side entrances to the White House grounds on my way to work.

Oh, I'm still sleeping on a futon (now covered in two layers of quilts and a just-bought Beauty Rest egg foam mattress pad). And my furniture has not yet arrived so comfort is not at the top of my daily experience, but I am somehow, somewhat enchanted in this land of disenchantment. Where people fight for power, lie for admittance and deceive for votes. My physical discomfort is somehow, somewhat strangely balanced by the warm emotions I feel as I experience daily the amazing reminders of freedom that surround me. Books, papers, speeches, monuments, testimonials, experiences and stories of those who fought, those who advocated, those who sacrificed, those who taught, and those amazing souls who continue to fight the good fight for liberty. In Washington, D.C., in the surrounding areas, and in my office Atlas Economic Research Foundation. Pictures and papers from the archives of Atlas telling a story of courage shared by so many as together we work toward global liberty for all mankind.

So, my enchantment comes from the root cause of everything that is DC - liberty. The ability to be who you want to be, where you want to be and how you want to be. The freedom to choose your life with respect for the right of everyone else to do the same. The freedom to hold hands in public, uncover your hair, breathe fresh air without the interference of cloth, walk on the streets without fear, share ideas without restriction, own property - both intellectual and physical without threat of government dominion, express personal faith and beliefs without prejudice, and more.

So, disenchanted as I may be at times, every day that I am here I become more enchanted. More here. And less "there". More grateful and less melancholy. More excited and less overwhelmed.

Today I am loving my life in DC and I am looking forward to many more days like this, celebrating and promoting and encouraging freedom around the world.

Gray can be beautiful. It's just not a shade I wear too often. I think I will have to experiment a bit. It is, after all, one of those neutral colors that goes with anything, even a redhead.

Ciao. From DC. With a smile (and a new gray suit).

One Day More

One more day.... that's all I have until the movers arrive and I am transported to DC and my role at Atlas Economic Research Foundation. Working for freedom and liberty.

One day more.... I can hear Valjean and Cosette singing those words in Les Miserables. And Marius and Eponine. And everyone.

One more day.... will we ever meet again?
One day more... another day, another destiny.

One more day.... tomorrow I'll be world's away.

At the barricades of freedom, when our ranks begin to form, will you take your place with me?

The time is now, the day is here.

One day to a new beginning.

Raise the flag of freedom high.

One more dawn.

One more day.

One day more.

DC - Shaken, not stirred

So this CA girl is heading to DC and it appears DC is getting ready, but with a 3.9 quake last week, I am hoping that all preparations are now complete.

A little shaken up, but still DC, and with another redhead in our nation's capitol you can be certain the shakin's not over.

I can hardly wait.

License Plate Blues

It's official. I'm headed East. The Atlas Team has invited me to join them (again) and I am both ecstatic and grateful! Honestly, I couldn't be much more excited.

In fact, right now there is only one thing that might be more exciting, and it's suddenly become unattainable to me. That's right, an impossible goal, the Don Quixote moment that will never come.

All I have wanted (beyond the job of my dreams, which I now have!), was a DC license plate. You know, the one that says in big bold letters "Taxation Without Representation". I love that plate...and not for display in DC, but to make a statement wherever I drive because the statement rings true in all 50 states, not just the obvious District of Columbia (where residents do not have a vote).

But is the Holy Grail of pre-pressed license plate messaging to be mine?!? NO!

Why, you ask? Why can’t I have the license plate of my dreams?

Because I will be living in Arlington, Virginia. In Courthouse, Arlington, Virginia to be exact. Where the license plate is framed in autumn leaves (or some other ridiculously gaudy non-messaging design).

And almost worse, I won't have time to get the fabulous and newly designed New Mexico centennial plates (2012), with turquoise background, yellow lettering and a red-centered Zia proudly displayed in the middle. I’m moving to VA so I can’t have this one either.

So, I'm dancing in the halls about my job, but there will be no bouncing in the driver’s seat of my still Utah-licensed car.

I'm moving to DC Virginia, and I've got the License Plate Blue-uues.

Ohhhh yeahhhh.