Testicular metaphors! My specialty.
Rob was quite the bacon maker this weekend, so I found myself in need of free entertainment. Emphasis on ‘free.’
::Brief interlude to look at my nephew placing a call with a wooden train car::
[“Your son Rip is on line Toot.”]
So I took my trike out for a ride yesterday over to Maymont in Richmond—made bearable only by the fact that I rode one-handed while sipping a Slurpee, obtained from the sort of scary 7-11 on Cary St. I also almost had my bike stolen while filling the plastic dome with frozen brown deliciousness, unbeknownst to me. “Eez your bike?” the owner asked me. “Oh, effer,” I said, instinctively running to the window to check on old green, who was being visually caressed by a homeless dude with a cig. “Eez ok. I watch for you,” he said.
Feeling a little naive and a lot hot, I made it to Maymont, where bikes are not allowed, but your mom is. All the wildlife was hiding in the shade with hand fans so I stuck to the gardens and gazebos and carved “Boonies” in a railing alongside “Zach loves Bethany.”
And if proof were needed that necessity is the mother of (style-compromising) invention, the southern heat hath spurned me to purchase some breathable, mesh running shorts today and they are now my favorite thing in my bloated wardrobe:
[Cheers.]
Like the avid fitness lover that I am, I grunted under my new dumbells for about 10 minutes, then promptly spilled white wine on them—to make them feel at home among the rest of my duds. They are the most lovely shade of violet, silky and sit low on the hips, with a happy canary-hued lining. Pff; listen to me trying to sell y’all on athletic wear. I promise I’ll get paid soon and be cool again.
Friday night: took myself to Mekong for Pho and Allagash White, placed last-minute order of fried dumplings; drank cheap draft beer with a childhood friend, who could not have been more hilariously awesome; made raps out of snippets of overheard conversation [“How, how, how did that happen? How’d it happen? You got kicked outta my pool? How’d it happen, man? How did it, how did it, how did it happen? Heard you got kicked… got kicked outta my pool.” Sounds kind of Pet Shop Boys, in retrospect.]; prior to successful meet-up, I arrived on time to meet her, ordered a beer, then a crafty Foursquare check-in informed me I was at a bar approx. one block away from the meeting point.
Saturday: ate at Westwood Pharmacy Diner, devoured a Dee’s Special, then went back to bed; as evidenced above, sweaty adventures to Maymont; put my nephew to bed all by myself! Have proven self as ample babysitter; no wine required.
Sunday: trip to Dick’s Sporting Goods for dumbells, duly noted that their website is not Dicks.com; stopped by Rowlett’s Bike Shop to scope wheels for Roberto; tonight: TBD.
Happy weekend from the loveliest town on planet earth, compadres! I gloat. RVA, over and out.
-Carey
Omg, that 7-11.
AWESOME. i heart pho. my hairdresser is Vietnamese and he hooked me up with his super secret source of dumplings filled with mystery meat. i think you are the only fashion blogger who can make running shorts cool, talk about keepin’ it real! we are headed to islamorada in 3 weeks! very excited to go to s. florida for the first time 🙂
my “it’s hot” phrase of choice is hotter than a crotch. it can be shortened to HTAC (that’s pronounced h-tack) or if it’s super hot, you can add “it’s hotter than [insert number] crotches”. I usually go with hotter than 5 crotches, but that’s just me.
This post totally brought back memories. I think some of those pictures from Maymont are exact replicas of some taken of us many moons ago just missing our scrawny little tween bodies (we’ll have to check the collages). Also, I’ve definitely made the Dicks.com mistake myself.
Love me some Maymont… see if you can find the “On Eagles Wings” bench in the Italian garden…. was my favorite spot 🙂