Booyah.

So, my stomach may be staging a major coup against me right now (too much sun and too many treats), but I certainly can't complain.

The heat index in DC today was something like 115 degrees...

...but here in Wolfeboro, it was a balmy 85 degrees with the water temperature at about 80.

Amazing. 

We picked the perfect week to be out of town.

And yes, this time I am bragging.

Georgetown Crabcakes

Monday was a great day.

Destiny and Bryson got engaged!  And I got crab cakes for lunch.  Oh, and French pastries.  I got those too. All at one delicious restaurant, courtesy of Georgetown Law. (Merci mille fois!)

My colleagues are great.  And one of the things I love about working with all women is that for our annual staff retreat, we forgo the lame, tiring team-building exercises, and go straight to a nice restaurant for lunch.  Now that's the life.

But there's a point to this post.  I promise.  So --without further ceremonious ado --I submit for your approval a list of my favorite places to eat crab cakes.  Take note; this list is important and may or may not change your future dining life:

1.  Acadiana.  Best crab cake, bar none.  Also, try the chocolate cake for dessert.  It does not disappoint.
2.  Cafe du Parc.  A very close second.  I would never have thought to put capers in a crab cake, but it adds a fabulous flavor. 
3.  Phillips.  Best no-nonsense, fatty crab cake. And, they have one at BWI, which adds to my traveling enjoyment.
4.  Matchbox.  Best crab cake sandwich.  Wear pearls and an argyle sweater tied around your shoulders and you'll fit right in.
5.  Sequoia.  Second-best crab cake sandwich...but the view makes up for it.

Gadzooks!

Happy Bastille Day!

I'm celebrating the occasion by finishing up The Scarlet Pimpernel.  Wait, what's that?  The Scarlet Pimpernel is anti-French and anti-revolution?  Oh yeah, that's true.  I guess I should be reading Les Mis.  Oh well, vive la Patrie nonetheless.

I also started out this day --which marks the downfall of les aristos and their Bastille fortress -- by learning of the downfall of my own battlement.  Or basement.

Freshly showered, in our work clothes and ready to start brown-bagging our lunches, Blake made a horrible discovery. 

Somewhere during the course of the storm last night (in which we had lost power and gained several additional degrees of heat, making sleep nearly impossible) our basement had flooded.

I thought he was playing some sort of cruel joke.  That sort of thing shouldn't happen twice in one year.

But alas it was no joke.  Again, I wanted to just have a breakdown and start crying, but I knew that more water still wouldn't help the situation.  The drain outside had filled with leaves and clay/soil due to the massive amount of water cascading down the stairs from the yard.  Perfect.  Dirty water.

And so we put our pajamas back on, rolled up our pant legs, tied back (in my case) our still-wet and straggly hair, and got out every towel we owned to start the drying process.  It made us late for work.  It also made us sweaty and grumpy.

It was raining on the way to work, so we added bedraggled and drippy to our sweaty and grumpy.  Again, perfect.

When I got to work I learned that we'd not have access to computers for two hours due to some technical problems.  It was just about this time that Blake e-mailed me to say that they were having a fire drill and he'd have to stand out in the rain for an hour.

Remind me why we even came into work today?

And, for some reason my computer won't give me access to our main database, which means I'm practically useless today.  Oh, and right before the internet was so unlovingly snatched from my office, Blake sent me an e-mail saying that somewhere in the course of the morning he'd gotten distracted (gee, wonder why?) and forgotten to brush his teeth.

Thank goodness for Altoids.

The fates are conspiring against us.

A More Perfect Union

Thank goodness for spellcheck.  The fire alarms are all set to strobe light right now in the building and I'm having trouble typing words correctly.  I know it's just a test, but can we evacuate anyway...for our sanity?

The only thing I can concentrate on is the menu at We, The Pizza  (it's right next to Good Stuff Eatery...like I said, a Perfect Union).  It's opening next week and I can already taste the gelato. 

Oh no, now there's thunder and the fire alarm's loud screech.  Get me out of here.

When Two Worlds Collide

At Union Station this morning I walked past a homeless man who was busily pouring a cup of McDonald's coffee into a half-full bottle of coke.  In a deep baritone-- like the voice of god-- he proclaimed "when two worlds collide..."

Then he stepped back from the concoction and threw his hands in the air with bravado, looking proud of his work. 

And I kept walking because it was just way too hot and humid, and I was almost late for work.

Happy Fourth/Fifth of July!

When the fireworks were going off last night we were stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic downtown looking for a parking spot.  Great way to celebrate our nation, right?

So, we got home frustrated, fatigued, and shaking our fists at the traffic gods in futility.

And I had to remind myself that life in general is pretty great.  I mean, look at that hydrangea.  We've got three huge bushes of those.  Life can't be all that bad...even if we missed my favorite firework show.