holiday cheer

Oddly, the National Press Club's main entrance on 14th street is flanked by a liquor store -- Press Liquors -- to the left. This fact has been the basis of many a joke, and is a great place to run if you've forgotten your gift for the office holiday party (which is tomorrow). Alcohol is always an appreciated gift at this event. I prefer the likes of the fridge magnets shaped like turtles, or even the unimaginative gift card to Corner Bakery. But many do go for the booze.
Never before, however, have I seen a (presumably) homeless man standing right next to the Nat'l Press door, GUZZLING from a fifth-sized bottle. (tequila or rum, I'd say, based on color? Is whiskey brownish? Maybe that, then.) Not until just now.

We've had a slightly interesting week. Matt did make a reappearance Monday night, successfully navigating -- or at least surviving -- an extended weekend with his dad and brother in the wilds of West Virginia. The next morning, we all dashed to the car as usual, but not quick enough for Matt, who (to quote my then-ancient high school driver's ed teacher, Mr. Exeter) romped on the gas in between speed bumps in our neighborhood. When we reached the end of the neighborhood, and took a left, then a right, something audibly snapped. (not just my temper) "What the h--- did you do to MY car?" I barked, ungraciously. Matt slowly pulled over, to reveal that the accelerator pedal was totally lifeless. Seconds later, our one neighbor whom we know well and like happened by, pulled over, diagnosed a snapped throttle cable (I think I remember that right), and bumper-pushed us back to our parking spot. The last time I was bumper-pushed was almost five years ago -- at 3:30 a.m., down by the docks of Long Island. I was pregnant. But that's another story.
We eventually made it to work that day by stealing Matt's mom's car (we had a spare key to it) -- Matt thinks his boss never did believe our story. I volunteered the repair bill, in case he wanted to show it to her. Kinda like a doctor's note.

I'm trying to think of something else blog-worthy that's happened this week, but I'm coming up blank. I learned this morning that it's often best to let Amazon do the shipping for you. Especially if the item is oversized. Also, there are worse things than endless loops of kids' music in the car. Thirty minutes of hearing about poo-poo and pee-pee sandwiches (don't ask ME where she gets this stuff), and you'll be DYING for some Larry and Bob and the rest of the Veggie Tale gang.