Caribbean, where art thou?

I blatantly asked my in-laws if I could use one of their two timeshares. I desperately want to go to Caribbean in January. I love the Caribbean sea and islands and hate winters in DC. Hate them! Then again, I hate winters anywhere. Well, maybe not in Paris. Definitely not in Paris. Sigh.
So, they of course said yes. But easier said than done. Everything is taken! Everything good, that is, everything you could easily reach from DC, such as St. Martin, USVI, Aruba...
Crisis, my respectable behind. In what world crisis did people descend on Caribbean?! Give me a break. I love how American whine to unwhineable stuff.
Actually, I'm an American too. Just half though. One third maybe. And I love to whine.
I'm sure not everyone is doing fine, but isn't that the case at any given time?
So, what's left is Mexico, Cancun. Plenty of Mexico. And some average place in Bahamas. Venezuela (I don't think so.) And Curacao which is wonderful, but there's no direct flight from DC, and the trip lasts eight-nine hours because of the layover. I could be in London by then, and then some.
So, I'm still looking for that perfect, affordable Caribbean vacation in January when I can go to the beach twice a day, and shop during the early afternoon. And eat tons of seafood. Drink Strawberry Daiquiris. And laugh at the forecast at DC.
For a week, at least. But then our whole lives consist of weeks, days, moments.
No, I won't go philosophical on you...yet.

Christmas Exit

I was invited to an Atlantic magazine's event last night in the Watergate building, The Exit Interview, in honor of the departing British Ambassador.
Usually, I'm invited with a guest to these high-profile Washington events, but this time, it was only me. I was just a tiny bit nervous, but then, I just started talking to everybody, even though I only knew one person (a very busy person) in the room. (So proud :)
It was exactly as I expected--a beautiful room on the 8th floor, waiters with trays of white wine and mineral water (I asked for red, just to be different :) Not really. ), bowls of nuts. Lots of foreign policy people, public diplomacy people, journalists, diplomats. Some women, some young men, lots of balding, gray-haired, middle aged men. This observation comes from someone sitting in the last row, by choice, during the interview, and being shined by lots of heads :)
I met several interesting people, including the British Ambassador briefly, since he was rushing of to some high-profile Christmas party.
Speaking of high-profile Christmas parties, I have one to attend myself, tonight. And I got a dress for it.

Hands

I have been sick since the ballet performance of the Nutcracker in the Philips Collections last Thursday night (damn it!) While I was sitting in the back, admiring the young dancers' flexibility and balance, and enjoying Tchaikovsky's music, my throat turned dry. I, off course kept drinking water, but couldn't moist it. I woke up with a sore throat, and almost a week later, I can't sleep from cough.
I hate being sick! As if someone likes it.
I blame it on the lack of hygiene in the U.S. culture. People don't wash their hands before they prepare meals, nor before they eat. Some of us didn't grow up that way, and are not immune to everything. Some of us grew up washing our hands before and after EVERY meal. Yes. That was the rule of a first grade book in Former Yugoslavia. It was next to the Cyrillic alphabet.
And (damn it), I was actually, really, saying to myself recently how happy I am for not being sick while everyone around me was sick. I thought it was my vegetarian diet, Yoga, and my cleanliness. Much does that do if you eat out, or at someone's house. And it's hard to give that up.
People, what is the matter with you! Wash your hands! It's the flu season, for God's sake.

Drop ending

Thank God I'm not traveling for Thanksgiving. I bet it's a zoo outthere.
Instead, I'm as free as a bird today.
I took Vinyasa Flow at noon, as a part of my 30-day Yoga challenge. I'm still in it, since I haven't missed a single day since Nov. 15th. I guess that's not too long...Still...
Challenge a Serb, or a Serb-American, or rather tell her (or him) that she/he can't do something and she/he will definitely do it. Spite! Stubbornness! All that good stuff!
So, I have been doing Yoga on and off for over a year now, but lately, it's been really on. I go almost every day, or every other day, and I have to tell you, I have never felt better. Not only am I stronger physically but I feel like I can grasp more in my life than I used to. I used to think strength was overrated. Not anymore.
Feeling physically strong makes me feel...strong. I love the fact that I can do more push-ups than ever, that I can hold plank longer or do a side plank, which used to be a nightmare.
I think I'm hooked. I cannot even imagine not doing Yoga forever.
But lately, since the challenge, I have been missing Budokon's kicking and boxing. There's nothing like kicking and boxing to make you feel like a bad ass, i.e. good!
With all this poetry, I will tell you that today I'm grateful for thinking of a great new ending for my newest story, the one I've been writing a lot about, (Balkan Voodoo), while looking for an UPS drop box on Connecticut Avenue.
I know!
Oh, and it's creepy. But good creepy.

Financial hell

I worked 12 hours yesterday, and I can honestly say, it ain't for me.
I started a new job yesterday morning, and I have already been booked for interpretation in the evening, months ago, so, there was no way out. Plus I had to do Yoga at 7am in order not to fail the challenge.
So, my day started at 6:30am, with devouring a Luna Bar with chocolate chips, and ended at 10 p.m. watching TV like a zombie from my bed.
I'm still tired. I'm sipping a latte.
Oh, yesterday, by 12pm, I so regretted accepting this new position. It was completely conveyed to me under false pretenses.
It started well, with a briefing about an interesting case. But then, when I was handed my load of documents, I was hoping a few were just financial before I got to articles and statements.
I ended up analysing financial documents for seven hours, after which I wanted to shoot myself. Instead I called my employer and said that I either have to be paid much more money for this kind of work (which I knew she wouldn't go for) or can only work part time. She hasn't gotten back to me yet, and I feel like hugging random people on the street.
I cannot even imagine going through the same routine even for one more day. It's hell to me. I kept thinking about how happy I am when I'm writing. Even teaching, which I have been doing for 10 years and increasingly am getting bored off, is New York City compared to reading tax reports in Serbian.
My apologies to all the accountants, but your life is my living hell.

In Vino Veritas

If you like wine, or vines, or drinking or the countryside, you should keep reading. For the rest, bon voyage et au revoir.
One way to celebrate the Veterans Day is to go winery hopping. Which I did, with friends. We decided to go the Vintage Ridge, one of the highest rated Virginia wineries, then Three Foxes and finally the Naked Mountain.
I have already been to the Vintage Ridge, which is in or very close to a sleepy town of Hume, Virginia. It's a beautiful winery with excellent wines, food and service. My favorite wine of theirs is Maiden Voyage, which is sweet, fruity white wine. The setting is exceptional inside the tasting room,  where the tables are amongst the huge barrels with different grapes in them. Every wine is served with small niblets of food, carefully chosen and artfully arranged,  to bring out the flavor. But if you're really hungry, eat first, or you will get tipsy.
The Three Foxes has a beautiful vineyard in front of a small tasting room, but, it was kind of crowded inside, and we were rushed by the woman pouring just drops of each of ten wines into our glasses. She wasn't nearly as nice as the Vintage Ridge connoisseurs, but the Foxes do have some good white wines, for example, Il Gatto Bianco, which I purchased. Just a bottle. Has a great label with a white fluffy cat. I didn't buy it for the cat. I swear. I like the wine! Honest!
The vineyard itself is huge with beautiful views, as well as tables and chairs with individual barbecues.
The Naked Mountain was kind of sleepy, wine was just o.k., but the land was spectacular! Vast and attached to a small forest, with endless views of colorful Virginia fall trees and vines. Unfortunately, no one was naked.

All in all, if you want to go to just one, go to Vintage Ridge. It's still the best Virginia winery I have been to. But if you want to do more than one, (recommended) if you bring your own food, friends and nice weather, then you should stop by the Three Foxes or the Naked Mountain, buy a bottle and have lunch. But just for tasting? It's not worth it. Keep looking. Virginia is full of vines.

Cupcake at the Barre

My husband wanted a membership to Phillips Collection for Christmas last year. So I got him a dual membership--a gift that keeps on giving--to me.
Today is Phillips Collection's 90th birthday. We were, of course, invited to it. But the reason we showed up at 10am-ish, like old people, is because we each got a free Georgetown cupcake! By 12pm. That's one way to promote art!
It worked. The museum was packed with people by 10:30am.
In all fairness, we did want to see Degas' Dancers at the Barre, since the last time we were at Phillips for an Artful Evening (first Thursday of every month) you couldn't even come close to the dancers or the barre. And there was nothing free!
So we glimpsed at the Dancers from a far, smirked at the coughing crowd and screaming children
(why do Americans love to cough and sneeze in public?!) of a hundred people on the third floor of the Phillips Collection, and went downstairs for a cocktail and live jazz.
Cupcake or no cupcake, Degas' Dancers are spectacular. And the entrance is free today, it seems, for general public. No cupcakes, I'm afraid, but there is a real barre. You could even try stretching on it...
p.s. A secret cupcake (in a small pink box) turned out to be Red Velvet. Not my favorite, but I have to admit, it was yummy!

A drink out with the girls and boys

I met my friends in Proof on 8th and G last night, for a drink. The guys were happy drinking Bourbon, or Scotch (who cares, it's all the same to me) and I really wanted a Mojito. I don't drink often, and I only like sweet drinks, (I know, I'm such a girl) cocktails, an occasional glass of wine (sweet, fruity,) or Champagne/Prosecco. I see alcohol as a treat, like chocolate or cake, or sometimes, if I remember, I have a drink when I'm stressed. Last time I treated myself with a cocktail, minus friends, was when Bray and Scarff was installing my new washing machine for several weeks, or when I was negotiating a contract with four businessmen. So, when I do decide to go out for a drink (I don't drink at home unless I have guests over) I get excited over that cocktail or two, like a little girl.
So, when Proof didn't make Mojitos (who doesn't make Mojitos?! Lameness!) I asked for a Bellini. Nope, they heard of it (impressive!), but they didn't have anything peachy. So, I ended up with a glass of Prosecco, which was yummy, and in a stylish flute (very important) but not what I wanted. A friend wanted a Heineken beer. They didn't have that either. So when we all finished our second or third choice drinks, we went across to the Poste. And they made me a Mojito! But a mediocre one. And I'm somewhat a Mojito snob. (Wait, this is very deja-vu-y?!) In my drinking life, I have sent several mojitos back since rum was floating on top and I'm not a pirate! I have also had some amazing crafty ones, like the one in Chi-Cha lounge recently, or the one my friend Jon or John (Damn you Jon Steward) makes at home. Mojito is like a cappuccino for me. If it's good, it's really good, if it's bad, it's undrinkable.
The Poste's Mojito was drinkable, just too watery, too much ice, not enough rum, or flavor, or mint, or syrup, or...
We also ordered food which came in like, I would imagine, a fat camp. A cheese plate had six pieces of cheese! Small pieces, bites. Pathetic! And every other portion of finger food we ordered (fries, smoked trout pate...) was minuscule! The guys picked up the bill, but I'm betting it wasn't cheap. It's in Hotel Monaco, and the lobby, the bathroom, everything is so fancy.
After probably ten orders of finger food, and several drinks (I only had one) we left, hungry.
So, If you want a good cocktail in DC, a Heineken beer or if you are hungry, don't go to the Poste or Proof. That's my seasoned advice to you, my green DC friend.

The night of the witches

Oct. 2005. Just days before my second Halloween ever. I was in a mall in Arizona with a group of Kosovo lawyers and judges. I stumble upon Fredericks of Hollywood, before I ever heard of them (I moved to the States a year before, and No, I didn't remember that line from Sex and the city) and I didn't have a Halloween costume. There's no Halloween in Serbia. Yes, there are all kinds of horrors, and freaks (just like here) but no one dresses up unless insane or insanely drunk, and no one celebrates  "the night of the witches" unless that is their pet name for their mother-in-law (very frequently used in Serbia, to describe a woman someone (usually a man) is fond of.)
Back to Arizona. So I was trying on different costumes, having fun (hey, this was fun for me, new for me) and I decided to buy one. O.K? Now I'm embarrassed to say which one, but it's not really relevant to the story. Wait, what's the story? In my defense, it was only slightly slutty, I thought that might have been the point of Halloween, being new to the country and all, and it looked really good on me. And I was very, very young. (Now I'm just very young.)
I wore it for two years and gave it away to charity right after I got my Masters Degree and became google-able.
Rewind to my first Halloween. Belgrade, 2003. The Canadian Embassy. My friend (student) Karen lent me a tail and ears, and in an all black bodysuit, I suddenly became a tigress (similar to lioness but more feisty.) I remember the inspired costumes and a huge party, as well as an elaborate, pro haunted house in the U.S. Embassy. By the way, the Canadian Embassy in Belgrade was the happening place at that time. The best happy hours, every Friday!
Today. My...ninth Halloween. A friend promised a party (you know who you are) and then hasn't delivered, but I have already bought some devil parts--horns, bow-tie, tail. And I'm not wearing it now.
At least not yet.
p.s. For some reason, I don't remember the Halloween of 2004. I was probably still too green, or I repressed it in my mind due to the extreme happiness of the one who recently changed continents.
p.p.s. Haven't I promised I would be silly...

Seed of truth

I have a story to tell you, a serious one (Sorry. I promise to be silly tomorrow.) Let's say that I heard (from a reliable source) about a person from Former Yugoslavia seeking asylum here based on abuse he or she suffered there for being gay. As I heard details about this story, I believed every bit of it, and I knew it was true. I understood.
This person hasn't had any contact with his/her family for years since they couldn't accept him/her being gay. And he/she just couldn't pretend his/her whole life to be someone else.
Hearing this story, the details I unfortunately am not allowed to describe, a movie was suddenly rolling in my head. I was able to picture every bit of it very vividly. And I kept thinking, would something similar happen to me if I were gay? And I was thinking about what would I do if I were him/her, growing up in Former Yugoslavia, knowing I'm different than most of my peers, and different in a way my society wouldn't accept. Not even today, let alone in the 90s, or before.
Would I fight it or would I cave. Would I escape?
I hope I would fight. I think I would escape. I don't know. It's just so hard, even hypothetically.
Let just say this person said something along the lines: "I knew there was no life for me there. I'm happy here, I have a wonderful partner I want to spend the rest of my life with..." But he/she misses his/her family. Why does it have to be one or the other?
This story is one of the reason I write about Serbo-Croatian characters and events. They fascinate me! Their beliefs, and superstitions, and traditions, all of it. They fascinate me, because, even if I grew up there, I don't understand them. I never did. I think I always felt a little out of place there, even when I was little.
I will never understand how a person can disown his/her child for being what he/she is, for being the only person he/she could be, for not being a fraud or a liar. That's why I write about these kinds of  people. What makes them have such strong beliefs, ancient beliefs and never question them, for decades. What makes them make the same mistakes, generations after generations.
I guess that's a journalist in the fiction writer in me. Every story I write has to have a seed of truth in it. Otherwise, I don't think it's worth telling.

Where would your "end" be...

I just got back from my writing class. Not the writing group. The writing class. If you are confused, please refer to previous posts. My "Broken Mirror" story got critiqued so I did what I always do (unless there's something better to do)--go to a cafe, order a latte and rewrite, while the comments are fresh in my mind. "If you did this in college, where would your end be," my mother would say to this disciplined routine I am actually quite proud of. The end in this saying being everything possible you could accomplish in life, the end of your possibilities. I don't believe I have any. But that's another story...
So, I'm half down my latte, having had to do something for The New Yorker assignment first (The New Yorker comes first, which is a frequent conflict in my marriage. So does my writing, my cats, my Yoga...), but I also have another 352 things to do today. Still, I'm going to attempt to rewrite my story first, and the rest will have to wait for a couple of hours.
An interesting thing happened in class today--my teacher singled out my favorite part of my story as her favorite. I thought that was very encouraging. And my beginning was a little slow, so now I think I know where and how to restart. And re-end. And while I'm writing about rewriting, I'm getting excited about it. I know, I'm a freak. But that excitement makes me think I'm exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I need to do. Right?

Monumental Flower

I took my mother to a painting class with cake and wine to this place called Uncorked Art, on 300 D Street, SW. We were trying to paint our own versions of Georgia O'Keeffe's Flower. It was my mother's first painting class ever, being too busy with two little kids by 21, to ever paint, draw, write, or basically do anything creative. And she loved it!
There were about 18 of us, all women except for the bartender, who were drinking, singing to Coltrane coming from the laptop, and loudly talking.
This was my second painting class, not counting the 8th grade. My first one was in Georgetown this summer, and we were painting The Washington Monument.
I was so excited when I painted that one, my first painting ever. And so proud.
I had fun yesterday, but I wasn't a virgin anymore, so it wasn't as exciting. My back even hurt after seating on a bar stool for two and a half hours. I don't remember any pain first time around.
Then today, I thought of it: The Washington Monument, O'Keeffe's Flower. Hmmm. Draw your own conclusions;-)

Mojitos and Oysters

My girlfriends and I went to Chi-Cha Lounge last night. It's been a while since I've been there, and I instantly remembered why I liked the place. We sat at the bar, ordered drinks and food, and chatted in a dim-lounge smelling of Hookah. It looked very Middle Eastern, the ambiance with smoke, the smell of apples and red velvet sofas.
Chi-Cha roll made the best sushi roll I had in DC so far. And the bartender made one of the best mojitos.
So, all and all, I'm going back.
Later we moved to Tabac, just two blocks down U street, where we had another round of drinks, some Turkish food, and I had oysters, with the view of the monuments, all the way from the top.
Busier than Chi-Cha, different, more cluby and restauranty atmosphere with both tables and wide standing space.
The food was fine, and my mojito was good, but not as good as Chi-Cha's.
I'm a Mojito snob. And a coffee snob. And a Belgrade snob. All in all, I guess, I'm a little snobby.
But for an evening out, both of this places are cool, especially if you have good company, like I did last night.
p.s. By the way, going out with cool girlfriends, oh, so fun!

Circle

I made a full circle in exactly one week. Here I am, a creature of habit, back in Dolcezza, after Yoga, having the exact same one-shot latte ( they make the best lattes in DC) and the same alfajor in-house made cookie, and writing this blog. I'm glad to say that I had a busy, but successful and above all, fun week! It went by so fast, yet so many things happened.
After I write this, I'm going to do more research and translation for The new Yorker, which makes me very happy. I love working for them. It's sort of investigative journalism which makes me feel a bit like Sherlock Holmes, whom I also love.
After work, lattes, cookie, I'm meeting my girlfriends for cocktails.
p.s. No wonder I still don't have kids ;-) 

Does Ana have a reason to drink lattes?

A friend suggested recently I should blog again. I used to blog almost every day for a year of my life in Manhattan, which I still pine for. Not blogging, Manhattan. Not the drink, the island.
But life goes on, and most of my friends are smart with great ideas, so here I am, in Dolcezza, having one of the best DC lattes and an alfojar-- hand, in-house made cookie, high-on caffeine and sugar, as well as on a story I just revised--Does Ana have a reason to sleep so beautifully.
Cool title, right? The story is even better. I know, I need more confidence. But my suspicion that this story might be one of the best fiction stories I have ever written (and anyone has ever written) was confirmed by excellent writers from my beloved writing group from The Writer's Center in Chevy Chase, Maryland.
So, the goal of this new blog would be to write about my writing, and DC life. Which I'm planning on spicing up, right...about...now.