Finally back in DC after a weekend of skiing and shocker--more cocktailing. Cross country skiing really took its toll on my thigh muscles, who haven't participated in any vigorous activity since a growth spurt in junior high. Temporarily immobilized, I was unable to participate in such activities as the 17 and under ping pong tournament at the resort, which I had been looking forward to. In fact I had even packed for the trip accordingly, with training bras and cargo pants. This left me no choice but to spend the majority of the time that I would have dedicated to recreation to drinking instead; and thus my newfound adoration of hand-stuffed blue cheese olives was born. Soaked them in vermouth and they make any martini to die for, not to mention the nutritional value they bring to the table. I was more than reluctant to come home to my apartment, primarily because the only alcohol I had to welcome me back was butterscotch schnapps, leftover from the time I made butterbeer for the premiere of the latest Harry Potter movie (Did I just say that?) I had a classic Lifetime movie moment in the airport when I decided I would rather spend the night in Boston with my boyfriend and get on a stand-by flight the next day. I got on the plane. I got off the plane. I then got back on the plane. By this time all the over-head luggage compartments were beyond full, so I was forced to walk up and down the aisles about three more times. Needless to mention they were even talking about me in the air traffic controller tower. (No really, they were, the Jamaican man at the ticket gate told me.)Vintage Life photos via Rackk and Ruin.
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