Milton Berle said laughter is an instant vacation.
So you might as well laugh, because no one’s going to Cabo anytime soon.
This week’s selections have a theme….
Which is basically 2020 bites….
And we’re over it.
Never has there been such a crazy, utterly wasted year.
Yes….
That pretty much says it all.
Because we all still need a laugh.
Now that’s just rude.
This looks like a great idea since I always whup the husband at gin rummy and he won’t play with me anymore.
*Note to self – borrow neighbor’s rooster*
I really do miss traveling.
Even if it’s just to the next town.
Indeed.
Yeah.
Gwyneth (correct spelling) can bite me.
( Did I already post this one? Maybe… but the sentiment holds true. )
Cats.
They think they know everything. It happens to be tequila.
Stuff it Mittens.
Jesus… neither do I!
We’re doomed.
Tell me….
Do you see it?
I look at it everyday and think, damn…. that’s just cruel.
Yes.
It’s the magazine bucket.
It’s mocking me.
As we were leaving the resort for the 12 hour plus drive home, I found this behind a door.
Clearly the previous tenants vacationed in the coat closet and didn’t want to be disturbed.
And yes, you read that correctly. This will be my last blog about the Williamsburg, Virginia vacation.
To think it only took me 60 posts to get here!
So…. it was a grey overcast morning the day we left.
And I have absolutely no idea what this was.
But here’s the Washington Monument….
And the entrance to a tunnel.
Was my husband obeying the speed limit?
No.
He never does, but when you’re riding in a rental Brontosaurus and the lanes get smaller due to construction? My blood pressure ruses when he approaches 100 mph.
I also look out the side window a lot.
Although it’s hard to focus properly at that speed.
Playing with my phone helps…
As does laughing at some slightly painful road names.
Here’s the Delaware Memorial Bridge.
And the toll ticket that cut off our George Washington Bridge exit price on the bottom.
For those of you who have never seen the New York City skyline on an overcast day from the New Jersey Turnpike at 90 mph?
Here you go.
Next up was the George Washington Bridge, where I usually close my eyes and pray to the God of Tequila that I’ll live to see another margarita.
Ironically… as soon as I started filming, the husband slowed down. Which is a good thing since the roads were potholed and in horrible shape.
Traffic was a nightmare.
But it always is.
And every time we pass these massive apartment complexes….
I realize how blessed we are to live in the country.
Was this water blowing off the top of that truck?
No. It was smoke, because something was probably on fire. When we crept up next to it and signaled the driver there was a problem?
He flipped us off.
Ya gotta love New Yorkers.
The rest of the trip was long, traffic laden and uneventful.
We were even too pooped to make our normal pit stop at the tax free New Hampshire liquor store.
Technically I took a few more…. but still.
Why is sitting in car doing absolutely nothing for 13 hours so damn tiring?
This is for the food (and drink) people.
An entire post devoted to our final meal in Virginia. (That’s 2 in 3 days so no more complaining!)
(On a side note, it was Bogart day last Sunday and the husband and I did nothing but eat, drink and watch the classics.
The Maltese Falcon. Key Largo. The Caine Mutiny. African Queen. And my all time favorite movie … Casablanca. I cry at the nightclub scene when they drown out the Germans by singing La Marseillaise… every damn time! Good stuff.)
But back to food.
After spending 8 hours in an antique store that day I was in dire need of a cocktail.
Or eight.
And when I saw a sign for Eddie Romanelli’s?
I may have squealed.
I didn’t think this was a chain, but there was one in Wilmington, North Carolina we used to make a pilgrimage to every other month when we lived down south. Their Crabmeat Cannelloni in Carolina Shrimp Sauce?
To die for.
We sat at a high top in the bar area because of it’s… ya know.
Proximity to the cocktails.
Prickly pear margarita?
Come to mama….
Sadly the crabmeat wasn’t on the menu, but the fresh baked bread with herbed olive oil was wonderful.
As was the Caesar salad.
And the sparkling Tuscan lemonade. Fresh, crisp and quite delightful.
Husband had a juicy charbroiled steak with garlic sauteed spinach…
While I indulged my inner Italian with some pasta…. drenched in garlic Parmesan cream and loaded with grilled chicken, mushrooms and peas.
Were there more cocktails?
Maybe….
And damn that waitress for not clearing them as fast as I could drink them.
I’m going to blame the cocktail consumption for this last picture I took on the way back to the resort….
Because I have no idea what it is…
Or what it was supposed to be….
But trust me, it was fabulous.
If if it wasn’t for this nasty Coronavirus:
I could have been spending a nice long weekend here.
A beautiful and rather expensive resort on the Maine coast.
I would have been walking these vast halls….
On the way to our timeshare condo (which go for up to $700 a night in the summer, but which I snagged at the bargain basement off season price of $300 for 4 nights as a surprise for the husband’s birthday) ….
I should have been sitting here…
Fresh out of the hot tub with a cocktail and an ocean view.
I could have, would have, and should have been doing all of those things. But instead I’m stuck inside the house blogging while hiding from an invisible bug that wants to kill us all.
That’s just wrong.
It’s supposed to be almost 60 degrees today, a rarity for March in Maine.
I could have been walking here :
The Rockport breakwater, which leads to….
It’s very own teeny tiny lighthouse.
It’s cute damn it! And I should have been taking photographs for a future blog.
But no.
I won’t be eating at one of the resort’s 2 restaurants.
Or having a cocktail at the ice bar.
Granted, that would probably have been slush by tonight… but still!
I could have, should have, would have been enjoying it all.
But I did the right thing and cancelled the trip so I can social distance, or shelter in place, or avoid the plague…. whatever they’re calling it these days.
But that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.
I woke up on our last full day of vacation in Williamsburg, Virginia (Yes, we’re finally there!) cursing our second resort’s small bathrooms.
I mean… come on.
For a girl with big hair this is a very small space to make the magic happen.
And the shower?
One teeny tiny shelf!
I had to put the rest of my things on the floor.
We started the day at the husband’s favorite breakfast spot where he was now greeted with ”The guy who wants two plates of chipped beef on toast is here”.
And seeing that we’d had 2 full weeks of doing everything I wanted to do, I thought it prudent to throw the husband a bone and let him pick our last day’s activities.
As expected, that bit me in the ass.
He chose the Williamsburg Antique Mall… and let me tell you, that’s a whole lotta mall.
I have never in my life seen so much useless crap stuff in one place. It went on forever, aisle after aisle after aisle. The husband was in heaven.
Oh, there were some interesting things.
And some seriously hideous things.
It was hard, but I managed to pass on this quartz rooster head.
And the Christmas tree in a shoe.
But damn, at the one hour mark we’d only managed to cover a little corner of the place.
The building was so huge it had push button call stations for help because it was too damned long a walk back to the front to find a sales clerk.
Two hours in there was a drunken Santa….
And some of the money the husband used during the Vietnam War.
Three hours in there was a pair of wolves on skis…
The ice cube trays I cursed with every breath as a child….
And some questionable artwork complete with psychedelic chickens.
Four hours in there were Civil War era hats and a saleslady who gave me a piece of paper to write down the aisle number, the booth number, the case number and a description of each article we had questions about because no one ever remembers what was where. If you look in the upper left hand corner of the picture you’ll see my hand clutching it.
And no, I wasn’t going to give it to the husband …. I’m not stupid.
The husband?
Happier than the proverbial pig in shit.
Rusty tools….
Rusty tools everywhere!
I passed on more vintage chickens.
And wondered who this wide eyed Santa was going to poke with that…. that….
Whatever the heck that was.
At the four and a half hour mark I had to use the rest room.
Where I did indeed flush my hopes and dreams of ever leaving this place down the toilet.
There was definitely something for everyone.
Even if some of the price tags made you gasp.
Five hours in I told the husband I was too hungry to continue and we needed to go get some lunch.
Yeah.
My worst nightmare came true….
They had a cafe.
Where we had tiny overpriced sandwiches and frozen solid fruit to fortify us for more hours of antique shopping.
It was at this point I knew we’d never leave.
I was doomed.
Too late for that warning…. the husband has had it for years.
He was bound and determined to see every last item in this store or die trying.
And by this time I was happily planning his demise.
Yikes.
Paging Morticia Addams….
And holy crap.
Who in their right mind wants that hanging on their wall?
Six hours in I found a bug collection….
Some chicken humor…
And part of the line to check out.
These people took a number…. and have probably been waiting since June 13, 1976.
But the husband was still going strong.
And if I told you how many rusty old pesticide sprayers we have in the barn already? You’d fear for my safety.
Here’s proof positive there’s a magazine for everything.
And a painting that contains fish bones.
You’re welcome.
SEVEN HOURS in and we weren’t even 2/3’s of the way through.
I knew he wasn’t going to leave without buying something, but by then I’d reached my limit of utterly useless crap antique shopping.
I was on board with the old phone. It could have been fun in the barn…. when he builds that bar he keeps talking about.
You know, the bar he can’t build because he has too much utterly useless crap stuff in the way.
Eight hours in?
I was silently screaming FFS….just pick something and let’s go!
Or maybe I said it out loud, I can’t remember.
So there it is, the result of 8 hours of antique mall shopping.
A giant glass water bottle to add to the other 20 or so giant glass water bottles he currently has collecting cobwebs.
I love him.
I do.
And as long as I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine.
This is for all the people who scream about food pictures. An entire blog devoted to a meal.
Though I’m not a fan of oysters….
The York River Oyster Company in Gloucester Point, Virginia seemed like a great spot for dinner.
So we strolled around the marina checking out the boats before heading inside.
It was a little too cold for outdoor seating in December.
So we picked a table with a view.
With a pole right in the middle to ruin any pictures I might want to share.
Yay us.
I started with an Orange Crush which seems to be a very popular cocktail lately.
And then cringed at the thought of anyone wanting red wine in their Mule.
We started with an appetizer order of simply superb steamed shrimp.
They were perfectly cooked and seasoned and just melted in our mouths.
Cocktail number 2?
An Afternoon Delight.
And I dare you not to have that song stuck in your head all day.
Dinner for me was a crab cake and fried shrimp. The most I can say about them is they were decent. The crab cake could have had more crab and the shrimp were a bit overdone. Which was a shame because the flavor was there.
I don’t know what the husband was thinking with this abomination.
A burger topped with bacon and pulled pork…. for those days when your arteries just feel too clear.
He picked it apart and ate everything separately which probably defeats the purpose, but said it was good.
Dessert was a nice tart Key Lime Pie. Don’t give me those sugary sweet versions. When I order Key Lime? I want my lips to pucker.
Yes, like that.
Night descended while we ate.
And while I’d give the restaurant a solid B minus ……
I have to admit they did have a clever slogan.
Toward the end of our tour of the Jamestown re-creation settlement, we were startled by a loud noise.
It was the Lord of Misrule and his motley crew.
The first settlement in America looked something like this.
And I have to admit the buildings were larger than I thought they’d be.
This was the church.
And I swear it’s bigger than the one in my town today.
I loved the thatched roofs on the cottages.
And we enjoyed poking around inside them.
Some of them were simple.
Some a little more grand.
Check out the armor on top of the cupboard.
Nothing like some weaponry over the dining room table to get the gastric juices flowing.
Speaking of that…. there was an armory.
And it doesn’t matter how many times I see these, I still can’t imagine having to wear them into battle. I mean damn, they make my underwire bra look positively comfortable in comparison.
Needless to say the husband was loving all the old tools and farm implements.
Yes dear….
Rusty metal…. I see it.
The last building we checked out was a communal kitchen.
And you know what I found… right?
Wandering at will….
Hoping something would fall off the table.
There were also fake cocktails, which is a rude tease to those of us who happened to be thirsty.
Hell, if these fell off the table they’d bounce.
And that’s not my type of cocktail at all.
Okay.
Now we’re talkin’….
