Sunday Funday & Community Support

So we got that last bit of snow I wanted! Haha..ha..ha....oops. Sorry to everyone for ruining your first week of spring with my unfulfilled wintertime wishes! I can’t say I’m completely sorry though! It was really quite pretty. I was fortunate enough to remember to take pictures of some of the spring time flowers in the area before this weekend--something I’d been meaning to do!

I love crocuses (croci?) because they're the first hint that spring is coming!

Sadly, most of the flowers I’ve seen post-snow look a little bit worse for wear.

Sad flower is sad.

Another casualty of the snow, Church Hill’s Irish Festival was forced to close early on Sunday. But that was not before a few friends (@rvaplaylist, @kevinclay, and Cristina) and I had a chance to peruse the festival.

Perhaps put off by the forecast and cool temperatures, the crowds were thin--which made Andrew and I VERY happy, as we despise being rammed in the ankles by strollers (being driven by distracted parents who also forget the importance of the phrase, ‘I apologize for that!’) Kevin got his “best ever mac and cheese” made by the lovely people of St. Patrick’s Church. I’m not the biggest fan of their mac and cheese--though I know many would disagree with me. I have ridiculously high standards for one of my favorite foods. Still, that didn’t stop Kev from enjoying it.

I could watch this .gif for hours.

Andrew too. He’s enjoying it so much he had to look away from the camera in order to hide his tears of joy.

After that, it was a quick loop around the festival because the temperature was dropping RAPIDLY. I picked up my long sought after RVA Beard League sticker from Dash.

I fucking love mustaches.

And I got some green beads from the Irish American Society to add to my ever expanding collection.

I really love beads.

And we perused the wares of the vendors. We particularly enjoyed the Say Something Hats.

Don’t they look so handsome? Those hats are definitely saying something. Sadly I neglected to get a picture of Cristina in her fabulous fuchsia chapeau. She definitely looked Strawberry Hill ready!

After the hats and nearly getting run over by a herd of bagpipers (Kevin screamed when he turned around and saw them bearing down on us,) we all decided we wanted a sweet treat, so we headed to one of my favorite places in Church Hill: Sub Rosa Bakery. While en route, the impending winter-esque weather we’d been hearing all about began to come down in the form of painfully sharp bits of ice. (“You know how I--OW! DAMNIT!”) Sub Rosa was a welcome haven, after a few blocks of having this stuff pelted at us.

This picture is from their Google Places page.

It’s amazing. This bakery is one of my favorite places in RVA. It’s so amazing, I didn’t get any pictures of the food because I could only think of consuming the delicious baked goods when I got them. This “problem” has been the case every time I’ve gone there. My favorite item they have is, so far, the seeded braids. They’re chewy and buttery, and they have a spice that I can’t quite identify that makes the flavor so unique and lovely. We headed back to my place after the bakery where pastries were consumed and couch cuddles were had.

Soon thereafter everyone else left, and I got into my PJs, cuddled up in front of my space heater with Season 2 of The Simpsons, and proceeded to take a nice nap. Only to wake up to this:

It was so pretty out! I got a chance to enjoy the snow on my walk with the lovely Brittney, with whom I went to Patrick Henry Pub for some drinks and dinner.

Sunday Funday indeed! It was a really great day, I must say!

It’s worth noting that people attending the festival were much more well behaved this year than last year, aside from continuing to forget that you’re not supposed to park next to a fire hydrant. I’m not really worried about that though, because I have faith the Richmond Fire Department won’t hesitate to do this if my house catches on fire and there’s a car parked next to the hydrant:

Update: So I held off on posting this entry for over a week because I was determined to get up early, go back to Sub Rosa, and get pics of the pastries, but I never was able to get up early enough. Sadly, around midnight on 4/3/13, a fire broke out and Sub Rosa and the above apartment were badly damaged, which led to the building being temporarily condemned. It’s so sad and my heart goes out to the Sub Rosa family and the residents affected by this. I’m really glad everyone is okay.

Efforts are being made to assist both parties in the interim, while insurance does its thing. The community has been rather amazing in their response. It's made me an even prouder Richmonder. Three fundraisers have been organized, and I hope you’ll participate in one.

There's Indiegogo, which is raising funds to help both the residents and the bakery. Over $14,000 has already ben raised!

A food truck event has been organized, featuring some of Richmond's best mobile restaurants!

And The Roosevelt, along with several local (FANTASTIC!) chefs are holding a dinner next week--something I'm really looking forward to!

Also, very important, the residents managed to get their cats out, but they ran off in the chaos of the night. Please help them find their pets!



Here’s hoping the bakery will be up and running in some capacity soon (the owner thinks it could be anywhere from 4-6 months.) I'm so happy they'll be rebuilding!

And since that update was a bit depressing, even with all of the community support, here's a .gif of Kevin dancing in a wig.

STAY OFF MY LAWN: When a 20-Something Becomes an Old Lady.

My mother’s family has this thing. It’s called “I love you, but ___________.” And you can always see it coming from a mile away, to the point that the savviest (or fastest moving,) who’re on the receiving end can usually insert the ‘but’ before the speaker can. (And then they duck.) It’s our version of the backhanded compliment. It’s backhanded love really. Or like a compliment sandwich, only open faced. It’s an open faced compliment sandwich.

And as off-putting and irritating as it can be (because WOW, it can be,) it is a habit that has found its way into my own thinking. …Damn it.

Church Hill, God damn it, I love you, BUT your Irish Festival attendees are pissing me off. I live in Church Hill, a historical neighborhood in Richmond, Virginia. I’ve got a future post that’s my love letter to this neighborhood. For now, all you need to know is that this neighborhood rocks and they have an Irish Festival once a year. And it’s awesome, it’s great—who doesn’t enjoy a festival? And what’s more, it’s two blocks from my house, convenient for me and convenient for my friends who go and want to swing by and hang out. Yes, I love the Church Hill Irish Festival, BUT it has made me into that old lady on the block who tells those damn kids to get off her lawn.

When I awoke uncharacteristically early on Saturday (9:30,) I heard bagpipes. Oh bagpipes, I do love their sound! There’s something old and ingrained me that cries out, ‘It’s the sound of the motherland!’ I assumed this was God’s way of encouraging me to get out of the house, despite the pouring rain, and enjoy the festival. And I did! I donned green, I got out my umbrella, and I went to the festival, taking in some of the vendors, doing some people watching, even observing the parade. I had a lot of fun until I was ready to go back to my apartment and put on some dry clothes.

But then the bagpipes continued. They not only continued, but they moved their practicing area across the street from my house because the concerts going on at the main stage were interfering with their ability to hear one another. So a pack of bagpipers stationed itself on the corner (no, those weren’t hookers,) and practiced their craft. And then it continued for EIGHT FUCKING HOURS. Patrick Bateman almost made an appearance (because like it or not, we all have Patrick Bateman moments.)

Sometimes old memes are still the best.

And then there were the attendees. Now if you live in this neighborhood, you come to accept that you can’t move your car from 7am to 5pm on Saturday or Sunday during the festival. It’s cool, it’s one of those things, and it’s an acceptable term. What is not acceptable are the attendees abusing the neighborhood and being bad visitors.

Case in point: My bedroom windows are ground level and face the street. The upstairs neighbors’ front door is up a level with a small front porch that hangs over one of my windows. Got that pictured in your head? It rained a bit yesterday. Okay, a lot. At one point I look out my window and I see a woman is by my window changing her baby’s diaper under the shelter of the steps while her husband looks on. I can overlook this though. Kid’s gotta have his diaper changed; I’ve been to the festival already, I know there isn’t a “family” area for such activities (food for thought, festival organizers,) so I can deal. After she’s done, she gathers up her diaper bag, gets her kid situated in the baby carrier on her chest, and then they walk away, LEAVING THE SHITTY DIAPER IN FRONT OF MY WINDOW.

So me being me, really, being mother’s daughter (because I’ve heard stories about you, Mom,) I run outside in my PJs and a tank top and pursue these people (who’ve only just reached the corner,) shouting, “EXCUSE ME! YOU’VE LEFT SOMETHING HERE, THE TRASHCAN IS THERE!” They look at each other and try to ignore me, but I continue to walk toward them, repeating what I’ve said in a louder voice, adding, “Your used diaper is there, in front of my window!” Other people stop and stare. The husband sighs and walks back to my house, picks up the diaper, and throws it away in the bin around the corner. The entire time I’m giving a death glare and neither one of them is willing to look at me. I thank them and I tell them to enjoy the festival.

Another case in point: My backyard is separated from my neighbors’ with a chain link fence that is rarely shut (we really don’t care,) and their backyard is adjacent to the sidewalk and street. Their gate is always shut, but it doesn’t lock, and it’s really loud when it clangs shut. A few hours after the diaper incident I glance in my backyard through my screen door because I hear the gate slamming. I look out and see a guy I don’t know assuming The Stance. Within seconds he is fumbling with his pants and within a nanosecond of seeing this I am out the door and saying loudly, “Excuse me, what are you doing?!” He stops and in Drunkenese (I’ll translate into vernacular for all you,) tells me that he needs to urinate. I point out to him there are at least half a dozen port-o-potties across the street and a half block away and that he’s to go there. He snorts, clearly bent on ignoring me. I tell him to get out, that I’m not kidding. He informs me that I need to engage in sexual intercourse. I reply that I will take the suggestion under advisement, but inform him he is not a candidate for such an endeavor. I’m pretty sure if he knew where my car was, he’d be pissing on that instead. As it was, I kept my front door open for the rest of the festival to make sure he didn’t come back to pee on it. And I’ve already cleaned it several times, just in case.

The price you pay for being a (justifiable) bitch.

In conclusion, I love you Church Hill Irish Festival, BUT some of your attendees are assholes. And you need to rotate the practice areas for the bagpipers. For their safety.

So from the “old lady” on the block to all you young whippersnappers, I extend to you an invitation to come out to Church Hill and enjoy all our neighborhood has to offer, including the Irish Festival. Depending on how you behave, I may also extend this: