I think it might be too late...

Last week, on The Hity:

Garbanzo travels hundreds of miles to Washington, DC for a raging good time...or is it?

My parents and 15-20 of their closest friends were going to be in DC for a cotton convention. (that's right, cotton convention) Since two of my closest girlfriends from growing up had recently bought a house there, I decided to tag along.

Amidst the lobster tail/oyster/crab/jumbo shrimp appetizers, the 14oz. Filet Mignon, 7/10 of the desserts on the menu...a few really terrible things happened.

I'll start with the story of "Gruly Mershman". Names have been changed to protect the innocent(and guilty). Gruly is a very good family friend, her husband and my father were best friends in high school. Needless to say, I have spent A LOT of time with Gruly, let's call her Grules.

The Mershman family was comprised of a loving mother (Grules), a father, and three sons. Because the Lord our God never blessed the Mershmans with a daughter, they always thought of me and my sister as their daughters...or so they said. It has taken me 25 years and a recipe to realize that was my sister they truly loved. Let me explain...

About a year and a half ago, I went to Gruly's middle son's wedding, we'll call him Dennis. I am two years Dennis' senior (you do the math). The ceremony itself was one of those "the husband is the head of the household and the wife shall do as he says" type of things. You know, when the families of the bride and groom come from either a family of all sons (the Mershmans) or take the Bible just a bit too literally for my taste. Anywho, this is really beside the point. After the wedding, and a couple bottles of chardonnay, I told Grules that "she's always said I am like a daughter to her", and I was confused as to why her new daughter-in-law would get the secret family fudge recipe before me. I had been, for all intents and purposes, except for the actual conception and birthing experience, I was her daughter. Oh, and also the lack of relatives in common, and DNA. The new DIL (daughter-in-law) hadn't even been alive as long as I had been "part of the family." She had had a little to drink as well, and laughed and said "of course you'll get the recipe [Garbanzo]."

Now that I have set the scene, I'd like to point out the fact that today is February 16th. So this all went down over Valentine's Day weekend.

We're out to dinner, I had just finished up my lobster appetizer, and had started in on the Rosemary Foccacia, waiting for my Filet to arrive...and Grules TELLS ME THAT SHE HAS GIVEN THE RECIPE TO MY SISTER. MY SISTER, who hadn't even ATTENDED her sons wedding. Needless to say, I was furious. I say "GRULY, I WAS THE ONE THAT ASKED FOR THE RECIPE IN THE FIRST PLACE." She has the gall to say to me (a single, 24 3/4 year old, young professional, paying her own rent in San Francisco, college graduate) "well, Garbanzo, your sister is married, and they already have a baby.

Um, really? I didn't know that a husband and spawn were requirements to making great fudge. Gruly, how am I supposed to meet the man of my dreams if I can't even make great fudge!?!? HOW, I ASK? I now blame my singlehood on Gruly alone...soooo maybe this is a good thing? I hate blaming things on myself.

Listen, when I started this blog, I didn't really realize that I had so much to say. But, I really hope, if you've gotten this far you keep going because I am about to explain why I hate Virginia.

After creating a "secret single girl fudge recipe" with my girlfriends that night, I was just about ready to forget any of that had happened and go on with my life. I won't lie, it does knock me down a notch when people remind me that I am alone and I can't have good fudge because of it, but I was going to get over it....UNTIL...

I went to Alexandria, Virginia. I should have known, any state that essentially has the word vagina in it, is going to be bad.

***picture it***

I'm shopping around with my girlfriends and after I almost spend my Valentine's Day present (yep, its $100 from my dad) on a really precious handbag...I decide to look in this antique store before I "blow it all in one place." We're walking around, they've got a couple great furs which were out of my price range (not even my dad loves me that much), a really cute little elephant scotch glass, and 1 beautiful vintage ring. The ring was smokey topaz, with a thin gold band. I love it. I ask to try it on. The woman hands it to me, I slide it on my ring finger and ALMOST makes it...(DAMN knuckle cracking)...the woman is very sweet. She tells me, it's a beautiful ring, and it would be very easy to just get it sized up about a half size. Then HE walks up. The old man in a pink sweater. The old man that OWNS the shop. He SAYS TO ME: "you know what a half a ring size could be? MOTIVATION TO LOSE WEIGHT." - silence -

I turn to him and say "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, SIR."

I mean, really!? 1. you're in sales 2. its valentine's day and I didn't have to take off any rings to try that one on 3. you can take that pink sweater and shove it right up your ass.

Now, here I am, red wine, no ring, no fudge recipe, no husband, no child. I think it might be too late.

xoxo,
Garbanzo