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It has long been rumored that the few rows of vines at the entrance to Chateau Ste. Michelle in Woodinville, Wash., were required so the winery could be called a "chateau."
PROSSER -- Construction is expected to start soon on the next phase of what backers say will be the state's premier educational and promotional center for Washington's wines and food products.
Slice it, dice it - break-ups are tough. Whether you're the dumper or the dumpee - post break-up can feel bad - but it can also feel good. Call it an occasion, perhaps a celebration - and pour a glass of your favorite wine for a toast.
My therapy philosophy is to liken it to an island - similar to Fantasy Island but the exact opposite. And like an island, you take a boat there and stay until it's time to go. Then you get back in your boat and leave Therapy Island - unless your therapist burns your boat. Now you're marooned like Gilligan and your therapist is starting to resemble a cannibal in a grass skirt.
"I don't think it's time yet," she says softly.
"Oh I think it's time," I say with strength.
"I think you could use a few more sessions," she says even softer.
"I think I'm done," I say with force. "I'm leaving the island…"
She's puzzled.
Some call it denial, I call it a breakthrough. But be prepared because after a break-up with your therapist, you may feel like you have no one to talk to. Pour a glass of something ballsy like Sokol Blosser's Evolution 9th Edition. This wine screams, "I am woman hear me roar!" It is forceful yet fair - (the secret to a rational conversation). Calm and steady with a zingy-zest of nine different varieties (and 11 herbs and spices).
Ladies and gentleman, please raise your glass to women who roar.
If you hire a trainer, you have declared a serious intention. It's scary, but after sifting through all the trainers at other gyms, you finally find one who's different, pays attention, listens and best of all is willing to accept money to torture you.
At the crack of dawn, you show up to meet him. Nice enough. "Oh and by the way," he says, "there will be one other woman working out alongside you." Seems reasonable. You start with some cardio, blood gets pumping, joints start loosening. Then suddenly out of nowhere, you hear a shrilling moan from across the gym.
"Don't make me do it! Not again! Please don't make me do it!"
"What the hell is that?" says your inside-head voice.
"No more! I can't do this!" she groans from the far corner in an orgasmically loud pitch.
"Um …" I say politely. "I find this really weird." The trainer shrugs and we continue the workout to the tune of the woman across the room screeching and yelping.
Later that afternoon, over a glass of 14 Hands 2002 Merlot, I lament with a girlfriend and beg her to convince me to never go back to that gym. The wine has punch, sturdiness. It's eye-opening and polished. Just what I need after reeling from that scarring experience. 14 Hands has a spark that challenges you. "Hey wimpy!" it says. "Don't let the Orgasmatron lady get the best of you!" It's assertive, nearly insulting - yet reliable enough to carry you through.
We raise a glass to abysmally roaring women who need too much attention.
Kippy cuts hair too short. I don't know if she does it to everyone, but it's become a problem. The first time you go to a new stylist, she's wonderful, your new best friend. Like most first times, there's light conversation - the get-to-know-you questions, some hair stroking, maybe a little head rub. But after you've developed a relationship, things can turn south quickly. No more slow entry, ease into the chair with light conversation. Oh no. It's simply, "Let's try something different today" as the scissors start clipping before you've had time to flip open the magazine. And unconsciously, your neck starts extending ... extending ... longer ... longer ... as if that's going to prevent your hair from being cut shorter. Finally you can't take it. "No, no! You're cutting too short!" you squeal, slightly amazed that you're capable of evoking such a noise. But it's too late. And you pay full price and smile, vowing to never return and plotting how you might get revenge.
Rise above it? I tried. A glass of Bergevin Lane 2003 Calico Red won't bring the hair back, but c'mon, it's just hair. This wine is sultry and luxurious. It's subtle and juicy - just what you need to pull through such a traumatic event. A blend of five grapes - Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Syrah, Zinfandel and Cabernet Franc - this is a concoction of hot and cold, spicy and sweet, seduction and strength with a soft, silky finish.
Please raise your glass to those whose confidence is measured by the length of their tresses.
Call it "closing weekend," but when you know it's time to go, grab your things and head toward the door. Even if it is your lover you're leaving. Lover - not to be confused with "boyfriend" - but someone who fits one simple criterion. You both find each other ravishable. Yeah, so your values aren't common and intellect is not a measure, but stimulation is. ... Who said pillow talk needs to be elegant? Good things come in small packages and, like all good things, sometimes their shelf-life simply expires. Breaking up with a lover is delicate because you never really know if you want it to be permanent. Anyway, be cautious, yet direct. Like Colvin Vineyards' 2003 Walla Walla Red. This wine has legs, and they're able to run. It doesn't look back. It's decisive and deliberate, a smooth, tongue-covering sensation that drips of velvet and vanilla.
Please raise your glass to the old adage that always rings true - as one door closes, another door opens. Cheers!
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