My dream wedding is a nightmare

The nightmares have started. Twice now, I have woken up soaked in the type of cold sweat that can only be produced by unadulterated panic. Gasping for air and gagging on the remnants of a dream so sinister it almost stopped my heart. The subject of these dreams? My wedding and all the ways it could go wrong.
So far my dream weddings have included relatives that don’t exist, demands that I get married in a bar (Magoo’s specifically for those of you from T-town), and my Fiancé’s grandmother taking my seat at the alter (I know, Freud would have a field day with that one. In said dream I told her she could stay in my seat as long as she needed to.)
In these dreams my reaction to disaster varies. In one, I am calm through disaster after disaster until I finally break down and demand that my sister make me a Cosmo the size of my head which I then poor down my throat and all over my dress. In another, I freak out almost right away but give up in the end a happily decide to elope. In both dreams I have great shoes. In both dreams a marching band escorts me to the ceremony. In one dream all the guests leave. In the other they critique my actions like Olympic judges.
I am thinking that perhaps I am a bit overwhelmed. Last night I went to a wedding workshop and the lady running it told me to elope. At this point I am not planning a wedding so much as I am fighting war against it. I cannot elope because then the wedding would win. The sad thing is, this is like high stakes Vegas poker; the odds are stacked against me. There is no way to really win because the wedding will either get my money or my sanity or both. All I can hope for now is to not lose big. I gotta get me some lucky boxers and a cute blonde to blow on the dice.

Brccoli is a bitch. I am not.

The people at my work are, in general, wildly inappropriate. A sexual harassment lawyer would have a hay-day with my office mates. They tend to keep the banter going all day and usually, one person takes the heat more than the others. This responsibility tends to rotate on an unscheduled basis. Lately the main topic of discussion has been me. Something I usually enjoy but HELLO I just had surgery and I am a bit cranky and GOD DAMN IT why in the world is it your business if I don’t like broccoli?
At first the collective made fun of me for being younger than most other people in the office but I am no fool and I just picked on them for being old. So that is pretty much a dead horse. Now they have moved on to my eating habits. I am a bit picky but I was raised well (Hi Mama!) and I am quiet about it. I usually sit at the table and eat my Lean Cuisine leaving all of the broccoli sitting in a small pile to the side. There are lots of other things I don't really care for but since I bought the food, made the food, and am the only one eating the food, I consider it my right to eat any, all, or none of it as I see fit.
My problem is that a certain individual has decided this means I am “High Maintenance” his main support for this claim is his own assertion that a man taking me on a date would have to carefully consider the restaurant he was taking me to so I could find something to order. Somehow, this really pisses me off.
First of all, I LOVE all types of food. Thai, American, Mexican, Asian Fusion, Indian, Japanese, Italian, Moroccan . . . the list goes on and on. I have never been to a restaurant in which I could not find something appetizing.
Second, I am willing to try new things. My Fiancé took me out to Sushi on one of our first dates. I had never had it before and was a bit trepidations. I tried it that night and LOVE sushi now. I just don’t see the point of eating things you already know you dislike.
Third, I am not High Maintenance. I do not have fake nails. I do not die my hair (I used to but it got to be too much work.) I spend way more money on outdoor gear than I do on shoes (I do like heals but I like Skis more.) I climb mountains and carry my own shit (my pack was 2 lbs HEAVIER than Fiancé’s on the last trip.) I do not expect marathon phone calls or mind reading or daily massages from Fiancé.
So I don’t like broccoli, f-ing sue me.

Independance Day In T-Town Style

My 4th of July plans have changed alot in the past few days. my Father and my Fiance are going to climb Mt. Olympus and they leave at 4:30 AM tomorrow. Because I have to work on Monday I cant go with them and I had planned on going east of the mountains to this ridiculous fake Bavarian mountain town, Leavenworth with 2 of my friends. Not only do they have a giant maypole and men in laderhosen, but some of the states best rock climbing is scattered all around it. Then my dog held me a hostage with his big brown eyes and made me give all my money to the vet for his ear infection so suddenly a girls weekend climbing extravaganza was out of my price range. To add insult to injury, 2 of the 3 people who buy me things when I am broke (my Dad and my Fiance, Hi Guys!) are going to be gone. Therefore I will be hanging out with the last person who will buy me things when I am broke (my Mother, I love you Mama!) all weekend. Mainly I will be attending hokey annual festivals that I have no excusse for absolutly loving the way I do. There are 2 big ones every 4th of July weekend in Tacoma and they are pretty silly.
One , named "The Taste of Tacoma" is just an excuse to gain 20 lbs in a few hours. You walk around paying 2 bucks a pop for a mouthful of whatever at about 200 stands put up by local restaurants. Then you go lay in the sun and yell at your dog not to eat food off the ground because he has food allergies and his vet bills are killing you. There are rides and crafty BS for sale and about 12 radio stations broadcasting live. When you can't stand the 80's cover band and their terrible Stevie Nicks wannabe back up singer and tambourine "artist" anymore, you walk a few miles back to your car and go home to feel sick. It is awesome.
The second is actually called the "Freedom Fair" and was called that before 9-11. It is only on the 4th of July and takes up the whole waterfront. it is more or less the same idea as the Taste of Tacoma but in a line instead of on a lawn. They have a beer garden every few blocks and there is always a stage sponsored by some local something. They will have Uncle Sam on stilts or a not so funny local comedian. Perhaps a not so funny local comedian dressed as Uncle Sam on stilts. Then at midnight there is a war. The fireworks start but that is not the real attraction. The real attraction is the 2 other fireworks shows can be seen from the waterfront and Tacoma must win. Seattle and Browns point both are visible and they both have more money that us. Still, every year we have a bigger barge or a longer show or something to try and out compete them. When the show is over you realize you are a bit wasted and sun burnt and the dog got scared and pissed on your shoe, which may or may not have been a sandal and you still have to walk a few miles to the car.
All in all it will be a full weekend full of fullness. And maybe full of sun (pray to the tempermental Washington could Gods to stay far far away) and also maybe full of Target's boxed wine.

Here comes the Bride (zilla)

Today is approximately 500 days before my wedding. 500 days is along time and I am by nature a procrastinator so one would think that perhaps I would be in the “I’ll think about it latter” mindset. You would, however, be incorrect.
I am not the type of person who has had her wedding planned since birth. I am not the type of person who has a strong opinion on the subject of cake toppers. I am however, a planner. I plan. It is what I do. And so this new project (aka “the wedding”) has kind of violently invaded all the mental space in my head. That may not be much real estate to begin with but it is all we have folks.
I think I am being pretty flexible about things. The date, the clothing, the photography, the size of the guest list, the menu, even the officaint are all subjects I have very little opinion on. The venue, however, became singularly important to me. I saw on a photographer’s website (hey, I like research) the most beautiful ballroom EVER and now I want it. I want it bad.
The problem is that it is currently under renovation. All the reports I found on Google said it would reopen in 2007 so I think “Sweet” it should be open by October or November right? But there is no contact info anywhere. Finally after several searches I find a number which I call. The mail box is full so I am transferred to an operator who transfers me to a catering company where I leave a message which they don’t return. So I track down the catering company online and send them an e-mail. I get this in return.

We are not taking reservations for the Dome Room until we get a firm date. It is not set to open until end of 2007 beginning 2008.
We do have the Fairview Club which we are taking reservations for now. It is gorgeous! There are pictures on the website. Please let me know if you would like to see the space.
And my first reaction is “No I don’t want to see the f-ing Fairview club!” at which point I realize that I have a major problem.
“Hello, my name is T-Town and I have a problem; I am becoming Bridezilla”
So now we have
5 million details to think about
5 thousand Dollars to save up
5 hundred days to go and
5 very good indicators that I will not make it out of this as a decent person.

If at any time it appears as though I might bite someone and spread the infection please shoot me. You will be doing me, my loved ones and the world a huge favor.

Heat Wave : Creative ways in which to kill things

The greater Seattle-Tacoma metropolitan area is having a heat wave. It has been in the 80s all weekend; we are on smog watch; there is a heat advisory out for today and tomorrow because temperatures will be in the mid 90s. Much like a handful of snowflakes, full sun exposure can close down the entire region. We are so used to our little could of temperate weather that panic ensues once the temperature ventures out of the 50 to 70 range.
Case in point: I am convinced my dog is going to die. He will be baked and burnt like forgotten loaf banana bread in the oven that is my apartment. All my furniture will be singed and the water out of the toilet will evaporate completely.
There is no good reason for me to have this terrible vision haunting me all day. I left the windows cracked and the blinds shut. I gave him plenty of water. Still I am worried. You see Taj is the singular success story in my long list of attempting to care for things. Every plant, cat, fish, rodent, turtle, bird or imaginary friend left in my care has died inexplicably and usually in a bizarre sick fashion. So now I present to you the “Supper Countdown of the Top Three Ways in Which Things I Have Been In Charge of Have Died.” Because we all like lists and lists are better when they are backwards (countdowns). It creates a false sense of suspense.

3. I had 2 fish who hated each other and one rammed the other one to death.
2. My turtle was found 100% dried out, attempting to climb into her water bowl which was empty.
And the very worst . . .
1. My gerbils (named Chewy and Gooey) ate one another. Actually Gooey ate Chewy’s foot so Chewy ate Gooey’s insides. They both died.

Therefore I am going to have my Mother drive all the way out to Lakewood/ University Place to pick up my keys and take the dog to her house. Although come to think of it, I inherited my propensity for forgetting things in the oven from her. Maybe I should call my Dad.

France Sent Me an Earthquake This Morning

My new neighbors moved in a few weeks ago. The two good looking, fast talking men my age are cousins. They are originally from West Africa but grew up in Paris. Although we spent one evening getting to know each other, their complete refusal to believe I will not leave my boyfriend for one of them and their intense love of Celine Dion has kept us from becoming friends.
Now, despite the fact that I grew up in this pre-war duplex, the distinct lack of neighbors for 9+ months helped me to forget that there is really no sound insulation between the two sides. So when my neighbors moved in I was shocked. I was shocked about how loud it sounded when they walked up and down the stairs. I was shocked that the French language could be so loud and obnoxious. I was shocked at their bad taste in music and their propensity to foist it upon me at 6:30 every morning. But the most shocking thing of all happened this morning.
I have become accustomed to the wailing noise of bad and usually out of date chick music blasting though my bedroom wall at 6:30 sharp. Usually I roll around and whine about it to my dog for 15 min before giving up and getting into the shower where I will be able to hear a west African man with a French accent singing Brandy’s “I Wanna be Down” in his own shower. Once I get out of the shower I try to ignore the shouting and chatter and door slamming that constitutes their morning routine. We tend to leave the house at the same time. They usually wave at me and then say dirty things to one another about me in French. No I don’t speak French but my best friend took two semesters of it sophomore year of high school and I think that qualifies me enough to know when someone is saying dirty things about me.
But this morning things were different. I woke up at 6:30 and there was no discernable noise at all coming from next door. Great! I thought, now I can go back to sleep and get up at 7 like I am supposed to. So I went back to sleep. Then at 6:48 someone on some soccer team in the world cup made a goal and all hell broke loose. I woke in a panic thinking I was being personally attacked by an earthquake. The whole house was swaying and the noise was deafening. Once I woke up a bit I thought the neighbors were perhaps holding an ultimate Cage Fighter Tournament in their living room. That seemed much more logical to my American mind than the idea that two men could get so worked up over a soccer goal that they literally knocked a picture off the wall in their neighbor’s house. Luckily it was not broken. Not so luckily, the World Cup, I have been told, is not over.

Let Me Check My Calendar

When I first moved to my new department about a month ago, I was overwhelmed by how gorgeous my new work place was. A modern “green-built” building situated on a bluff over the sound in between the Narrows and Chambers Bay. The two long sides of the building are made almost entirely of windows looking out over the water with the Olympic Mountains in the background on one side and framing Mount Rainier floating above a field of wildflowers on the other.
I was impressed by the modern kitchen and spacious work areas. The individual climate controls and well equipped resource rooms amazed me. But in all of this razzle-dazzle I missed something utterly grotesque right next to my desk.
Next to a map of Pierce County just outside the entrance to my cube hangs this calendar of dog poop. On reason. No explanation. Just beautifully taken shots of steaming piles of dog shit waiting for me every morning.

Don't call me, I'll call you.

Funny story, This last December I went to the land of all things good and worthwhile also known as Whistler, British Columbia. While I was there I got to ski on great runs, and drink in the winter wonder-land of Whistler Village, and eat amazing food and the whole time I was there I was in heaven. But once I got home I realized that Instead of taking a bit of heaven home with me, I had left an important piece of home up in heaven. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my only phone charger to my only phone was abandoned in a condo above the Domino’s Pizza in Whistler Village.
I would imagine that a normal person’s reaction to this unfortunate but not tragic event would be to buy a new phone charger. But as we all know, I am more of a person of the “Wildly Neurotic Procrastinator” category and therefore I decided I would decide what to do latter. It is now 6 months later and I do not have a phone charger. “Crazy!” You say. “That is insane” well no. I will not plead insanity instead I am blaming my surroundings and upbringing and perhaps society in general and here is why.
First of all, my old roommate had the same type of phone and I just used her charger while I was at home. True, this once resulted in my walking into her room at an unfortunate moment but I believe her and her boyfriend have since forgiven me seeing as how we have an unspoken pact to never, ever mention the incident. . . ever. In my defense, I could have sworn she was not home.
Aside from that one time, the system worked pretty well. It was augmented by the fact that my boyfriend also had the same type of phone and I could use his charger whenever I stayed at his house.
In addition, my parents both have the same type of phone and they kept on charger at their house and one at their store.
Yes, we are part of a phone cult and no, you cannot join.
So to recap, I had on charger at home, one in the north end at my parents, one on the west side at their store, one in the far south at my boyfriend’s and who in their right mind even goes to the East side anyway? Basically, I still had more phone chargers than most people. Then something terrible happened, actually 2 things.
First my Dad took his charger out of the store and across the country to New York. Much like mine, it never was heard from again. This effectively cut out both my North and West access to phone service because now my parents were sharing a single charger and at least one of them needed it all the time. I could have taken this. I used those connections less than the others anyway. What I could not take was exactly what happened next. My roommate moved out and took her phone charger with her.
Now every few days my phone dies. It is usually on a Friday or some other time I need to get a hold of people. My life is pretty much ruined. I have to have inappropriate conversations on my work phone. I have to make plans more that 10 min ahead of time. It is rough.
So you might be thinking “why don’t you buy a phone charger now?” and then it would be my turn to call you insane. You see phone chargers cost over $30.00 and while that is a perfectly acceptable price for things you do not need like dinner out, or Starbucks for a week, or perfume, earrings, shoes, or tanning sessions, that is way too much money for something that no one will be impressed to find out I own.
“Dude, did you see that chick’s phone charger?”
“Yeah, that was sweet.”
No, I don’t think so. Besides Boyfriends father, who does things in quadruple time (it takes him quadruple the time it takes anyone else to get something done) said he would put Boyfriend on his phone plan. When this happens, (projected completion date 2009) Boyfriend will get a new phone and I will get his old charger. At that point there will be about 3.52 seconds left on my phone plan until I get a new phone. See, my timing is impeccable.

Your government has got a little Captain in it.

Today I was sitting on my desk and I was talking to my boss and my boss’s boss and I had a moment. I looked at my boss, wildly gesticulating with her Starbucks cup in her left hand and a pen in her right. She had one expensively shod foot on the desk next to her. The cuff of her charcoal slacks swinging as she pointed the pen at her own boss with vigor. He stood next to her, leaning against my desk with his ankles crossed. He looked at her with an understanding smile that said “I am as exasperated as you are. I know where you are coming from.” As she slowed down he took a sip from his own Starbucks cup before responding while nodding and shaking his head alternately. I let out a deep sigh and put my Latte down before saying “the X commission has an over trumped sense of self importance. They believe that they have some sort of authority and it is all because the Y City Council is to lazy to do anything but request recommendations from the X Commission and blindly follow them.” The bosses solemnly nodded in agreement.
Then as I went to pick my Starbucks cup up again I thought “who the hell just said that?” Who the f*** gave me a job where the things I say and think and do have real life implications. Hell, not just implications but consequences!
Seriously, I just looked around at my desk and thought “I am so out of my league” and then I had the even scarier realization that that is not true.
You know that commercial for Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum? The one where they show you a woman who is supposed to be your dental hygienist or some guy who is supposed to be your air traffic controller, or a lady who is supposed to have some other generally responsible type job flopping around on the floor in a puddle of perspiration, liquor, total lack of inhibition? Yeah, I am that person.
“John in IT has got it.”
“So does Carol in Legal”
“Even T-town in planning”
“Yup, they all have a little Captain in them”
Actually I can’t stand Captain Morgan’s. We had a run in when I was about 16. Good times.
The point is that I might be a f***-up when I am not at work but so is everyone else. None of us should be here! All of this is way to important for people to deal with. People have issues. People have hormones. People have feelings and prejudices and hangovers and bad days and . . . what I am trying to say is being the government is hard. I used to trust the government to do shit for me but now I know that “the government” is really just a bunch of assholes like me who get drunk on Friday night and spend the tax dollars you pay them buying their dog food that is made out of organic potatoes and duck! Damn dog! Always being allergic to stuff.

Lift with caution, this ones heavy.

So apparently I have missed my calling as a Rally Car Driver. I had a feeling that my intense love of Subarus and off-roading were being underutilized but now I know for sure.
My mother sent me a “find your ideal job” e-mail forward type thingy and all you do is input your name and hit enter. Then it will tell you what your Ideal job would be. I was excited to know, despite all evidence to the contrary, I am SUPPOSED to be good at driving a vehicle.
Then I found out that my cousin gets to be God.

All of this got me thinking about the big things like fate and existence and that episode of Gilmore Girls where Emily serves pudding at Friday night Dinner. I mean, is it all that random? Are we all walking around thinking people are taking us into consideration when really they just had a hankering for some chocolaty goodness?
I like to think that things are planned out. That fate has me in his capable hands and I can sit back and enjoy the rollercoaster. I am pretty superstitious. I have good luck charms in my car. I have a little chant I say in my head when I need a favor. I do not believe in luck and I do think what goes around comes around.
I think that people come into your life because you need them as much as they need you. Even if what you need is a hard lesson.
I think that in some small corner of my heart I am a Rally Race Car Driver. I am just not a very good one.
I think that God sees my little rituals and charms and knows that they are my way of connecting with the uncertain. They are my way of giving up control. I need that buffer between me and the will of the big bad universe.
I think that true love is like true belief; there are 2 major components of it and you need them both. First you have to think it, know it in your head, and decide to consciously accept the love as real. Then you have to feel it. You don’t get a choice about that part.
I think that nature brings us closer to the divine.
I think that wine and cheese are the foods of the gods
And I don’t think anyone serves pudding completely by accident.

Un Idiot!

Saturday Night Fire

Electric Wok $39.00
Roll of Toilet Paper $1.00
Case of light beer $14.00
Can of Lighter Fluid $3.00
Urban bonfire in a wok party . . . Priceless!

I will not lose another lover to Mountain Biking

Now that ski season is officially over (read “I am done skiing for the season because I am spoiled and April snow is not what is should be”) I need a new hobby. I was thinking that Boyfriend and I might find one together. We could be as diligent about Rock climbing or backpacking (things we already like to do) as we have been about skiing. I envisioned the hiking, the climbing, the cute outdoorsy outfits, and the unnecessary dog accessories I could buy. I was hyped. Then Boyfriend ruined it all (well 83% of it) by reminding me of my long time nemesis . . . Mountain Biking.
See, Mountain Biking and I go way back. MB is not only demanding, pain inducing, and dirty, she is also a boyfriend stealing little you-know-what. MB is hard to resist, she is exciting and edgy. She can impress your friends and upset your mother. I thought, at first, that we could get along. I mean, Cycling (as in, on pavement) and I have had our differences but we had come to an agreement. I thought this high energy cousin could be . . . well. . . FUN!
First I tried to relate to MB on my own. You know form a friendship but she made it so hard. Hard like the ground I was thrown onto repeatedly. Our short-lived friendship was a dirty sweaty one; full of pain, suffering and even a little blood. I like my blood. I like it to remain inside me. If I must part with some of it I had better get some props for it or at least have a good story to tell. When MB and I were through all I had was an old looking new bike and a new scar that made me look older. MB and I said goodbye and went our separate ways. . . or so I thought.
The first person I really kissed was a guy named Marshall. I sort of kissed my best friend’s cousin on a trip to the ocean once before that but Marshall was the first person I REALLY kissed. I was 15. I am a late bloomer. Marshall and I were already friends but once we started dating I realized there was this other part of his life I was not a part of. This other part of his life that took up his time, spent his money, gave him wounds, occupied his mind, and in one case caused him to skip school. This other part of his life was Mountain biking. Marshall would come over and spend all his time talking to my Dad about MB. Marshall would call me on the phone to ask me questions about components and shock systems. Marshall and I dated for about a month (maybe less) before I decided we should just be friends again. Marshall was the first boyfriend I lost to MB.
Nels, the guy I took to senior prom also had an MB problem. We dated for about 3 months and he is still the best looking person I have ever technically dated. We had a lot in common but as the summer days got longer, he spent more and more time on the INSANE MB trails of Vashon Island. In the infancy of our relationship, Nels would take me on these trails. I would just scream and cry and whine about being dirty and scared and needing to GET OFF THIS DAMN BIKE so I could curl up in the fetal position for a few hours. After the second time we went, I was never invited again. Although to this day Nels is the only person who has broken up with ME, I blame the demise of our oh-so-solid end of high school romance on MB.
James (who we have discussed before) also enjoyed a bit of MB every now and then. Although MB was only one of his several mistresses and James was not as in to her as either Marshall or Nels was, MB had DEVESTATING effects on our relationship. MB caused us a trip to the hospital, nearly getting evicted, and one night in Jail for James. Those are just the list toppers.
With all this history, you can imagine how easily I “forgot” that Boyfriend is so into MB all summer. I am sure you can also imagine how shocking and unsettling it was for me to hear from Boyfriend, the he was planning on buying a new bike this year. Now he will spend even more time away from me on his fancy-pants new bike with his duly impressed cronies; all san-girlfriend of course. I would just like to say that this is not over; not by a long shot. If Mountain Biking thinks that I am just going to roll over and die then she has another thing coming. My plan has very little to do with dieing and much, much more to do with sabotage . . . and bribery . . . and perhaps a lot of wine.

Routine Spastic Behavior

Yesterday before I had even managed struggle my way out of the “I hate you world/sunlight/any-person-talking-to-me” haze that is a weekday morning, my roommate called me to say that my dog had not only puked up his food but had also puked up a nasty (and quite possibly corrosive) water-grass-bile concoction about 6 TIMES! In a panic I called the vet.
Vet Office: North End Pet Hospital.
Me: Hi, I need an appointment; my dog has thrown up 6 times and canÂ’t keep any food down, for the love of God SAVE HIM!
Vet Office: My! That does sound severe! Unfortunately we have no more appointments today.
Me: You have no appointments all day!?!
Vet Office: No I am sorry. All the doctors are out right now and wonÂ’t be back until 2 and we are closing early today for an all office training at 5, so you see, all the available appointments are already taken.
It is at this point that I consider pulling a John Q* on their asses. Then I realize I donÂ’t have a gun and it might just be the case that there are other pet hospitals on the Tacoma metro area that DO have appointments. Still I donÂ’t want to change vets at such an emotionally stressful time even if right now I HATE THEM ALL and want them die painfully in publicly embarrassing situations. This is the vetÂ’s office I go to. I am a creature of habit and stuck in my ways and DAMN IT ALL why canÂ’t these people understand this!?!
While this back and forth tirade rages on in my head and I mumble and moan submissively on the telephone, the pet-nurse-phone-answering-lady tells me I can bring him in and leave him all day and they will try to get to him in between appointments if they can. “GOOD, GREAT, We will be right there!” I say hanging up before she can change her mind.
In the end they did see Taj. They saw that he was fine. They saw that he had eaten an unidentified amount of used feminine products. They charged me for an appointment and a “ward” fee.
The moral of the story? In todayÂ’s over violent society it is quite likely that you are brainwashed into seeing violence as the answer. Violence is not the answer, doors are. Shutting doors, keeping your dog out of the garbage and closing yourself and your loved ones off to the world will create an entirely controllable situation, And that, my IIFÂ’s is all you really need out of life. 100% control. All the time. No matter what. Come to think of it, a gun might help with that. Maybe I will get one after all. Do they make them with interchangeable faceplates? Because I had a phone like that once and that was fun.
* You know you saw this movie and cried the whole time. If you did not then you are either a heartless bastard who obviously hates children or you were really really stoned. I am going to go with really really stoned because I don't want to have to hate you.

Note to psychotic English majors (Jacob) and the like– please ignore the erratic tense changes in this post.

Today was a day of important decisions. Today I decided to do something entirely insane. Well actually it is a bundle of insane things and when you put them all together they make up a whole colony of insane things. A thriving colony that will doubtless grow and spread till it covers my life and suffocates any trace of reality I may have been clinging to. First I decided to attempt to summit Mt. Rainer again. With the same wonderful team (who miraculously does not hate me for ruining out chances last year) but with the better snow of this year. That is step one of how to build your very own crazy nest.
Next you decide to quit smoking because you need better lung capacity for this endeavor. It shouldn’t be all that hard because I only smoke a few cigarettes a day anyway. Not to mention I have quit before. I have quit many times. I’m rather good at it.
Step three begins when you realize that quitting smoking usually results in weight gain. Therefore you decide to go on a SERIOUS diet to nip that in the bud. So you plan out meals and check calorie totals from several sources to remain in your daily target. Then you create weekly shopping lists from you menus.
Then you realize the last time Mt Rainer kicked your worthless ass off its back, laughing at your puny attempt to conquer it, it did so because you were running a serous calorie deficit. Therefore I can only diet for 2 months before I have to start carbo-loading for my climb. I. Am. Crazy.

Snow, Frappccinos, and 51/2 things I have done this year.

It is now over a full week into March. Spring is fast approaching and this morning we had snow! At sea level! In the temperate Pacific Northwest! Now if you know me at all you know how contradictory, unbalanced, and stubborn I am. If you know me well, you know that I think this combination of attributes is rather endearing and it should MAKE YOU LOVE ME. Why are we talking about this? Because I hate snow. The newest and most valiantly dedicated devote of skiing hates snow, at least snow in the city. Snow in Whistler village? That is great, romantic, beautiful, tranquil, and inspiring. Snow on my windshield in the morning? That is cold, wet, obnoxious, annoying and entirely unnecessary. I have been distracting myself all day by reminding myself that there will be 2 feet of new snow in the mountains this weekend.
Not that I have the money to go. I am stealing money from myself (this is why I can’t have a budget) to go anyway. There is something just wrong about having hundreds of dollars in your account but denying yourself things like lift tickets and Frappuccinos. Yes, you heard me. I wanted a Frappuccino yesterday. I wanted a chocolate malt Frappuccino during the worst wind storm we have had all year. I wanted this icy blend of things I don’t usually like (chocolate) and things that cause me pain (dairy) while I walked around in 20mph winds and accompanying sheets of rain taking pictures of rich people’s back yards. Why? Because this is what I do. I just wander around being so many kinds of crazy so you all can feel better about yourselves.
Speaking of bettering ones self, do you remember my list of things to do this year? So far I have a 51/2 out of 10, I say the “1/2” because I didn’t BUY internet access but I did discover I can pilfer it from a few neighbors on my laptop. Therefore actually buying it would be a waste.
These are things I HAVE done. . .
1. Trained my dog to run agility courses. . . sort of. Well he has a diploma and we all know the real goal is to be hoity-toity and better than everyone. Nothing says “better than you” like an important looking piece of paper.
2. I bought an ironing board and I have been ironing to my heart’s content. I have been loving it so much that Tacompton Tiffany asked me to teach her how to iron. Spread the love!
3. I learned to cook using more wine in the food and drinking less while I make it. I now know how to do this. That does not mean I actually do it often but knowledge is power everyone. Knowledge is power.
4. I went to the dentist. I really did this and it wasn’t so bad. Other than the man making jokes about how I am supposed to come in every 6 months not every 6 years (har har har)
5. I have been spending more time with my Mother and enjoying it. That is what you do to be a better friend. You devote time and energy to another person and then you get something out of it while no one is the wiser. Ha!
we will not discus the things I have not done because the snow this morning has infused all the negativity I can take for one day directly into my blood stream (and clearly I am not dealing well with it) I totally need a day off. Yeah for the fast approaching weekend!

These adorable dogs want you to save the trees!

Here is a cute picture of my dog fighting with Tacompton Tiffany’s new dog.
Now that I have your attention, go here and help support the preservation of our roadless areas. I spent a summer working on this project (see “professional tree hugger” in this list) so it goes without saying that this is important to me. If you ever loved me at all you will help me now. That last statement may have been a little to personal to be persuasive but you get the point.

Skiing kicks ass but spring is a bitch

I would like you all to know that your patience with my sporadic blogging will be amply rewarded. I don’t know how, or by who but I am sure that you are racking up the good karma by indulging me in thinking I am important. May you all find good parking, lose your love-handles, and drink expensive wine on someone else’s tab. You deserve it.
This month has seemed to go by so fast! I know it is a short month but I swear there have been less than 28 days in February this year. You know what else is fast? My new skis. Yes, those of you who have been reading since the beginning of the season will recall my less than graceful first attempts on the slopes. I have gone from screeching at helpful strangers and throwing myself at the snow in despair to racing down smooth black runs and fearlessly attacking moguls. Skiing is my savior. Not just because it is THE MOST FUN EVER but also because it has kept me from my seasonal depression. Like a good bouncer at seedy yet popular underground hot spot, skiing threw SAD into the scum lined alley and kicked once in the back for good measure. I have not had any problems at all. Maybe it is having something to look forward to every weekend. Maybe it is all the outdoor exercise, I’m really not sure. All I know is that I will be very very sad when the season is over. I may become the first person in history to get my seasonal depression in the middle of spring.
Speaking of spring, I fucking hate it. I have never liked spring. Spring is a slutty little tease with nothing to offer. It looks nice out but it is still cold, and it might rain at any moment. All the new fashions are out but you will catch hypothermia if you wear them. There are no good holidays (where “good holiday” is defined as “holiday where I get attention/presents). Sure there is Mothers Day and Fathers Day and about ½ of the known world is born in May but where does that put me? Broke, that’s where. Not that parents don’t deserve lauding, they do (Hi Mama! Hi Papa!) its just why must we do it in the most horrible of all seasons? There are no paid holidays until the END of May and everyone knows that Memorial Day is the kick off for summer. Spring is an endless string of inconsistent weather. It is haunted my memories of the slopes and dreams of long summer days. It is a limbo we must endure year after year. Sure, OK, the birds come back and the flowers begin to bloom and the trees grow their leaves back. But isn’t that just like saying the birds all be back until summer and the flowers wont all bloom until then either and the trees wont have their leaves fully grown. Isn’t spring really just the anticipation of summer? Fucking spring.

Job Hopper

God only knows why I do this. Lately I have been desperate for something to change. I have been scanning the paper at Starbucks for “too good to pass up” apartments. I have been eyeing other people’s new cars and researching different models. The truth is that I hate moving and I love my car (especially it’s “lack of payments” attribute) and I have no intention of changing either until I get a better paying job. So, all of this anxious energy is getting pumped into . . . job applications.
I must change jobs about 100 times more often than the average person. The other day I asked Boyfriend “Do you have to fill out a new W2 thing every year?” and as he gave me that exasperated look I realized I HAVE NEVER HELD A JOB FOR OVER A YEAR! I know you all want a list of every job I have ever had and I am only too happy to oblige. So here goes. . .
When I was 16 I worked at Jack-In-The-Box for a few months. My mom made me quit because the thriving social scene that is 12-teenagers-in-a-box was taking over my mind and running my life, not to mention my grades.
After the school year was over I started at IHOP. A definite step up. But I worked Wednesday nights, also known as “senior by one get one free” night. When an 80 year old woman explained to me why her digestive problems prohibited her form eating the nights side vegetable, I decided it was time for a change.
On to Cucina! Cucina! I was a hostess with 5 other pre-college girls and one primadona gay man. He was a royal pain in the ass. Anyone who can single handedly out shine 5 teenage girls in the drama department needs help. Technically I quit to “focus on college applications” but really I just couldn’t take it anymore.
My next job was at the first university I attended. I was a lab tech studying the DNA of peas. I doubt I really need to explain why this only lasted one semester.
I tried to work at Denny’s but they wouldn’t give me spring break off.
After that I came home and took some time off to explore the wonderful world of banking. I quit Washington Mutual when I broke up with my boyfriend on Christmas-Eve and moved from our Seattle apartment back in with my parents.
Next I worked at a “Steakhouse” which was actually more of a cover for a call girl ring. The owner was fat a creepy. There were never any customers. The cook was crazy. It was, however, a very easy job. I was the DJ in the lounge and I worked 3 nights a week plus events. When I found out why there were never any customers for dinner, I called and quit.
We are now at a point in the story where I work for the same company for over a year but hold three separate positions. I began as one of three file clerks in the billing office of Digestive Health Specialists. After much reorganization and a whole office building move, I became one of only two billing office assistants. When I graduated from Community College and could work full time hours, I took a job as Transcription Coordinator; a position which involved almost no typing.
After that, I moved to the second university I would attend. Here I got a job as a pizza delivery driver. I loved that job. I was good at it. I was fast and organized and a girl so I got great tips. People would call to order a pizza and ask them to send “that chick.” It was great. Sadly I had to quit because I was not comfortable driving in the snow.
My next job was at a pool hall. I was a cocktail waitress and apparently not a “friendly” enough one. They fired me right after the New Year.
Then I worked at Rite Aid. I loved that job too. I would come in early in the morning and stock things for a few hours. Just hours and hours of organizing things and no one there to bother you. Then I would spend a few hours laughing at stressed looking freshmen buying pregnancy tests before I went home. It was great.
When I went home for the summer I transferred to a Rite Aid in Tacompton. It was not the same at all. It was right across the street from the bus station and they had me on the cash register all the time because I was less offensive than most the other employees. One day I just quit going to work. They mailed me a paycheck. I have not been inside that Rite Aid since.
Back to school in a new place again and I got a job at a local diner. I worked 3 hours a day 5 days a week. I quit when I moved home, again after breaking it off with the guy I lived with.
Next I got a job at a fancy restaurant, run by an insane woman and her husband. Great money. While I was there I did everything including the hot bartender. After he quit to move to Seattle with his girlfriend, the job lost a lot of its appeal. I still kept it until I left for a study abroad program in Europe.
Upon returning from Europe, a friend who was in the same program as me at university #4 got me a job as a professional tree hugger. Actually it was more like professional slaking off. We got people to sign comment cards to send to the forest service. We did this while hanging out at festivals and stores all summer. We would watch a show for ½ an hour and then walk around getting people to sign things for ½ hour. When the comment period ended, so did our jobs. We went back to school and I went back to food service.
This time I got 2 jobs at once. Hostess at a swanky downtown Martini bar and lunch server at a chain pool hall. Throw some classes in the mix and I was a blur running from place to place. I slept every night from 3am to 10am and tried to catch a nap after class. It was hectic but I liked it that way.
I quit the Martini bar when they would not give me time off to go visit a friend in San Diego for New Years. January 1st the pool hall called to say they had closed their doors for good and I had no job.
I cut expenses and took the opportunity to take an unpaid internship. I got to work on lots of projects and had a good time there. Too bad it was all over when I graduated.
I got a job with a local development firm. The stress was high, I began to get migraines. Lots of people quit. A few were fired. I left without securing another job.
The same friend who got me the tree hugging job, got me a temp position at her work. I really like it here I just also like health care and money.

So there you have it, my long list of failures in the working world. But like a woman who has been divorced 10 times, I am sure this next one will be THE ONE. It has to be.

I got a fever. . .

Those of you who are not currently in the Seattle area may not know this but an epidemic has struck. A vile sickness has infested the population and few have been left unscathed. Most people are walking around looking green or blue and screaming and yelling all due to the effects of “Poser Seahawks Fan Fever.” There are some who have managed to escape PSFF infection. There are some who were immune because they have been long and loyal Seahawks fans (Hi Rachel!) but one look around my office today is enough to prove the severity of this epidemic.
I myself may have a low-grade case of PSFF. I mean I AM wearing my 100% totally awesome 1987 Seahawks sweatshirt. I have owned this sweatshirt since I was a kid. It was passed down to me as a hand me down play shirt from my only older cousin who is a boy. I wear it sometimes as a kind of joke. Also it makes me happy to fit into something I had in elementary school. Granted it was about 5 sizes to baggy at the time but hey, it was the 80s. The point is I don’t really like football as much as I like water chestnuts wrapped in bacon with a side of keg. I don’t really like football as much as bacon in general but I have dated people I like less than bacon (. . .James). I can tell my case is very mild however because I plan to ski through the Super Bowl (is that one word or 2?). Whatever, I will be slicing through the fresh powder all day not working on my beer/bacon combo belly.
So what if the Seahawks have never made it to the Super Bowl before? I didn’t care when they were losing and I don’t care all that much now. Really I don’t. Still, I could not give up the chance to actually wear this shirt to work. . . and maybe all weekend while I ski. What? You have a problem with that? You got something to say, Pittsburg?

My freind S is moving all her (and my dog's) shit into my house.

About six months ago I lived with S. We lived in a very small very scummy duplex and paid an equally small amount of money to an equally scummy landlord. While I lived with S my dog took a shit on the floor near the door almost every day.
Aside from this being disgusting and annoying, it was perplexing because my dog had at one time been house trained. I could think of nothing to do but I decided that when I graduated and got a better job I would have enough money to hire a dog problem specialist person to figure out a solution. That is almost what happened. What happened was I moved into a new place and the problem went away. He did have one indoor accident but it was entirely my fault for miscommunicating with my sister about who would let him out. The point is that we lived in the new house for 6 months and only once did have we have dog shit on the floor.
I figured Taj had been making some sort of statement about our previous living arrangements. Like “This place is shit! And I will shit all over it in protest. It is as shitty as the shitty pile of shitty shit you almost just stepped in!”
Turns out that is not at all what he was thinking.
You see, recently I agreed to let S move into my guest room until she starts grad school in London. Every day that she has come over to the house to move things in, Taj has left me sweet smelling presents on the carpet. This has now happened 2 days in a row. I am beginning to wonder what the connection could possibly be. Is this normal? Is S a trigger for Taj and his bowel movements? What should I do?

Does anyone have my red chair or a whole bottle of Percocet?

There is a massive remodel project taking over the Planning Department where I work. This project is happening, as all good Land Use projects should, in phases. Right now we are in the phase where we simulate the opening scene from Saving Private Ryan. The buildings may be cubicles and the noise may be more from hammers and drills than from guns and grenades but all in all it is a very convincing war zone around here right now.

This I can live with. I am reasonably sure I can pretend to do the same amount of work I usually pretend to AS LONG AS I CAN FIND MY DESK! Yesterday when I came into work my desk was there. It was in the same place it had always been. Long before I worked here and occupied that spot, the desk was there. Since it has been my desk an increasing number of “temporary walls” have been installed. These walls had two purposes. One was to see if county employees are better or worse than lab rats at getting through mazes. The second was to remind us that we could all lose a few of those post holiday pounds. The most direct route to my desk involved squeezing through a 1.5 ft opening between a temp wall and a cubicle. Many buttons were lost. Most people who had to get to the area went around the whole office (burning more calories) instead of embarrassing themselves by creating a situation where we have to call the fire department.
Fire Department: Tacoma Fire Department
County Employee: Hi, we have someone blocking a fire escape route.
Fire Department: Well have you asked them to move?
County Employee: Its just that. . . They are wedged IN it not just like standing there
Fire Department: Right. . .

But I digress, The temporary walls came down last weekend and suddenly my desk was a very crowded little island in a sea of new low quality carpet. Sure, fine, whatever. That worked until yesterday at around 9 when a young man whose job it is to brake down and put up cubicles informed me that ½ of my cubicle was needed and I was to put everything on one side. Sure, fine, whatever. Then he proceeded to take away ½ of my office and leave me SITTING IN A HALLWAY with no walls. Can we all say “Office Space”?
“If you could just move down to storage room B in the basement that would be great. Thanx”
Between 10 am and 4 pm I was told many tall tales including the one where I get a window. A real WINDOW people! Alas that was not to be the penthouse of cubes went to the engineers because they were willing to share. F-ing engineers. The only thing that was settled when I left yesterday was that I would be moved today. So I packed up all my things and files so I would be ready first thing in the morning but when I got here my desk was gone. My computer was gone. My files were gone. The dollar store glass rooster paperweight I won at the Christmas white elephant was gone. WTF! I mean this is the PLANNING department! Where is the planning people?
I am now sitting at a table with my things in boxes. The cube wall in front of me is falling over. The wall behind me is slated to be painted tonight so nothing can be done within 2 feet of it. There are wires hanging out of missing ceiling tiles to connect me to the network. The question is should I be happy or distraught that I have been told this in not my permanent place? This phase of the remodel is almost done. Lucky for me my new temporary place puts me right tin the middle of the next phase in which we recreate the scene in XXX where the entire drug farm burns down and Vin Diesel rides away on a dirt bike. Or maybe I mean that I try to drown out the crazies with all the wine from a whole wine farm (I know they are called vineyards but isn’t that just a fancy word for wine farm?) and end up burning down the whole office. And now we are back to Office Space. “Excuse me, I can’t find my stapler” or my monitor, or my Thomas Guide, or my sanity. . .

It is for your own good

This morning I realized that the “granola bar” I had for breakfast has about the same nutritional value as a doughnut. This “Nature Valley” product has a single redeeming quality in that it has ONE gram of fiber. Great, one gram that will help my digestive system about as much as a three year old with a broom will help you clean. About 5.3 seconds after finishing this healthy breakfast my blood sugar crashed in a big “fiery ball of death” style accident that left me whimpering and muttering at my desk. All of this pain and suffering for a ½ stale granola bar!?! You can rest assured that tomorrow I will rent a truck and hire an army of male midgets dressed as intimidating looking . . . um. . . . something’s to hurl the rest of this box of granola bars at innocent people on the street. I will do this as a public service because after you get hit in the head with a yogurt covered granola bar that was hurled at you by a small and disproportionate man you will not want to eat that granola bar.

Keeping it real is time consuming

I am sure that the millions of readers that wait with baited breath for me to post have all given themselves serious cases of exhaustion during my recent unexplained hiatus. Well I have news for you all, sometimes I have better things to do than post. Actually that might be a lie. It is not that I have BETTER things to do so much as I have more pressing things to do. Still, I do feel some slight pangs of remorse at my poor treatment of my ever dwindling audience so this post will serve as an update.
The ski obsession continues. I bought new ski boots because the pathetic relics that came with my season rental package were so lose in the heal my skis were running on a 2 second delay. Very annoying. The new boots had to be broken in and so I have spent more than a few evenings watching TV, Cooking, and just plain lounging around in my new boots. I discovered that the aggressive stance forced on me by these boots gives me a kick-ass gagsta walk that I have yet to duplicate without their help. I will keep you all updated on that project.
In training for the day I will have children, I have been cultivating a pattern of ignoring my dog and showering him with expensive gifts he will not appreciate or value as much as my time. Realizing that his recent efforts to cut the size of my underwear collection in half might have something to do with the lack of attention he receives, I have signed us up for an agility class. These are something like obstacle courses for your dog. I think he will be good at them and you can rest assured that there will be a flood of pictures of Taj in the near future. You will most likely be able to print them out and make a live action flip book of my dog jumping hurdles or some such thing every week because like all bad parents, I will be fully willing to take responsibility for his talent while blaming him for his habit of hiding behind me and whimper-growling when someone comes to the door.
My sister and I will soon have a new roommate. My last roommate is moving into our “guest” room. Therefore I will have to move all of my outdoor gear to the space under the basement stairs. On the plus side, I happen to know that this new addition to our little household will do the dishes and I hate to do the dishes. A reorganization of chores will be done soon and I love to reorganize. I probably spend more time planning and organizing than I spend doing and cleaning. Everything works better in theory than in real life. Because of my random “gypsy blood” syndrome, all this change makes me really want to move. Not in that I actually want to move because I know that I hate moving but I have begun to think that I would like to live on my own without family or boyfriends or roommates next time. Since both my sister and the new roommate are hoping to get into programs more than 100 miles away from the wondrous collection of crap and humanity I call tacompton, this might happen as soon as September. That will probably be too soon since we have discussed that I am not so good with the doing.
Well I hope that brings everyone up to date. And you, my IIFs, can expect the same level of renewed dedication I have promised to Taj. If I am lying I will send you each a handful of Milkbones.

Breakfast breakdown

Since the beginning of time (where “the beginning of time” is defined as long as I can personally remember) I have hated breakfast. First of all breakfast food is either dairy (which us lactose intolerant types should avoid), nasty (as in mainly made up of eggs) or sweet and my blood sugar will get in into all sorts of a jack-knifed-on-the-freeway-semi-truck-style crash if I so much as THINK about having nothing but a bowl of honey-nut-Cheerios or a scone for breakfast. Therefore the only breakfast food I DO like is made of potatoes or bacon (preferably make of potatoes AND bacon with enough cheese to burry modern day London under) and we all know that sensible people attempting to remain somewhat attractive for their incredibly deserving boyfriends should not consume such concoctions. Well, at least not on a regular basis. Therefore, for breakfast every morning I was growing up I had the same thing; a fight with my mother.
Usually I would argue that she did not eat breakfast so I should not have to. She argued that just because I did not see her eat breakfast did not mean she was not eating breakfast latter at work. I found this argument highly doubtful and completely unsatisfying but what can you do? One year in middle school I took to letting my cereal get soggy and nasty for 5 min and then throwing it away when my mother yelled that I would be late for school if I did not get walking. This resulted in me sitting in the back of the car while my mother drove me the 5 or 6 blocks to school choking down soggy cereal and drooling out milky spews of what looked like puke and went down just as easily. These fights dissipated as I grew older and found ways to trick her. I would get out a bowl and out some milk in it. Then I would take some cereal and grind it up leaving some on the table and some in the bowl. Then I would wait for her to tell me I had to clean up my dishes. This worked for a while but I was eventually caught and forced once again to suffer though generic raisin bran and Life cereal. Until my over crowded high school did the best thing ever; they split us into 3 lunches instead of 2.
This put first lunch at 10:30 in the morning and I suddenly had a leg to stand on. I convinced my mother that 10:30 was not at all an unreasonable time to eat breakfast for a member of a family who routinely ate dinner at 8. From then on I would eat my lunch for breakfast at 10:30, a meal sized snack after school around 3 and dinner at 8 thus eliminating breakfast food altogether. I vowed that along with eating entire cans of whipped topping or boxed of dry Fruit Loops as meals, I would cut out breakfast altogether once I was on my own.
College gave me may opportunities and among them was the opportunity to quit with the breakfast already! Unless by breakfast you mean a Bloody Mary with a side of bacon cheese hasbrowns at noon. Life was golden in the breakfast department until I realized that to loose weight one must eat breakfast. Something about “waking up” your metabolism. I do have to say though that I am much more productive when I eat breakfast. I get a lot done! I usually have toast and cottage cheese or yogurt with a large helping of Lactaid on the side which is survivable if you wash it down with some good tea. But this whole realization has made me feel a bit old. Next week’s topic: the many forms of fiber! (just kidding)