Insight and Intrigue

God and Yoga

2010-06-02T15:54:00.000-07:00

I want to blame my complete lack of posts for over a year on something but the truth is that I have been doing a whole lot of things and none of them happened to be writing my blog.
My recent accomplishment is getting my Yoga Teacher Certification. I cannot even explain to you how much this has changed my world. Not only do I have a great group of new friends and a new way to have fun while making a little cash but I have a changed perspective on a great many things. I feel so different but I do not feel changed. It is a though I have become more fundamentally aware of my self. More than ever, I feel completely comfortable being me. There are so many aspects of who I am that once seemed disparate. These unlikely partners are what make us unique. I believe that God gave me all these parts of myself for a reason. That reason may still be a mystery to me but it is one I am relishing uncovering. Very few people in the world are given the luxury of self discovery. My time is not taken up with the fulfillment of my most basic needs. I do get to ponder my true nature and the map of the universe and the grace of God’s work.
One of the best things I learned in Yoga Teacher Training was to be grateful that I have had the ability to change my mind and explore my world and find myself; all of those terribly cliché things that people ridicule when they are too afraid to do them for themselves.

I have not yet found a person whom I believe to by my spiritual teacher but I have found a few spiritual leaders I respect. As I often do, I have pieced together my own understanding of things from these various sources. Swami told me that we are only here to grow. He said that we are not separate from God, that we are each a part of the same whole and that whole is love. At Church, our junior pastor reminded me that God gave us both free will and second chances. Our Bishop reminded me that life is not about dropping the ball but about picking it back up. Our church tells me that I can search for God through reason; that I can find him in myself.
I believe all of these things. I believe that we are here to grow. I know that I grow by making mistakes and using my second chances to pick the ball up again. I believe we can only do this by the grace of God; that we have that grace because God is in us. We are only separated from God when we turn away from him; when we refuse to grow.

This is human nature.
We are here to struggle with God and our own humanity.
I intend to do that with intention and vigor.

Tradition

2009-05-13T14:43:00.000-07:00

As my lifelong struggle with my relationship to the divine continues, I have realized another important fact about myself and alongside it, another significant piece of my conception of religious life.
It has been a well documented fact that I am a fan of tradition. I had always assumed that my affection for it was another manifestation of my desire for control. The predictability of events and the actions of others that traditions provide cannot often be found elsewhere in our lives. The comfort of this cannot really be put into words and I do not mean to diminish its importance but I realized that tradition is much more important to me for a much bigger reason than I had really given it credit for.
Over several conversations with my Mom, my husband’s Grandma and several new friends who are a little too evangelical for me to be comfortable with, I pieced together this new understanding and then all of the sudden it clicked; tradition is important to me because it allows me to be connected to humanity. It makes me into a living part of the creation of history.
My recent return to church has been a mystery to many of my closest friends, including myself. I have often felt that my experiences in church and in the yoga studio were similar in many ways. That may sound trifling to whichever of those traditions in which you place more stock, but hear me out. Each event is a gathering in which you receive some instruction but a great deal of familiarity with the routine is also required. Contact with your fellow gatherers is limited and follows a prescripted format. Yet somehow their presence is instrumental in your very personal experience.
I believe this is true because of the long traditions out of which each came. Beginning or ending a yoga practice with three heartfelt “Om”s or reciting the Nicene Creed from the Book of Common Prayer both offer me the opportunity to connect to the humanity that is around me and the humanity that came before me.
I said before that I was retuning to church because I knew that I believed in God. I was not sure about who God really is but Christianity and specifically the Episcopal church are my “first language” of the divine. If I wanted to discourse about God with others, I needed to do so in a language I could understand. All of this is still true for me but the experience has highlighted for me something I always knew; that religion is much more than a way to relate to God. Religion is about our social interactions and our personal lives and our relationship with God and really a whole lot else too. Religion is about all of the messy places where our lives do not match up and how we cope with that.
Religion must feed the needs of us as individuals. Some people need to be told, in very clear terms, what is right and what is wrong. I personally cannot stand that shit, but some people need that clarity to be handed to them. Personally, I need tradition. Many people find it stifling but I see the ways it enriches my life and the freedoms it offers to me as a person. I feel so lucky to have discovered these things about myself but I also know that people change. I know that as I change, the things I need from religion may change. I feel very strongly that the very best use of my time on this earth is to be found through self awareness. In my search for it so far, I have discovered that it leads me in turns to connect with others and the world and God.

Ten snippets

2009-05-06T12:48:00.000-07:00

1. Not that you all would expect anything less from me by now, but I have been woefully neglectful of my blog AGAIN. I blame Texts From Last Night. This blog is so funny; I have no desire to write my own blog anymore. That might be exaggerating a bit but not a whole lot.

2. I like running. I like it a lot. I ran 8 miles last Sunday and still liked it. I was thinking that it is amazing that something this great is free and then I added up all the money I have spent on running. It is not free.

3. Apparently riding your bike while drunk is illegal now. This will have a significant impact on my social life.

4. We have finished our office and it is now a functional room. It is even pretty cute for a page right out of an IKEA catalogue. I am working on giving it some personality. I’ll post pictures and let you all tell me what you think.

5. I am publicly admitting that I don’t understand Twitter. I am trying but seriously? What is it? What is it for? When did I become so old and out of it?

6. I want to convince my husband that I need to buy the Lady Gaga album to enhance my running abilities but I am afraid this request will finally convince him that he has married an idiot and that is a secret I am not yet ready to share with him.

7. For Cinco de Mayo I had some enchiladas and a migraine. Yummy!

8. So how lame is this? I have not lost any weight since starting this running thing yet my dog (and running partner) started to look so skinny, I decided to increase his daily food and I might have to do it again. Is weight loss like love in that you won’t find it until you stop seeking it?

9. Skiing season is over. We have taken the ski racks off the car. I went to the mountain like 2 times. I don’t know whether to blame my house for taking all my time and money, or my newfound love of running for being so much easier and cheaper than skiing. Skiing is still way more fun though.

10. Fun activity for this weekend – Craigslist dump all the random crap laying around my house in order to finance a bathroom refresh (a “refresh” is like a remodel done on the cheep) I figure I can do all the “need to” items for $200.00 but If I could get $500.00 I could pull off a HUGE cosmetic improvement. Wish me luck!

10k down, 1/2 marathon coming up!

2009-04-20T13:36:00.000-07:00

I have now completed my first organized run as an adult. It was fun! A lot of fun and I am worried that I may have to sign up for more. The nice thing about running is that you are working consistently. Even if it is raining, I do not get cold while running. I love that! Plus the friend who talked me into this crazy thing in the first place, runs at the same pace I do. It’s really a pretty sweet set up.
Now for the dilemma; I need new running shoes. I went to a running store and had them take a quick look at my shoes and they told me about how many miles I had left on them and they also told me a bit about my running style. I figured I would just use up the miles left on my current shoes (which they said were not a bad fit for me) and then I would go back to the store, pay them for the service of fitting some shoes to me, and then go buy them with my discount at REI.
Then I called them to ask how much they would charge for a fitting. Apparently there is no possible way to charge for just a fitting. I assumed that the running store would be like my dad’s bike shop in this respect. Offering complementary fittings for those who buy from the store or charging a fee for those who wish to buy elsewhere for some reason. This is not the case in the running industry, not in Portland anyway.
So now I am really torn between two things I love dearly: saving money and supporting local, small businesses who are great at what they do. This is all complicated by a few things.
1. I have already gotten some good advice from them for which they have in no way been compensated.
2. I am extremely broke right now and that is not going to change for some time to come, like maybe a year or more.
3. My body is full of weirdness because of my back and having broken my leg a few years ago so I really do need professional advice.
4. The guy at the store told me that since I was honest about my intent to buy elsewhere, he would run through a fitting with me for free if I came in on a weekday when the store is empty.
For the record, that fourth item does nothing to alleviate my conscience. I know what it is like to be in an independent shop. The guy is being nice because he really loves running and he wants me and everyone else to love running too. He is speaking as a runner not as a business man. I don’t feel comfortable taking advantage of that. I also don’t feel comfortable spending over 100 bucks on shoes. What is a girl to do? Seriously, I could use some advice (or some money)here because those old shoes are on their last legs.

Running

2009-03-30T09:37:00.000-07:00

As most of you know, I have decided to run a half marathon this June. I was initially very worried about this mostly because I hate running. I had agreed to run with a friend because my current fitness routine lacked any type of meaningful motivation. I reasoned that the thought of crawling my way through 13.1 miles would motivate me to actually get myself out of bed and onto the treadmill.
So I signed up and I checked out like 12 books from the library about training. There are books on marathon training for women, for lazy people, for slackers, for the clueless, and even for people who hate running. I think I fall into all of those categories.
Or at least I used to.
Something very strange has happened in my measly 2 weeks of training. I have come to like running. I am verging on loving running. It’s kinda sick. After completing my mileage for the day I often want to keep running. I have started to judge music by how motivating it would be during a run.
I really want a running skirt.
Now in the spirit of full disclosure, I am really more of a jogger than a runner. But when you say that you jog it conjures up images of leisurely making your way down a sunny park path. If you were to see me jogging around my neighborhood you would see a woman with her dog tied to her waist, stomping through mud puddles, mumbling the words to whatever song is playing on the iPod in a breathless, tone def, attempt to “sing.” See why I think it is crazy that I have come to enjoy this as a pastime? I have even decided that now that I like running, I will do a triathlon in August and If I still like running after all of this, I will just keep right on training and run the Portland Marathon in October.
My insanity is reaching new levels of stupidity.
I was discussing this running trend with Aarwenn. We have both noticed that, all of the sudden, everyone we know is a runner. The peer pressure to join this cult is enormous. I had come to terms with the fact that I would eventually have to give in a run a 5k just to prove to everyone that I do indeed hate running. Unfortunately, I have proven quite the opposite. Our conclusion? Running is the new crack. The peer pressure, the addiction, the weight loss . . . its all there. Its so sad to watch yourself become a statistic.

friended

2009-03-25T16:42:00.000-07:00

I was recently friended by a girl I knew in high school. High school and middle school actually. She was, in my mind at least, significantly more popular that I was. This would not have been hard. I was the parliamentarian of MESA club. The point is, I was surprised she remembered me and I was even more surprised that she wanted to be my facebook friend. But why not right? So now she and I find out little tidbits about each other.
Boy is that weird! Here is a person who to me was represented the entirety of my teen angst. Now I did not have a dramatically terrible time in high school. I rather enjoyed myself through some of it. But every time I started to be myself and have a good time with it, there was this girl (and maybe 12 others like her) jolting me back to the reality that I would never be good enough.
Even still, I see her picture and think that she must have at least a lingering sense of superiority the way I have and lingering sense of inferiority. But the really oddball thing is that she seems really nice. Nice in a really “the universe is full of threads of grace and kindness” kind of way.
She took a quiz the other day about her spirit animal.
In a way, I know so much more about her after being facebook friends for 3 days than I ever did when we were in classes together. And she doesn’t scare me anymore. In fact I am a bit concerned that I might offend her. I mean, right now she is “allowing possibility to guide her day.” While I informed my husband that “My love for you is like diarrhea; I just can’t hold it in.”
When did I become the scary one?

"A Sunday Rant" or "Pure B.S."

2009-03-22T14:28:00.000-07:00

So yesterday we went to a vow renewal celebration. There was an amazing desert bar and some pretty touching moments but we really only know the husband and we have only known him very well for a short while so we knew very few people at the event. But I felt sort of strange about the whole thing when we got home and I actually stayed awake in bed thinking about it last night.
Since marrying my husband and especially since moving to Portland near some of his closest friends, I have been half forced, half inspired to explore my relationship with religion. This is mainly because, to be perfectly honest, a whole lot of things his friends say and do, really make me feel very uncomfortable. I have been attempting to delve into the causes for these feelings as they occur. Looking at the context and the concepts involved.
Many things about this event last night were triggers for feelings of discomfort within me but the thing that I got stuck on, the thing that kept me awake, was the concept of purity and is usage in their ceremony.
I have spent so much time and effort in my adult life seeking balance and forgiveness and compassion. Striving to make it possible in my life and in my actions for those things to be guiding principles. There are many other things I consider valuable such as goodness and understanding and gratitude . . . the list could go on. But balance and forgiveness and compassion are all things I find both valuable and difficult, personally.
I have to say that purity is not on either of those lists anywhere. I can see that purity as a concept has a place in religion but I FEEL that it can be so harmful the way it is applied in many mainstream American Christian contexts. Purity is a standard of judgment and it inspires people to search for flaws in themselves and in others. The concept of purity asks us to search for those flaws and find ways to eradicate them. Sorry, but I just don’t think that is a very healthy way to live or think.
Flaws are in intrinsic part of the human condition. God has made us flawed. God challenges us with the flaws in ourselves and the flaws in those we love. I see the beauty and value in that challenge being appreciated through acceptance and understanding and creativity.
Acceptance that as a human being you are not perfect but those flaws with which you struggle are opportunities for growth. Understanding that those around you have their own struggles and challenges. And creativity in coping with these imperfections or even seeing ways to turn them into advantages.
A pure thing is untouched, unspoiled; it is not marked by anything. I don’t see how that could describe an authentic person and I don’t see how an unauthentic life could honor God.

Poetry

2009-03-18T14:17:00.000-07:00

Well I have finally succumb to the overwhelming temptation that has haunted me since starting this blog a few years ago. I figure I have lost the majority of my audience with the combination of my woefully sporadic posting and somewhat abrasive personality so really, I can start posting my self indulgent poetry if I damn well feel like it. What have I got to lose? Last I checked I had 2 semi-regular readers and both of you are somewhat obligated to care what I say simply by your relationship to me. The quality of the drivel I throw on this site should really have very little influence upon your reading habits.
Right, so on to the poetry.

There is an inherent grace in liquid.
I have begun to investigate the parallels
That exist between the
Flowing and swirling
Of watery things
And the seemingly senseless
Arcs and flows of
My trajectory.

If grace is essential
And included in
all those parts of
all those things
that are as simple as
water
sky
love
faith

If grace is mathematical
And science is so very
Elegant

The elemental connection
Between my
Body
ground
inspiration
realization

is complete
and knowable
without
my knowing completely
whatever that means.

As I touch the surface of the water
The ripples carry me.
The art of life
Is to see how everything contains Grace
(Def: The fusion of those things we call God and Science.
Def: Things witch are elegant and correct by the laws of each.
Def: The embodiment of that which brings one closer to the divine.)
And is contained by it
And all that is excluded
Is possession

How to properly interact with the world in general: Tip # 23

2009-02-23T10:07:00.000-08:00

It is my strong opinion that if you notice a change in a person’s appearance and you are not prepared to complement them on said change then you should just keep your bleeping mouth shut.
I have been dying my hair red. This is a process. Like 80% of the women in America, my hair has not seen its totally natural state since sometime in the 7th grade so when I decided to dye my hair red I went to the salon and they told me “This will not happen overnight, you will have to get there gradually.” This is because I had previously dyed my naturally light brown hair a pretty dark brown. Then I had my stylist back in T-town fade my natural color at the roots into the darker ends to avoid having to bleach my hair. Anyway, the point is that the first iteration of “red” was still pretty brown. It was so subtle that barely anyone noticed.
The second phase of Project Go Red included some highlights in two different tones. This was much more noticeable but still, when asked to describe the color of my hair, a person would have said it was brown with various red highlights.
So on this third dye job, I went with an all over light auburn red and I have to admit it looks, well, awkward. The highlighted areas turned a bright copper and an almost orange color while the areas that were not highlighted turned the anticipated light auburn red. But then the lower part of my hair, the part that was dyed darker oh so long ago? It came out that dark auburn that looks purplish in some lights. So yeah, overall it is pretty awkward.
But a girl can only dye her hair so often. I don’t need poor coloring AND frizzy damaged hair. My husband does not understand why I do this since he likes my natural color but I would rather be odd than be boring so this is what happens sometimes. I am ok with that.
However, the annoying complaining girl at work I had to quit my lunchtime walks with? One of her annoying traits is a pretty significant lack of tact. I just ran into her in the bathroom and this was our conversation
Annoying office girl (AOG): Is your hair a different color?
Me: Yeah, I have been working up to Red
AOG: Oh, some of it looks kind of orange.
Me: Yeah.
AOG: I liked your darker color better.
Me: I wasn’t really a fan. I wanted something different. I have been dyeing it progressively redder for almost 2 months now.
AOG: Well you can totally tell its red now.
Me: Yeah, a few people have mentioned that but no one has said that they like it.
AOG: It’s cute!
At that point I walked out of the bathroom. So here is the thing. I KNOW my hair looks less than attractive at the moment. If this chick were my best friend and she thought I was super stoked on my new do, then I could see mentioning it but as my acquaintance you should not be bringing up changes in my appearance unless you 1) plan to complement me on it and mean it or 2) Are in a position to offer some help (a service or advice) and you know I will receive it well.
I could even give her some credit for insulting me if that was her intent. The thing that makes her so annoying is that she is absolutely clueless. She probably thinks she has convinced me that she likes my new hair color.
Life would be so much more satisfying if I were allotted one punch to the face per month to dole out free of legal consequences.

Why all the whining?

2009-02-19T11:42:00.000-08:00

Sometime after my last job went down in a fiery ball feeling betrayed by people I thought were my friends, I took a moment to think about how I contributed to that whole situation. Certainly there was a whole lot of crying and upset first and I would have been beyond repair were it not for the support of, well, my support system of family and true friends. But after the pain had subsided and I quit lulling myself to sleep with plans for elaborate revenge plots, I was able to find some time for self reflection and I realized that I had not been discriminating enough in my choice of friends when I had decided to befriend these people. Their actions were, at their root, predicable and I should have seen it coming.
There is a culture of negativity in many offices, especially offices full of women. The women in my last office were a prime example. The primary mode of conversation was complaining. They would complain about how little time they had or how their boyfriend’s ex-wife was annoying or their kids were too messy, their husband too lazy and their neighbors too loud. If someone brought in doughnuts it was an assault on their diet.
I decided that I would not participate in this at my new job. To take it a step further, I would not socialize with those people who do. This has been hard. The first person I became friendly with seemed to have the “complaining” affliction pretty badly. I had to stop our lunchtime walks because of it.
My guess is that there are others like me who would rather focus on things that are going right or at least improving. What is it about placing women in cubicles that turns them into little whining machines? This seems to apply much more prevalently to women than to men. Is it the office culture of America in general or is this just a government thing?

Lent- it’s not just about dieting anymore!

2009-02-11T09:40:00.000-08:00

Warning: This post is one part religion and two parts squishy, self-indulgent personal revelation expunged in a somewhat inappropriate forum and therefore it has little entertainment value.

This year Lent is especially important to me. I feel that so much of my spiritual evolution recently has been (necessarily) receiving based. My quest became more imminent and earnest when I felt that there was something I needed from my life and existence that was not being provided. Seeking this missing piece, I have returned to the church and found a comforting yet overwhelming array of options to sift through, sort out, make sense of, and decide upon their usefulness to me personally. This task has been gratifying and frightening. I have spent much time and effort internally debating the place of acceptance and the place of inquiry. I do not want to teach myself to accept those things which I do not believe but I do feel a need to accept my belief in some things which I do not understand. That can be a fuzzy line to find and a difficult one to follow. The task requires much personal searching. It requires both internal and external guidance and assistance.
But as we are approaching the season of Lent, I am reminded that repairing my relationship with God and rediscovering my spiritual self is, quite counter-intuitively, not all about me. Any healthy relationship requires a give ant take. I have been needing to take much more than I have been able to give recently.
Considering the nature and symbolism of sacrifice is not an activity I have been accustomed to. I have viewed sacrifice as the greater counterpart of inconvenience; a thing I was willing to endure for people and beliefs only when necessary. And for my sacrifices I expected appreciation or even in kind repayment. But I am beginning to reconsider these assumptions.
What if those calls to sacrifice are not simply grand inconveniences? What if the sacrifices I make are, in fact, the balance for the gifts I receive? Maybe not on a person to person basis, but between the whole of me and the whole of my world. Then aren’t those things that I give up, sort of like a gift to myself in that the very act of sacrifice creates balance in my life? Then my greater task becomes not answering calls to give of my time and efforts. Rather, it becomes to discern where imbalance exists in my life and whether that imbalance must be rectified through giving or through receiving.
Sigh. Are you still there? I have not annoyed you or bored you enough to drive you all away yet? In that case I will get back to why this makes Lent so important to me this year. Some of my family and friend will remember that I have historically used lent as a way to break bad habits or give my diet an extra boost. I have given up things like coffee or eating out. I still think these are very valid things to sacrifice but this year I want to focus more on my actions than on my denial of desires. This year my plan is to give up those things witch I have a tendency to want in excess. This mean there will be more things I abstain from and they will be broader categories. I will be giving up my favorite category of each of the four calorie types. For protein I will give up meat. For fat I will give up cheese. For carbohydrates I will give up sweets. And finally, for alcohol I will give up . . . well, alcohol. I will also give up shopping for fun. I will still need to buy food and perhaps some other necessary items but I will not allow myself to spend time focusing on my potential consumerism. I will not browse in stores or troll the internet for deals or even check the free page on craigslist. In addition I plan to highlight my new perspective on sacrifice as a balancing factor in my life by giving myself something that I need but am usually to lazy to make a priority. I will be making myself get out of bed an hour earlier to go to the Adult Education classes at church on Sundays which will actually be very fitting since this gift to myself will be occurring on Sundays during Lent and those are the days meant to focus not on sacrifice and resistance of temptation but on the celebration of our ability to achieve those things.
My hope is that by writing all this out and posting it here, I will be better able to hold myself accountable. I will try to let you know how it goes.

Home Sweet Home

2009-02-10T09:37:00.000-08:00

So here is my lovely minty kitchen. Not everyone (Mama) is a fan of the color but I actually really like it. I think that the pan racks and the kitchen cart are a big improvement and if I hang onto the stove long enough, maybe it will qualify as vintage someday!
Big kitchen window looking out onto the patio.

Here is the view from the hallway in the back of the house through the dinning room to the living room.
My favorite room in the house! I have added a salon style grouping of framed photographs on the back wall. I will have to post pictures of that soon but it is not quite done yet.
The entrance to our humble abode.
The North side of the living room.
My reading corner. I got a sweet deal on the comfy chair and the crazy hanging lamp came with the house. I think that Josh not-so-secretly hates it but he let me keep it. Either because he loves me and wants to indulge me or because he wants something to hold over my head. I guess we will find out which next time he wants something.
Our living room is coming together. I originally wanted to put a mirror above the fireplace as is traditional in house of this age. I even have the mirror but I hung the artwork there instead. We have too much artwork to be wasting prime wall space on mirrors.
Here is our very large TV. It is much larger than any other TV I have ever had. I have to admit, I am starting to like it.
Our guest room is finally ready. It is another of my favorite spots to read. Its nice and sunny with one window overlooking the patio and the other looking out onto the beginnings of our vegetable garden.
The guest room is also the music room with a real home for my keyboard and Josh's guitars.
And of course, a bed.
So that's the progress on the house for now. Soon (and by soon I mean before next Christmas) I will have some pictures of our bedroom, the office, and the yard. Maybe by refusing to post pictures in a timely fashion I can encourage you all to come see the house in person? Its worth a shot.

Bitching and Moaning (but not the fun kind of moaning)

2009-02-04T15:45:00.000-08:00

Today my head hurts because my hair is too greasy to wear it down and so I have it in a ponytail. Am I the only person in the world who consistently gets headaches from ponytails?
I also might be developing a tension headache because I have never had to pay state income taxes before and the shock is painful. Additionally, our Jeep is broken and the price tag for the repairs is enough to make us consider other options. The consideration of multiple options, all of which are less than ideal, has a tendency to incite headaches.
Plus, I have driven a car for 4 of the 10 hours I have been awake today and I still have another hour and some on the commute home. Sigh.
This is one of those very “blah” kinds of days. In general, I feel like life is great and things are moving along but today . . . Well today is just plain lame.
Also, I promised a friend I would help her paint her bathroom tonight. Also, I did not get a lunch break today. Also, while I was eating a yogurt for lunch at my desk, I bit the inside of my cheek. I will repeat that for you so it sinks in.
While I was eating a YOGURT for lunch at my desk, I BIT the inside of my cheek.
Do you understand how ridiculous that is? No one even chews yogurt! W.T.F. man!

I Hope the A-hole Who Stole My Stuff is Getting Good Use Out of it.

2009-01-26T09:02:00.000-08:00

So this weekend I went grocery shopping on my bike as I often do. I needed to go to both Trader Joe’s and a normal grocery store because some things are just so much cheaper at TJ’s but they don’t sell things like Swiffer dusters.
At Trader Joe’s I park my bike in front of the Pannera Bread located in the same building. Standing there, selling Street Roots (the Portland homeless paper) is a man who I assume is homeless. I admit, I totally avoid eye contact because I have no intention of buying his paper. But it never once occurs to me that he would steal lights and things off of my bike. Of course I take my bags in with me, but my saddle bag with flat repair stuff in it, and my lights all get left on my bike.
Then I go shopping.
Then I come back to my bike.
Then I get on it, and ride it to Safeway.
No problems.
When I get to Safeway, I am primarily concerned with what to do with the items I purchased at Trader Joe’s. Clearly they are from TJ’s because they all have quirky names like “Trader Darwin’s multivitamins” and also I have a receipt, but I am still uneasy about taking the previously purchased groceries into the grocery store. As I decide how to arrange things and I walk away from my bike, a shady looking guy on a rusted out Magna rides up and leans his bike next to mine on the rack. I am over ½ way to the door by now but this guy makes me nervous and I consider for a moment going back to my bike and removing all the lights and things. But it would be so obvious that I think this greasy haired, unshaven fellow was going to steal things from me. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt, and I continue into the store.
Then I go shopping.
Then I come back to my bike.
Then I realize that all but one of my lights have been stolen.
Also most of the contents of my saddle bag.
Now, I don’t KNOW it was that guy but I do feel pretty stupid. And the unfortunate consequence is, that next time I park my bike at Trader Joe’s I will consider the blameless homeless man a potential thief and I will strip my bike down before going into the store.
I just really hope that whoever stole my stuff really needed it because if they have given me this newfound distrust of humanity just to make a few bucks selling bike lights on Craigslist, well that makes me sad on top of being angry and disillusioned.

For Now. . .

2009-01-21T10:33:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over. We have a new president. My sister is in India. My brother is in Kuwait. Save-the-Dates and wedding invitations for the coming spring/summer have started to arrive.
All of these things are the start of a new year. I know that as the year progresses, my sister will come home, my brother will be moved to Iraq, friends and family will make life long commitments, our new president will be tested, and Christmas will come again. I know that as the days and weeks pass, events large and small will have implications for my day to day life. But today, in the warm afterglow of one of the most public and inclusive inauguration celebrations in the history of the United States, I am content.
Tomorrow I will be a bit worried and a bit scared. I have mostly been dragged into politics kicking and screaming. I do not like the frustrating task of maintaining well informed opinions on large and contentious issues. I have often wished that I were more able to ignore these issues. I have even tried. I was hopeful that having a good president who I could basically trust to at least not be a fear mongering, self righteous zealot, would allow me to go back to ignoring politics.
Tomorrow, I will think about Obama’s call to action. I will consider his position that as a citizen I am obligated not only to think about these problems but to do things that make me part of the solution. There is a large part of me that honestly wants that to go away. There is a large part of me that feels entitled to my laziness as a citizen. I did not take any oaths. I did not volunteer to tackle these big issues. Sigh.
Tomorrow I will consider how all that has changed around me should inform my actions and my decisions, and even my thinking. But for today, I am just going to focus on the happy fact that an age of deepening darkness has come to an end. We may still be living lives with little daylight, but the solstice has come, and regardless of what is to be required of us, brighter days are ahead.

Back on the Scale

2009-01-15T11:17:00.000-08:00

I could blog about the remodel and how we have started up again. I could blog about how awesome my husband has been lately bringing home little gifts and doing the dishes without my saying a thing. I could blog about the dog and my tough decision to get him a bark collar. I could blog about how broke we are, or how excited I am to have my Dad come down and see our house in its “lived in” state, or recent developments in my ongoing quest to find a spiritual “home.” But I am not going to blog about any of that. All of that is too personal or too trivial or just pain not amusing.
So right now I am going to blog about the old stand by of agony and comedy we women refer to as “trying to lose weight.” Most the time I like to disguise my attempts at losing weight as other things. “Eating healthier” is a good one, as is “taking up running” and while I am sure that there are people in the universe for whom these goals in and of them selves are worthy and fulfilling, I am not one of them. Don’t get me wrong. I too enjoy runner’s highs and the shinny hair one only gets by eating right. I like having more energy and getting closer to keeping up with my husband when we are skiing/cycling/climbing/hiking. I really do like all of those things, I swear.
But I also like movies and books and stuffing my pie hole with cookies and chips. I like sleeping in and I truly believe that everything (except maybe things like prescription pain medication) is much better with the right wine.
So why lose weight at all? Because I am vain. Good God, am I vain. When I die and end up trying to talk my way out of all the sins I have committed, I will probably be able to make a case for being truly repentant about everything except my vanity. I know that in the grand scheme of things beauty is subjective and largely defined my societal ideals. I also know that I am really only capable of achieving an average level of attractiveness in comparison to those ideals. I mean, realistically, I am painfully normal looking. This does not stop me from going to great lengths to improve that appearance in any way. No mater how minor the improvement will be. Case in point, I quit smoking and if I am honest with myself about the reason, I did it so my teeth would be white for my wedding photos. Yeah, I wanted to stop killing myself and those around me. I wanted to smell better and reduce my risk of cancer. I wanted to save money and get fewer colds. But I had wanted all of those things for a long time and I had tried to quit many times before. So why was I successful quitting during one of the most stressful periods of my life? Vanity.
And that is the same reason I am so upset about a trivial weight gain over the holidays. So the holiday free-for-all of goodies is over and I am going to diet and exercise and lose the weight I gained so I can go back to “maintenance mode” which is what we call it when clothes fit right but you are still to terrified of weight gain to order anything that has Alfredo Sauce on it.

Home for the Holidays

2009-01-05T09:45:00.000-08:00

As I reflect on the whirlwind of 2008 I have come to the conclusion that it was a year of creating “home.” While a certain part of the concept of home will always be my parents and the places and faces of my childhood, there is a process that one undertakes as an adult of piecing together the comforting and necessary parts of a life. And if this process is done carefully and mindfully, the results become part of you. Although they cannot replace the home of your inner child, they expand the concept.
At some point, something will happen to shake you. Maybe it’s something big, maybe something small, maybe an onslaught of things. In need of comfort you will go home to recover and you will realize that “home” is not what it used to be.
Many times as I have worked to become an autonomous person and assert my independence, I have needed the restorative powers of home and have gone back to Tacoma to recover and rebuild. And each time I made my way back out into the world, I would pack it up and keep a tiny version of it with me. Frozen in an idyllic caricature of itself, it would become worn and faded from travel and handling. And then I always would return again to repair it.
Without really realizing what I was doing, at some point I quit repairing. I started improving. I started building. And then I packed. And then I moved. And when I did I was very sure that I would enjoy my time here in Portland. I was very sure that it would be interesting and enjoyable. But I was also very sure that it would never be “home.”
But really with no fanfare and with shocking speed, part of home, the biggest part of home, is now here.
Visiting Washington these past few weekends during the holidays, I became aware that some people and some places and some memories that are home to me will always be there but the restorative and reassuring qualities of home now reside in the quiet corners of my atrociously pink colored little house in Portland.
Because no matter how enthralling the rest of the world is, its only there, with my husband chuckling over a book and my dog dreaming on the living room rug, that I can sort out the happenings of my life and leisurely put them where they belong.
On the first day of 2008 I lived in a sunshine yellow, rented bungalow in Tacoma Washington. I was surrounded by family and friends. My husband and I had no intention of leaving our good paying jobs. We had love and purpose and support and comfort all around us.
It is strange the way things can unfold, so rapidly and so painfully slowly at the same time. But though the year, all the things that came to pass; every disappointment and every challenge met, culminated in the moment I got “home” this last Saturday night. The happy mess of a New Years Eve dinner party was there to greet us. We were too tired to unpack our car. We simply turned the heat back on and collapsed into bed. “It’s good to be home!” I sighed and my husband agreed.
It was as I settled into sleep, under the soft glow of his reading light, listening to Taj turn the three circles he must turn on his doggie bed before laying down for the night, that I realized how much I meant it. Of all the places in the world, this is the most home.

I've been sick

2008-12-11T14:59:00.000-08:00

But the camera is fixed and I have Christmas lights up everywhere (including on my bike) so rest assured, your overdue post is on its way and it’s full of visuals.

Religious Views

2008-12-02T17:10:00.000-08:00

The past few years have been ones of great personal growth for me in the area of my spirituality and relationship with God. Many of you who are close to me know that I have often struggled with the role that religion, especially organized religion, should play in my life and in the way I understand my spiritual needs.
I consider this struggle to be one of the most intensely personal undertakings of ones life but it is also extremely social; impacting the way you relate to not only your family and friends, but also to your culture at large. In fact, much of what informs the choices I make today about the way I approach religion in my life is based, in large part, on my understanding of the interplay of culture and society in my personal life.
This perspective is not a conclusion. I believe that I will continue to adjust and change my ideas about religion and my relationship with God as long as I live. I believe that is a good thing; a necessary thing even. The changes I have made in this respect over the course of my life have often been at the influence of an event (getting married sparked a huge quest for answers) or a new perspective offered by a friend (or my mother who is one of my best friends) but never before have I been so moved to change my life by a single image.

I mean, that is f-ing priceless. I want all my children to grow up to be her.

Clean Teeth

2008-12-01T15:23:00.000-08:00

Every few year my Mother-in-law’s extended family has a massive thanksgiving. Her parents (DH’s Grandparents) get together will all of their siblings. And all of them invite their children (my Mother-in-law’s generation), and their children’s children (our generation) and even their children’s children’s children (DH has one cousin with a little girl.) I had been to one of these celebrations before so this year (my second) I was better prepared. I was prepared for close to 100 people singing children’s songs rewritten with Thanksgiving themed lyrics. I was prepared for the very competitive board game playing. I was prepared to handle all this without a drop of alcohol.
I was so prepared that I even made a double recipe of cranberry sauce. Of which a recipe and a half is still in my fridge. Now this could be because it was one of 4 types of cranberry sauce and people were only taking a bit of each. It could be because it clearly did not include Jell-O and therefore was passed over by a certain type of person. Or it may be because it “tasted like toothpaste” to quote a certain cousin who was unaware that the cook was in the room when he announced his opinion of the dish. I have to admit that after he said that, it did start to kinda taste like toothpaste but honestly what was I supposed to do?
You see, I get Domino magazine. This makes me fancy and sophisticated without being stuffy. In general it has no practical application in my life because all the spaces they decorate have soaring ceilings and truckloads of inherent charm. Plus all of their recipes are stupidly simple to make but call for expensive and hard to find ingredients. So you think to yourself “I could make that and I will just substitute shitake mushrooms for that black ear cloud fungus stuff” and then you realize that now all you have is stir fry with shitake mushrooms. Sigh.
So I took a look at their thanksgiving menu and decided that I could make their stupidly simple cranberry sauce which sounded good because it included crystallized ginger. Except that unless you are Starbucks or perhaps you are the type of person who plans your cooking of things enough in advance to go to more than one store, crystallized ginger hard to find. The store by my house did not even have fresh ginger because apparently all of Safeway and all of China are in some sort of disagreement that prohibits ginger from being exchanged. Starbucks (which is in this particular Safeway) has it. They put it in their Gingersnap lattes and it sinks to the bottom if you forego the whip cream and it sits there shedding it crystallized-ness becoming a mushy ball of stringy ginger goo just small enough to fit through the drink hole in a cup so you can choke on it after otherwise enjoying your calorically and financially costly treat. Remembering this distasteful experience I offered the barista 20 bucks for a shaker bottle of it but she laughed like I was joking and told be that everyone seemed to be looking for that this year.
So I bought cranberries, ginger in a jar, and fresh mint. Somehow the crystallized ginger could be replaced by fresh ginger but not simply by ginger puree in a jar so I thought that adding the fresh mint would, you know, add that something special. And it did, because really have you ever heard of toothpaste cranberries? Me neither but I have leftovers so if you decide to visit this week, be prepared to try some.

The Idea of Fire

2008-11-26T15:17:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is a bit late this year. That is how I am going to justify putting the Christmas music in my CD player yesterday. I really should have a little more shame and not tell you that I practically cried tears of joy at the sound of Mariah Carey’s voice singing “All I Want for Christmas is You” but I am generally shameless so now the world of the interweb knows my secret.
I seriously am way more excited about putting up Christmas stuffs than I am about moving into my house. I really think I was supposed to be a 50s housewife because if I think about it, I could be very happy getting overly excited about holidays. I would spend my time concocting signature cocktails for my dinner party celebrating Christmas or Independence Day or the third Sunday in August. . . Any excuse really because if there is one thing I love as much as Christmas and party planning it has to be cocktails . . . or maybe wine.
I am also extremely excited to have a fireplace this year. I hate fires inside in fact I am not so much a fan of them outside either. Really, it’s mostly the idea of fires that I like. And I like the heat. Ok, so maybe I just hate the smoke because it gives me migraines and I also maybe don’t appreciate the special kind of unpredictability that fires possess that often results in leaping coals burring holes through things I am wearing. BUT I do love the possibility of fires and I really really love the cheese-tastic plug-in electric light up log insert thingy that came with my fireplace. Next to a gas fireplace (which is all the heat and none of the smoke and therefore a basically perfect invention) this little thing is the most awesome I could hope for. It really is the embodiment of the idea of a fire.
The other reason I am excited about the fireplace is that it has a mantel. Which is awesome if you are trying to channel a cloistered 50s house-wife because you can hang stockings on it and arrange your Italian, hand painted collectable figurine nativity set on it. And then you can plug in your fake fire, put on Nat King Cole Christmas, and read your home décor magazines while you drink hot buttered rum and wait for your hubby to get home from work.
Jesus I am the worst feminist ever.

No visuals

2008-11-24T13:09:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I was vey proud of myself for fixing our digital camera. Sadly, as with many good things in life, this pride in my self-sufficiency has met an untimely end. My stubborn camera has decided it wants to be broken again. That is why you will not see pictures of week three of our home improvement epic. This is especially sad because now is when it is all coming together and starting to look like a house that people could live in. There is real paint on the walls! The kitchen has been cleaned! There are new, old light fixtures (antiques I spruced up) and even new outlets and outlet covers. I actually can go over there without thinking “what was I thinking? I will NEVER be able to move in!” Yes we have hit the rewarding stages of the process and none of it will be displayed here.
Luckily I am way more stubborn than my camera. It will eventually bend to my will and at that point you will all get a before-and-after post. I love before-and-afters. Almost as much as I love lists and by God do I love lists. In fact I am pretty sure that a post very soon will be a list of “what were they thinking” moments encountered while remodeling. Now you have so much to look forward to!

Midlife Crisis Plan

2008-11-19T12:34:00.001-08:00

Everyone knows about my plans when I get old. I am going to get very fat and spend hours every day at the YMCA doing water aerobics. I am going to get there on the bus which I will ride for free by arguing incessantly with the bus driver over my transfers and whether or not they are expired. And on the weekends I am going to crash weddings pretending to be so-and-so’s great aunt whoever, drinking cheep wine and eating more than my share of cake (I have to stay fat somehow!) Yes this is my retirement dream. It took me years to perfect. But now I have discovered something else I must do and it will require that I not be old, fat, and possibly drunk. So you all get to be the first to know about my budding “midlife crisis plan.”

It starts with this. I am going to join The Sprockettes when I turn 40. I figure by then I will be in desperate need of pink Lycra and black fishnets. I get to be the one trying to pop the other girl's head doff using the strength of her massive rock hard thighs.

More on the disassembly of houses.

2008-11-18T09:52:00.000-08:00

So it’s been another weekend of progress at the P-Town pad. This weekend we had help from my father-in-law and his wife plus my Mom, not to mention the usual suspects (myself, DH and the ever helpful Marrs family)
The first major accomplishment for the project . . . NO MORE WALLPAPER! Here we pose with my In-laws in the last room to be cleared of the evil plague that is wallpaper.

Do you know what happens after the wallpaper is all gone? Skim-coating. Basically a fancy word for “learn to apply plaster to your walls” Here my FIL and DH prepare to “mix it up” (the plaster that is)

And here they are actually performing said mixing.

Here is my FIL still full of enthusiasm for the plastering portion of the project, mainly because he has not yet begun to experience the fun that is skim-coating.

Here DH and FIL get down to business.

After 6 bags of plaster have been mixed and applied, DH is sent to the black hole of money and time that is Home Depot to pick up some more, where he discovers that it is just as cheep to buy pre-mixed plaster. Sigh.

Here I am applying the much easier to work with pre-mixed topping compound.

Here is DH attempting to look menacing.

This is Micah. He is helping if by helping you mean following me around asking if there is anything he can screw. Typical man.

Here the team (minus my mom who is behind the camera) takes a brake for sustenance of the Mexican variety.

Basically, we are getting pretty close to being able to apply our fancy VOC free paint. Which we still have to go buy. I don’t even really want to think about all the cupboards and baseboards and cleanings that also need to be primed and painted (and in some cases sanded beforehand) I also don’t want to think about the “office” where I took down more classy 70’s wood paneling to discover . . . well, lets just say it was not a wall as you and I know it. I also don’t want to think about the decorative wall of bricks built ON TOP OF the orange shag carpet in there. Suffice to say, the office project is on hold. Instead of focusing on all that, I will just post this picture of our Toilet Paper Dispenser.

Why yes, that is an alarm-clock-radio and a phone and you can bet your booty-licious moneymaker that it works and we are keeping it. Come visit, it will be next to the guest bed.

How to dismantle your home part 1

2008-11-12T08:24:00.000-08:00

So the remodel has begun. That is to say, I have removed much wallpaper and not accomplished much else in the past 4 days.

This happy domestic scene just shows you how crazy we are. We are all excited about our little pink house that needs so much help. Amazing how you can love something and also want to change everything about it!

This picture represents how our life would progress living in our new house if it were to be stylistically preserved. We would have to name all of our children "Chase" regardless of gender and take to wearing dangerously high cut running shorts. It would not have been good for anyone. Taj even looks a bit frightened.

That is why we had to start tearing things apart. In this photo my Husband and his Step-dad discover the "weird black cancer causing glue-tar" that was holding our lovely wood paneling up on the wall behind the fireplace! Notice that I am standing safely behind the camera, away from the bio-toxins.
Other fun discoveries include this weird black stain.
And multiple layers (5 in some places!) of really old wallpaper!

Some of it, like this green leafy scene, would actually not have been bad if it did not cover every wall in a small room.It all had to come down.
Kind of a daunting prospect.
but in the end we have a wall full of glue and the discovery of some very nice hardwoods!
Taj, however remains unimpressed. We think he was enjoying the 70's life and may be a bit sad that the carpet full of 30 years of smells is going to be thrown out like trash. The life of a dog is a hard life indeed.

Stay tuned for the second instalment of our home improvement adventures where we learn how to skim coat and answer the question on every one's mind "will the weird water-soluble goop on our ceiling fall off when we apply our low VOC water-based Paint?"

In support of equality

2008-11-06T07:58:00.000-08:00

I do not want to look a gift horse in the mouth. I am extremely happy that we have someone who is not Bush going into the Whitehouse in January. I am ecstatic that he is a democrat who claims to plan on addressing the state of healthcare in this country. I am in awe of the historic significance of electing a minority, a black man, to the presidency for the first time in American history. But all this happiness and hope and optimism is tainted by the ignorance, self-importance, and just plain nosy rudeness displayed by voters who assert that marriage (or even parenthood) is a narrowly defined right only to be granted to those who fit their image of right and wrong.
I know we have all heard these arguments before but I am hurt and I feel betrayed and I want to talk about it again. So here we go.
First of all, in this fine country of ours, all over the country, we have this little thing we call equal rights. And there was a historic case in which we struck down "separate but equal." Civil Unions are the poor minority schools of this equation. They are not as good and everyone knows it. So don't try to argue that gays can just get a civil union and call it a day.
Another common way to attempt to win this argument is to bring God into it. Now I make every effort to live my life in a way that brings God's goodness into the world and I am not in the least being sarcastic when I say that. Whatever or whoever God is to you, it is the same message of love and forgiveness and hope, and faith in the human spirit that drives people to and within religion. And I am not going to argue about what the bible says concerning marriage and homosexuality or whether it is to be read literally, I am simply going to make two points.
First, whatever the bible may say about the definition of marriage or about homosexuality, it says far more about love for all of humanity, and forgiveness and reserving the judgment of others for God. So whatever message you have gleaned from the bible, these important, oft repeated, overarching themes must take precedence in your life.
Second, in addition to equal rights we have something else in this country called the separation of church and state. That is why, if you are married by a member of the clergy, your officiant will name both God and the state as having separately granted them the authority to unite you in marriage. So if marriage is only a sacred sacrament to be administered and defined by God, then the state has no business giving marriage licenses to ANYONE, Gay or Straight and “marriage” should have no legal definition and remain entirely in the realm of religion.
The United Sates of America should not be in the business of dictating morality. It is a government. A secular Government which was created to allow people the freedom and responsibility of making their own moral choices. Not for their neighbors; not for their siblings; not for their coworkers, and not for their friends, but for themselves alone.
So even if you believe that homosexuality is wrong and that God gave the sacrament of marriage as a gift to bless the union of a man and a woman I do not see how that puts you in a position to legislate morality to the other citizens of your state or of this country. If the sanctity of marriage is threatened by its application to two consenting adults, then perhaps the fight should be to remove the label “marriage” from the public realm and rename the legal contract by which we recognize the commitment of two people. Because this is not about semantics, this is about rights and equality and I hope that in this, the twilight of a historic milestone in the struggle for equality, we do not lose sight of the ideals we are so proud to watch come to fruition.

Go Vote Your Ass Off

2008-11-04T13:39:00.000-08:00

There is a whole lot of extreme voting going on out there today. Living in mellow Oregon, I voted by mail and get to sip my free cup of coffee from Starbucks and simply listen to the war stories on NPR. But seriously dude . . . 7 hour lines, camping out since 4am, rain, snow, hail . . . voting today is like being a freaking postman! And I applaud you all. Truth be known, I was feeling sorry for everyone who had to put up with going to the polling place and I was even feeling a little self important and maybe in my head there was a tiny bit of “Oregon is paradise” preachyness developing about our progressive statewide vote-by-mail system. Then I read Dr. Spoke’s ode to the neighborhood polling place and suddenly I was a little sad too. Thanks a lot Papa. I will take the shout out though as a consolation prize (I’m the kid who voted three times and was telling my grandmother how to vote at the age of 5) because we all know how much I like attention.
But really, the most exciting part of the news today so far is that the voter turn-out has been crazy-mad-bad high. It’s causing long lines and breaking machines and all sorts of madness but people are enthusiastic about voting. And that is awesome.
Now lets all hope that we continue to get awesome news all day (and tomorrow too if it comes to that) because Aarwenn can attest to the fact that I have never voted for the winning presidential candidate, and watching our guy lose last time was not pretty.
Me + Despair + Tequila = . . .
well let just hope it doesn’t come to that.

Fear of pen and paper

2008-11-03T08:45:00.000-08:00

I decided to celebrate Halloween this year by doing the scariest thing I could possibly imagine . . . signing mortgage papers.
Seriously.
Terrifying.
Experience.
I mean I am really quite proud of myself for not fainting, barfing, screaming, crying, or really showing any overtly visible signs of the minor mental breakdown I experienced. The entire series of events seemed orchestrated to bring about my demise. First of all, my incredibly patient loan officer and real estate agent both assured me that the escrow officer would call me to schedule an appointment and that I did not need to call her. Basically this was their nice way of allowing her some peace and advising me against subjecting her to the same level of harassment out of me to which they had already become accustomed.
So I took their advice and I waited. While I waited I called each of them. I also emailed each of them. I also made my husband email them and perhaps I even pestered said husband to call them as well. I am not really such a neurotic person it’s just that things do not register in my plane of reality until they have a color-coded place on my Google-calendar. Therefore a lack of a solid appointment or even a specified day that appointment would take place, meant that I did not feel confidant the signing of our mortgage papers would ever happen.
Then, on Friday October 31st and about 11:00 the phone rang and it was our escrow officer. Now it is entirely possible that it was in my best mental interest to schedule the appointment not too far in advance of it actually occurring, thus giving me less time to stress out and increasing the chance that I would not curl up into the fetal position at the thought of that much debt and therefore be unable to leave the house much less drive to an office and appear mentally competent enough to enter into legal contracts. Yes it is entirely possible that if the escrow officer had called days in advance like I wanted her to, I would have been dragged into the office by my husband whimpering and slobbering all over myself. BUT if I could have been called perhaps, oh I don’t know, 30 min to an hour before I needed to be there? That would have been just awesome.
Instead a very cheery lady called me to find out if I “had time to come on in and sign papers” RIGHT NOW. So in a flurry of paperwork and forms of identification and phone calls to previously mentioned, incredibly patient, loan officer and real estate agent we made our way down to the title company’s office. Where we were greeted by a receptionist who offered me candy (because it was Halloween) and coffee (because the only thing in the world my nerves needed less that sugar was caffeine.) So I am sitting in the lobby vacillating between thinking that I might have some coffee because it would be comforting and realizing that I am already shaking and even decaf would probably send me over the edge into full on convulsions, when a cheerleader comes out and announces she is our escrow officer.
Yup, a cheerleader.
This annoyingly cheerful woman was so fit and thin that she was apparently able to fit into her old high school cheerleading outfit 20+ years after the pom-poms were put down. I, on the other hand, had not yet managed to do my hair, put on make-up, or even eat breakfast. Sigh. I can tell you that God is up there somewhere though because she was very efficient and thorough and we were out of there in under an hour with zero questions to take back to our real estate agent. I will however, probably be unable to attend football games due to my new phobia of cheerleaders.

back to remodel

2008-10-30T15:56:00.000-07:00

So my BFF asked me to start contributing to her blog. I am very excited about it and I have posted twice. I would have posted more except . . . well . . . its supposed to be a happy blog. I don’t mean happy in a “warm-puppy-that-smells-like-flowers-giving-you-butterfly-kisses” kind of way. It’s just that I am not really supposed to bitch and moan and complain about politics or how cold my office is or the sudden appearance of cockroaches IN MY SHOWER THIS MORNING! (See, Portland is not always Paradise.) No, this other blog is supposed to be a mental safe-haven. A place you can rely on to find something to be glad about.
But as much as I am a happy person, I am much more entertaining as a sarcastic person. So writing for her blog has been a welcome and healthy challenge. But it has also reminded me how much I enjoy writing for THIS blog where I can be the snarky, pessimistic bitch that you all love.
Also, we are buying a house. A house that was built in 1944 and is salmon pink. A house that has wood paneling and pearlescent, textured vinyl “wallpaper.” A house that has wonderful built-ins, beautiful hardwood floors and amazingly cool art-deco kitchen cabinets. Basically, the process of fixing up the good bones and banishing the ill-advised decorating scheme will give me plenty to talk about. If by “talk” you mean “attempt to remain cogent as I pull my hair out strand by strand and recite Jean Paul Sartre’s The Age of Reason in the original French”
But really, it should be a good project.
That I will have to live with.
And in.
For years to come.

TMI

2008-03-25T11:07:00.000-07:00

So I have been tagged. I am going to break the chain and not tag anyone else because the only person who ever even thinks about reading this is probably the very same person who tagged me. If I am wrong, however, feel free to remind me that you read my blog by replying to this post with your answers.
And now here are “7 random things about me”

1. I have a photographic memory. I know where things are because I can picture where I saw them even if all I did was walk through a room once. I can only find something I wish to reference in a book if you hand me the same version that I originally read because I will know that the sentence I am looking for is on the right hand page, ¾ of the way down in the middle of the second to last paragraph.

2. When I brush my teeth, the last step before I put my toothbrush back in its holder is to tap it on the side of the sink 3 times. Not twice and not 4 times. I always do this.

3. I can’t stand the idea of being pregnant. I could go into detail about all of the things related to pregnancy that frighten, repulse and offend me but I won’t. This however, does not in any way diminish my intense desire to be a mother; ideally a stay at home mother even. My little sister volunteered to be a surrogate for me so that my husband and I could have our own biological children but after researching that option we have decided to simply adopt children. Apparently, “social surrogacy” (using a surrogate when you are physically capable of bearing your own children) is a really hot button issue with people.

4. I am a born and bred Treky (as in Star Trek Fan.)

5. I have an “over-disclosure” problem (see #3) and I tend to tell strangers intensely personal things. This bothers my very private husband a great deal.

6. I plan out everything. Usually in spreadsheets. However, my filing system consists of me putting things that seem worth saving in a box. The end. That is the whole system. I figure this keeps them roughly in chronological order and therefore, to find something all I have to do is figure out when I last saw it. This system is not limited to papers and my boxes of “filing” often include chap-stick, pocket mirrors, umbrellas, key-chains, pictures (sometimes in frames), jewelry, foam stress balls and any number of other such things. This habit also exasperates my husband.

7. I have almost unhealthy interest in both King Henry VIII (or more accurately his reign and all the subjects and people that encompasses) and the holocaust (but not any other aspect of WWII.) Neither of these historical obsessions is new. They both date back to sometime around the 4th grade.

Eat Something

2008-02-13T15:06:00.000-08:00

I know. I am totally a bad person for not posting for so long. I have been spending most of my time feeling sorry for myself because I could not go skiing. I have been spending some of my time feeling sorry for myself for letting my weight start to creep in the wrong direction from lack of skiing. And finally, I have been spending the very small remainder of my time being lackluster and depressed because I have let my weight start to creep in the wrong direction from lack of skiing.
Basically, not skiing is ruining my life and the Food-fest that is my office is not helping. Basically my weekdays go like this
5:30 – DH gets up and I contemplate going to the gym but fall back asleep instead.
6:30 – my alarm starts to go off.
7:00 – I get up and run around to get ready.
7:30 – I leave the house (interesting side note: 7:30 is also my start time!)
7:45 – I get to work
8:00 – someone gives me a doughnut while I am eating my sensible breakfast
9:30 – I attend a meeting where halved Costco Muffins are passed out.
11:00 – someone passes out the candy/cookie dough/cookies/popcorn that you bought from their kid as a fundraiser.
Noon – as I am cooking my lean cuisine, pizza/BBQ/Teriyaki/Hamburgers arrive and I am loathe to turn down free food.
2:00 – there is a birthday/retirement/promotion celebration which involves much sheet cake
3:30 – A woman in my row refills her candy bowl and I decide to have “just one”
4:45 – While going to pick up my dishes from the dishwasher before someone steals them and I never see them again, I am faced with the smorgasbord of leftover meeting foods. I have 7 pieces of cheese, 3 slices of garlic bread, 2 brownie bites and an undetermined amount of salsa and chips.
5:00 – I go home and start dinner
7:00 – after snacking while I cook I eat as much dinner as my husband does.
9:00 – I want dessert (or nachos)
10:30 – I go to be having skipped the gym and consumed about 5,000 calories.
Weekends are worse because I always plan to go skiing and then I find that my leg still hurts when I put the ski boots on so I send my husband off to the mountain with his friends and eat nothing but wine and microwave popcorn all day.
Dear lord in heaven let me break this wicked cycle of self destruction by getting on the mountain this weekend!

The wheels go 'round and 'round

2008-01-24T16:26:00.000-08:00

When I worked at my fathers bicycle shop as a mechanic there was one story we would hear consistently. Man or woman, old or young, all nationalities and income levels, the story of why your bike is creaking, groaning, screeching, broken, twisted, shredded, clicking, stuck or just plain not working always starts with the words “I was just riding along.” This phrase is so over used by those who neglect and torment their bicycles that it has become quite the joke at the shop. 90% of the time, after fixing the bike, a good mechanic can tell what caused the problem and it is almost always the rider’s fault. Through neglect, malice, or ignorance people do terrible things to their bicycles and after wrenching for many years I have vowed never to be one of them. I pay loving attention to the state of my bicycles; cars however, are a different story.
My abuse of cars is a matter of historical and public record. From the time I “stole” my car with Aarwenn while we both still only had permits and ran it in to a pole at a Starbucks only to lie to my parents about how it became scratched latter, to the more neglectful habit I have of never (and I do me not even once since I have owned it) washing the outside of my current vehicle. From the 2 cars I have run out of oil, seizing the engines and totaling both cars, to the fact that I am so used to driving a stick that I slam on the break while looking for the clutch in automatics. I am like the anti-car. I have no mercy and even worse, no sense. Since getting married I actually clean out the inside of my car on occasion and pester my husband to change the oil on a semi regular basis but this minor change in behavior hardly makes up for all the years of abuse. What does make up for it is this. Today, as I was driving back to the office from lunch, my car began to wail and screech at such a high pitch and intensity that dogs from other counties and perhaps other states were howling. That alone would not make up for my behavior but the noise did not start out small and quiet, it simply turned on at full force, accosting me with its embarrassing, attention grabbing, cacophony of sound and causing me to swerve as a looked for its source and become very red in the face as a realized it was my own car. But even that would not make a dent in the grievances against me. What humbles me to the core is that when I got back to the office I had to call my dad and say “Papa, I was just driving along . . .”

2 inches

2008-01-17T14:24:00.000-08:00

It will be no news to some of you that my height has been called into question as of late. At a holiday party this December I compared my height to some of my friends who have always been sorter than me and realized that we are the same height.
This is disturbing for many reasons. The first and most obvious reason is that I am shrinking. You would be upset if you were shrinking too. In fact, you might be even more upset than I am since I know that it is happening because of my scoliosis. Which brings us to the second reason it is upsetting; it means my scoliosis is getting worse. One might think that that is the extent of my reasons to be upset. That person would be wrong.
I am actually most upset because I am now not a tall girl.
There was a time in my life, when I was 5’7 ¾”. I was almost as tall as my “little” sister. In fact, my massage therapist said I would be taller than her if my back were completely normal. That time was early 2004, I was 22 and I will now refer to that period of my life as the “height” of it even though that will confuse people.
Some months latter, when I came home from Europe I had lost that ¾” and I reluctantly put 5’7” on my driver’s license when I renewed it. Since massage therapy had given me almost an inch, I figured that my compressed spine left me at this height. Sad, but that was that.
Fast forward a few years to last month when I realized for the first time that my back has compressed even further. So now I am going to the chiropractor and having them measure my height at the doctor’s office. Yesterday the nurse pushed me up against the wall and said “we will call it 5’6”. I was going to protest because I had recently be told at another office that I was 5’6 ¼” and, damn it I want that extra ¼ but before I could even protest she continued with “you are almost there so we will just give it to you.” Almost there!?!
Honestly the biggest issue for me is feeling small. It permeates into other areas of my life. My husband has noticed I have begun talking even louder than normal and normally I am a loud talker. I have quit wearing high heals because I don’t want people to think I am trying to look taller. I don’t want people to know that my newly discovered shortness bothers me so much. This discovery has bloomed into an identity crisis as if those 2 inches I lost held all the confidence and individuality of me.

Evil Elves: In which I reveal (in real numbers) my weight loss goals.

2008-01-14T10:34:00.000-08:00

I have this tendency to take some tiny tidbit of information and latch on to it, repeating it out of context and distorting its message and requiring myself to adhere to its now ridiculous ramifications whatever those may be.
Case in point: I read once that women who have larger weight loss goals are more successful in their weight loss endeavors, where success is measured in pounds lost.
The logical explanation for this is that women who are trying to lose 100 or even just 50 lbs generally have more weight to lose and everyone knows that the more weight you have to lose, the faster it comes off in the beginning so even if you did give up at the 3 month mark (which is usually where I lose it and order a double cheeseburger with a side of everything else to go) you will still have lost more weight than a person trying to lose 10 lbs who sticks to it and meets their goal.
However, my twisted mind has decided that this statement actually means I will lose weight much better and faster if I set some pie in the sky “I used to weight this in high school” type goal. So now my ticker on SparkPeople says 118. It says 118 not because I think I should weigh 118. It says 118 not because I can really even plan on or conceive of weighing 118. In fact my real goal in my heart and soul and mind is 127. But somehow, my superstitious, overly optimistic and blindly emotional side INSISTS that having changed the number on my very public ticker will somehow shift the favor of the fates in my direction and pounds will melt off my frame. Why? Because I now have an unattainable goal and the evil little elves of hell that sit around making it their business to ensure that I never. ever. ever. get anything I want will think that I won’t be happy until I get to 118. Therefore they will let me get to 127 without even worrying their evil little heads about it and I will win and that, my friends, is how the universe works. Yes it is.

Disclaimer: Reaching my real goal of 127 requires me to lose less than 10 lbs and my doctor has advised me at a healthy weight range for me would be 116-140. So yes, this is a vanity diet and no, I am not going to starve myself and end up a crak-head-esque waif. Besides, we recently established at a holiday party that I am much shorter than we previously believed and if I have to be short at least I can be skinny.

My Best Self

2008-01-10T16:07:00.000-08:00

2008 is going to be the year I become “My Best Self.” This statement means many things. It means that I am going to work on my eating habits and my exercise habits. It means I am going to start shaving my legs regularly and stop glowering at strangers on the street. It means that I will stop trying to kill the snooze button with overuse and start trying to get some yoga in before work.
It does not mean that I am going to become a morning person or regularly wash my car or begin to enjoy to company of children. I mean there are some elemental facets of my personality. But becoming “My Best Self” (Yes I am aware that every time I type that you all want to sing the “My Buddy/Kid Sister" Song. That is actually ½ the reason I keep writing it.) does mean that I need to go to the chiropractor.
You see, I have a bad back. This was discovered at some pivotal moment in my pre-pubescent years at Jason Lee Middle School. They lined us up in two rows with our backs to one another in the nurses office and we all had to pull our shirts up and bend over. (inset inappropriate joke here) While I was feeling ashamed that all he other girls needed bras and I did not yet (come to think of it I still don’t but I wear one anyway. Go figure) the mentally challenged, lazy eyed nurse was simply noticing that I had scoliosis. Of course she did not tell ME this. She let everyone else go and made me sit with her while she filled out some paperwork and asked me questions. Then she called my mother.
Now, 13 years latter, I have decided to start going to the chiropractor. The guy I went to see on Tuesday is a large, jovial man. He is so cheery in fact that I initially relaxed quite a bit about the whole process. We chatted about my pain. He offered me some coffee. He had me change into a hospital gown. He explained the areas he would target. He positioned me on a massage table. He told me to breathe deep.
Then. He. Body-slammed. Me.
If I had known this would happen, I would have maybe chosen a slimmer chiropractor.

I'm Back! This time with a bettery powered iron in my backpak.

2008-01-08T12:20:00.000-08:00

I am resurrecting my blog for 2008. As usual, I have no good reason for doing the things that I do. One not so good reason for starting to post for this blog again is that 8 is my favorite number and therefore, 2008 is going to be the best year in the history of my life ever. I figure people should know about it. Another not so good reason is that I re-read my old posts and I realized that I used to be funny and have semi-meaningful things to say. I am pretty sure that this is no longer the case. While assuming there is a casual connection between my current lack of whit and my current lack of bloging might be less than well founded, I really don't care much. Just like when DH (my Dear Husband for those of you unfamiliar with the abbreviation) tells me that my vitamin supplements are worthless placebos, or when medical research disproves the effectiveness of anything sold by Susan Somers; I plan to forge ahead unscathed by the disbelievers. So there you have it, like it or not I am back. And this time I am pumped up on calcium supplements and digging out my Thigh-Master.
Now I would like to make another announcement. I am considering joining the Extreme Ironing association. Yes, there is really such a thing and yes I am really interested in it, as everyone with a pulse should be. First of all I love the outdoors. I live climbing mountains and rocks and other such things. I also love skiing or sliding or rappelling down once I have reached the top. I love the feeling that is gives me; mainly the (often blatantly erroneous) impression that I am the master of myself, physics, the universe, and everything.
Another thing that I enjoy immensely is a well ordered house. I love things to be organized and pretty. I like stacks of folded laundry, neatly made beds, systematically arranged bookshelves and well pressed clothing. The problem with loving order is that the onerous of KEEPING order will inevitably fall on our shoulders. And there are some tasks that must be done that I simply cannot stand doing. Dishes, as anyone who has ever lived with me knows, are not something that I do; at least not without a fight. Ironing, however, is one of those enchanting things that exist so rarely in our world, which both needs to be done and brings me great joy to do. It is not that I simply take satisfaction at the sight of a well done crease or nicely starched collar. It is not that I am relieved and overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment once the ironing pile is no more. All of those things are nice, but it is the actual act, the anal-retentive attention to detail required, the warmth, the smells of clean linen and lemon starch, the simplicity, the precision; all this together makes ironing nothing short of glorious.
That being said, you can imagine that I went numb with shock and disbelief that I had not had the idea to combine these two activities earlier. I am, however, ecstatic to find that I am not alone in my seemingly paradoxical tastes. That being said, you can look forward to pictures of my extreme ironing attempts just as soon as I save up enough of a lightweight board and a battery powered iron.

My dream wedding is a nightmare

2006-07-20T11:59:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-07-11T13:55:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-30T13:21:00.000-07:00

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)

2006-06-27T13:26:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-26T11:04:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-13T09:56:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-06T13:13:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-05-26T09:38:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-05-24T16:08:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-05-19T14:43:00.000-07:00

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!

2006-05-05T16:13:00.000-07:00

Saturday Night Fire

2006-04-25T08:43:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-11T15:37:00.000-07:00

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

2006-03-17T11:16:00.000-08:00

Yesterday before I had even managed struggle my way out of the ÂI hate you world/sunlight/any-person-talking-to-meÂ 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 canÂt 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 wonÂt 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 donÂt 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 donÂt 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 vetÂs office I go to. I am a creature of habit and stuck in my ways and DAMN IT ALL why canÂt 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. ÂGOOD, GREAT, We will be right there!Â 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 ÂwardÂ fee.
The moral of the story? In todayÂs 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 IIFÂs 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.

2006-03-13T16:31:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-09T16:04:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-03-07T16:10:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-28T12:03:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-14T09:37:00.000-08:00

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. . .

2006-02-03T09:55:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-01T14:23:00.000-08:00

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?

2006-01-26T14:40:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-19T16:06:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-18T11:19:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-04T13:38:00.000-08:00

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)

In the spirit of lists, I mean New Years!

2005-12-30T13:25:00.000-08:00

It would seem that new years is the season for lists. ½ the blogs I read regularly feature lists as their most recent posts. I’m not one to let an obvious trend pass me by and I really love making lists for no reason at all anyway so here we will have 2 lists for the past year and one for the New Year.
First, the obligatory “ 10things I learned in 2005”
1. Collage did not suck as much as I thought it did at the time, in fact it may have been the most fun I would ever have.
2. Having a boyfriend does not have to be heart-poundingly exciting or stomach-turningly disturbing at all times.
3. My metabolism is not infallible.
4. The internet is bringing me closer to the world. In 2004 I discovered the world of internet dating and met my amazing boyfriend and this last year I started this blog and met kt who is just as or even more fabulous in real life than her blog would lead you to believe.
5. Skiing is as important as breathing or sex. I cannot believe I never did it before. In fact, as first time experiences go, skiing was much more impressive than sex. Then again I had a much better partner for my first time skiing.
6. I HATE moving.
7. Political leanings are not very important in romantic relationships. Moral values are.
8. Vacations are important.
9. I believe in God. I’m not sure who or what God is and I’m still wildly skeptical about any type f organized religion but at least I have the God thing settled.
10. Pay attention to fortune cookies. Those little bitches know what they are talking about.

Now that we have covered lessons learned we will cover “5 things I regret” because you should never regret too much.

1. I should have visited my uncle more while he was in the hospital. As painful as it would have been to see him that way, it is more painful to think that he is gone and I can’t see him at all now.
2. I should have done more training before attempting to climb Rainier. If it was not for me we would have made it. Not that I regret trying, it was an awesome experience in the truest sense of the word.
3. I should have spent more quality time with my awesome dog.
4. I should have done something to keep my sister from getting into the situation she is currently in because even though it is not my fault I feel like I have failed as an older sister and a friend.
5. I should not have had so much to drink at the Halloween party. I am sorry I acted inappropriately, tried to fix the problem while drunk, and have no recollection of the evening whatsoever. (Sorry Josh, Sorry Mama)

Finally, we have a list of “10 things I will do in the coming year.”

1. I will pay off debts.
2. I will train my dog to run agility courses.
3. I will learn to cook using more wine in the food and drinking less while I make it.
4. I will help Tacompton Tiffany by becoming the gym Nazi for her sake and my own.
5. I will go rock climbing more because I love it and I don’t make enough time for it.
6. I will go to the dentist because I have not been since high school and that’s just bad no matter how good your enamel is.
7. I will get internet access at home.
8. I will be a better friend to my Mother because she deserves it.
9. I will take more pictures.
10. I will buy a real ironing board because I LOVE to iron and this half-assed table top thing is ruining it for me. Besides they cost like $15.00.

Hopefully we can all pull together and keep me on track because as you may have noticed I am as easily distracted as an ADHD 5 year old on crack with a sugar high. Yum sugar! I could really go for a peppermint mocha right now. Wait I just had one of those a few hours ago. I like puppies! What was I saying? Oh well here is a picture!

It's me and Boyfreind at a reasonably civilized party! (I know, pictures of me on my own site! whodathunk?)

Taking a break to help eat and drink all that holiday crap

2005-12-23T11:48:00.000-08:00

In the spirit of the season, I am having a panic attack. There are a lot of things I have not done and tomorrow is Christmas eve. I have managed to buy most of my gifts and wrap ½ of those I bought. Still, I have a lot to do so wish me luck and if I’m not back by new years you will know the stress killed me. Either that or I was run over by Santa and I’m too engrossed in the pending law suit to care about a stupid blog. Now matter what happens to me I am whishing everyone a safe (but not “wear a helmet” kind of safe) happy (but not the kind of “happy” that gives you a headache for 3 days afterwards) and memorable (but not the “remember that time you were arrested on Christmas” kind of memorable) holiday. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Fun with water

2005-12-21T10:15:00.000-08:00

So here I am at work again. I got up record-brakingly late today and still managed to be here ON TIME. Something I have not done since my first week on the job. I thought I was in for a day of luck and joy, stuffed to the brim with the kind of fortunate happiness one might imagine a 6 year old girl experiencing should she find an entire box of puppies on her front porch. Alas, this was not to be. Friends, I arrived to work today to a ½ empty (yes I’m a ½ empty kind of a person) bottle of water I had left on my desk yesterday and because I am weird, I decided to swish the water around in the bottle to do away with all the accumulated condensation on the inside of the bottle. This included turning the bottle all the way upside down which I did, as any sane person would, DIRECTLY OVER MY KEYBORD! This action alone would be fairly innocuous except for one thing. In my desperate attempt to get out side and away from my windowless cube, I tend to do things like leave my computer logged into or forget my Tupperware for a week at a time or screw the lid to my water bottle on HALFWAY instead of tightly fastening it onto the bottle. Therefore I had to rush though the ever changing labyrinth that is my workplace (did I mention that the door nearest my cube is now a wall? It has drywall and everything) attempting to track down some absorbent material of some type. Returning with some paper towels, I clean up my mess as best I could. Still, small splashes are gurgling out around the “S” key and there is a strange swishing noise if I move the keyboard out of the way. Good times, Good times.

Blah Humbug

2005-12-20T10:09:00.000-08:00

I am angry at the universe for raising me to believe it is my God given right to get 2 weeks to a month of vacation for Christmas, only to recant its offer 24 years latter. Why do kids and Europeans get so much damn vacation? I could not quite figure out what my deal was yesterday morning. It was much worse than a normal Monday. Dragging my self to the office un-showered and 15 min late I realized that, in 24 years of existence, I have never had to get up before noon on the 19th of December for anything I did not want to do.
Who voted for this? I want a recount! I think that my uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm for the holidays can be 100% blamed on the lack of time having a “real” job will give you. I have not had time to go shopping, wrap gifts, decorate much of anything, find the prefect holiday party outfit, or go look at Christmas lights. Usually by this time I have decorated everything stationary, bought something for everything that moves, tied up all purchases is coordinated ribbons and paper, renewed people’s hate of Mariah Carrey with my instant love of her Christmas album, and happily sipped hot buttered rum while oh-ah-ing at brightly decorated houses.
Last night I told boyfriend that he was a snob and hard to buy things for. Are we seeing the difference here? If this is me as an adult, screw it because THIS SHIT SUCKS!
In the magical holiday wonderland that is Whistler, I had an awesome time but then again, I had time. Time to spend on doing nice things for myself and my friends. That is what this season is about to me. Next year I am taking the week of Christmas off.

Nothing says Christmas Like a List and Pictures of Taj

2005-12-15T16:17:00.000-08:00

Today I received a glass Rooster wrapped in not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR Crown Royal bags at my office’s White Elephant party. 100% re-gifting material. Still, as I sit at my desk this little rooster reminds me of the other terrible things I have gotten as gifts. And now I give you. . .

T-Town's Top Five List of Gifts so Bad they Make a Good Story

5. This is a combo. The badness of either of these gifts would have earned them a spot on the top 10 list but the fact that they were given to me by THE SAME PERSON less than ONE YEAR apart from one another makes them definite top 5 material. I had in a previous post mentioned a small dope pipe that burned my lips, well for my birthday the same individual gave me hand-blown glass steamroller. The icing on the cake is that he, not I was the major pothead in the relationship. The steamroller was cheep and broke in less than 1 month; the dope pipe was mysteriously “lost” when I may have thrown it out the window of a moving car.

4. In my mother’s defense, she gave me this gift because she KNEW it was bad and it was actually for my dog not for me but I think we can all agree that makes it even worse. A CD of dog songs for my dog. I will spare you the terrible details. Needless to say it was never opened.

3. A stolen in dash CD player/stereo complete with install and a stolen collection of over 50 CDs. The interesting thing about this gift is that the 2 components (stereo and CDs) did not come from the same people. I received these 2 things on the same Christmas from 2 totally separate people, Yeah, I used to run with a “don’t ask don’t tell” kind of crowd. Although the CDs were stolen out of my car just over a year latter along with all of MY CDs. The stereo outlasted the car.

2. A call from jail. For Valentines Day one year, I got a phone call from a boyfriend who had gotten arrested on the way to see me. I gave him his lawyer’s number and dumped him. Too bad I took him back within a month.

And the number one gift so bad it is funny of all time. . .

1. One year at my friend’s annual Christmas party, my gift exchange gift was a happy meal with the fries already eaten. Thanx Jason.

And now, in the spirit of CAP are random pictures of my dog.

Don’t move! I am attempting to move the bag of “Beggin’ Strips” with my mind!

Um. . . You aren't going out like that. . . Are you?

Rewards

2005-12-12T13:24:00.000-08:00

Let’s face it, most of the time work is well, work. You go somewhere you would rather not go and do something you would rather not do and sometimes you get paychecks. There are those days however, when work is very rewarding. There are those days when driving around in Hicksville amongst the “No Trespassing, my rabid dog, sawed off shotgun, inbreed children are getting hungry for some blood” signs almost seem wroth it.

Because if you can make it down these stairs

sooooooooooo not to code

you may end up on a beach with this view

And that, my invisible internet friends, is what winter in the Northwest looks like.

DISCLAIMER: These pictures may or may not be property of a very important government agency and I may or may not be in no position to post them on the internets. I deny everything.

How to booze your way though almost anything: Holiday eddition

2005-12-08T13:30:00.000-08:00

It is that time of year again. The time when you must search your soul and scour the earth until you know the answer to the 2 most important questions of the season. The answers to these questions will shape your entire holiday season. They will define how you are remembered this year. Will you be generous and creative and charming; full of holiday love for all? OR will you be cheep and disorganized and embarrassing; sloppily slurring your way through “Frosty the Snowman?”
The first question is what do you buy for all those “bring a gift anyone would want” occasions? You know you have 12 of these parties to attend. Either White Elephant or draw numbers gift exchanges. It is hard enough to shop for someone you don’t know particularly well but it is ridiculously hard to shop for someone that you don’t even know the gender of mainly because although everyone I know could use some vanilla bean hand lotion form bath and body works, I doubt that many men would appreciate the thoughtfulness of such a gift. No music, clothes or movies; those all depend on taste. No gift certificates or money; then it seems like you didn’t even think about it. You are left with non-gender-specific, non-personal household and food items. Like cookies that come in a Christmas mug or a basket of assorted pasteurized processed cheese food spread with crackers or the fruit cake you were given 2 years ago.
The problem with that is that no one wants more food around Christmas and they will just bring the basket or cake or cookies into their office where women from all walks of life will be forced to succumb to the soft beckoning of snowflake shaped sugar cookies with icing and sprinkles therefore ruining their yearlong dedication to fitting into their “skinny pants.” Once their will is crushed they will eat their yearly calorie limit in one month and swear on their favorite Dolce Vita shoes that next year they will lose the weight. Do you really want that on your conscience? That is why I think I will just bring wine for everything. Who doesn’t like wine? At least the calories in wine are good for you. European people drink wine all the time and look how happy/healthy/skinny-as-hell they are! So if your price limit is $10.00-$30.00 I suggest wine. Over $30.00; Scotch. I don’t even like scotch but to have a real liquor cabinet you must have some decent scotch to offer people. My guess is that if you get some good scotch for someone they will either like it or they will be happy to have your help rounding out their liquor cabinet.
All this talk of liquor brings me to the second question. To drink or not to drink. How much “holiday cheer” I’m I really ready to spread around? One year when I worked for a bank we went out to an Italian place and I drank myself under the table. I blacked out before I got home and everyone there treated me a little strange after that. I never quite found out what happened. In my defense, I was 19 and just thrilled that I was getting away with drinking in public. I now have a formula for figuring out how much I can drink at a party. You start with 2 drinks for every hour of the party. This is your base. Then you subtract one drink for everyone who will be there who makes more money than you and has never seen you drunk. Then you add one drink for everyone there who has either held your hair while you puke or filled you in on things that happened when you blacked out. I know this is a lot of math but it is flawless. You just have to stick to the plan and remember that it is a drink LIMIT. You an always have less.
Now you are ready for the holiday season. Bring booze and know how much of it you can drink.

Christmas as an (supposed) adult

2005-12-07T15:34:00.000-08:00

My first Christmas as an adult I came home from my college dorm to find that my grandmother had moved in to my bedroom and I had to share with my sister for the length of the vacation.
I bought my boyfriend $100.00+ Okley sunglasses. He bought me a $12.00 pot pipe that burned my lips because it was metal.

The next year I had moved in with the spectacular gift giver of the year before (we have discussed James and all his glory before) I was incredibly ill and just wanted some peace and quiet in our smaller than small studio apartment in Seattle. We got in a fight on Christmas Eve while I was trying to sleep he was wrapping presents to some very loud Christmas music. I moved out when he broke ½ the ornaments on my tree. I left his gifts and he kept the things he bought for me.

The next year I was still with Mr. wonderful. We no longer lived together and I picked out my own present and he paid for it. At the annual Christmas Eve shindig at his mother’s we got too drunk to drive me home and stayed at his mom’s house smoking pot and playing GTA with his mom and brother all night.

In 2002 I had finally given up on James and was dating the man who is now my ex-fiancée. I met his family and he showed me around his life in Twin Falls Idaho. I got him a leather jacket I could not really afford because I knew he would look good in it. He got me a book, some pajamas and a Ring. There was snow and music and love. Christmas had never been so perfect before.

The next year I was newly unengaged and back in my hometown. I was without a boyfriend for the first time. I discovered the joy that is bar hopping on Christmas. I shamelessly seduced my hotter than hot and dumber than dumb co-worker only to find out he had a Girlfriend.

Last year I had just had the “Define the relationship” conversation with boyfriend. I met everyone in his family. He came with me to pick and cut a tree. We went to the nutcracker. I gave him books. He gave me a book and a necklace and a dish he made himself. Everything was new and bright and happy. I felt the season in my bones.

This year I am trying not to get my expectations up but it is hard because so far, everything is wonderful. I have already had a fabulous Whistler weekend with Boyfriend. I know what I will get for him and it will be awesome. (I can’t tell you because on occasion he reads this blog) I am looking forward to the out of town friends, the diet defying food, and the romance of an untouched new year.

I love my Stevie Wonder Christmas on vinyl. I love mulled spiced wine at the Swiss. I love the lights in Westlake center. I love peppermint mochas, white elephant parties, Christmas socks, hot buttered rum and the smell of the Christmas tree. There is nothing that can ruin Christmas and that is the beauty of it.

"Heaven has fallen, and it is full of happiness and Diamonds!" or "How to solve all your problems using baked goods"

2005-12-05T14:11:00.000-08:00

Whistler is Heaven. It is not that Whistler is very much like Heaven; it is that Heaven fell from the sky and landed in British Columbia and now they call it Whistler. I lost track of how many runs I took, falls I lived through, drinks I had, and American dollars I spent. The entire weekend was a blissful blur of powdery snow, breathtaking views, relaxing hot tubs, hopping night life, amazing food, and great company. To top it all off, my friend came home with a Big Ol’ Diamond on her finger. I would say more about that but that is her story not mine, I will however, say Congratulations to the soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Tacompton Tiffany! I will also say that I am now much more confidant about my skills on the skis and I am drooling desperately over the prospect of getting to the mountain this weekend.
Because it is the holidays and because I am broke, that may or may not happen. You see, this weekend is Christmas Cookie Day. Christmas Cookie Weekend (as it has been more recently) started out as an innocent enough tradition. My mother and her two little girls (that is, me and the little sis) would cook up 3 or 4 kinds of cookies and give them to people in pretty hand decorated “Christmas” bags aka plain brown paper lunch bags with tiny trees and snowflakes drawn on them. Over the years however the entire operation has taken on a life of its own. Last year there were at least 10 participants and over 20 kinds of sweets that went out in fancy baskets and tins wrapped up in cellophane with ribbons and bells. It took 3 days to bake, decorate, and package all the goods. We hired cheep illegal immigrant labor to package and deliver all 5,000 baskets. We set up a package tracking system ant outsourced it’s maintenance to India. Ok, so perhaps only ½ of that description is true but the point is that the event has taken on a life of its own and it needs to be stopped.
Luckily, my mother and sister agree. After being forced to put on a thanksgiving where there was no culinary theme and there was an entire turkey (my family usually has small, themed, meatless thanksgivings where we listen to Alice’s restaurant and eat in the clothes we cooked in) my mother deserves a break. Her holiday stress card has been maxed out and it is only the beginning of December. So we decided not to invite anyone else to Christmas Cookie Weekend and we decided to change it back to Christmas Cookie Day. It will once again be just the three of us. Now that we are older we can get more done in a day and will probably have 10 kinds of delicious confections in pretty baskets rather than paper bags with Santa stamped all over them but it will be seriously toned down compared to last year.
It is this plan that has given me the hope that I may go skiing this weekend. If everything goes as planed I can pull of my scam and make it to the mountain. This plan is brilliant because it takes care of both of my problems at once. The first of my problems being that Christmas Cookie Weekend was taking up a whole weekend. We now have hope that it can be reduced to one day leaving an entire other day to hit the slopes. The second of my problems being that I am broke and don’t have money to do Christmas and go skiing. If I get enough things baked and find a good discount on baskets, I can give them as gifts and selfishly spend all my money on my newly acquired adrenaline addiction.

The walls around me are crumbling but Gmail has helped restore my faith in America.

2005-11-30T12:47:00.000-08:00

So I know that I said we would only be discussing the wonders of the slopes but I am, as we have previously discussed, a fickle person. That is not to say that I am no longer obsessed, because I am. It is just that sometimes in life something will present itself to you and it will be so unexpected that you must talk about it, even if it is something wildly inappropriate like sending human poop to someone in a pretty gift wrapped box.
I will now explain. Because there is disruptive construction going on in our building that causes the already maze like layout to take on a much more frightening labyrinth-esque feeling (I can actually hear David Bowie singing and I think my cubicle may be upside down) I am more isolated than usual heare at the office. Because of terrible weather (oh my God! A melting snowflake! At sea level! RUUUUUNNNN!) I am stuck in said isolating, upside down cube rather than getting to spend some time in the field like I was becoming accustomed to doing. In short, the walls are falling down around me and I am alone (I sit next to some guys but they are engineers and therefore do not qualify as significant human contact) Therefore all e-mail has become important. Every comment on this blog, every notice from my student loan lender, every ticketmaster update is being read and relished as a form of semi-human contact. Therefore, I have become one of those people who will forward you anything slightly amusing in an attempt to get a response.
I received a mildly amusing European condom commercial from my friend yesterday and this morning I forwarded it to many people (including my mother, who has not responded) hoping someone would write me back and someone did. I got this response a little while ago.

You know, when I saw this, I thought, "I wonder if it's going to be that old condoms commercial?"

And it was. :) I agree, that's a fantastic commercial. And so un-American. Which makes it awesome.

The response in and of itself is not shocking or particularly riveting. And I would like to point out that nowhere in this response are poop or delivery-grams of any type mentioned. Still the good folks at Gmail decided that this response and “fecal-grams” are directly connected. Yes I said (or wrote rather) “Fecal-grams”. Now for those of you who don’t have Gmail, it is a different kind of e-mail service and one of its many different things is that you get sponsored links that pop up on the side of you e-mails. Gmail scans your correspondence for key words and then brings up things that are supposed to be related to you conversation. So like if I have a conversation about an upcoming ski trip (See I brought it back around) I may get links to ski resorts or online discount stores selling ski gear or online ski report sites. Usually I ignore them but they have on occasion come in handy but in this instance I am just vacillating between amused and disturbed. Amused because, lets face it, poop in a box is funny, especially when it is sent to someone else. But I am disturbed because it is scary to think that one day you could come home to one of these on your porch and it must be a rather confusing interpretation of our conversation to have been linked to such a site.
In conclusion America the land of the free is an amazing and joyful place to live and no greater evidence than the successful business that is fecalgram.com is needed to persuade me into believing in my country. I will, as long as I live and breathe, cherish my God given right to order and ship a stranger’s shit to anyone I know. Now that, my friends, is what freedom looks like.

The crack that is skiing has moved Brittney Spears into a position of importance.

2005-11-28T11:59:00.000-08:00

Did you know that a season pass to Crystal Mountain Washington for a child is $25.00? That is ½ the cost of a single adult lift ticket. You can outfit a small child with skis boots and bindings for about $150.00, less than the cost of a pair of boots for an adult. Why? It is because the ski/snowboard industry has learned a lot from your neighborhood crack dealer. If you let these fearless speed daemons tear down the mountain when they have less than 3 feet to fall and no sense of mortality, they will get good at it. They will crave the freedom and intensity of the slopes. They will grow up, get jobs, make money, and spend it on better gear, bigger thrills, and longer runs. Most likely they will even have children. Unaware of the traitorous plot behind it all, they will be pleasantly surprised at how inexpensive it will be to tech their children the joy of high speed snow sports. They will sign their kids up for lessons, strap some type of something to their tiny feet and drag them down the tunnel of addiction, gleefully leading the way.
I know this because I am one hundred percent hooked on skiing. I went last weekend, and the weekend before that. This coming weekend I am going up to whistler to ski the whole time. I dream of skiing, I look at skis online, I talk about snow conditions and have decided that when I get married I no longer want a honeymoon on a beach with drinks that have umbrellas in them. No, now I want a ski vacation full of snow and hot tubs and hot buttered rum.
All this and really hate to be cold.
Until now I would have classified being cold as one of the top 5 things I hate the most in the history of the universe. It would be like, The Holocaust, Wal-Mart, washing dishes by hand, spiders, and being cold. Now I will have to remove it from my list and actually acknowledge Britney Spears as significant in some capacity. The fact that it is in the position of being one of the worst things in the history of the universe is some small consolation but it is still a bad state of things.
The point is that this site will now be about skiing and how much I love it for the next few months. If you don’t like the slopes you should and I say that with all the authority of an overzealous convert. Much like a newly baptized Mormon, my enthusiasm knows no bound so get ready. So to sum it all up; taking up Skiing is like joining a cult that loves crack and I have joined wholeheartedly and am addicted and Britney Spears is significant only in her determent to the human race. Now, back to browsing REI outlet for some boots.

Slip-Sliding Away

2005-11-21T09:53:00.000-08:00

For his birthday, Boyfriend wanted to go skiing; with me. Even after I explained that his teaching me how to ski was going to be fun in the same way that plucking your pubic hair with rusty, red hot tweezers would be fun, he still wanted to go with me. Before we went to rent skis I had another talk with him, attempting to make him understand what he was really in for. You would think that a sane person would take warning when a conversation begins with “I have had a lot of anger management therapy but there are situations where it has had no affect on my behavior whatsoever.” Still, he wanted to take me to the mountain. I explained to him how we could best avoid breaking up over this. I told him that we would start the day out all excited and happy but about the 3rd time I fell I would tell him I hated skiing. The 5th time I fell I would scream at him that I hated skiing and wanted to go home. I would then need to go to the lodge and drink some hot chocolate flavored Bailey’s before continuing. The retreat would do me some good and the alcohol would do me some better and I would fall down 5 more times before telling Boyfriend that I hated him and making him leave me alone to fall on my ass in peace. I figured that I would then get in two more runs before retreating to the lodge for the rest of the day where I would spend more than the cost of my lift ticket on drinks much stiffer than Bailey’s and hot chocolate. I told him that our relationship would survive only if he left me alone when I told him to and did not come into the lodge attempting to get me back on the slopes. He was still relentless about the idea of going but seemed duly concerned after listening to my predictions.
Upon arriving I was excited. After putting my skis on I was worried. Before I even got on the lifts I was upset and the second time I fell down I cried. In fact, I cried a lot all morning. I yelled a bit, but only about how I hated skiing and I couldn’t do it. I did not release the slew of degrading insults that came to mind every time Boyfriend worriedly gave me much needed pointers. In fact my harshest words were slung unthinkingly at a kind stranger who helped me untangle myself on my third run. When he smilingly asked me if I was going to make it I snapped at him that I had to get down this damn mountain somehow. Sorry Nice Ski Guy, I was having a hard time of it.
After that incident I did send Boyfriend away so that he could have some fun and I could fall down and yell at people I did not have to ride home with. But after 3 runs by myself on the bunny slopes I decided to venture further up the mountain with Boyfriend and the rest of the day was spectacular. I have never had so much fun outside in the cold before. We squeezed in as many runs as we could before closing. He would ride up with me and then take another lift to the top and catch up with me on the way down as I slowly and carefully switch backed down the mountain.
I want to go again. I would go right now if I had money and did not have to work and wasn’t so sore that THINKING about moving is excruciatingly painful. I might use my long weekend to go, maybe twice. Now excuse me while I reapply the icy-hot to my entire body.

Hot Geeks

2005-11-15T10:20:00.000-08:00

I am, as we have discussed before, a huge geek. My sister/roommate and I were both raised to value this particular trait in ourselves and others to a point beyond reason. I am impress by people who know which characters crossed over from “Star Trek: The Next Generation” to Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.” I find people who frequently discuss the math and science I have no hope of ever understanding inspiring. And I have a major soft spot for themed parties.
Because I am broke and stubborn, I decided we would not turn the heat on until the 12th of November. Because we are geeks, we decided that “Turnin’ up the heat” is a reasonable excuse to have a party. But not just any party, a party with HOT buttered rum, HOT mulled wine, HOT spiced cider, HOT Cheetos HOT tamales candies, and fire HOT jolly ranchers. See, we are big geeks.
The party was a success in that most of our friends had a good time and much of the HOT food and beverages were consumed. The party was not a success in that 2 people had their wallets stolen. The party was a success in that one of our guests brought us “Down in Flames” t-shirts (thanx Ben!). There are no pictures because I am not much of a picture taker. In fact there is little evidence that this party happened at all save Aarwenn’s missing wallet and the fact that I finally put my guest room together. It now has a bed and does not have any of the following 1) an Ikea hanging pan rack, 2) 15 sets of cheep Venetian blinds banished from the windows for their complete lack of tastefulness 3) empty cardboard boxes which originally contained such things as “hand painted ceramic oil/balsamic vinegar and bread service for six” No sir, all those things are now under the basement stairs where they will live full and happy lives with the spiders until their whole society is consumed by spring cleaning (scheduled for late summer 2008).

"I am Back" or "The Slippery Slope of Downhill Skiing"

2005-11-10T13:41:00.000-08:00

You may have noticed I have been MIA lately, well no more. I have been blessed with a temporary government job and long with it, internet access. The wonders of this new job (which I LOVE) will be discussed ad-infinitum at a later date right now I want to talk about being broke and skiing. You see, because I was unemployed for a week or so and I am on the standard 2 week delay for a paycheck I will not see any money until thanksgiving. I have no more extra cash. In fact my not-so-minor transgressions at the Minus The Bear show last Friday (Such a cute zip up!) have left me “delaying” my credit card payment. And to think I have a less than average credit score.
All this could be considered par for the course but I decided I want to learn to ski this year and that takes a lot of money especially if you have no ski experience or gear. I know it is shocking that a person of my ability and class does not know how to downhill ski but in my defense, my parents are into cross country. I spent many a winter weekend skating around behind my mother on skinny ass “skis” thinking I was on a ski trip. Oh the horror of discovering in the 7th grade that other people were referring to a far more dangerous, expensive and therefore better sport when the spoke of skiing. The shock has left me dumbfounded and paralyzed until this year.
Last years terrible season (or lack of season at all) left many of my close friends sitting around with me all winter. As I watched them suffer and sat through night after night at the bar listening to them whine I thought “hey, downhill must be something a person can be addicted to!” In general I LOVE anything a person can become unhealthily addicted to and therefore I decided this was the year I would start my hopefully damaging relationship with the slopes. So now I have my determination to love skiing, my total lack of experience, my desperate withdrawal from any type of retail therapy, lots of advertising for ski gear and slopes, and absolutely no cash. Good thing I got offered overtime tomorrow while all my friends are going skiing, otherwise I might have decided to “delay” my student loan payments too.

Ok, I admit it

2005-10-28T11:48:00.000-07:00

I remember living in our top floor apartment with a view (just the bay, not the mountains but hey, it was a view) and waking up at noon to the sun in my bright, large bedroom. Aarwenn and I came and went from that space in what must have looked like a tightly choreographed ballet. I had school and a demanding job as a bartender at an upscale restaurant. It seemed like I knew everyone in the world and no one could tell me what I should do. It seemed like I had so much time. In one day I would go to work, go to class, hang out at a coffee shop, have dinner with friends, watch Law & Order and still have the energy to go downtown for martinis or to 6th Ave. for Karaoke.
All day long I could be whoever I wanted. I could change my personality for every first date. At the same time I had rituals that grounded me in my life. Every Sunday I met a friend for Sunday breakfast at 11:00. About once a week Aarwenn and I would watch Law & Order to a bottle of wine.
It seemed that my life working hare at Evil-Doers-R-Us had become mainly routine but I realized that it is not about the routine or the rituals. It is not about the hours I keep or the alcohol I consume. I have been most afraid to become me. I have been most terrified of giving up the luxury of being whoever I wanted all the time.
As my life has calmed down, I have started to make choices; big choices about who I want to be and how I want to live. It is not that I am “finding myself” it is that I am narrowing down the path that self will take. As my one year anniversary with Boyfriend approaches, I have just become aware of the fact that I really like most of my life. I really like the fact that I am me all the time. I am accepting things about myself that I have rebelled against my whole life.
I am not spontaneous. I have always wanted people to see me as spontaneous because it is fun and so care free but I don’t do well with changing plans and I do even worse with a lack of plans.
I am not good with money. Money is strange because I like it but I seem to have an intense desire to rid myself of it as quickly as possible.
I cannot drive. I wanted to be that awesome chick who can just drive the shit out of any car but honestly, I am too ADD and I burn my clutch and kill my car at lights and I really just can’t drive.
The point is this: I don’t want to leave my life of gym appointments and Netflix. I don’t want to go back to working weekends. As exciting and interesting as my life would become again, I don’t want to give up the gentle security of my generally predictable life. Sometimes I am scared about how people I know will react to my less entertaining self. I still want to go out and have drinks with my girlfriends but some how the humor of Puking on the side of the road (Tacompton T, you know that I am talking about) seems to exist better in the past.

Let's hear it for unemployment!

2005-10-27T11:05:00.000-07:00

So I have finally quit my job. (cue “Hallelujah” chorus) Tomorrow will be my last day. I must say that things are going better than expected. No one has threatened me and my supervisor said he was not surprised. Really, I’m not sure how anyone could be surprised seeing as how I am only the latest participant in the company’s growing “Jump Ship Now!” program. Still it is kind of eerie how little of an impact my departure is making.
I will be spending today and tomorrow cleaning things up. Fixing or passing off things in my long term “hold” box and updating people on my projects.
Hold the press!!!! As I am writing this I received an e-mail that our receptionist is leaving as of November. I am not making this up. This is ridiculous.
The point of all this is that you, my lovely internet friends, will no longer have to listen to me rant about my job. This might be a good thing but then again I have been told that I am at my most entertaining when I am angry. That is why I am warning you that, much like She Walks, I may become what some would call “less funny” in the near future. I will preemptively defend myself by saying that like Tacompton Tiffany, I am not here to entertain you. Oh, who am I kidding; I am here to entertain you but my first priority is me. That’s right; I am that selfish.
So I will continue to strive to bring you the best free entertainment I can. But you can expect to hear a lot more about my dog, car problems, job hunting fumbles, family issues, and general lack of skills and a lot less about my job and how much it sucks. See, I will still have plenty to say!

My Fulfillment Vacuum is on Full Power but I will Soon Have Access to a Lot of Liquor

2005-10-26T11:07:00.000-07:00

There is the slight possibility that yesterday I got completely fed up with my job and the complete lack of fulfillment it brings to my life. It is actually not just a fulfillment-less area, it is a fulfillment vacuum; sucking up fulfillment from entirely separate areas of my life. Like I will be all happy and content watching Gilmore Girls reruns at 5:00 on a Thursday and Jason (remember Jason? I liked Jason. I kind of miss him and because Luke was already a character, I feel like there is a hole in the show but this has very little to do with me) anyway so Jason will be being all worked obsessed and I will think “why am I not more into my job” and I will answer myself “because your job is worthless. You spend ½ your time convincing your company not to rip people off and then, when you fail, you spend the rest of your time attempting to not feel immensely guilty about it.” So now, out of no where, I am all upset about my job and I have missed at least 3 lines of witty banter and the fact that I have already seen this episode is no consolation. If my job can suck the fulfillment out of Gilmore Girls, it really really has to go.
So perhaps I decided that I cannot wait for any branch of the government to go through its lengthy hiring process. Perhaps I decided on a whim to apply for a bartending job just to hear someone say they might like to have me in for an interview sometime before my ovaries shrivel up and die with a defeated and pathetic sigh. Perhaps I turned in my resume, got an interview, and was offered a job all in the span of 4 hours. Now that I can throw caution to the wind and just quit; now I am scared.
So here I sit, piddling away my conscience, integrity, time, and youth. I have a back up plan. I have applications in. I am really pretty good to go, so why can’t I just tell my job to suck it and screech out of the parking lot laughing hysterically? I think it is because I still want to fix it. I still want to make this place shape up and do right. I want to make a difference damn it! I am so mad that my motivation has died along side pride in my work. Maybe after lunch I will do something for the good of humanity. Maybe I will be inspired by something outside these walls. Maybe the ultimate good of the world will revel itself to me ant hope will be rekindled in my hart forever. More likely I will over cook my left over Mac & Cheese and burn my mouth causing me to cuss with a lisp for the rest of the day.

When you are done going poop, you want to go get some Guns and Liquor?

2005-10-24T15:43:00.000-07:00

I may or may not have actually said that sentence to someone this past weekend. Sadly my diet is what has gone down the toilet. I was doing very well for quite some time and then came Halloween. Full of candy and liquor, it is Halloween, not Thanksgiving that leaves my good intentions passed out in a steamy pile of their own vomit. For this sweet toothed girl, nothing beats a good Carmel-apple-tini. It is not even Halloween yet and already I have paid for my numerous transgressions by washing my scale in a pool of my own sugary, alcoholic tears. By the time all the candy at the office is gone, I will in no way shape or form fit into my tiny costume.
I will have you know that I did go to a party this weekend. I did wear a costume. I did look great. I did not eat enough before I went. I did not drive. I did not feel well the next day. When you wake up and go to let the dog out and think you may have left your head upstairs you know it was an interesting night. When you and your friend agree that no more drinking should be done EVER for reasons no one wishes to discus, well then it is time for McDonalds.
I have McDonalds about 2 times a year. Something about the greasy nastiness of McDonalds drives the point home. The point being that I can no longer drink like I used to. The point also being that candy is the more enjoyable of the Halloween vices once you factor in massive hangovers. Lucky for me, I get to be DD for the next party. (Yeah, I know you aren’t supposed to WANT to be the designated driver but I am strange like that)
It is at this point in the post that I realize my Mother might read this. Sorry Mama.
Back to the candy. Fun sized candy really is fun. Anything that is smaller than normal is fun. Being small makes the candy seem less threatening; like your waistline will not suffer because you ate 3 small Snickers instead of 1 large one. The fact that this sense of security is an illusion really just fits into the whole Halloween theme. “It’s not real.” You can tell yourself. “Someone has rigged my scale in an effort to frighten the living daylights out of me.” (Discussion question: Are there “living nightlights” or “dying daylights”, or even “living day-darks”?) So now we have established that my Halloween will include more candy, less drinking and no scales of any kind. About the time I recover it will be time to take on Christmas cookies and hot buttered rum. Damn the gym for not being more fun.

No Parking

2005-10-19T14:32:00.000-07:00

I would bet that the majority of you have not spent enough time lauding the abilities of those who design the parking lots you use. In fact, you are probably the kind of selfish inconsiderate people who occasionally bitch about the inadequacy of parking facilities you use on a daily basis. I would like you all to know that designing a parking lot is not nearly as simple as you think it should be. It involves the government for God’s sake! Yes you can add that to your list of things to blame Bush for, not because it is his fault directly but because he is an asshole and he looks like a monkey on crack that was just whacked upside the head with a lead pipe. I believe that may be an accurate description of his day-to-day brain capacity as well but I digress.
I have spent all morning and early afternoon attempting to design a parking lot for an office building. I cannot make it work. Between planting strips and drainage calculations and square footage requirements and retaining walls, and and and the whole thing is a mess. It is a big, scary, “Where are the weapons of mass destruction?” size mess. I want to run screaming from the gargantuan pile of scraped site plans that has taken over my desk (in the most hostile of ways I might add). The frustration was really getting to me by lunch. I went out to the bathroom and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked disheveled to say the least. Not in that sexy “I might have just rolled out of bed after a long night (and perhaps morning) of amazing sex without the energy or care to make myself any more presentable” kind of way. No, this was much more like I had just been run over by a street cleaning truck at the end of his shift when the street cleaning brushes were all full of stagnant beer, bum piss, and pieces of paper people used to get dog shit off of their shoe. It was at this point I realized that I have had lots of caffeine and nothing to eat all day so I went to lunch.
It is now after lunch and I have to say that while I might look a little less like mentally deficient squirrel on meth flattened by a semi desperately clinging to one of its “I heart hooters” mud-flaps I still feel a little like I might just snap. So next time you feel like complaining about the parking lot at Safeway or your doctors office you might want to consider that fact that I could be somewhere near by and I am way overdue for some more anger management therapy.

I may have inadvertently sent my hands free headset to a remote location in hell.

2005-10-18T11:05:00.000-07:00

Never once in the entire time I have owned it have I cleaned my car. It is not that I have never cleaned OUT my car; I have. On occasion the backseat fills up and as I toss an empty soda can or superfluous stiletto into the back, it bounces off the massive conglomeration of consumer goods behind me and hits me in the head. At that point I know a purging of my vehicle is long past due. Within about a week of this realization, I will take an armful of belongings into the house and a few bags of trash out to the can. If I am feeling ambitious, I may hang a smelly tree from the rearview mirror. That is the extent of my car-keeping abilities.
Once it did occur to me to wash the outside of the car but then I realized that I have never done that. It seemed a shame to ruin that record so instead I tell people not to lean up against the car if they like their pants. I have become accustomed to the pine needles in every corner of the floor. I know where every sticky, oozing, pile of spilt Diet Coke sits as it refuses to decay at a normal rate. It may or may not be the case that I have on occasion found fries or ½ of a breakfast bar while I was searching for my checkbook or a Decemberist’s CD. I have so carefully cultivated my mess and now I feel rather attached to it.
But here is my problem, somewhere inside this previously unexplored 12th layer of hell, is the only thing standing between me and a fiery crash resulting in my own death; my hands free headset. Since Boyfriend gave it to me, I have had fewer brushes with death. In fact, I have not been honked at, yelled at, or flipped off while driving on the phone even once in the past 6 months. We had such a good thing going, me and the hands free headset. We were really getting to know each other and I’m not sure why he ran. The last time I saw him he was all tangled up with two of my scarves. I thought he may have run off with one of them but after tracking them down I discovered he had abandoned them too. After lecturing them on first date threesomes, I thought that perhaps he had left us all. Maybe during my last purge he escaped. Could it be that my earwax or breath had become unbearable? Or was I just o careless with him? So, hands free headset, if you are out there, please come home.

“Can I Just Watch the Movie?” or “Crazy Mad Bad Movie Ruining Skills”

2005-10-13T11:07:00.000-07:00

The first time I knew that Boyfriend and I were meant for each other in that cosmic kind of way was when we watched XXX (a movie staring Vin Diesel not a movie staring Jenna Jameson) together one rainy afternoon. We had been dating for a few months and had survived the holiday season, but anyone with a decent IQ and some perseverance can do that. On this particular day we were bored and a bit crabby on account of being stuck inside. We decided to watch a movie. The video store was almost an entire city block from my front door, so we decided to go though my then roommate’s (Aarwenn) DVD collection. While it has been suggested that Aarwenn and I are not two separate people but in fact a single person trapped in two bodies, this theory is strongly discredited by the fact that we do not share the same taste in movies or music. Case in point: she owns XXX. Having nothing better to do, Boyfriend and I decided to watch the movie.
Before the opening credits were over Boyfriend had systematically picked apart every second of film we had seen. Pointing out logistical flaws, repeating the comically testosterone laden catch phrases with his own sarcastic twists, and emitting a barrage of general snide comments pertaining to everything from the costumes and acting, to the cinematography and plot. I was instantly in love.
It may or may not be the case that I have been banished from watching movies with certain individuals. Aarwenn, for example, once started a movie over because I was talking over the MUSIC during the opening credits. Extreme cases such as that aside, I admit that I have a tendency to ruin movies for every one who will watch them with me. This, like all things, is ultimately my mother’s fault.
My entire life my mother has spent our TV time pointing out the logistical flaws of bad movies and shows and predicting the plot twists of everything. Her sarcastic attitude and biting commentary were iatrical parts of my viewing experience. I learned from this master how to use generally ignored clues to increase the accuracy of my predictions. How much time is left in the movie or program? How often have we seen or heard about this character? What is the music like during this section? I have gotten good enough at this to be extremely annoying. I was actually kicked out of a theatre once. Still, my mad movie ruining skills are no mach for my mother’s.
Boyfriend is the only person who I am not blood related to that can rival us in this department. Not only has he out predicted or found more logistical flaws than me once or twice but his comments are funny and clever. Even better still, we work well as a team. Often we can predict every single plot twist in a move between the two of us. Together we are quite unstoppable and even my sister (who is not a stranger to picking apart movies herself) will sometimes get annoyed.
Together we will destroy the world’s enjoyment of mediocre films. We will fill every theater with dread upon our arrival. We will drive my Father to throw out the television in protest and my Sister to run screaming from the house at the sight of a Nexflix envelope. MWAHAHAHAH!

My Mastercard May be Bi-Polar But We Are Going to Work Things Out

2005-10-11T15:15:00.000-07:00

Today I took a quiz about my relationship with debt. Now I will admit that I don’t really like debt all that much. Most people agree with me. Debt is not Mr. Personality. Still, I assumed that debt and I were in a pretty non-damaging holding pattern. Not so. Apparently I have a bad attitude.
The fact that I have a bad attitude about my job or decaf coffee or the mysterious comeback of the Mullet is no surprise but quite honestly, I had always thought that my problems with Debt were Debt’s fault. You see, he is very much like my ex who we will call James not only because that is his name but because he is such a worthless a-hole that he does not deserve to remain anonymous and if he knows about my blog and reads it, he deserves to know that I think of him as a slimy, soul sucking parasite on the ass of my personal history. You see, James and Debt are both bi-polar. Not in the way that I am bi-polar where I am either very hyper or very lazy and I use the phrase to exaggerate the actual intensity of my mood swings, but in the way where they need medication and have drastically different personalities when they are in a good or bad mood. When they are being personable they seem so wonderful. Debt is still Credit at this point. Credit is Debt’s alureing alter-ego. Credit will woo you with the promise of immediate gratification. Like James, Credit is charming and impresses your friends. He will buy all the drinks, he will get you into nightclubs, and he will take you on a Valentines Day vacation. You will feel happy, valuable, and oh so pretty but things will change.
Yes, one day you will wake up in the ghetto at 3 in the morning to a phone call from James’ lawyer telling you to clean out your bank account to bail him out of jail. One day Debt will start to pack on the interest and proceed to tell you how fat you are. One day these two will ship you off to the middle of the country with nothing and expect you to wait there while they get their shit together. They will be surprised when you tell them you are through with their BS. If you ignore them they will continually pop up and the whole mess will have gotten worse while you had your back turned. The only way to relive yourself of such ailments is to continuously chip away at destroying their power over you. If for one second you think that you could be just friends with them, they attempt to reel you back in and betray you. I think that this is a perfectly acceptable and healthy attitude to have. I think that after all the times I have let Debt get the best of me, the smartest thing to do would be to try and eliminate him all together. But apparently dealing with debt and dealing with the rank and rotting waste of oxygen you dated during high school and college require different tactics. Because moving to an entirely different state to escape Debt is not an option. Because Debt can do good things for you if you know how to coax it out of him. So I am supposed to improve my attitude toward Debt by getting to know him better. By understanding why I need him and what I can do to improve our relationship. Because unlike men, Debt can change. I read it on the internet. It must be true

Sick Week

2005-10-10T13:10:00.000-07:00

I have been gone for a week and I know you are all dieing to know why I have been ignoring you. Well I have been busy being sick. For 3 days I tried to sleep it off and for the past 2 I have been trying to ignore the lingering vestiges of my killer cold. I reward for fighting off death, I get to come back to work.
I know when I promised to quit no latter than October 7th you all cheered, knowing that the endless griping would come to an end. I know I have mislead you all and let you down but hey, I need to make money somehow and the steady stream of rejection letters I have been receiving will not pay the bills. So here I am, at work. If only someone would offer to take me hostage and feed me maggots while making me listen to the original Backstreet Boys album, maybe then I would not have to subject myself to this kind of brain killing, soul sucking, vomit inducing, torture day in and day out. I once had a debate with Aarwenn about which was more effective as a form of torture, Christina Aguilera’s music or repeated, unnecessary Lasik eye surgery; clearly our imaginations were unable to grasp the true essence of torture. Torture leaves you dreading the prospect of living to see the sun come up.
Needless to say, I am ready for lunch.
In other news I am attempting to find something to be for Halloween. Boyfriend and I are at a loss. I think he wants to be something clever that might take you a few moments to get but is wildly entertaining once you do. I want to be something as a pair where I get to look hot and if it is entertaining and clever, well that would be an awesome bonus. Any and all ideas will be considered and appreciated.

I am It

2005-10-05T09:05:00.000-07:00

In general I protest this tagging thing but because I am fickle and bored and because I really, really love music, Thanx for the tag KT! I also have been listening to the same 2 albums on repeat but mostly only in my car which saves boyfriend from my annoying obsessive behavior. Ok, it only saves him from the untimely death of his tolerance for the new Death Cab for Cutie or Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah.

And now THE RULES: List five songs that you are currently loving. It doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the songs in your blog, then 'tag' six other bloggers/friends to see what they're listening to.

Death Cab for Cuttie
1) Marching Bands of Manhattan
2) What Sarah Said

Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah
3) Let the Cool Goddess Rust Away
4) Gimmie Some Salt

Jakie Greene
5) A thing Called Rain

I am tagging anyone who reads my blog and has not been tagged.

Back to Where I Belong

2005-10-04T16:22:00.000-07:00

I would like to welcome my boyfriend back to the World Wide Web. After a very long hiatus, during which he missed the entirety of my blogging thus far, he has taken matters into his own hands and gotten internet access. I am assuming that he read at least some of this drivel I continue to spew (Discussion question: can one actually spew drivel?) because last night he asked me what the URL for my blog was.
On to less important things. It has come to my attention that I no longer spend enough time in coffee shops. There was a time not too long ago, when I was considered a fixture at several coffee shops in the area. My pockets overflowing with tips that I should have been saving for the power bill, I frequented many Starbucks locations and a few independent shops. I knew all the employees and all of them (save the most stoned of the bunch) knew what I drank. In the past 2 weeks I have found that people I know personally work in coffee shops I used to practically live at and I had no idea.
I miss open mike nights. I miss eating carrot cake and vegan tofu scrambles with bacon for breakfast. I miss the perfect headspace for writing that one can only achieve by alternating pots of high caffeine tea and good glasses of wine for an entire Sunday night. I miss writing clever things on napkins to leave behind for the next customer.
From now on I plan on spending at least 3 hours a week in a coffee shop. Whether I read, write, participate in open mike night, or just generally spew my normal drivel I think I my feel better about my place in the universe if that place is more often in a coffee house. Besides, unlike myself, they have turned their heat on and it is getting cold out there.

Who Fucked up America?

2005-09-30T10:25:00.000-07:00

I live next door to a bar. I have lived next door to this particular bar most of my life. There are times when it is noisy and I want all of the patrons to simultaneously choke on their PBR and die but for the most part I find the murmurings of my fellow city dwellers comforting. Sometimes, like the other night, I find their antics downright amusing.
2 days ago there was an argument at the bar that had to be “taken outside.” Two men, both clearly drunk (although one much more so than the other) stood outside yelling at one another. Actually it was mostly the more drunk one yelling. He was telling the other man all the things that were fucked up about America. More accurately, he was telling the other man that HE was the thing that fucked up America. Apparently the less drunk man had single handedly ruined this great country. That is, until my neighbor came home.
She pulled up in front of the house parked the wrong way and sent her daughter in to grab some videos that needed returning. This was too much for the more drunk man. He pointed at my neighbor and told her SHE was what fucked up America. She did not respect the rules that granted her the freedoms of being an American. She was an ungrateful and spiteful woman with no respect for her country.
At this point we find out that the two drunk, arguing men are actually friends. The less drunk man attempts to persuade the more drunk man to head home with him. In between his slurred and broken attempts to convince the more drunk man to go, he would throw apologies over his shoulder at my neighbor. Finally, tempting the more drunk man with a stop and Jack-In-The-Box, it appeared as though they would be leaving. Alas, nothing is really that easy. The more drunk man swiveled his head back at my neighbor and yelled “I hope a cop comes by and gives you a ticket!” to which she replied “I hope a cop pulls you over while you drive your drunk ass home!” Seemingly perplexed by this previously unconsidered possibility, he was led back to his car by his friend. His friend continued to sputter out half apologies as he made his way to his own car.
I think that the more drunk man had a point and we could all learn a lesson from him. Clearly SOMEONE has fucked up America. But the more fucked up we get, the more blurred our vision becomes. If we continue to blame our allies and neighbors for our problems, we will be packed up, sputtering and complaining in our own delusion, and sent off to meet our fate alone.

Smoking in the Rain

2005-09-30T08:00:00.000-07:00

This post is dedicated to Jacob who once (actually more than once) told me that smoking is committing suicide for the lazy and non committal. It is also dedicated to my friend T (who is lazy) and Aarwenn (who is non-committal) who both smoke. (I love you guys)

I am considering going to have a cigarette. Somehow this seems like an important decision.

I might go have a cigarette because I am bored. It is not even 10:30 and I am ready to call it a day. More accurately I am ready to chew my own leg off and escape. Sadly the things keeping me here are stronger than a steal bear trap; I need the money.

I am thinking I might not go have a cigarette because I don't really want one. I don't smoke all that much (6-5 cigarettes a week) and I rarely smoke at all before 5 pm.

Then again, I might go have one because I could get out of the office. If I can't run from the building screaming "Die you money grubbing, capitalist whores!" while simultaneously ripping my Express professional wear off of my body and flipping everyone the bird, the least I can do is stand outside the door blowing smoke into client's faces.

But it might not be worth having a smoke because it is raining outside and I would get wet. Somehow smoking in the rain makes you smell worse and I have a lunch meeting latter today.

On the other hand, a cigarette could really calm me down. Maybe I would come back to my desk merely suicidal rather than homicidal.

Well. I think that settles it. I am going to go stand in the rain and smoke because smoking makes you cool, rebellious, mysterious and thin; and because doing it in the rain makes you seem more depressed and pathetic but if you can master the right glowering stare into space while you stand in the rain, you might fool someone into thinking you aren't just depressed and pathetic but also a little crazy and close to snapping. Everyone knows that inciting glowering, smoking, city people dressed in black while they are smoking is apt to get you a burning butt in the eye. Man I hope someone gives me to opportunity to do that.

Another One Bites the Dust

2005-09-27T08:41:00.000-07:00

In totally unrelated news, I just got an e-mail that a woman who I work with has decided to take her career in a different direction and will no longer work here as of today. That is the 4th person in an office of 13 to leave since I started here in May. That is almost one per month; practically ¼ the office in one season. I need a new job.

Packing it on.

2005-09-27T08:32:00.000-07:00

This weekend I went on a backpacking trip with my Father. Master planner that I am, I am still in the habit of deferring to the judgment of my parents in their particular areas of expertise. If I am going through and emotional struggle I call my mother for perspective and if I am going on an outdoor trip with my Father I let him plan it. The fact that I cannot walk today (2 days after the conclusion of this latest trip) is surprising to me only because of my own stubborn refusal to learn from experience.
My Father has been doing this my entire life. At 3 years old I was expected to carry my own clothes and a large bag of M&Ms for 3 to 4 mile hikes. If I were to complain the M&Ms would be taken away. Oh, the torture. At 6 years old I was expected to endure 3 day cross country ski trips. At 8 I began leading sport routes in rock climbing. When I was 11 I rode the Seattle to Portland. . . in one day (at least I was on the back of a tandem.) At 14 I was given a road bike and after riding it twice, I cried my way over Blewett pass; yes, a mountain pass my third time on the bike. At 16 I disappointed my Father by refusing to finish climbing Mt Adams with a black eye and no depth perception.
My father’s limitless expectations have, in many ways, helped me to achieve great things. I think that my refusal to roll over and play dead is mostly due to his pushing me. I love that about myself and I would not change it for the world. Still, as I sit here grinding my teeth through every Charlie horse, I wonder if this is still necessary.
This last weekend we were going to hike into the Enchantments (eastern side of the northern Washington cascades) and camp at Leprechaun Lake. We were going to climb Prussic Peak and Boyfriend and I would hike out Sunday. My Father and his 2 buddies were going to stay for a week and do some more climbing. This sounded fine to me. The problem was I did not look at what a hike into Leprechaun Lake would entail. The hike into Leprechaun Lake is a little over 11 miles with a 6,000 ft elevation gain. That is almost 500 ft per mile. Factor in that I have been at a calorie deficit for a month and that my newly sedentary lifestyle awards me about 5 hours of physical activity a week and you have set the stage for disaster.
The hike was beautiful but I barley had time to stop and look. The men were ahead of me the entire time so I was hiking alone and under pressure to catch up. When we hit the last 4 miles the hike became less of a hike and more of a series of scrambles connected by small patches of trail and marked by piles of rocks. For those of you who do not hike or climb, this means that I was pulling myself up rock faces, often needing hand holds, with no rope and a 40+ lb. pack on. Add to this, the fact that everyone in my party was so far ahead I could not see them and the sun was beating down on the treeless mountain side. To make a long story short (and to spare you my humiliation) we will just say that I barley made it. In fact, I only made it fueled by my own anger. I refused to go climbing in the morning because I was sure I would not make the hike out by nightfall if I was tired from climbing already. I think my Dad knew it was all too much because for the first time in history, he did not try to talk me into it. I think we have all learned some lessons here. Next time I want a close look at the itinerary.

Get ME Outta Here!

2005-09-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

I did not go back to work. I went to the doctor who confirmed my suspicion that my headaches were migraines. He gave me a few samples to try and prescriptions for each with instructions to try them all and pick the one that worked best. Then he told me to find a new job and read a book on centering. Apparently my stress levels are high, who knew?
I have found several jobs I would prefer; the trick is convincing them that they would prefer me. I have decided that no matter what the outcome of this most recent job search, I will be quitting this job as soon as I pay my bills and use up my vacation. I took Monday off for no good reason.
We will now have a play by play of my ongoing job hunt.
#1 job pick, City of Tacoma – Urban Planner
This one is a 15 min WALK from my house (Stadium district side of downtown for those of you from Tacoma). I would work for the city I love and make a ton more money than I make now. Also I would get government holidays.
#2 job pick, Puget Sound Regional Council – Associate Planner
I would get to work in downtown Seattle so I could commute by bus or train and read during traffic. It is part time with full benefits (including holidays but no vacation) and pays enough that I would STILL make more money than I do now working less hours.
#3 job pick, AHBL – Secondary Planner
This is 5 min from my house (Old Town). This is a private company that is the recognized regional leader in green and low impact development. Their mission statement focuses on creating good people and environments rather than on satisfying demanding clients (I think ours actually says that).
#4 Job pick, Kitsap County – Associate Planner
This job is part time but again, I would be making more per hour so I would take home the same amount of money. No mention of benefits in the announcement so I would have to ask. The commute is killer (Port Orchard is 45 min away on a good day). Still, I would be working for a jurisdiction and I would get more time off. Also Kitsap County is a good place to make a difference environmentally because of the conflict between the rural and the rich out there.
Those are the jobs I have applied for. My friend T who just got hired at Pierce County (15 min max from my house) says they should be hiring soon too. I am faxing my resume to her today.
UPDATE: As I was about to post this I was contacted my AHBL. They want to interview me next week! Good thing I took Monday off.

Head Splitting Hooky

2005-09-21T11:01:00.000-07:00

I am writing this from a coffee shop at 11:00 on a Wednesday morning. I was supposed to be at work today. I really even planned on going but the alarm going off nearly split my head in two. The throbbing did not stop once I turned the alarm off. When I got out of bed and turned on the light I was struck down with a rod of lightning. The flash ripped behind my right eye tearing a hole through my brain from it to my right ear. Yum, morning migraine.
This has happened before. So I turned the light off and started to get ready for work. First I chugged down 3 times the suggested dosage of some over the counter migraine pills. Then I went to take a shower in the dark.
Brilliant.
I fell over twice, each time the migraine pills laughed at me. “We won’t help your headache go away! We will just burn holes in your stomach!” That plus the dizzy felling made me decide that the universe it trying to tell me something. DON’T GO TO WORK! Too much stress and nothing to make me happy until I get home has begun to take a rather large toll on my health.
I called work and told them I had a migraine and I might be in latter.
I went back to bed.
I woke up at 8:45 feeling like a bed of fresh roses (that is I smelled good and looked better but if you were to disrupt me in any way I would have ripped a thousand tiny holes in your flesh just to watch you bleed)
I decided to go downtown and use the Internet at a coffee shop to send in some applications. It is time for a new job. But I have finished that and now I am faced with the question, do I go into work now that I am feeling better? Probably I should. Damn.

Philosophy of Pool Bobbing

2005-09-16T10:11:00.000-07:00

I love my birthday. I like having people make a big deal about my existence. I like the cards, and the singing and the food and wearing stupid hats at Mexican chain restraints while middle class white kids whose parents are making them learn “work ethic” by having a part time job, sing Feliz Cumpleaños to me in horrible Spanish. I like pictures of myself (even in said hat) and I like presents.
I have heard this rumor that I am no longer supposed to like my birthday. There is some point were I am supposed to start hating as a symbol of my impending death. I am choosing to look at my birthday as a marker of success. I mean, for better or worse, I have made it through another year. Whatever I think about becoming older or my prospects for the future, I have at least managed to remain alive for another 365 days. Isn’t that worth something? It is a personal record to say the least, right?
So maybe I am getting older. So maybe my prospects are shrinking and my thighs are expanding. But I have a plan; and more importantly, I have a goal.
I think we learn to hate our Birthdays because they become a reminder of the things we cannot dream about anymore. I have given up my 4 year old dream of growing up to be the worlds fastest flying Pegasus. I have moved on from my middle school dream of following in Mariah Carey’s footsteps. I have left behind the high school idea that I could start a non-profit and stop world hunger. I have even modified my college goals of becoming a lawyer who stamps out injustice during the week and writes thought provoking, life altering, philosophically entertaining novels on the weekends. But my birthday is not about the limitations that my previous life choices have put on me. No, it is about achieving my ultimate life goal of becoming a Pool Bobber.
Not since the moment that this goal has entered my realm of consciousness have I even once wavered in my dedication to achieving it. I remember that during a visit to the YMCA one summer my friend and I were shocked to see the fattest women in the world waddle out in a line onto the pool deck. Their pasty, cellulite pocked flesh moved about their frames in rippling waves as they walked. Their shamelessness struck me as courageous. With each thunderous step they proudly declared their right to wear a bathing suit. As they walked past the lap pool to the smaller “therapy” pool I realized that these women have more self esteem than anyone I had ever seen. They were not hurrying past us, ashamed of themselves. They were not detoured by our open mouthed stares. They seemed safe and comfortable in their mountains of flesh. Once they reached to therapy pool they wrapped pieces of special foam around their arms and one of them turned on a boom box. She then began to yell over the music; instructing the others to do hokey-pokey type moves bringing their arms in and out of the water as they bounced up and down slowly in time to the music.
I decided then and there that this was what I wanted out of my life. I wanted to gorge myself on all life had to offer. I wanted to bloat myself with the spoils of a life well lived. Then I wanted to walk around proudly and quietly enjoying the enormous mass of all I had collected. I wanted to whorishly display it to everyone who would look. I wanted to bounce up and down, dancing and splashing in my gluttonous collection of self and surroundings with my friends.
That is why I will continue to celebrate my birthday every year as long as I live. Because no matter how old I am, no matter how many milestones have come and gone, I still have that picture of those women in my mind. I will celebrate my path to Pool Bobbing as it unfolds and once I reach my goal, I will celebrate every step I took to get there.

On Gas Prices, Fred Myer, and Marrige Proposals

2005-09-15T15:46:00.000-07:00

Last night the man checking my groceries proposed to me. This is the third time I have been proposed to, the second time I have said no, and the only time I have said no graciously. I am inclined to believe that the proposal was a joke but that may just be because the whole situation was uncomfortable and if it were a joke I might feel a little better about it. Whatever the case, I know you want the story now.
In the exciting world that is my life, Wednesdays are personal training days. This means that I generally go from work to the gym and then home to make dinner. After dinner I read or watch Law & Order for an hour before I go to bed. All this was derailed by rising gas prices.
I used to be the kind of person who, no matter how little I made, refused to care about gas prices. I used my car very little and I filled the tank when it was empty at the nearest gas station at the time. Sure, if there were 2 gas stations next to each other I might decide to go to the cheaper one but if the difference was 1 cent a gallon I might decide based on the proximity of a food mart or the fact that I would not have to make a left hand turn to get into one of them. However, I cannot help but notice $3.oo a gallon gas. So I needed gas on the way to work and I stopped at the nearby shell station but only got 3 gallons at their outrageous price (which I might add is only barley over ½ the average price of gas in European countries) and I planned on stopping at Fred Myer to get gas on the way home.
For those of you who don’t have Fred Myers I am sorry. It is kind of hard to explain to someone who has never been to one. It is like a Target-Rite Aid-Safeway-Ben Bridge (yes, they have a fine jewelry store) Hybrid with a better wine section, and entire health and bulk foods department, no cute clothes and really cheep gas (Cheaper than Safeway or Albertsons but more expensive than Costco). I love it about ¾ as much as I love Target but for totally different reasons.
So I’m getting gas at Fred Myer in my gym shorts and my work sweater (I was cold) when I remember that it is payday and I am out of Yerba Mate (not to mention food in general) so I decide to go inside. I may not have planned to go grocery shopping at that time, but I am a Virgo and a planner for a living so I had a list (yes a physical, on paper list) with me anyway. So I gathered up fruit (at least 3 kinds), carrots, stir fry veggies, salad mix (with spinach), tofu (baked and raw), detox tea, yerba mate (mint), special K bars, soy nuts, pasta, pasta sauce, light bulbs, tupperware, toilet paper, swiffer cloths, razors, shampoo, and conditioner. Apparently, this neurotic looking mix of things is attractive to some people. I think is says “I have no sense of adventure and spend my money trying to be boring and thin.” But the checker heard something different entirely. Perhaps it was my gym shorts which are supposed to look like boxers but, due to their bright purple color and the letters “U of W” embossed squarely on the ass, are clearly girls pajama/gym shorts. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition those shorts and my fine knit, cream wool turtleneck. Then again, it could have been the food.
My sister seems to think that the Fred Myer checkers are overly forward in general. They tend to ask what your plans for the day are based on what you are buying or comment on how they love this or really wanted to try that particular thing you are buying. Once, one of them even lectured me on the evils of alcohol when I was buying beer for a party. So when this particular checker begin a conversation with me about UW and how I liked it there I was not particularly on guard. Even when the conversation turned to whether I liked my job, I was not alarmed. When he asked me if I wanted to get married and have kids I was simply confused. In fact it was not until he offered to fill the position of my husband that I was alarmed. I answered him first with only a nervous smile. He then told me that he was ready when ever I was and that I wait as long as I wanted. I composed myself and told him that when I was ready, all the right people would hear about it. Not my most witty comeback ever, but at least I was nice, which is something new and different for me. I would have told him that I was waiting for a bigger ring than he could ever afford or that I don’t date people shorter than me (neither of which are true) but I have been in a good mood lately and my normal spiteful comments are often only funny if you are me. Thank God no one else is me.

I Love Fall Walks, Target, and Romance

2005-09-13T12:00:00.000-07:00

I had a fabulous weekend; Perhaps the best in recent history. To avoid confusion, we will go in chronological order.
Friday~
After work I called Boyfriend. He was at my house waiting for me! When I got home we took Taj to the park for over an hour. After that, Taj and I went over to T’s house. I was supposed to take her to pick up her brand new car (they were installing a sunroof). They did not have her car yet but I did get to go to the Subaru dealership and check out all the 06 models of all the cars I want. After that it was back to the house to get ready for a night out with Boyfreind’s work friends. I had never met these people before so I called in reinforcements. That way if they were boring or annoying I would still have someone to talk to. My cousin N came with us. He is a little younger than me and kind of a looker so going out with him is lots of fun. He can drink, he is modest and I have no fear that he is just trying to get in my pants. We had fun with the work friends but moved the party to the neighborhood bar to meet up with Aarwenn, TheBoy, and another friend of theirs and mine. I had too much to drink and had a good time. Strangely, I realized that going “out” is no longer really my thing. I think I would have had more fun for less money inviting everyone over for drinks. Its comforting to know that as my lifestyle is outgrowing the party, party, party mode, so are my tastes.
Saturday~
I got up and Boyfriend made me breakfast of French toast with real maple syrup and a fruit smoothie. My sister and I cleaned the whole house. I ran errands and then went on a gorgeous fall day walk with Aarwenn and the Dogs (also one of the highlights of my weekend). We went to Starbucks, a newish record store, and a pet boutique. All some of my favorite things to do! And all of those stores save Starbucks allow dogs inside! I canceled a Sushi Party dinner with friends to go hang out in Oly with Boyfreind. We took a walk at sunset (that’s 2 walks in one day for me!) another highlight of my weekend. We ended up at one of our favorite bookstores and as we were walking up to the front door, a group of guys drove by in a truck and yelled out the window at Boyfreind “I want to do your wife!” This made me happy for 2 reasons. One, I am hot (I have been losing weight) and two, we look solid as a couple to other people. After spending sometime at the bookstore we begin the walk home. The bay was shinning in the moonlight and the capitol building was all lit up and I just thought “I could live like this and be happy.” Then a Friend of Boyfreind called to invite us to poker night. We went, Boyfreind won, I drank a lot (again) and our host graciously took the sofa so we could sleep in his bed and not have to drive home.
Sunday~
We woke up at 11. We went to Boyfreind’s house where he made me lunch and then he got ready to go to the wedding of an old friend of mine with me. We went to Target (I love Target) to buy a wedding gift. Then I went to my Mom’s house to have her take in the dress I wanted to wear. My sister was there and so was my dog. The dog has apparently gained some notoriety in the community. My sister said that while she was enjoying the sun and some coffee at Tully’s she was approached my 6 different groups of people to admire the dog. One of which recognized him from the record store on Saturday. Another of which was attending the same wedding as me latter that night. I did my make up while my Mom finished my dress then Boyfreind came to get me and we went to Target again (I love Target) to buy me new shoes.
The wedding was beautiful and extremely well done. The reception was TONS of fun. I found out that M (who has been my friend since 3rd grade) and her longtime boyfriend are now engaged. I danced with Boyfreind. I threw my diet out the window and had great food and cake. I drank champagne. Finally, in a obviously planned orchestration of efforts on the part of at least 10 of my friends, I ended up with the bouquet. We didn’t get home until late and went to seep happy on all fronts.

Oh Taj! I pine for you as I once Pined for "Holiday Shimmer Barbie"!

2005-09-09T16:04:00.000-07:00

I miss my dog. I have been home from Hawaii for a few days now but I really miss my dog. I have not unpacked, I have not gone grocery shopping (which I desperately need to do), I have not done laundry or dishes, and I definitely have not talked to my dog. He is not ignored. He gets plenty of attention from my sister and all of her friends. My Cousin brought his dog, yogi (a stout little puff ball of a mutt whom I love) over to play with my dog Taj but I was only there for ½ hour.
When I get up and let Taj out and feed him I can tell. When I come home after work with only enough time to change and go to the gym for my appointment with Trainer, I can tell. When I get home from the gym and am so tired I just make dinner and shower before collapsing into bed, I can tell. He knows that I miss him. He is waiting for me to have time for him. He seems to regard me with the sad sincerity of a child comforting their distraught parent. “I know” he says when really he has no clue.
Yesterday when I came home he was so happy to see me. He jumped up and down in place and did spin moves as he ran to the back door. When I let him out and did not accompany him but rather went to change for the gym he followed me back inside. He followed me up the stairs and while I looked for some gym shorts, he collapsed on his dog bed in the corner, expelling a huge sigh as if to say “I know, you are busy. Its fine, I will just lay here until you have time to be my friend.”
So I miss my dog. I miss him more than when I was gone. Its like the time I was in the 3rd grade and my aunt bought me this collectors edition Barbie. We did not have such toys. We always got “Tropical Fun Barbie” who came in a swim suit and cost $4.99. “Peaches and Cream Barbie” was simply out of our league. So when I got “Holiday Shimmer Barbie” for Christmas all I wanted to do was take her out of the box and feel the sparkling shining dress and look at her especially over the top make up and hair, up close. But my mom said I had to call my aunt and ask her if I could open the box. I remember thinking that I had never heard of such a ridiculous requirement. Who bought you a Christmas gift and expected it to stay in the box? Well apparently my aunt did. She told me it would be worth something someday if I left it in the box. At the time I was disappointed but I wanted to do the right thing so my mother put it on top of my wardrobe and Barbie smiled at me everyday. She knew that I wanted to free her. She was disappointed in my decision but understood. She waited patiently and about 2 weeks latter I told my mom that I didn’t care how much she would be worth; I wanted to play with my toy.
The beautiful sparkling, shining dress fell apart and her over the top hair became frizzy and tangled. Aside from the emerald green eye shadow (all the others had varied shades of blue) she was indistinguishable from all the “Tropical Fun” Barbie’s in no time.
The point is that my dog looks at me with that knowing smile because he can tell that I REALLY REALLY want to play with him. And he knows I will. The second point is that it is not only white trash to buy Barbie’s as collector’s items; it is also cruel to give them to children. It is much healthier to give them a dog.

George and I agree? This IS a disaster!

2005-09-07T07:54:00.000-07:00

Last night, for the first time ever, I agreed with George W. Bush. I was watching coverage of the hurricane clean-up/rescue efforts while doing my cardio at the gym and the president was talking about what the next steps for these efforts would be on the part of the national government. Some reporter asked him how he planed on addressing accusations that the appointment of the current FEMA director was not based on qualifications but on bureaucratic nepotism and payoffs. The president responded by saying that there would be plenty of time to play the blame game but right now they were going to focus on relief efforts.
I understand that this was probably just his way of dodging some legitimate concerns and when it does come time to play the blame game I will have a lot to say but for right now I agree. This is a natural disaster and if an earthquake had devastated the Seattle metro area I would be enraged that the news coverage wanted to discuss the ins and outs of WHY things are falling apart instead of HOW to put things back together.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

2005-08-31T14:05:00.000-07:00

I am going to Hawaii. I will not be entertaining you all for a week. I’m not sure how you will make do but rest assured any survivors of my hiatus will be rewarded with more of my pathetic rambling as soon as I return. In the meantime I suggest these exercises to hold you over . . .

1. Imagine that you have the ability to blink one and only one person in the world from existence. The catch is, they must be alive now and it cannot be anyone you know personally. (You know them personally if they have ever had any phone number of yours) You could pick the guy who bags your groceries or the crazy lady at Nazi Teriyaki (all you North enders know what I’m talking about) You could choose a political leader or the bum who bugs you for change every day. Just respond to this post telling me who and why.

2. Try to sing at least one verse of “Zippity-Do-Dah” with a whole Banana in your mouth. (Tip: breathe through your nose and don’t laugh)

3. Chose one friend or co-worker whom you have known for a long time and suddenly begin calling them by the wrong name. Do this until they correct you. At that point, explain that you think the new name suits them better and they should probably have it changed.

If you are still bored you can try the banana thing again with a different song or you can just think about how much fun I am having in the sun, on the sand, dehydrating myself with drinks that have 10 syllables in their names and come with their own parasols. Just know that I won’t be thinking about you at all. Not even a little.

I have been tagged

2005-08-29T15:37:00.000-07:00

I know it is risky with such a new blog and zero readership but I am protesting this whole “Tagging” thing. I refuse to participate. I did those damn E-mails in High school and college where you write down everything trivial and meaningless about yourself and send it to everyone who never cared and I am done. So I’m sorry. I would live to fill out that list and post it for everyone to read but. . . um. . . I just don’t want to.

How to Get Started Getting Un-Fat

2005-08-25T15:46:00.000-07:00

I take it back. You know when I wrote in the post about the Violent Femes show that I had never paid so much money to be so uncomfortable? Well I have set that record again. After my first personal training session it hurts to type. After my first work out I was forced to attend what my friend T referred to as a “get un-fat rally” Where they had little stands and lot of streamers and talked about commitment and improving your life and everyone there was way bigger than me and kept telling me how thin I was. You would think that would make me happy but it in fact does not. I can deal with packing on a few extra pounds and I can deal with having to work them off but I cannot deal with being told I am crazy for thinking that I could lose some weight. I used to be ok with being crazy when it was part of my “I’m hot and barely legal so you will put up with me even though I’m insufferable” routine. Since then I have grown a brain and some very large thighs. I have quit smashing beer bottles, threatening men with castration (at least in public places), and thinking that I look hot chugging Jose Cuervo out of ½ gallon bottles. I am not fat AND crazy.
So back to my “get un-fat rally” All the trainers were there and they each had their own little stand and they each got to torture you in their own special way. It started with the measurements. A woman who actually goes by the name Xena because of her striking resemblance to the TV show (I am not making this up I swear) character pulled my clothes around and shouted my measurements at a timid looking blonde guy who wrote them down and handed me the paper.
I was then shuffled off to the next station where a woman named Mallory who actually had the Air Jordan symbol tattooed on the one calf and the Nike swoosh on the other (still not making this up) put me on a scale and asked “how much do you weigh?” Um. . .let me think. . . Oh if only we had a scale. Hey what is this I am standing on? Look, a scale! Seriously, isn’t she supposed to tell me that? But I humor her and say “140 maybe a bit more” to which she replies “what did you just eat or something?” “no” I say and for the first time in an hour of standing in this echoing gym everyone seems quiet as Mallory the human billboard says “Do you weigh yourself naked or something” like that is strange or any of her business. I took my paper back from her and she had written my weight down as 141. Was that one pound really that big of a deal? No wonder the line was moving like molasses.
On to the fat pinching man. With a pair of calipers, this man found every roll of fat on my body and measured it. When he got to my hips I told him to do the left side because I have uneven hips and that results in uneven love handles. I always have the left side measured for accuracy but he had to sneer at me and ask “is that side bigger?” and jab my right hip with his claws of torture. “no” I said “the left side is the fat side” he stood back to stare at my love handles and then went on with his job, sufficiently satisfied that I was humiliated (and a little fatter on my lefts rather than right side.)
After that they give you a meal plan that says you can under no circumstances eat anything on the table of snacks that is your next stop. So as I walked past the table of food I could not have (but had totally been charged for) I drank some more water out of a Nalgine bottle that said “I’m so happy I could shit” on it. That sticker had never made so much sense to me before.
At the next stand sat Trainer. The same stupid smile was plastered on his face as he calmly explained to me that he was going to take my “before” picture. I do not remember this being part of the deal. Suddenly I did want to smash beer bottles and threaten him with castration right then and their in public and then I would probably need to drink heavily enough to chug Jose Curevo out of whatever container it was offered to me. But I refrained from doing any of those things (mainly because I had no beer bottles knives or Tequila on me at the time) and instead tried to smile for the camera.
After dogging the high pressure salesmen at the vitamin counter I turned in my stat sheet and Polaroid and went home where I loudly told my new meal plan to “go fuck itself” and had cheesy eggplant parmesan lasagna and a sparks for dinner. I’ll eat dry tuna and rice pilaf tonight.