A List, and a Short Post

Things I did this weekend:

1. Washed my sheets and futon cover (read: ALSO a sheet).
2. Vacuumed!
3. Got Titan de-furred!
4. WASHED AND VACUUMED MY CAR. Which really needed it.

And I'd like to thank the City of Seattle for all of this. For allowing me to be a yuppie. Which may be the easy way out, but at least it got done, right?

Was that hard to understand?

I'll try again. In the middle of watching a very nice team of men washing and vacuuming out my car, I called T-Town (the girl, not the city). "Seattle is amazing," I said. "How so?" she said.

Let me put it this way: in Tacoma, which is quite a large city on the general scale but still smallish in terms of services, I had a house. And a yard. And a dog brush, and a hose, and soap. While I COULD take my car to be washed professionally--i.e., pay someone else to do it, because it's not like we're talking about the Daytona crew here--it seemed like a waste. I had space! I had parking! My hose reached all the way to my car! Besides, who was I to say, "Oh, I don't need the exercise/chance to prance around in my bikini/impetus to stay looking good in my bikini."

(Speaking of, has anyone else seen that incredibly on-point Women's Health Magazine commercial? The commercial is awesome, but the magazine is tripe--and I've eaten tripe. Their opening article this month is: Can You Be...Slimmer??? Yes, I can, once I throw up all over your magazine.)

But I digress. The point is, I had a do-it-yourself dogwashing place and a yard and a dog comb to brush Titan out, and a hose, and SPACE. I had space.

Here in Seattle, I have two parking spots--one in back of the other in a narrow column. My landlord has a hose--but it won't reach to the parking lot below the apartment building. I still have a dog brush--but no place to brush Titan out unless I drive him out to a park or forest and brush him out there.

Fortunately, in a big city, you can just...PAY someone to do all that for you!

Not that I couldn't have done that in Tacoma, like I said, but...in Seattle, I have no choice. Really. REALLY. I have no choice. Especially with my car.

So I pay people to do stuff I can't do for myself and do my best to shake off the Yuppie Shadow that haunts me, every day.

In other news:

I may have a tennis partner! (Note to self: Get racket!)

I changed my tagline. (Look, it's different!)

Re-arranged my ENTIRE apartment! (Because the metrosexual across the hall is showing me up. And this Cannot Happen.) (Hi, Neighbor!)

Bought Snacks and Wine. That I will Not Touch Without Company. (Because when the world comes to you, you'd better have something to offer them.)

I have issues. It's been verified by two independent--and yet identically-named--sources.

"You have ISSUES, girl," said the seventeen-year-old victim of incest that I'm mentoring. "And I know issues!"

"You are a piece of work," said T-Town. "You know that?"