Yes, it's Cute...but Can I Wear it to the Office?

In Which I Write About Titan, Part The First

2012-01-31T09:44:00.000-08:00

I'm going to post about Titan here, for many reasons, and, (Spoiler alert) if you like dogs, or know me well, or know TITAN well, or cry easily, make sure you’re in a private place, or skip this post until later.

(Don't say I didn't warn you.)

Ready? Okay, pet owners, and everyone: I'm writing this all out because at some point, you will need to know how to deal with a dying pet, and...everyone's reactions will be different. Your reactions, whatever they are, or will be, ARE SO FUCKING VALID, because...well, read on.

For those of you who don’t know, Titan had an unexpected, and very scary, unknown event happen to him on Saturday night. All I know is, I watched him—in what seemed like slow-motion—collapse, rear end hitting the ground first—in my apartment hallway. And when I ran to him to help him up, he vehemently shied away from my touch.

It was then that I realized his pupils were beyond dilated and he was temporarily blind and also had lost any control of his hindquarters.

I screamed at him for a while, in my apartment hallway, giving him orders: Do NOT die on me, you fucking weakling, I should have left you at the pound 13 years ago, if THIS is how you repay me, get the FUCK up, don’t you do this to me. DON’T you do this to me. I have to go to a fancy party in an hour, I did NOT plan on putting you down tonight, don’t you leave me here, on Earth, without you, DON’T YOU LEAVE ME HERE, I can’t live without you, I CAN’T live without you, DON’T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!

Then I realized I probably wasn’t accomplishing anything and bodily forced him into my car.

I fought my broken clutch on my way to the ER, through the stop-and-go traffic of the Wallingford section of 45th at 7:30 pm on a Saturday night, thinking my dog was going to die at any second. In case you were thinking about trying that soon for your own amusement, my advice is:
Don’t.

Many, many, things happened after that, including me carrying on with life*, not sure if my dog was going to make it or not. On Saturday night, it seemed like he would; they assumed he had ingested some kind of dog neurotoxin (which could be a LOT of things in your medicine cabinet, including NSAIDs) due to the rapid onset. Which also made sense to me. (Note: Two patients who came in after me had to put their cats down, and let me tell you—it was a small office. The obvious pain was...a little awful.)

Back to Titan: They were going to keep him overnight, pump him with fluids and activated charcoal, and run some tests. Fine. Okay. I went home and did the fastest primp job ever, trying to cover up my swollen eyelids. (LOTS of yellow-tinted eyeshadow primer, ladies.)**

2 am Sunday morning, they had tested for every known dog toxin under the sun and were no longer sure what had happened. Obviously pancreatitis, possibly pancreatic cancer, probably some colitis, we’ll call you when we know more. We’re not sure he’s going to make it; we don’t know what’s wrong. That was...a rough night. Shall we just say.

At 8 am Sunday morning, they still didn’t know what had happened, but he was improving; Sunday afternoon, even more promising; Sunday evening, he was *totally* surviving! Stable! Talking! Talking quite loudly, actually! Please come pick him up before we all go deaf! (Titan has his own language, as everyone who has met him knows. Still haven’t found a damned interpreter.) Except...we (the vet) don’t know why he had that event, and you should probably take him to see a neurologist, because problems that cause Serious Neurological Events don’t usually fix themselves. (Excuse my black comedy; it’s a survival mechanism. If you’re offended, fuck you.)

So, after meeting with the veterinary neurologist (yes, I am now the kind of person who gets a neurologist for her *dog*--and we won’t make any jokes about how I probably need it more than he does) I know the truth: he probably has a few months of high quality life left, maybe even a year or longer***. I know what symptoms/turning points to look for, and I have options A, B, and C at every one of those turning points, if and when they happen****. How he’s doing: he’s doing fine right now—he’s sleeping a lot, but he seems happy and comfortable, and he has plenty of appetite, once I got the right food*****. I’m crossing my fingers.

How I’m doing: I feel…fey. I mean, I thought in the middle of Sunday that I was going to have put him down RIGHT THEN, so…when he got better, and I didn’t have to, I felt incredibly relieved, but also pretty apprehensive, like: I have no idea what happened, it could happen again, what the heck am I going to do, when will it end, when will I *know*, what if, what if, WHAT IF. And now, after the neurologist, I have some answers, which, on top of the incredible sense of relief I had after he unexpectedly improved, has made me almost manic******.

This man has been my lifeline for the past 8 years, since I graduated from college. He has been my anchor. My rock. My guiding star, my reason for living, my boyfriend, my priest, my ball-and-chain, my roommate, my heating blanket, my reason for cursing, my expense, my sacrifice, and now, he has emerged as my rather slow-acting…heart. The outward extension of my emotions, my lightning rod, my canary in a coal mine. He’s the most wonderful, and the most frustrating, experience I have ever had. And while he’s very alive right now, at some point in the next year, he will die.

So: expect me to cycle rapidly through the “stages” of grief at some point in the next few weeks/months/years, and by “cycle” I mean “I may experience any of them at any moment, at any second." I’m thinking about carrying color-coded flash cards, so I can just hold one up when I know what I’m feeling, which in ITSELF assumes that I’ll know what I’m experiencing, which is a big assumption. For example: yesterday my ski gear didn’t fit, because I’ve lost weight, and I was so pissed that I was losing that much weight that I hurled my motorcycle boot against the wall and left a dent. (Hope my apartment super isn’t reading this. Hi, James!)

I hope you get/got to meet my Man, and I hope I don’t take it out on you too much, and I hope you can understand if I do.

Thanks, everyone.

*Yeah, I carried on with life. I'll go into that in maybe a next post. I'm certainly not done writing about this subject, I can tell you that. LOTS of emotions to go through. Shout-out to the Snowshoe Gang, who were incredibly supportive when I showed up at Victrola, so unstable that I was breaking into pieces and re-healing all at the same time.

**Like I said: your reactions, whatever they are, are VALID. I chose to go on with life, and I'll talk more about that in a separate post. Shout-out to the Roommate, my mother, and various love interests, both present and past, all of whom have been unbelievably supportive at this crucial time.

***I will happily go into the medical details for anyone (medicine specialists, pet owners, or just the plain nosy) who wants to know. Message me.

****That poor vet. She must have thought I had gone insane, I was so mathematical and logical, but she never said a judgmental word, and went out of her way to discuss, and re-discuss, every possible option with me. I want to take this moment to say that one of the bright spots of this episode in my life has been the extremely high quality of veterinary care I have gotten, from both Emerald City Emergency Clinic and the VCA Veterinary Specialty Center of Seattle. They made me feel like I was the only patient on their books; I called and re-called, and they took as much time as I needed; it was like I had a private team of vets devoted to just my dog. I cannot say enough good things.

*****Twelve hours ago he still wasn't eating. Turns out he just didn't like his old food anymore; a simple hack, a simple thing to fix, not the heart-breaking episode it might have been. If this happens to you, pet owners, try switching up the food a few times before calling the ER. AGAIN.

******I'm fascinated with everything he does, with every move he makes. It's a little strange, but I'm adjusting.

AZ and I: Still Friends, Thank Goodness

2012-01-23T16:16:00.000-08:00

*random work chatter over IM, and then*

Me: "Okay, I'm going to get some coffee."

AZ: "Good luck!"

Me: "I don't need luck. I got skill."

Me: "...that is the biggest lie I have ever told."

And then, a few hours later...

*more chatter, and then*

AZ: "...dammit. As usual, please forgive the spelling." (Author's note: I once got him this coffee mug. It is the most accurate description of him available.)

Me: "Hey, at least you spelled 'congratulations' right!

AZ: "That one's an easy one for me. I can sound it out."

Me: "Most people spell it with a D. Those people should be taken out and shot."

AZ: "Hehe."

Me: "Aww. That's so cute that you think I'm kidding."

AZ: "HA! That's why I love you. You are batshit crazy about all the right things."

Brain Pickings

2012-01-11T09:42:00.000-08:00

The very best blog ever, even more so than The Britannica Blog (which is also excellent) or The Happiness Project (my love of which has been well documented):

Brain Pickings.

Holy. Wow. It is like a museum for the mind.

And this recent post, ABOUT the post entitled 9 Best Books On Reading and Writing, about the power of intuition over rational thought, got me laughing, because of course what I did was go straight to the post about the 9 Best Books and put the first book on hold at the library, because I've been trying to figure out how I can use my down time more wisely than hitting "random" on Texts From Last Night, which I have pretty much memorized by now.

Which is exactly the OPPOSITE of the point of the post. I should have maybe been stretching out with my intuition, trying to *feel* the book I was supposed to read next?

No matter. I have a good book on hold at the library. That counts as a win for today.

Conversation

2011-12-28T14:39:00.001-08:00

Me: "Whew. One item off my To-Do List."

Roommate: "Which item was this?"

Me: "I finally installed the magnetic lenses for my phone. They click on magnetically, and they give you wide-angle and macro abilities. I only bought them a YEAR ago."

Roommate: "And WHY haven't you installed them, yet?"

Me: "Putting the self-stick magnetic ring on my phone seemed like too much work."

Roommate: "Says the girl who just took her ENTIRE JEEP apart."

Me: "...whatever."

ALSO!

2011-12-28T14:37:00.001-08:00

I would just like to announce to the world that I replaced my gas tank. By myself. Related: I am kind of big deal.

Similarities

2011-12-28T14:36:00.000-08:00

I am standing on the sidewalk, which is "safe", or at least likely to contain hidden dog poop, while Titan waters a place as FAR AWAY AS HE CAN GET from me and still be attached. Actually, I am not standing on the sidewalk; I have only one foot on it. The other leg is raised in the air to balance me as I lean at a 90 degree angle over the leaves and dirt, leash hooked on my longest finger, because seriously, Titan is AS FAR AWAY AS HE CAN POSSIBLY BE. I am doing Warrior III Pose, is what I'm saying here. My dog WOULD require me to do yoga while walking him.

I complain about this to my mother, who happens to be standing right next to me. "Why do we always have to go to the very very end of the leash to pee? WHY?"

"I remember a young lady who also had to push to the very edge of her boundaries," she said, rather wryly, watching me balance on the sidewalk.

Me: "...Oh, really? Hmmm."

Her: "YES."

Me: "Hey, and we both do it for the same reason: to make our mark on the world!"

Her: "In a slightly different way, though."

I Am Tired

2011-12-09T16:50:00.001-08:00

So tired, in fact, that I hit "Publish" before I'd even written anything. Awesome.I am tired. I am so tired. Everyone's tired on a Friday; I get that. I totally have that going on. That's not what I'm talking about. I am (in addition to the standard Friday tired) the kind of tired that happens after you've been filled with adrenaline and stress for weeks and suddenly, at the end of a Friday, it all drains out of you in a whoosh and you are a lump, in a chair, sort of melting into it, because you don't have any energy to sit up straight. I just put music on and had to turn it off, because I don't have enough energy to write and listen to music at the same time. I am TIRED.I am too tired to fall asleep.Thanks for being here.

I Think Lady Gaga May Be The Third Prophet

2011-12-08T16:36:00.001-08:00

I was trying to think of a pithy statement that could possibly describe this hell of a day, and then I realized...the least exciting thing that happened today is the leak in my gas tank. And that's really all I can say.("And babe, there's nothing else I can say. Eh eh, eh eh.")

Happy Friday!

2011-12-02T16:09:00.001-08:00

Classic

2011-11-18T09:08:00.001-08:00

Me: "So, want to hit the Crescent? I'm in the mood for some karaoke."

Date: "Mmmm...I don't know. I usually love karaoke." (Author's note: I know this to be true--this was not our first date. But we had not yet gone to karaoke together.) "My mojo's kind of gone. I mean, a few weeks ago, I was in Portland, singing karaoke, and..."

Me (interrupting): "Where?"

Date: "At the Galaxy. And there was this big guy..."

Me (interrupting again): "With a beard? A rather long one?"

Date: "Yes!"

Me: "That's RC."

Date: "Oh, you know him? Wait, what am I saying? Of course you do."

The First Thing You Do, You Destroy All The Mirrors*

2011-11-15T14:55:00.001-08:00

Remember how this was supposed to be done for my parents' fortieth anniversary? Yeah, me either.

(If you're lost, feel free to check out Part 1 and Part 2 first.) (If anyone is reading this besides my parents, who deserve this effort and more even if it's only read by them. I love you guys.)

Where were we? Oh, yes. I had taken one post to describe my heroes, and another post to describe how awesome I was, and right when I was about to get to describe WHY I turned out awesome, and also modest, and did I mention I was about to compare myself to my heroes?--I sort of vanished into Korea. (Damn Korea.) (Possibly I'll try not to curse anymore in this love letter to my parents, whom are rather conservative.)

Ahem. So. I possibly ran out of words because I am not MUCH like my heroes, unfortunately, which sort of deflates my point--if you can do that--but I DID grow up to be pretty confident with a rather fresh mouth, and seriously, you want your daughter to grow up like this. You do. (Don't worry, moms that I know--SHE WON'T TURN OUT LIKE ME. Well...probably.)

Wow, I have really lost my point. LET'S JUST COMMENCE, SHALL WE?

Golden Rules For Raising a Kick Ass Daughter in the Style of Tina Fey

(Expect her to curse every now and then.)

1. Pray she "peaks" at 50. Mindy Kaling and Tina Fey made this point very clear: if your daughter isn't Pretty at 17, THANK YOUR LUCKY STARS.

Of course, you can't actually do anything about this, aside from encasing her in a burkha (or handy ivory tower, if you want to go all fairy tale) or marrying the ugliest partner you can find, but I wouldn't really recommend any of those options. Here's what you can do, even if she has porcelain skin and perfect hair at five years old: bring her up in a household that focuses on other things. And this should start in the womb. (The Huffington Post did a fantastic article about this phenomenon here, which you should really read, right away, right now.)

Fortunately for my parents, they didn't have to work too hard on this, given the material they were blessed with. Arraying yourself in button down shirts with belts in weird places at 12 is not the way to attract a lot of attention for your looks, and it didn't help that I had an unwieldy-ily-large and rather British vocabulary, an enormous imagination, and two friends who were just as nerdy as I was. Tina Fey refers to this phase as "when she relaxed in her colonial lady outfit after school", which is why she is the comedy writer, and not me. And she and Mindy Kaling have both included hilarious pictures of themselves from those time periods, and I won't do that because I am not a multimillion dollar comedienne. What I will say: at the rather advanced age of twenty-four, I suddenly started hitting the gym, lost twenty pounds, cut off my hair, and dyed it blonde, and I was cute!...for about twenty minutes. Turns out that blonde hair needs a lot of upkeep. As I frequently find it difficult to shower more than once a week, you can imagine how well I did with that. For the next three years.

Why did this happen? (Besides the not-washing-hair phase, which happened for other reasons that I won't go into here.) Well. It's true that my parents didn't have to work too hard to keep my focus off my looks, but it's also true to say that they are both overachievers. To say that my up-bringing was not looks-focused would be an understatement. Let's put it this way: I didn't learn how to apply makeup until I was twenty. I didn't get my first pedicure until I had graduated from college. My up-bringing was 100% focused on school, activities, and church. I'm not even sure we owned mirrors in the house. (Joke.) (Barely.)

This is both entirely both my parents' fault, as it's their damn genes on my face, but also of course not their fault at all, since they couldn't help it. My mother was born with naturally perfect skin, a fast metabolism, a dread of sugar, and a great smile. You don't NEED makeup when you have all those things. My blessed father told us both, over and over again, that we were the most beautiful ladies he knew. I believed him, because he was my father, and besides, it made sense that if he was right about my mother--which he was--then he must be right about me, too! I was beautiful! Excellent!

(Junior high came as kind of a shock.)

Yes, well. It gives me things to laugh now, and more importantly, it turns out that that is THE ABSOLUTE BEST WAY TO RAISE A DAUGHTER. Like, only the absolutely most important thing you can do. Being shuttled around between school, activities, and church (also not a looks-focused organization, generally) I had zero time to stare into any mirrors even if we had owned them. Instead, I developed interests in many other things, all of which were focused on my talents and skills, and not my looks. Music. Art*. Drama. Travel. Knowledge about the world. Opinions (definitely developed a lot of those). Ability to FORM opinions and SHARE them, articulately. Hey: I am the product of two (2) salespeople. The dinner table was not quiet in our house.

Oh, yeah: the dinner table. It also turns out some kind of structure and dependability is also important for raising kids, and that brings us to The Next Golden Rule...TOMORROW!

*Name that Shakespeare reference!

Obviously, I Was Just Kidding

2011-11-03T14:34:00.000-07:00

I was writing the piece about The Second Golden Rule, and then I realized that my piece on "How To Raise A Kick-Ass Daughter" was veering into "verbal diarrhea about my relationship with my parents". The first focus is good, the second focus is...not. Come on. That's what Roommate is for. (Other people might say, "That's what Therapy is for," but that's not how I roll.)

Please hold while I work out exactly what I want to say. THANK YOU.

I Am Such An Engineer, Part II.

2011-10-31T14:03:00.000-07:00

Him: "Well, the original composite bows were made of heartwood, and yew* wood."

Me: "Really? How did they get the two woods to stay together back in medieval days? Glue? Had nails been invented?"

Him: (Smiling, because he is cute.) "No, it grows that way."

Me: "..."

Me: "...Oooooooooohhhhhhhh. Because it's...a tree."

Him: "Yes!"

*Note: it has come to my attention that this post is totally, and completely, inaccurate, and it's not because of the source. It's because I misremembered it and wrote it quickly. The Yew is the kind of tree. Bows were made from heartwood and SAP wood, which is true no matter what kind of tree you make it out of. Here's what Wikipedia says:

"One of the simpler longbow designs is known as the self bow. By definition, a self bow is made from a single piece of wood. Truly traditional English longbows are self bows, made from yew wood. The bowstave is cut from the radius of the tree so that the sapwood (on the outside of the tree) becomes the back two thirds and the belly, the remaining one third, is heartwood. Yew sapwood is good only in tension, while the heartwood is good in compression."

The point of using the yew tree (hopefully, not to shoot ewes) is that the yew sapwood can take much, much, more energy in tension (when you draw the bow back) than other timbers, so more of the energy goes into the arrow, meaning you can kill someone from farther away, always a plus.

Minor Differences. (Hat tip to The Oatmeal.)

2011-10-27T14:28:00.000-07:00

When my roommate cooks, it is a well-choreographed ballet. When I cook, it is a chicken running around the kitchen with its head cut off, if said chicken also swore a lot and made general comments about the chastity of the recipe author's mother. This is why my roommate does most of the cooking.

2011-10-26T14:49:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to the best mother in the world. I love you.

And Happy Birthday to MY LITTLE! I'm coming back to NYC soon, honey. <3.

I Guess She Does Notice A Few Things About Me

2011-10-12T12:11:00.000-07:00

I had a recent conversation with my mother in the car, always a good place for a productive one on one session, even if you're yelling at each other. (We haven't done that in a long time, though.)

(I think my father and I recently solved all the world's problems on a sunny drive out to Cle Elum and back.)

Back to my mother. Right. I had been contemplating sharing something about my dating life--always a trepidatious thing to do with your MOTHER--and finally I said it.

"I've noticed a theme with the guys I'm dating," I said.

"Oh, really?"

"Well, two themes, really. The first is substantial, the second is totally superficial."

"Okay..."

"Superficially, and I don't know what this means, but it appears to be common thread more often than not: they're a) not clotheshorses, b) they have often asked me to influence their clothing choices. I mean, I revamped the entire wardrobes of two serious boyfriends (at their request), and more recently I went shopping for suits with T.C. Like on our fifth or sixth date."

Mom: "Hmmm. That's interesting." (Because she is my mother, she has to say this, even if it's not.)

Me: "I just thought that was worth mentioning."

Author's note: I've since realized that anyone I date more casually, as in, not in relationship mode, actually IS kind of a clotheshorse. There's ~~four~~ ~~five~~, wait, SIX men I could name off the top of my head that I've dated who are better dressers than I am. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? Ahem.

Anyway. Back to my poor mother, who has to listen to this.

"More substantially, there IS a common theme that binds almost every man I've been romantically interested in, throughout my whole life, almost to a man: romantic interest has shaken off the blueprint of his home life to become something completely different than his parents. Mostly he still has a cordial, and even close, relationship with his family, but he has still purposely looked at his parents' lifestyle, said, 'No thanks, I think I'll create my own', and run with it."

My mother actually was listening, I realized, because she responded, at neutrino speed, with: "REALLY! I can't imagine why YOU'D find that attractive in someone! I'm just flabbergasted!"

Humph. Everyone's a comedian.

I Am Such An Engineer, Part 1

2011-10-11T12:53:00.000-07:00

Me: recently describing to Entrepreneur in lurid detail the recent visit I got to make to Insitu, which makes some of the best, if not THE best, UAVs in the world.

Me: "The planes are MODULAR and SILENT and SUPER LOW ALTITUDE and they have FANTASTIC IR BLAH BLAH BLAH SO AWESOME NERD GASM."

Him: "Hmm. I wonder if you could train raptors to spot and attack those drones, if they fly at such low altitude?"

Me: "...Raptors?" Thinking: Does he mean the F-22? Is this a UAV I don't know? There is one called Predator. Is he about to make a velociraptor joke?*

Him: "Well, there's a long history of falconry in the Middle East."

Me: "..."

Me: "...Oh, my God. You mean, RAPTORS. Like, birds of prey."

Him: "Yes!"

Me: "You mean, those commandable, maneuverable, low-profile, low-altitude, high-resolution-vision, silent, flying, things."

Him: (Smiling.) "Yes."

Me: "The ORIGINAL flying drones. Wow."

Me: "Well, if you thought of it, I can only hope they don't."

* (In a conversation between two people who read xkcd, this is always a possibility.)

Supporting the World I Want To Live in, or Justifying Spending Money, OR, See Title Of This Blog. Part III.

2011-10-04T13:00:00.000-07:00

I found The Thing That Will Be Teh Awesome, or at least I hope it will. The thing that will convert heels or flats into boots. I may never need to buy another pair of boots again. Maybe.

If it doesn't work, it will be a rather expensive experiment, but oh well. This is how we learn, yes?

I can't share the details yet; my mother would have a heart attack, and anyway I bought the item on Etsy, so it's no longer available for public view.

What can I do instead? I promised an update. Hmmm. I will share other ways in which I changed my own personal world:

My new, absolutely favorite, artist:

Ronald Jenkees, everyone.

Need more?

Diplo. Oh, hell yes.

A Magazine that I can feel proud supporting: Anthology.

A blog that represents my design aesthetic very closely: The Steampunk Home.

In related news, I need to make more money. Thanks and good night.

Supporting the World I Want To Live in, or Justifying Spending Money, OR, See Title Of This Blog. Part II.

2011-10-03T01:00:00.000-07:00

His reply, and then MY reply to his reply. (Author's note: his responses, and my responses, are inline to my original questions, and the things that look like links are, indeed, links. All SFW except when noted.)

Can you also give me the following?

1. Hooks on strapless dresses that attach to the supporting bustier. Obviously, the hooks (on both garments) will need to be standard widths apart, so that all garments work together.

2. Pants that have hems that can be risen or lowered, depending on heel length, so that a woman isn't forced to choose, roll up hems (never works), or buy two pairs of the same damn pants.

He said: "this might work for numbers one and two ."

I replied: "I've had bad experiences with fashion tape of any kind, but I did find these, which I think may solve a number of my problems, including possibly problem 1. (Or maybe clear plastic snaps?) I might even start tailoring my work pants with them. I mean, seriously. The possibilities are endless."

3. Some sort of neoprene-with-support bustier? Probably not neoprene, but something like it. I love my traditional corsets, but there is a material out there SOMEWHERE that will lift, support, and be somewhat flexible. Somewhere. (Out there.)

He said: "somewhere to start ." (Slightly NSFW if you work at a church, or a place where the word "corset" offends.)

4. Shoes with retractable heels would be great, too. God, I wish women designed more things.

He said: "you mean like this?"

I replied: "Okay, I actually BOUGHT those, they were so exactly what I needed. (Phooey on the 4-6 week wait, but whatever.) Also I discovered these. Apparently they sell them in downtown Seattle? Your next challenge here: convert these shoes into boots when necessary. And then I'll be able to carry every kind of shoe I need in one bag."

5. And finally, some kind of small bag item that carries a few things that is wearable, and not nerdy. In a really perfect world, I'd own this:

http://www.etsy.com/listing/49864328/ms-money-penny

But something much simpler would be fine, too. Sigh.

He had no response to this. (HA! Stumped him!)

But then...I did a little more looking and bought this and this, the second one in black and with a zipper closure.

6. While we're talking about bags, I also want a larger bag that is convertible from backpack to messenger to cross-body to cross-back. I wouldn't need to own so many things if I could make them do what I wanted them to do.

He said: "ok, I'm done procrastinating.."

I replied: "This is the only failure--it's close, but not great. I already bought a second laptop bag of the one that I love, that I'm going to convert myself." (Have I told everyone on this blog that I've bought the nearly-perfect work backpack? The only way it could be better is if it was handmade by 100% Genuine American Grandmothers, but for the same price.)

Actually, I would totally pay three or four times this price for an identical backpack handmade by 100% Genuine American Grandmothers. (Speaking of, anyone remember this movie? Turns out it's based on a short story by Ray Bradbury.)

And FOR MY NEXT TRICK...coming tomorrow!

Supporting the World I Want To Live in, or Justifying Spending Money, OR, See Title Of This Blog.

2011-09-30T00:03:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I had a Moment.

We all get these, I think. Moments at which we are suddenly driven with a desire to change our worlds. To make things better. To fix X problem in our lives which, although not life threatening, is one of those little daily annoyances that make us want to curse at business meetings. (Or maybe that's just me.)

Some people may have them about BIG things. I'm not ashamed to say that mine usually involve clothes.

Okay, I think they ALWAYS involve clothes. I don't know why. I don't think of myself as much of a clothes horse, although I do like to make a statement with my outfit, when I can; I think partially due to the conservative work environment I'm forced to live in five days a week. (See title of this blog.)

And it's not just clothes--I also have an obsession with GEAR. (Would I include shoes here? or in clothes, above? No matter.) I want things that work, simply, and don't do anything I don't need them to do, and do EXACTLY what I WANT them to do, all the time, with no backtalk.

(Man, the backtalk my new phone gives me, sometimes, will just blow your mind.)

And I've lived in Capitol Hill for five years. I'm not exactly surrounded by jeans-wearing engineers in my off hours. (My mother: "Every time I come to see you here, I think to myself, 'There must be a costume party happening somewhere,' and then I realize, no, that's just the way they dress all the time.")

(You should see the Hill on Halloween!)

Anyway, yes. My ideas regarding clothes. They came to a head a few weeks ago, and, while inspired through rage, I sent the following email to a young entrepreneur that I know:

"Hey there. While you're changing the world, can you also give me the following?

1. Hooks on strapless dresses that attach to the supporting bustier. Obviously, the hooks (on both garments) will need to be standard widths apart, so that all garments work together.

2. Pants that have hems that can be risen or lowered, depending on heel length, so that a woman isn't forced to choose, roll up hems (never works), or buy two pairs of the same damn pants.

3. Some sort of neoprene-with-support bustier? Probably not neoprene, but something like it. I love my traditional corsets, but there is a material out there SOMEWHERE that will lift, support, and be somewhat flexible. Somewhere. (Out there.)

4. Shoes with retractable heels would be great, too. God, I wish women designed more things.

5. And finally, some kind of small bag item that carries a few things, that is wearable, and not nerdy. In a really perfect world, I'd own this:

http://www.etsy.com/listing/49864328/ms-money-penny

But something much simpler would be fine, too. Sigh.

6. While we're talking about bags, I also want a larger bag that is convertible from backpack to messenger to cross-body to cross-back. I wouldn't need to own so many things if I could make them do what I wanted them to do.

Got it? Good. I'm glad we had this conversation. :)

--Aarwenn"

(Yeah, perhaps that last sentence is a bit snotty. He thinks I'm cute, I can get away with it.)

I was just rambling, you know? Having a Moment. Not really expecting anything. Because he is an entrepreneur and a dreamer, what does the workaholic do but GET BACK TO ME WITH FIXES.

*Coming Monday!*

2011-09-13T08:03:00.000-07:00

Have now officially survived all six weddings I was supposed to attend this summer. Close call.

I don't think I've slept in four days. Maybe more. But I'm surviving, and that's what counts. Yes?

I Shake My Bumbershoot In Your General Direction

2011-09-06T10:02:00.000-07:00

Hello! How was your Labor Day weekend? Good? Excellent. Did you go to Bumbershoot? I did not, in spite of invitations, and I hear it was great. But one can't be everywhere, and instead I spent a lot of time with people that I really dig, and also I redecorated my kitchen, almost got thrown out of a bar, (related: survived a bachelorette party) and put a blonde to work washing my dishes. I opened my house up to guests, and also, spent quite some time away from it. I got my bridesmaid's dress tailored! I went to West Seattle twice! I went to a LOT of restaurants and brought home pounds of leftovers! I found TWO new good hip hop places! (God, I miss dancing.) I had two very serious and productive relationship talks! Did I mention I redecorated my kitchen? Like, for real? No pictures, sorry. I didn't want to stop and take the time to take "before" pictures, and without the "before", the "after" won't have quite as much affect. I still may take some, though.

Now that I have redecorated my kitchen so that it is, in fact, usable, and even attractive, my next project is to inventory everything in my fridge and cabinets. Yes, everything. Since this fridge isn't yet within my budget (or lifestyle), I'm trying to simulate it with cunning. And hacks.

Speaking of, has everyone seen this? This is what I see when I close my eyes. Every. Day. This is the future, and it is SO CLOSE. This is going to happen. It's already happening, somewhere else in the multiverse, and this one is going to jump there, if all of us keep pushing to change this world.

Sometimes Life Just Works Out

2011-09-02T09:35:00.000-07:00

I couldn't figure out what I wanted to listen to, a moment ago. I called up (on the new application Spotify, which is pretty good, everyone go check it out) the first two songs that were stuck in my head:

And then Jane Fonda, by Mickey Avalon, a song that I am not linking to because it's so dirty (but great!), and then:

(The above song isn't all that clean, either, but way less dirty than "Jane Fonda".)

And then I couldn't decide what was next. Ambient? RJD2? Or classical? Finally I just went to my RJD2 station on Pandora, my old standby, and THIS song came on next:

Thanks, universe. That was pretty great.

Like If You Described the Bible as a Story About Some Guys Who Travel Around and Talk To Each Other

2011-09-02T08:57:00.000-07:00

"Like the Princess Bride?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

"I haven't seen it," he said.

Silence on my end.

"WHAT?"

"What?"

"You haven't seen THE PRINCESS BRIDE?"

"What about ME would imply that that is a movie that I would want to see?"

I looked at the angry, smartass engineer across from me at the table at lunch. He enjoyed all the same webcomics I did, and we even had the same phone. Sure, he tended more heavily to straight up sarcasm than I did, me preferring to stay on the side of snark, but there was no reason that he would NOT like The Princess Bride. Wait.

"Do you KNOW anything about the movie?"

"I know it's about a girl who falls in love with a guy who goes away and becomes a pirate, or something, and then she thinks he's dead and marries someone else, but he comes back for her. And there's a guy with six fingers."

A little part of my soul died, but I was relieved.

"Okay. I see the problem. Hmmm. Okay, you've seen The Big Lebowski, right?"

"Of COURSE I've seen The Big Lebowski!"

I held up my hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay. Just checking. Okay. Describing The Princess Bride as a movie about a girl and a guy who becomes a pirate, and there's a guy with six fingers on one hand, is like describing the plot of The Big Lebowski as a movie about a guy who gets his rug peed on by a low-class criminal and gets involved with a rich guy and his weird ex-wife. It's technically TRUE, but the movie is about so much more than that. It's the environment that's created, and the quotes, and the interaction between the characters. It's not about the plot. The Princess Bride is the same way."

He stared at me.

"Okay. Maybe I'll check it out."

"Okay."

The End of the First Trip with T.C.

2011-08-29T11:55:00.000-07:00

After the launch tweet:

"Local place with coffee, gourmet sandwiches, ice cream, and air conditioning. Clutch. (@ Caffe Chocolat) http://4sq.com/osegWh."

Snarky tweet to appease my mother: "Yes, T.C. and I were on our phones the whole time during the launch wait, duh, but we DID actually see the LAUNCH."

(Also, it was 100 degrees at the launch. To say that is "hot" is...well, you know. T.C. and I felt we should get extra credit for surviving Orlando at 100 F, when even the locals were complaining.)

Launch lunch finished, we discussed what to do next, doing that polite but weird thing in which you totally like this person but you are different from him, and you're realizing for the first time how different your likes and dislikes are, and I had the additional challenges of being paranoid and crazy (every day, for a woman, but certainly more likely on this, the first trip with T.C., coincidentally scheduled directly over my PMS week) (hi dad!) and T.C. still hadn't recovered from his tummy bug (did I mention we were sharing a small hotel bathroom?) and...yes.

Of course, I wanted to see *everything* while we were already out on the Atlantic, and he wanted to go home and maybe do it tomorrow, when we weren't so exhausted.

"August 5th: T.C. and I not adjusting to East Coast Time well."

Reminded me of traveling with my father and mother. My mother wants to see everything, my father wants to read in the comfort of his hotel room, eat great meals, and see good museums. Not much of an outdoor guy. Similar situation here. T.C. and I came to easy compromise: he would come to Daytona Beach and would find shade and nap in the car, running the engine and with the AC on if necessary. (It was.) I would do my thing. He might meet up with me later, or might not. Simultaneously, I released him from any obligation to come out to the Gulf Coast with me for this trip, as long as he didn't mind if I left him alone for five hours. He didn't. Excellent. On to Daytona Beach.

From the August 5th Twitter Feed:

"Hello, Daytona Beach! twitpic.com/61gkgv"

"Self explanatory. twitpic.com/61glfa"

"Daytona Beach Strand is a little less crowded than I expected. Heat getting to everyone, maybe, even locals. Tonight may be busier?"

It was less crowded on both sides, the Daytona Beach side and the...other...beach side. I can't remember what it was called. I preferred Daytona Beach--more to do, less touristy, more "real" things, like Walgreens and 7-11s, that showed that some people actually *lived* here. T.C. and I made a stop to buy crucial charger adapters, including one that could live in the car. T.C. made a name for himself because his apparently bat-like ears picked up the sound of the engines coming from the race track over closed windows and the radio and ME TALKING, and he rolled down both windows and I stopped talking and turned the radio off and the cars were doing! laps! and we both had a freakout moment. No matter what you think about Nascar as a social symbol, we are both of the gearhead persuasion and that SOUND is OMG VROOM SO SEXY.

We got a break from the heat on the way back to Orlando, driving through a rainstorm. We didn't make it back for the free Happy Hour, sadly, and we went and got pizza for dinner and I had a minor freakout--not in a good way--in which because he told me he was tired, but I could certainly go out on my own if I wanted, I was so paranoid that I thought he was trying to tell me he was breaking up with me. (This is the time at which I decided that I could not, under any circumstances, allow this emotional state of affairs to continue. I am trying certain supplements.)

"I just used #Shazam to discover Fortune Teller by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss. http://shz.am/t45328882"

From the August 6th Twitter Feed:

*Crickets.*

We did almost nothing--we chilled out in the hotel and saw a movie (our 2nd of what would turn out to be three movies, it being too ridiculously hot to hang out by the pool, I never put my swimsuit on once the whole trip) and that night we found an anime convention across the street from our hotel and we rejoiced. And we got dressed up and got drunk and went over to see the Con. And it was good. (It was GREAT. It was about the best time we had on the trip.) I got to put on the cocktail dress that makes taxi drivers give me free trips. And I gave T.C. the following speech: "I am way more dressed up than you. I will need a lot of personal attention and possessiveness from you, or else I will feel like an idiot." Him: "Done. As long as you don't leave me hanging, just to make a point." Me: "Done."

The next morning I got up early, grabbed the Challenger keys, and felt like a real pimp, cruising in my skirt and tank top on pilgrimage to a Starbucks at a quiet strip mall. T.C. had not moved, beyond asking me if I had made a deal with the devil. Our attempts at using the osmosis method to share my hangover recovery skills failed completely, and I went out to Ybor City alone.

From the August 7th Twitter Feed:

"Ybor city is a ghost town on Sunday morning, even now at 11. There's a big bar kind of place that obviously does a swinging brunch crowd, but that's a little too bust-ly for me."

Then, after strolling down the street and back, I found the perfect place:

"Crucial food stop. Plus a mojito. Adorable bartender named Christian just added bonus. (@ Carmine's) http://4sq.com/pxa3WN."

(My mojito looked so good that three other tables around me asked me what it was and then followed my example.)

I thought about getting all the way out to the Gulf beaches, but decided T.C. would start getting lonely, and besides--I was lonely, too. I'd rather have had him with me. So I headed back. Plus, I'd been to the Gulf before--on the Texas side.

I did a little meditating, and of course I called my mother, on the way back. And a little Shazaming, thanks to the crucial car charger we had bought at Daytona Beach.

"I just used #Shazam to discover Bright Lights Bigger City by Cee Lo Green Feat. Wiz Khalifa."

My life, for the past 22 days, in tweet form

2011-08-22T13:21:00.000-07:00

Monday, August 1st: "Hello, World! Computer is up and running." (For those who are curious: Dell Inspiron Zino HD.) "No need for the help of Mr. Neighbor. Well, not yet."

Wednesday, August 3rd: "Pit stop before airport! (@ Cafe Besalu)." Thanks to the Foursquare app for Android.

We had called a cab with an hour to spare! It was an easy Wednesday morning! We were feeling fine! WHEN SUDDENLY...

Wednesday, August 3rd: "Okay, it's been half an hour. Where is the cab?"

Travel Companion and I start phone bombing the Yellow Cab offices.

Wednesday, August 3rd, safely on airplane: "Totally the closest I've ever cut a flight, and that is really saying something. Actually not my fault this time."

Wednesday, August 3rd: "For the record, we waited an hour for the yellow cab. I keep saying, "never again", might mean it this time." (I didn't, but you know...)

Wednesday, August 3rd: "Travel companion flagged down gate agent & convinced her to print our boarding passes."

Wednesday, August 3rd: "I talked stone faced TSA agent into letting travel companion & I through 1st class line or else would not have made it. Go team!"

Wednesday, August 3rd: "Not worth it, though, even for good story. Stress was overwhelming."

Wednesday, August 3rd: "98 degrees in Charlotte. Fortunately not final destination. Unfortunately Fla will be hotter."

Wednesday, August 3rd: *Took picture posted below.*

Thursday, August 4th: "Orlando is very hot. And strip malls as far as the eye can see."

Thursday, August 4th: "We're in a part of the world that has more Denny's than Starbucks. Truly strangers in a strange land."

Friday, August 5th: "Keeping in theme of trip, Traveling Companion is sick and we caught the absolutely last bus from the visitor center out to the probe launch."

Friday, August 5th: *From NasaJuno*: "We are GO for launch!"

@NASAJuno: "LIFTOFF of the Atlas V 551 rocket carrying the Juno spacecraft on a mission to Jupiter to reveal the giant planet story!"

From Me: "Traveling comp. and I were mainly on our phones for much of the time, duh, but we did view the actual liftoff."

NASAJuno: NASA's Juno Mission: Wow there’s a kick! Rocket staging complete. Centaur upper stage now on 1st of its 2 planned burns

NASAJuno: Payload fairing separation confirmed! Atlas V & Juno are now above the bulk of Earth’s atmosphere!

Whew! Tweeting to the blog is exhausting!

And then they set the sky on fire.

2011-08-22T13:17:00.001-07:00

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4

Part 2: Love Letter to My Parents, on Their Fortieth Wedding Anniversary

2011-07-19T13:01:00.000-07:00

Because Roommate and I have been exploring this subject for a while, on and off, in our mid-evening talks: "Our parents succeeded brilliantly in raising us. WHY? Our parents are not similar in their lifestyles or methods, and yet, you and I turned out very similarly. If it's not about the small details, then what is it about?"

I mean, we don't necessarily take after our (very different) parents, either of us, and so I think both of us occasionally worry that our respective parents think they did a poor job of raising us. Or that maybe they wish we had turned out differently. Or that we were more...normal, maybe. Less likely to really stand out in a crowd. Softer. Less sharp tongued. Less apt to have lives that we can't really even talk about in mixed company. More apt to spend time with family. Especially because we are both girls; this kind of "I can act normal, but I could also make you REALLY uncomfortable" is not perhaps what every parents dreams of in a daughter.

And yet. As I recently exclaimed to Roommate, the other night: "I mean, both of us are rather intelligent, rather talented, rather sane, not unsuccessful, or addicts, or even alcoholics (debatable) or divorced, or lovesick retards, married to someone who's all wrong for us and barely has a job, etc..." and here she interrupted me: "We beat the spread."

Yes. We beat the spread.

It's important to note here that I've never once thought that my parents just "got lucky" with the way I turned out. They WORKED at it. They always had the best of intentions; they are loving parents. But so many other parents had good intentions and were loving and kind and caring, and yet the product of their efforts didn't turn out the way they intended. Their children didn't beat the spread. Why?

Love Letter to My Parents, on Their Fortieth Wedding Anniversary

2011-07-11T18:01:00.000-07:00

*This will be in many, many parts. MANY parts. Hi, Mom and Dad! I love you.*

To be clear, my parents' fortieth wedding anniversary was in fact two weeks ago (when I STARTED this incredibly long piece, anyway, and now it's been a month and a half) and in fact I'm still not even sure of the correct DAY.

Yes. Me, their only child, I don't know the day they were married and the ONLY thing I know is that I am two weeks late at least, because that is the kind of caring, thoughtful, and involved only child that I am.

Ahem.

In my defense, it is all THEIR fault because they got married on a holiday (Memorial Day) that shifts days every year, and who can be expected to remember that?

Anyway, on this, their fortieth wedding anniversary, it occured to me to say a few words about how they are the best parents any girl could ever wish for, and because I have two engineering degrees, I won't expect you to just believe it; I will also use two references for proof: Tina Fey, and Mindy Kaling.

Tina Fey, as you may know, has just come out with a book, Bossypants, and Mindy Kaling's book will appear in October. And so I have been reading Tina Fey's, and it is of course AMAZING, and reminded me how much I also appreciated Alisha Tyler's "Swerve", a few years ago, speaking of funny, mouthy, women.

These two women (and also Ms. Tyler) are two of the most brillliantly funny writers to hit comedy in the past twenty years, and it's only a SLIGHT bit of a thing that they are, in fact women.

They haven't succeeded because they have made big protests on the lawn of the SNL headquarters. They have succeeded because they were so funny, and so good, and so DETERMINED, and--here's the kicker--not determined in the kind of way that makes you stage protests on the lawn of SNL HQ but rather the kind of determined that only happens because you're too confident and stubborn to do anything else. It's naievete masquerading as stubbornness, really. You don't know how hard it's going to be, but all you know is that you're confident and that you don't know how to do anything else and you have a healthy sense of humor. A REALLY healthy sense of humor.

From Bossypants: "In 1995, each cast at The Second City [Improv touring show] was made up of four men and two women. When it was suggested that they switch one of the companies to three men and three women, the producers and directors had the same panicked reaction. "You can't do that. There won't be enough parts to go around There won't be enough for the girls." This made no sense to me, probably because I speak English and have never had a head injury. We weren't doing Death of a Salesman. We were making up the show ourselves. How could there not be enough parts? WE'RE MAKING UP THE SHOW!"

And then there's me: I had been at B about six months when I met several other people my own age, which was great, and one day I was visiting one of these gentlemen at his desk, and he introduced me to his coworker, who chatted with me for a brief second before saying, "So, how long have you been here?"

I answered. And he said, "Ah. Okay. I'll shorten your learning process right now: Women who succeed at B are either a) ugly but smart women who keep their heads down and act like men, or b) pretty and dumb women who do exactly what they're told to do."

It was the kind of thing that leaves you speechless, and let me add here that I am rarely speechless.

I wish now I'd had the wherewithal, the CHUTZPAH, to answer him, something snappy like, "Oh yeah? So which one will I be?" But it's possibly a good thing that I didn't because then I might be living up to that today, if I had been told at that formative time what, exactly, to be.

And yet I didn't let that stop me, of course, and now I think I'm actually higher than he is, on the engineering promotional ladder. Not that I've noticed that or anything.

About the same time one of my friends on a different program in the company got told by a man she worked with that her kneepads (for crawling around on the inside of a plane) would come in handy at her performance review with her boss.

For the record, it is comments like that that are why women don't stay in engineering. Or leadership roles. Why they quit before they make partner. Comments like that will sink into your head and keep you up at night, and they will poke at your psyche and your confidence over and over again until they're full of holes and you're going back to school to become a nurse...if you let them.

What allows you to keep going after comments like that? Why did I stick around engineering? Why did Tina Fey and Alisha Tyler and Mindy Kaling keep going in spite of the people around them?

Because your parents raised you to have more confidence and kickass-ness than that, and so you keep going. But how did your parents actually do that? Confidence isn't a pill you can give; it's not a one-day seminar. Strength, and courage, aren't carried in your genes. They're instilled in you by whoever raised you, and the people around you. And so, having suddenly realized that they have been rather successful (in spite of comments like the above) Ms. Fey, and Ms. Kaling, and also Ms. Tyler, have written books, part memoir, part instruction guide for life, with some comments on how to raise your own version of a really kickass daughter, and it turns out that there are some very strong patterns.

Very, very strong. And it also happens that my life fits into this pattern. As I was reading, I kept thinking..."That could be ME!"

How? I'm happy you asked! This love letter to my parents will continue in the next episode. Please stay tuned.

Stream of Consciousness on the KTX

2011-06-29T02:02:00.000-07:00

Seoul is warm and very hazy today, with the sun trying to break through the tan dust everywhere. I’m wearing the same shirt, vest, and blazer that I wore yesterday and I don’t care—it’s not like I care about impressing my coworkers, and my customer didn’t see me yesterday. Eff them.

(In a good way, if there is indeed such a thing. I would never offend a customer by wearing the same thing two days in a row. Fortunately I don’t have to worry about it.)

A red-head (even with my hair up) full on RUNNING for a train in a suit, backpack, and patent leather high heels will attract a lot of attention in Seoul Station, it turns out. Fortunately that worked out to our favor—a janitor type person stopped my Korean coworker and motioned to us that we were going the wrong way. “They’ve changed the KTX entrance,” he said, and by God, he was right.

Seoul is such a SAFE town. I don’t know anything about the organized crime here, but I do know that my Korean coworker has no compunctions about leaving his suit jacket and briefcase on his seat in the train while he goes to the restroom. He knew that I was there (probably) watching them, but still. Also, Seoul is incredibly friendly. The janitor had no problem with flagging Korean Coworker down and directing him to the right place, and even more strangely still, Korean Coworker had no problem stopping to listen. I’m not sure if I would have stopped if a janitor had flagged me down in NYC, for example. Maybe I would, since the janitor would immediately use words that I would understand.

Seoul is a weird mix of formal and informal, aloof and accessible. They bow all the time, and can be incredibly genuflectious, if that is even a word. Even just in formal business settings. And I’ve been in places in which I’ve been full on ignored, like at Nam Dae Mun market, in which I was the only white girl for miles, or because I’ve just joined a table of men and the waitstaff are obviously waiting for the men to flag them down to get me a cup of coffee, and their eyes slide right over my frantic hand signals. On the other hand, in Korean business, NO ONE ignores me. A Korea conference table is a like a lit up stage, I’m on so much display. And Korean Coworker just returned to his usurped seat and reached over the man now sitting there to grab his bottle of water. Neither the man nor Korean Coworker seemed aware of each other’s presence nor exchanged a word, and they passed within a hair's breadth of each other.) In America, someone leaning over my seat would immediately put me on high alert, but the Koreans (and I think they share this with most Asian cultures) have no sense of personal space whatsoever. They will breathe down the back of your neck. It’s disconcerting, but also friendly, or at least, familiar. Koreans will stand and argue with the ticket taker or flight attendant for what seems like FOREVER, and they obviously feel comfortable doing so.

I wish I had brought my phone. The countryside is really quite beautiful today, even in the haze; it’s incredibly green. And my mood has improved from yesterday, in which I was so heartsick that even the huge chunks of free Brie seemed unpalatable; I will have QUITE a lot of time today to walk and run errands and take pictures, and that is a wonderful thing. I think the tan high rises everywhere are apartment buildings, if I had to guess. They’re sure building a lot of them, and they’re all marked with numbers on the side. I wonder if there is some standard apartment building labeling system to make the post easier? Would make sense. Seoul is growing by leaps and bounds.

They’ve changed the wifi system; either that, or I only get free wifi in the first class car and I arrived too late today at the station to get a first class ticket. No matter. I can post this later

Quite a lot of this countryside that I’m currently passing is using solar panels. I wonder if there is a special incentive applied in this district?

I’ve been thinking a lot about my post from yesterday, and I want to emphasize that I am not an anthropologist or a psychologist, nor do I have any training in the field. And I haven’t run my ideas by a Korean person. I may be 100% wrong. Maybe the closets are over the windows. Maybe clothes in the window (because it’s certainly not 100%) signifies something sinister, or class-oriented, or some other social cue that I can’t pick up because I don’t know. I’m just making it up as I go along.

I want to get a few pictures of Seoul at dusk tonight—there’s quite a few Christian churches by me (I’m in an area heavily populated by ex-pats) and they all have gorgeous neon crosses on them. As a mix of contemporary, foreign, and an attempt to also make the church building itself blend in with the landscape (which is only, itself, probably 20 years old) it is fascinating. Also, of course, I’m trying to convince my roommate to let me have a neon cross in the apartment.

I REALLY wish I had brought my phone. I could have gotten an excellent picture of the “Sweet Long Sugar”. Maybe I’ll grab a packet on the way back.

Things I’d like to do today:

Drop off my suits

Tour the palace by Insadong

Buy postcards at mm/mg and send them to people.

Possibly stroll the grounds at the Grand Hyatt? If I have time?

Go by the Body Shop and buy wipes? So far my skin is awesome. The Yes To Blueberries stuff and the Argan oil has really made a fast difference.

My hands are just okay. They haven’t fallen off yet, so that’s a good sign.

*End stream of consciousness post.*

Seoul at 3:30 am

2011-06-26T12:23:00.000-07:00

My bladder and my internal clock conspire and at 3:30 am, my eyes snap open, staring at the ceiling. Good Morning, Pacific Rim!

This hotel room has a little JBL iPod speaker, which is really...pretty awesome. Gives me something to listen to at 4 am besides my own thoughts. Since I actually brought an iPod, which I always forget to do. (By the way, it is actually my mother's iPod. That she wasn't using. Thanks, Mom.) (In fact, I feel incredibly well-prepared for this trip. I'm sure it will turn out that I forgot something amusing like socks or underwear.)

(I may write a much longer post on How I Pack For Trips soon, as I have become--rather unexpectedly, to some people who have known me for some time--a phenomenally light packer. It's more than a phenomenon; I'm almost a guerrilla packer. I'm a fanatic about it. I do it by combining a number of my more asocial tendencies, and it weirds some people out, but it works well for me. Maybe later.) (Because the point is that I barely brought socks or underwear, ON PURPOSE. Okay. Leaving the damn parantheses.)

This 3:30 am HELLO! is common, by the way, when the human body crosses this many time zones; it's no cause for alarm. I'm not particularly susceptible to jet lag, but it usually happens at least the first night. No problem. A little music, a little stretching, a little coffee, and I'm good to go. Sometimes I attempt to go back to sleep, but it never happens and this way is really better. I have to get up in another 1.5 hours anyway. I wonder what time the pool opens? I don't have a cap, but I brought my suit. (I am prepared for anything! Yes!)

Of course, I woke up STARVING and there's nothing open, but the Grand Hyatt even thoughtfully leaves out oranges and water. (Why oranges? I don't know, but they're actually SUPER helpful when you need to pump up your blood sugar at 4:30 am. Good looking out, Grand Hyatt.)

I had a short conversation with my mother's carpool partner right before I left, in which I said I was going to Seoul, and she said, "Oh...how do you like it?"

I said, "I love it!"

She said, "Oh...really? Hmmm. I was there for one night and my husband and I weren't big fans. It was so EXPENSIVE, and the neighborhood we stayed in seemed kind of...run down."

"I don't think it's that expensive," I said lightly, and the conversation moved on, and then I got here and I realized I was paying $25 bucks for internet service and $18 for a plate of spaghetti. $13 for a glass of white wine. Not...outrageous, but certainly not Seattle prices, either. Of course, I'm on the company dime. I would be doing things differently if it were just me.

And the bus ride from the airport took us by downtown, working, Seoul, in which I realized the Saturday and Sunday markets had closed down for the day, and all the pallets and garbage was stacked out on the sidewalks. (Bundled up neatly, but still.)

It is so weird what different cultures see and don't see, what registers on their radar as "trashy" and what doesn't. I think most of the non-American world runs on the same assumptions that the Koreans do: the market streets here look much like the markets streets look in Paris, and in Japan. It's more about function than form--but at the same time, it's NOT. No one can accuse the Koreans of not loving their form. The shopkeeper makes sure the customer part of his booth is clean, and that his goods are laid out beautifully and perfectly--no one can present a collection of off-brand purses like the Asians; their innate sense of order and symmetry makes them able to plot arrangements that are light-years ahead of the kind of detail that Americans can even dream of registering--and then he stacks all his trash to one side and leaves his food out and smokes while he's talking to you, because that is *not meant for your eyes.* That is the private part of the shop, but there isn't space to have an actual private space, so it becomes...mentally private. If I had to guess, the Asians--and we'll just stay with them, because I haven't spent as much time in Paris, for example--simply expect that their customers won't even look at the trash. Or the extra shoes on the curb or whatever. The customers only look at the part that is meant for them. And after 1500 years, give or take, that kind of cultural assumption is pretty set in stone.

Because most of the world has ALWAYS lived in the kind of tight quarters that Americans are only now encountering. You lived tightly together. You had to. The fire would only reach so far. Trash was a part of life. You had to put the trash somewhere. You stacked it neatly and your neighbor's eyes slid over it politely, and now, two millennia later, it is an ingrained part of the cultural assumption.

Man, I make a LOT of unbased generalizations at 5:00 am.

The strange thing is that the TRASH probably represents most of what Sample Korean Shopkeeper actually OWNS at that second.

Stay with me. The rest of the world doesn't collect clutter. Not like we do. The most they collect--and most of what takes up room in their shop, and such--is in fact, trash. (Most of it gets reused, the pallets and so on, but it resembles trash, at least for the purposes of this conversation.)

Because no one collects actual CLUTTER like the Americans. (There isn't room for it, remember?) What other culture in the universe has a show called Hoarders, with spin-offs?--but at the same time, no one is so concerned with outside appearances, and everything looking NEW and PRISTINE, like the Americans are. Because most other cultures in the world are most about the INSIDE than the OUTSIDE.

Walled houses, plain houses with decadent interiors, interior gardens, interior plazas...we don't have that in North America. But they sure do everywhere else. EVERYWHERE else. And that mindset persists even in the lack of actual walls. Young Koreans stack all their surplus stuff, the kind of thing that you and I might put in a closet, BY THE WINDOWS.

Driving by high rises, the windows are PACKED with stuff: brooms, clothes, boxes, extra office chairs, whatever. To my American mind, it makes the very nice high rise apartment look like a tenement. No American would ever stack their winter clothes by the WINDOWS, so it's the first thing that walk-up visitors see. But the Koreans have grown up with the idea that Trash goes On The Rim Of The Place, and that's where they put it. Of course, their places are tiny. Even in this very nice luxury hotel room, there isn't much space. I don't know what apartment closets are like. They may not have any. Or they may, and they might keep other things there? Who knows. But the trash goes on the Outside Rim, and therefore they put it in the window.

Not that they have much clutter anyway. But the stuff they have, they move it away from the center of the place, and the front door, because the inside--what the guests see when they walk in the front door--is way more important than the outside.

It's fascinating. It's totally fascinating to me. People are FASCINATING! The world is like a gigantic buffet, and I want to try everything.

Speaking of, OMG, breakfast opens in 20 minutes!

Diet For Past Thirty Six Hours

2011-06-21T11:07:00.001-07:00

Monday Morning: Few swallows coconut water, 1 oz shot of apple cider vinegar, black coffee, Shiitake Mushroom and Tofu in Black Pepper Sauce over white sticky rice. (Microwave meal from Trader Joe's.)

Monday Lunch: Coffee with coconut creamer.

Monday Afternoon: Half a Naked Green Machine, half a Starbucks chocolate banana smoothie with a shot of espresso. 1.5 oz tequila. Entire range of supplements.

Monday Happy Hour: Half bottle of white wine in the park, in the sunshine.

Monday dinner: Half a precooked eggplant curry packet over SOLID serving of frozen precooked brown rice medley. 1 oz tequila. Mini corn muffin.

Tuesday morning: 1 oz shot of apple cider vinegar, few swallows coconut water, other half of Naked Green Machine, other half of Starbucks chocolate banana smoothie.

Tuesday early lunch: Broccoli soup, 99% broccoli with some salt, oil, spices, and nutritional yeast.

Tuesday after-early-lunch snack: Coffee with 2% milk.

I need to buy smaller jeans.

This Is Me, Today.

2011-06-14T09:04:00.000-07:00

Clinging To My Youth

2011-06-10T16:02:00.001-07:00

This Conversation AGAIN.

2011-06-09T14:34:00.000-07:00

He watched me pick up my phone, look at it, sigh, and set it back down.

"Another lovesick swain?"

(He is a writer, and from New Zealand, and allowed to say things like that.)

"Not LOVESICK. Just a guy who texts me more than I want to text him back."

"And how much more?"

"Well...greater than zero. He texts me more than never. That's annoying. I wish he would just go away."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes. I HATE it when cute members of the opposite sex text me."

I blew him the raspberry, because I am mature, not to mention well-spoken and courageous.

"Seriously. If you don't want him to text you, why don't you just tell him it's over?"

"There's no good reason for it to BE over. He's nice, and employed, and cute, and by the way has a great body. He's PRETTY. And he's in school to get his Master's. And he wants to be in a long term relationship like he needs air. He went COUCH SHOPPING with me on our third date. My mother would be salivating, except he is Asian. But she's coming around.

"So, what's the problem?"

"I'm just not that into him."

"You should tell him."

"I'm so bad at that."

"HOW CAN YOU BE BAD AT THAT? Jesus, you must get enough practice."

"Gee, thanks."

"Seriously. Have you ever been dumped?"

"Once or twice, yes."

"Yeah. Okay. Therefore you must be on the dumper side more often than not. I know your love life. Why aren't you better at this?"

"I'm a slow learner?"

"And I know THAT'S not true, either," he said. "The truth is, you're a coward. Man up."

Debrief, Or, Love Letter to the Blond Squad: Epilogue

2011-06-07T13:08:00.001-07:00

I shared this entire story with Roommate, one warmish afternoon not too long ago.

“He’s right,” she said, of Handrolled, herself the product of at least two live-in boyfriends, one of which she was engaged to.

“You really don’t know what you’re talking about. You learn so much more living with a person than you ever do just staying with them.”

Hmmmm.

And then I shared with S, one of those seven original members, just last night.

“I see where he’s coming from,” she said, apparently agreeing with Roommate.

“I moved in with D” (her boyfriend, and they have NOT had a smooth relationship) “mainly FOR that reason. I was really concerned about what living with D’s eight-year-old son would be like. And I wasn’t sure that D and I were meant for each other in the first place. So I moved in on a trial basis to see if we could work it out, as a qualifier for marriage: ‘If we can handle this, then maybe we can get married.”

Me: “Okay.”

Her:

“But HE moved in with totally the opposite point of view. For him, moving in together was already the commitment. He thinks marriage is a final step, for sure, and he wants to get married, but the way he sees it, it’s sort of a by product of the REAL commitment, which is moving in together. He wouldn’t have moved in with me if he wasn’t already 99% sure.”

Me, thinking about the many books and studies I’ve read recently:

“That’s very continental. I’ve read that that’s how the French, and most Western Europeans, seem to view it. It’s not that marriage isn’t important. Eventually. But if the pair keeps dating for awhile, and agrees to move in together, that’s 99% of the way to ‘death do us part’. Living together is not really a test. It would take a LOT at that point to break up the relationship. Way more than just some dirty dishes in the sink.”

Her: “Yes, I’ve heard the same thing. And I understand it. But I guess that’s not where I was.”

Me:

“I wonder if that’s why so many ‘living together’ relationships fail? Because one party moves in thinking this is just a final step before the ring happens, and the other party moves in because they’re still not sure the relationship will last, and decides to see if dirty dishes take care of the breakup for them?”

Her: “Ouch.”

Me:

“Yeah, neither party ends up looking good there. Trying again: one person moves in because they want to wake up next to the person every morning, pretty much now and forever, and the other person moves in thinking they *probably* want to get married to this person, but aren’t sure, and would like to see how they feel about living with the other person first?”

Her: “Maybe? I’m certainly no expert. Thanks to you, I just realized I was dating my mother. IN MY BOYFRIEND.”

Me: “Sorry.”

Her: "Maybe I should be paying YOU $75 an hour."

Me: "It's easier for me. Your therapist just met you. I've known you for three years. And I just did the same thing myself LAST year."

Her: "Still. Maybe get a second job?"

The Debrief, or A Love Letter to the Blond Squad, Part 3

2011-06-06T09:33:00.000-07:00

Read Part I and Part II First.

"Yeah. And it's kind of been contentious because she's had a hard time finding a job, so she occasionally emailed us to say that she was bumming around the apartment, picking up her boyfriend's dirty socks." Did I mention they lived in 246 square feet? So there was no way to get away from each other?

"So?"

"Well, she wanted a place of her own."

"Okay." Delayed reaction. "Wait, WHAT?"

"What?"

"You said she wanted a place of her own, but she ALSO wanted a ring?"

"Well, they ARE in pretty tight quarters. Besides, how does moving out and getting a little space interfere with getting engaged?"

"WHAT?"

"I'm serious. A girl needs her independence."

"Hold UP. Are you saying you would get engaged, and married, to someone, without living with them first?"

"Yes. I don't think it's important. And in fact I think it's not a recommended activity."

He waved his hands in the air, exasperated. "It's only the most crucial thing! You have to see if you can LIVE with someone BEFORE you get married!"

"You do, though," I said. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what it would be like living with HIM and we'd only been dating a few months. "You and I spend at least one weekend day and night totally together, sometimes, two, and we've already been away on two short but intense weekend jaunts. We've gotten into our first serious fight."

He almost thumped the steering wheel. "NO. LIVING with someone is totally different."

Then he looked over at me. "You've never lived with a boyfriend before, right?"

I had to admit it.

"Good, then we're not really disagreeing, you just don't know what you're talking about."

"WHAT?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but you really don't. Believe me."

Just a few hours later we were celebrating the ENGAGEMENT (!) of M and AD at the soiree, and M and AD--who have always been very up front and public about their entire relationship, to the extent of how often they perform certain sex acts (AD's parents are nudists and swingers, so psychoanalyze THAT)--were laughing about how small their apartment was and how happy they were to be moving into a bigger place in a few weeks.

"So now you don't have to move out," I said, jokingly.

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't really going to MOVE OUT. It was just an empty threat that I liked to scream at him in the middle of crying jags. I wanted to get my ring; I wasn't going ANYWHERE."

Handrolled looked at me. "HMMM. Wait, you have to LIVE with someone before you marry them? And living with someone is a viable step on the way to engagement? Hmm. Imagine that."

The Debrief, or A Love Letter to the Blond Squad, Part 2

2011-06-03T14:32:00.000-07:00

Read Part I first.

I leaned up in that way that women do, giving myself a once-over in the maplight, and started with powder.

"Okay. The original Blond Squad is seven people: K, C, M, myself, A, S, and a boy, M."

"M, your ex?"

"No! GOD no. M is gay. That was certainly confusing for awhile, though, especially because the boy that C broke up with was ALSO named M."

"Okay."

"Okay. We formed originally because we all broke up with our boyfriends at the same time--literally, six girls, all within two months of each other--and we needed each other to be our dates to things. And we all went platinum. And we had to include M because we LUV him."

Driver rolled his eyes. "Okay. So you were the Blond Squad."

"Yes. And that lasted for awhile. And then we got a lot more people, most of whom weren't blond, and some of whom had boyfriends, and the whole group grew to about 15 people and it's a lot harder to stay close when the group is that large. The group has evolved a little over the years."

"Okay. And who are we going to see tonight?"

"M. Two of the original members, C and M, both recently moved to Chicago, in unrelated events. M went with her boyfriend, and C accepted a new job."

"Okay. Why is M in town?"

"Her boyfriend AD brought her on a surprise trip, just to make her happy. She's had kind of a rough time in Chicago, although she did recently find a job, so that's good." It had been weird to see M so down, or at least, absorb it through email. M was always my shining example of financial stability; she was so frugal, and so careful, that she had saved (on a basic salary) enough money to NOT WORK FOR A YEAR. At the time that we met, that had seemed to me like black magic. We bonded due to being only children and the mother-daughter angst that that can cause, and she gave me exasperated reminders to not spend so much money on stupid shit. It was partly on her kudos that I bought the used car I still have today.

"Okay. So I won't be the only guy there."

"Definitely not, and not even the only date. AD will be there, and I'm sure M's boyfriend is coming." I finished my eyeliner and wiped my fingers on my jeans. "How do I look?"

The man has spent more years in ONE relationship than I have in all of my long-term relationships combined. He knows girls and their craziness. He looked over warily...

...then brightened. "Great! Hey, did you do something different to your hair?"

"You stellar boy, you," I said. "You just gained 7 million brownie points. I got my hair cut TODAY, in fact."

"Holy SHIT! That was amazing. I noticed it earlier in the sun on my deck but wasn't sure if I should say anything."

Three minutes later. "How awesome am I? I mean, really."

"Pretty awesome. I seriously can't believe you noticed. *I* can barely tell."

"Okay. So, M and AD. What's their story?"

"M wants a ring. She moved out there only after giving him a deadline."

"Whoa!"

CLIFFHANGER!

Japan

2011-06-03T07:14:00.000-07:00

Japan

2011-06-03T07:09:00.000-07:00

Japan

2011-06-03T07:08:00.000-07:00

The Debrief, or A Love Letter to the Blond Squad, Part 1

2011-06-02T14:24:00.000-07:00

He turns to me in the car, lighting a hand-rolled.

"Okay. Tell me about the group that we're going to go meet."

"Okay." I pulled down the visor mirror and started putting my makeup on, talking as I did so, feeling very...couply. It was such a "working as a team" thing to do, especially since for once it wasn't my fault that we were late. I had come to his house in plenty of time and he had pushed for some extra time to reunite after the long week apart. It was the kind of thing I could have refused, or could even at this moment be snippy about, and I made a conscious decision not to be. I was at least an hour late for everything in my life besides work and this time I happened to be late because a nice boy had wanted to spend a little extra time with me one-on-one. It was complete madness to turn him down just so I could be only 15 minutes late, like I had something to prove to the Blond Squad.

That was the worst of it, though. Because I DID feel like I had something to prove. My relationship with the Blond Squad had started out wonderful and something I desperately needed and had since become a source of much tension and angst. As it became a source of tension, I was later and later to events, or maybe that causality was reversed but who knows, and then it was mentioned to me (only because I PRODDED) that "some people" felt that I wasn't contributing enough to the pot luck events (which was EVERY) event and I did in fact need that wakeup call, so that was good. But all comments that sting because they feel true, I've never gotten over it, and that was fully two years ago.

And then there was another comment once when I hadn't...

...no. No. You know what? I am not dragging all this up again. I just had a WONDERFUL weekend with all of them at a wedding and I am not stirring the muck AGAIN just to write this post. Muck falls to the bottom where it belongs, and some touchy-feely people may feel like you're supposed to stir it up again ALL THE TIME so that you can keep that water nice and dirty, so you can see where all your muck is at all times, so it's nice and fresh and you can keep it in your immediate vision FOREVER, when what you WANT is to let the muck die down to the bottom, where it can harden and become rock, because what THAT does is become bedrock.

The bedrock. The foundation for your many, many years of future relationship.

I occasionally make mistakes. That is what people do. The Blond Squad had made mistakes too, and I love them and accept them as they are, and they do that with me, and I KNOW they do that.

Although at the time of this conversation with the driver of the car smoking a handrolled, the Blond Squad and I hadn't attended the wedding yet, it was pretty close to the horizon and I was already surfing the upward breezes of the rising warm air as the storm of my relationship with the Blond Squad was passing. I was getting better at accepting myself. And therefore, I could accept them. And therefore, I didn't give a DAMN if I was late. I wanted to catch everyone, and whatever time I could show up and accomplish that goal, I'd be good to go. And so, thinking of all of that, when this nice boy asked me to spend a little more time with him, I thought over all of that and said, "You know what? As long as we get there less than an hour late, I don't give a damn."

And therefore, here we were in the car, him lighting his hand rolled and me putting on makeup in his visor mirror, completely at ease.

*Part 2 Coming Tomorrow!*

Things I Have Learned About Busines Travel

2011-06-02T07:41:00.000-07:00

1. Don't forget your blazer/suit jacket. You may not need it, but you'll feel better that you COULD dress up your outfit if you wanted to.

2. Therefore, find a good blazer that goes with everything. Guys get to use navy blue, which would probably work well for me, too, assuming I ever find a good one. I also have a nice charcoal one I use. And I don't think black would ever be a bad choice.

3. Bring flat work-appropriate shoes. I only have heels. This is bad because my right leg is almost non operational and I've been forced to limp around everywhere on my sandals. I'm just ecstatic that I even had flat sandals that weren't flip flops.

4. Dry cleaning will make ALL THE DIFFERENCE. You will shine.

5. Find someone who dresses the way you would like to and steal all their clothes.*

*Possibly not actually recommended.

I Have Become My Father

2011-05-26T15:03:00.001-07:00

I've spent so much of my life worried I was going to become my MOTHER that I was completely blindsided today by the realization that I am purposely keeping my apartment at 60.

Purposely.

And I didn't even realize it until I had set some Brie out on the counter to warm up. An hour later, it was still not warm.

I stood in the kitchen with a piece of barely warm Brie in my hand and laughed hysterically, standing over the sink, just me in the apartment alone, CACKLING.

My father, somewhere, is also cackling. At least chuckling. And marking off "Battle With My Daughter Over Her Determination To Keep The Homestead At 72" as a W.

I Just Realized What's Wrong With My Writing

2011-05-24T10:37:00.001-07:00

I don't have my own voice.

I parrot other voices well, though. And other voices are good. It's not that parroting, or imitating, isn't a good idea. It's how you learn, right?

But I'd like to see if I can develop my own voice. And that will take a lot of work.

Bear with me, kids. Thanks.

That's One Small Step for Woman

2011-05-23T16:48:00.000-07:00

I want to make clear that my feet have been shameful, really shameful, for a period of time that is in no way exact, but must span at least years, and perhaps decades.

Really shameful. People couldn't look directly at them in public.

The extra-shameful thing is, I *didn't know*. They were my feet. It seemed normal. Being able to walk on rough pavement and scratch leg itches with the calluses heels (I know) seemed normal to me. I had never known anything else.

This is what happens when you spend your development years at the pool. I had diving coaches whose heels had potholes.

Dear boyfriends of the past: I’m so sorry.

(I once had a pedicurist in St. Louis who spoke very little English pull me aside to give me some friendly advice because she was that concerned. “Don’t spend so much time in water,” she said. “Use more lotion.”)

I snarked about the conversation to "Bobby" later. "Spend less time in water? I barely shower as it is!" And then I waited two years to think about putting lotion on my feet. Turns out you TOTALLY CAN. I know! I KNOW! It's one of those assumptions you didn't know you had until it was suddenly broken: my feet are not some no man's land at the bottom of my legs. (In spite of the advanced topography.) You can, like, wash them, with normal soap, and put lotion on them, and all that stuff, because they are JUST SKIN. (Under the calluses.)

About this same time I discovered that they would also just SELL the magic feet-softening device that pedicurists use in the stores. To the public. Like, for three dollars at Target.

You don't have to show a perdicurists license or anything, if indeed such a thing exists. YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A TRAINED PROFESSIONAL TO TOUCH YOUR OWN FEET.

I bought TWO.

It is basically a very serious blade that is attached to a handle, like a vegetable peeler only much more serious. It is not actually a softening device, if you are imagining a massager of some kind: it is, in fact, a callus remover. It is extremely unsexy and I don’t care. I have been using it religiously and for the first time last night, or possibly early this morning, I was in the thralls of sleep and I had an itch on my leg and I moved my foot to scratch it—keep in mind, not with the toes, but with the brillo pads helpfully installed on the sides of my heels, and…it didn’t work. For the love of blog, it didn’t work.

My feet may, at some point in the future, be ready for public view.

*This post is terrible and I can't figure out why, but I'm tired of looking at it so I'm just going to post it. SO THERE.

A Song and a Quote

2011-05-23T15:39:00.000-07:00

Share Crimson and Clover by Tommy James and the Shondells

Also, everyone must immediately go read The Trephine, whom I found through Maggie Mason, WHO IS AWESOME.

A key quote:

"Cheesy music can really cheer you up. The cheesier, the better, really. Let Destiny’s Child offer you a strong moral message while also providing a beat to dance to in your new apartment. Note that your pets will not, in fact, throw their hands up at you, even if you entreat them to do so. Technically, they are not independent women, so I suppose this makes sense."

I laughed so hard at this that I woke up Roommate.

Boundaries

2011-05-15T12:33:00.001-07:00

"Did you bring your bike with you?" he asked me.

"Yes," I said. "And the pump. Who's a poster child for medication? THIS girl."

"Now if only you had arrived ON TIME."

"Hey. Pills aren't MAGIC."

"Anyway. You get away with it this once because it's too nasty to ride anyway."

"I see. Then why did I bring it?"

"Well, I thought we could put it in the storage unit. Then we'll always have the option."

He looked at my face. "What? Did you have plans to ride to work this week?"

"No, but...you're inviting me to put something in your storage unit?

Silence.

"You know what? Good point. Never mind. Let's just keep it in your car."

"Allrighty then."

In Addition, I Return to Aiming For Pretty

2011-05-13T09:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is flat out ridiculous. I have looked like a baby mole rat for almost a week, including a weekend jaunt to Port Townsend with a Boy to meet all his friends (fortunately, many of whom I had already met) and a couple dates and some important work things and it hasn’t really helped, and I am going back to using eye makeup, goddammit. I don’t care if my eyes fall out. And I have thrown out all the stuff I already owned and I have bought a whole new batch of stuff, and I’m excited about it.

(After some furious internetting, I have determined that what I probably have is blepharitis, which is a good explanation why no one around me seems to have caught what I thought was my pinkeye, including my boyfriend for all of last summer, when it was worst, and also my roommate, who—although we do AIM for separation—uses my eye makeup.)

Oh, I’m just leaving the damn parantheses behind. Blepharitis is basically malfunctioning tear ducts. They block up for some reason, and then your lower eyelids swell. It can be due to an overabundance of oil, which often happens in dandruff (ding!) and rosacea (ding!) sufferers, and it can happen because you’ve been on Accutance (ding!) and apparently the condition can hang on for many years and there isn’t much you can do. Drugs sometimes help if the infection gets bad. (Infection?) Mine aren’t infected, just a little swollen, which causes redness, and occasional eye styes, which are so tiny that no one can see them except for me. ANYWAY. It’s not contagious, and it can be easily managed with good eye hygiene and normal Visine-type eye drops. Good to know. Thanks, Internet.

And I did a little more internetting and poking around and I added a few supplements to my routine, and I learned you can enhance red hair with BEET JUICE, among other things, which I will try. Because I am apparently crazy. And I have given myself a pedicure. During which I bled. Right before a date. That’s the next post.

In Which Mr. Neighbor Makes Himself Useful

2011-05-12T12:20:00.000-07:00

Remember the post in which I complained about controlling hardware experts (my, those people DO sound serious) coming over and rearranging one’s entire computer system?

My buddy Mr. Neighbor, formerly a CS major at Carnegie Mellon, now one of the hiring leads for a division at Amazon that is growing so quickly that they’re having to double up on desks (read: Mobile Devices) has, as you might guess, a few opinions on technology. He happened over a few nights ago, sniffing around for tequila to make up for the dinner date that we had already had planned but that I canceled on (obviously, at the last possible minute, it’s a wonder why anyone still speaks to me) and while he was drinking his apology tequila, I showed off the AV system.

“Hmmm,” he said, taking a quick look at the front, but then immediately pulling everything slightly out from the wall and checking out the connections. (The hardware equivalent of first kicking the tires and then popping the hood.) “I see you’re missing a few speakers,” were his first, ill-chosen, words. My hair stood on end.

“I am not MISSING a speaker!” I said, rather too loudly. “Are you saying I somehow need more speakers than what I already have?”

He looked up, surprised. “Well, you have seven channels here,” he said. “I mean, seriously. You could have surround sound PLUS two extra speakers.”

“I know,” I said, feathers settling. “But we wanted the towers. We liked the sound better, and we don’t watch a lot of movies.”

“And you don’t have anything with a slot hooked up to your screen, I notice,” he said, “making it difficult to watch movies anyway.”

“Well, physical ones, anyway. Thanks to your suggestion, we have a Roku box, so we can stream. But the towers are fine for that. We thought about getting a Blu-ray or a PSP, though, just for that reason. For the slot issue.”

“You could hook up your computer, since it’s right here,” he said, peering behind the receiver again. “That is, if you hadn’t made such a mess of hooking up your devices already.”

He was in luck; I was already feeling contrite. “Is there a way I can do it better?”

“Well, sure. This receiver can receive pictures, as well as sound. You could shoot everything here, and then have only one input shooting OUT to the TV. But you’d need more HDMI cables.”

“Oh, I have extras,” I said loftily. “I have a fear of running short of cables and I always buy extra.” (NOT always true, sadly. Roommate and I were stuck without INNERNET for a day after our second rearrange because Bread Winner—that would be me—hadn’t thought ahead about coax. But back to the story.)

“Well, some other time we can rearrange…”

“Um, why not now?”

“Because we’ve been drinking tequila?”

I just looked at him. He shrugged.

“Ooookay, I guess we’ll rearrange things right now.”

We rearranged, and it was good.

And now I have a new problem: my old tower doesn’t have an HDMI input, which means I spent some time standing in front of the “Cables” aisle at Office Depot this morning, trying to remember what kind of inputs I DID have on the back of my tower. VGA, yes, but that was being used. DVI? Well, I guess I’ll just buy it and find out.

Moment of Honesty

2011-05-10T12:49:00.001-07:00

I have half a tank of gas, my car’s oil has been changed recently and I just got the emergency brake fixed, along with the thermostat and the cooling system.

The liquor cabinet is restocked, I fixed my favorite shoes, I ordered more coconut water from Amazon. I paid my motorcycle tabs. (It needs a lot more work than just tabs, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.) Titan has had his yearly bath.

I am not behind at work.

I have properly hydrated myself today.

And I even have a hair appointment scheduled for next week.

Trying to figure out what the heck I’m going to freak out about next!

Oh, yes:

I own several dresses, but none of them are right for the wedding I’m going to in Houston in a week and a half, and I don’t have shoes, either, OR a purse; and I need a pedicure and my feet are ugly.

Short on Kombucha for the apartment.

Need a radio for the Jeep.

Still haven’t bought window boxes for the apartment.

Nor have I cooked in two months at least, maybe more.

And finally, I haven’t worked out in two months either, and I could really stand to lose five pounds before the wedding.

And post-finally, I can’t seem to wear eye-makeup without my eyes freaking out.

Yes, men, this is really what women think about. All. The. Time.

Sitting Here About To Be Late For A Date

2011-04-27T19:07:00.001-07:00

This could really be the title of almost all of my blog posts.

What Do Atheists Say When They're Grateful?

2011-04-25T00:03:00.000-07:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single person in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a deity to thank.

I mean, seriously. I am fed, clothed, watered, and, in fact, indulged. There is money for red wine, and ibuprofen, and coffee. There is money for gas and books, and more importantly, there is time for some of the best conversations I have had in my life, many of which have happened only recently, and from which I am still reeling.

For example, I just saw my friend D whom I adore more now than I ever did, and we had a wonderful conversation about our work. Which doesn't sound very impressive until you know that I routinely fix culture clashes over two billion dollar contracts (that's with a "b") and she was indeed published before she was thirty, which is kind of a big deal, even when you're at Varhard, because she discovered the mechanism behind how to turn off double-stranded RNA when you want to. And in the world of genetics, so, ALL LIFE, that is kind of a big deal.

(And then we talked about why humans do what they do, why xenophobia exists, how to cure cancer--and I am not exaggerating--and epigenetics, not to be confused with eugenics, which sucks. And THEN we talked about boys and kids, just to be normal. And we also discussed biology and the role it plays in sex and gender, and how those are totally different things.)

(And before that, I had several discussions with both old and new flames, about human nature and life, and a wonderful conversation with my roommate about why the homeless exist and why, as a society, humans haven't retained the biological imperative to kill off our weakest, and therefore: eugenics (which still sucks) and why kids change people and how subservient we are to our biological clocks and how that differs in your gender.)

So. The point is, my life is way too good, and I don't know how to properly express my gratitude. Also, my friends are cool. The end.

Right After I Re-Caulk The Grout

2011-04-18T09:12:00.000-07:00

Only Male Blonde Squad Member: "When is your trip to Korea?"

Me: "Possibly not until early May."

OMBSM: "That isn't far off!"

Me: "Yeah, my sense of time is a little jacked up."

Me: "Since 'three weeks' is pretty much an eternity right now, at the pace this work is going."

OMBSM: "Understandable. But you have a TV to entertain yourself now, so time should fly. You know, since you have time to use it."

Me: "Yes. I'll be sure and do that right after I start my organic herb garden."

Me: "And then possibly build a chicken coop and learn how to crochet."

OMBSM: "HA."

I Have Worked 64 Hours This Week Already And I Will Respond To Your Text When I Damn Well Please

2011-04-08T14:49:00.000-07:00

"Thank you for calling the offices of The Justice League Of Sexy Bitches, Inc. Your call is not important to us at any time, and will not be answered in any order not determined by bribes. Flowers will receive a priority two, jewelery a priority one. Chocolate presenters will be laughed out of the office, but those who arrive in person with red wine may receive an immediate response, but may also be ignored. Now would be the time in which we would thank you for your patience if in fact we would ever do that sort of thing, which we wouldn't. If you get tired of waiting, feel free to visit our would-be rivals, The Simpering League of Overblown Bar Sluts, just down the street. Good day to you."

You Know What's Interesting?

2011-04-01T13:43:00.001-07:00

Discovering that if you search my full name + the word blog, you find this blog. NOT good.

Also, you know what's hard?

Google stalking someone who's had top secret clearance, is a very talented coder, and has worked for the DoE.

If that dude does not want to be found, YOU WILL NOT FIND HIM, chemical engineer with barely the ability to remember the bold tag in html.

Just Finished Eight Antacids and Four Ibuprofen

2011-03-31T08:29:00.000-07:00

Monday Morning, 6:30 am.

Wake up exhausted and slightly hungover after being gone all weekend in Port Townsend. Stumble around.

Work: Very important Monday 8:00 AM Meeting with my boss, her boss, and his boss.

(While I am ON THE PHONE FOR MY MEETING): Work also calls on the other line. "Need your urgent attention for these major parts of the next Korean class, starting in a month."

Work, again: "The director and deputy director of the business unit we were hoping to utilize for our Kuwait plan just resigned."

Work, again: "Have you ordered those books for the Korean class starting on Monday?"

Work, again. "You've scheduled that celebratory lunch for the end of one of your Korean projects already? Oh. Can you change the reservation from 6 to 16? And where's the certificate?"

Barely 8:15 AM, still on the phone with my boss, her boss, and his boss.

St Louis Work: "SHIT WE FORGOT SOMETHING FOR THE MAJOR KOREAN TRIP." I am on the phone with St. Louis for the next three hours.

Tuesday morning.

Kitchen: "I'm a mess. Please clean me."

Bathroom sink: "I've been clogged for a week and I'm still clogged."

Closet: “All your pants are too big because you’ve lost ten pounds and haven’t taken the time to go shopping. You look terrible in whatever you’re about to put on."

Face: “You haven’t washed me since Saturday and I’m going to fuss about it.”

Hair: “Seriously, my split ends are about to grow spider babies, and my roots are four inches long.”

Work: “Surprise! Brand new 8:00 am meeting with St. Louis!”

My apartment manager, who has been on vacation for a week, calls. "Remember that two bedroom you were going to move in to? The couple wants to switch ASAP. Can you move this weekend?"

Roommate calls. "Remember I'm going to be out of town all day Saturday for the naming ceremony for the baseball field celebrating my grandfather's memory?"

Me, calling Eric. "PLEASE let us move NEXT weekend?"

Personal: "Hey, want to go away with me to a sunny and warm location next weekend? I leave on Thursday, right in the middle of the major Korean Trip and over the weekend when you’re now supposed to move.”

Me: “Um...”

Him: "Buy a bikini, no excuses."

Work calls again. "That new six-person Korean class starting on Monday--you have everything for that, right?"

Work: "Also, that major Korean three-day meeting that starts next Tuesday--your customers want those hotel reservations changed to downtown Seattle, and have you booked the Boeing Transportation yet?"

Personal: "Hey," an old flame says. "Are we still on for that Tuesday night drink and catch up?"

St Louis Work: "WE STILL HAVEN’T SOLVED THAT MAJOR THING WE FORGOT FOR THE ST. LOUIS TRIP."

*Long St. Louis Work Meeting*

Vet calls: "Hi, why haven't you come to pick up Titan's medicine yet? We close at six."

Work: "Have you ordered those books for the Korean class starting on Monday?"

Work: "Please also address these five emergencies for Co-Worker #1, who has been pulled away to work India."

Gary Manuel: “Hi, just calling to remind you that you have a hair appointment on Wednesday afternoon."

Personal: "Hey, want to come shopping with me Wednesday evening?"

Blondie #1: "Hey, the girls and I are getting drinks on Wednesday night! Come or be yelled at."

St. Louis work: “STILL HAVEN’T FIXED MAJOR THING.”

Work: "Given that our first plan just fell through, please take a little time and put together a comprehensive strategy for our entire technical approach in Kuwait for the next six years. Should total about 1.2 billion dollars."

Personal: "We’re still on for that movie on Thursday, right? See you at 6:30. DO NOT BE LATE."

Work: "Please write up a contract amendment for the three Korean projects we're going to be short on. Have that ready by Tuesday. Thanks."

Wednesday Morning.

Kitchen: "I'm still a mess, only more so. PLEASE clean me."

Bathroom Sink: "Hi, I'm still clogged. I know you just had the plumber out here two weeks ago, but I'm still very clogged."

Face: “Wow, I look terrible.”

Hair: “You saw an old flame WITH ME LIKE THIS?"

Closet: “Remember how you don’t have any pants that fit you? Piling them all on your bed is not going to help.”

Sound Transit: "Hey, we have your bike down at the bus station--come by anytime that is convenient for you."

St. Louis work: “Congratulations on fixing major thing. Here’s the next six problems.”

St. Louis work: "I can’t change hotels to stay with our Korean customer—too much to do in Kent. Since you live in downtown Seattle, if we rent you a van, can you walk to their hotel every day at 7:30, and drive them to Kent by 8:30? Thanks. I don’t want to pay over $140 a night."

Work: “Please attend five hours of meetings today.”

Work: “How’s the $1.2 billion Kuwait strategy coming along?”

Work: “What about all these other things for the Korean class that started in a month?”

Blondie, Personal, and Gary Manuel, in unison: “COME SEE ME TONIGHT!”

Thursday Morning.

Kitchen: "I'm now completely unusable and it takes ten minutes to get a glass of water. Let me remind you that you're supposed to move this weekend."

Bathroom Sink: "I'm now going to add ten minutes to your morning routine due to clogging, because I hate you.”

Closet: “It now takes you an additional ten minutes (after the additional ten minutes for the unusable kitchen and the additional additional ten minutes for the clogged bathroom sink) to find anything to wear because you’ve lost ten pounds and nothing fits and you still haven’t gone shopping.”

Acne: “Hi, just showing up to join the party! You haven’t washed your face in at least four days and I hate you! LOL!”

Work: KUWAIT KUWAIT KUWAIT.

Stomach: “I'M GOING TO CRAMP UP NOW.”

Work: MAJOR KOREAN TWO-HOUR CELEBRATION LUNCH.

Me: *whimpers*

Analogy

2011-03-21T09:16:00.001-07:00

We were having breakfast at Cyclops.

“I have a hard time letting food go to waste,” I said, as my date eyed me boxing up my one lonely triangle of polenta cake and accompanying tomato romano sauce.

“I’ve noticed that,” he said drily, not needing to mention that I had boxed up most of my chicken dinner the night before at Shelter and insisted that we leave Ballard and take it back to Capitol Hill to put in my fridge, even thought we had to go all the way back to Ballard for the Moisture Festival. It wasn’t a new thing. On our third date I had boxed up most of my carbonara at Café Bendodi and insisted on carrying it around all night, finally getting it safely to his fridge in Belltown but of course forgetting it when I left. (He ate it, of course, and promised to buy me more, a promise I hope to collect on soon.) Hence my recent insistence on getting my leftovers all the way back to Capitol Hill. I had carried boxes of food around on MOST of our dates, except the ones where we ate at Happy Hour or with other people.

“It’s not that I grew up poor,” I said. “There was always PLENTY to eat, and my parents love good food. It’s that food is such a lifeline for me. If I don’t get it, I pass out. I can’t possibly waste it. If I give up this food now, what if I NEED IT LATER?”

He nodded, trying to understand. Being a previously house-trained man, he knew it was important to at least pretend to listen to the woman sitting across the table from you.

“It’s like drugs,” I said, using a metaphor I’ve used before, and one that I knew he’d appreciate. “You just can’t let ANY go to waste.”

The light bulb clicked on, and he laughed. “HA! No kidding. I could have just crumbs of [censored] left in the [censored], but damned if I’m going to throw it out. And that’s probably way less valuable, monetarily, than that amount of food that you just saved. It’s not about saving money.”

“No. It’s about the intrinsic value of the substance to you. The phrase ‘worth its weight in gold’ comes to mind.”

“Yes. It’s worth WAY more than the money itself.”

“Yes.”

“Good analogy, engineer. You broke it down so a sales guy like me could understand.”

“Thanks.”

Blogging The Brainwave: A Passage from Daniel Gilbert's "Stumbling On Happiness".

2011-03-08T20:22:00.000-08:00

"What would you do right now if you learned that you were going to die in ten minutes? Would you race upstairs and light that Marlboro you've been hiding in your sock drawer since the Ford administration? Would you waltz into your boss's office and present him with a detailed description of his personal defects? Would you drive out to that steakhouse near the new mall and order a T-bone, medium rare, with an extra side of the really bad cholesterol? Hard to say, of course, but of all the things you might do in your final ten minutes, it's a pretty safe bet that few of them are things you actually did today.

Now, some people will bemoan this fact, wag their fingers in your direction, and tell you sternly that you should live every minute of your life as though it were your last, which only goes to show that some people would spend their final ten minutes giving other people dumb advice."" (End emphasis mine.)

-Daniel Gilbert, Stumbling On Happiness

Note To Self

2011-03-08T20:19:00.001-08:00

One of these days, I'll figure out how to make photos from my App Cameras rotate properly BEFORE publishing them through Blogger-Droid.

Fairy tale fountain

2011-03-03T13:01:00.001-08:00

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.7

Completed to do list.

2011-03-01T08:34:00.001-08:00

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.7

More Thoughts In No Particular Order

2011-02-25T15:15:00.000-08:00

Holy crap it's been A MONTH since I blogged.

My car insurance is now $75 a month. Sure is nice to have all those tickets gone from my record. (Also note: I obviously haven't gotten any MORE. Whew.)

I am dating SO FREAKING MUCH. I barely have time to do anything else. I love it, and I'm learning a lot about myself.

And other people, of course.

Things I have learned about love:

You can really like someone as a person, and you can really like them as a lover, but sometimes that's not enough. If you can't--or won't--be vulnerable with each other, that is not a relationship.

Things I have learned about myself:

I need my dates to be articulate motormouths.

And I need them to have something going on in their lives. They need to be ABOUT something.

(Cafe Presse is playing Roy Orbison and it makes me smile on the inside.)

Questions for the universe:

Is there a service that will send cards for you? I need that.

How many cracking noises in a windshield is too many?

Is there an extended-life battery made for the HTC Incredible?

How can I move AGAIN? Roomamte and I JUST moved, feels like. We are still moving IN. We just got things rearranged. And now we have to move again. But for a good cause.

I'll hang on to that happy thought.

Thoughts In No Particular Order

2011-02-25T10:41:00.000-08:00

My second cousin is in a music video being played on MTV!

My friend Athena is funny. Her Facebook status: "Life as we know it canceled due to snow."

A Korean that I support for work will just call me over and over again until he reaches me on the phone. This is frustrating. Paradoxically, it makes me less inclined to call him back, which I know is childish and beneath me.

Still.

I have three weddings to attend this year. That is more than than I have attended in the last three years combined. I'm

When I got in my car this morning to drive to work, the windshield was making horrible crackling sounds. Being that it was out in the 21 degree weather last night, and it's very old, I re-parked it immediately and am working from home. I'm a little scared.

Possibly way too late, I now possess a garage parking spot for my apartment. Well, maybe it will come in useful for my motorcycle.

Which I haven't ridden in MONTHS.

This is partially because I didn't fit in my leathers for awhile. I'm working on fixing that.

Also, it's now too bloody cold.

Also, I kind of want to sell it, but of course it's the wrong season.

And, due to my complete spazziness with the title, it's hard to sell.

SIGH.

New topic: I am officially, but OFFICIALLY, out of debt.

Which I want to change, obviously, by buying a new motorcycle. Perhaps I will attempt to save up for that, first.

Especially since Roommate and I just got the BEST NEWS EVER: WE GOT MOVED UP TO A TWO BEDROOM!

But we'll pay slightly more rent. And we'll need to buy a COUCH. And MORE FURNITURE, YAY! So. Perhaps I should really get to selling that motorcycle.

But then what will I put in my parking spot?

Brief Fascination

2011-02-01T20:22:00.001-08:00

...with songs that involve morning sequences.

"Get Up In The Morning", by Chiddy Bang (which majorly samples...)

"Israelites", by Desmond Dekker

"That's Why I", by Dirty (Warning: video is really bad.)

"Goin Back To Cali", by Notorious BIG (That recorded conversation between Diddy and Big at the start of the song is a conversation that the Roommate and I have just about every morning.)

It makes mornings look fun. Which they are, when they're happening to OTHER people.

The Last Nine Days

2011-01-26T18:34:00.000-08:00

...have passed quickly.

A lot of dates. A lot of music. A lot of roommate bonding. Some birthday parties. Did I mention some dates? And some music? Also, Roommate and I are trying to keep the place clean and bonding over it? I can't even TELL most of those stories.

Also I go to Kuwait in a week and a half, and I finally got our boot rack organized, thanks to City Hardware. Yeah, we have a lot of boots.

Half of the Blonde Squad is moving to Chicago. Molly is already gone, and C --the girl I went to Thailand with--is leaving in a week. That's right, she's leaving me, and the Lazy B, and her boyfriend, and moving to CHICAGO WITH MOLLY.

This post is random. My LIFE is random. I meet a lot of really great people and I spend time with them. People are fascinating, my job is great, and I'm late for another date.

Nightmare, or Stephen King's Next Book

2011-01-17T10:20:00.001-08:00

I was staying in a beautiful resort in the middle of the woods, and then vampirism arrived to completely kill the mood. We thought we would be safe, but we weren't. I remember the first vampires staggering out of the closets, lurching and screaming for blood, and then I saw my fellow vacationers become blood-sucking monsters. I ran and hid for days, trying to avoid the spread of the disease and the monsters themselves, seeing people I knew and respected being turned and preying on each other. Every corner became a temporary hook up spot for public seduction and feeding, in all gender combinations, and then I wished I had just given in and been turned instead, because now I was being drafted as food and it was too late to be turned.

Was it a race thing? I looked around and realized, as I was pulled into the dark conference room and trapped on the big dark wood meeting table, that every vampire around me was black, men and women. Was I letting black women down by dating outside my race? Was I not allowed to live because I was white and weak? Was it because I was less beautiful?

And then I realized that, no, I'd been here before, this same conference room, in the middle of the day that time, and the previous vampires were white. That was different, though--that time I was the chosen sacrificial victim so that my friends could go free, and this time I was just unlucky and unwanted, the last kid picked for the softball team and I had made the wrong choices and I wasn't going to survive this. At any minute I might feel the fangs on my neck and I was terrified and I woke myself up.

From "Dream Moods":

"To dream about a vampire alludes to unbridled passions which are taking over you or another person. Ask yourself, if someone or something is depleting your energy and strength. Or maybe you are the vampire? In this case, change your cold-hearted behaviour and stop letting your instincts and primitive urges to take control over you."

"Dreams of being chased are among the most common dreams. They often are triggered by persistent problems. In the same way one might describe a nagging issue as 'dogging my heels,' the subconscious mind might present a literal image of being 'chased' by the problem."

After that I found myself safe as a worker on a big cruise ship with my two dogs, which barely helped because we were docked in Seattle and appeared to be going hiking in the woods a lot...

"To dream that you are in a ship cabin, indicates that are seeking some refuge from your emotions."

More on dreaming about vampires:

"Something is sucking the blood (passion, anger, energy) from you. Could be a particular person, event or emotion. A creature of the unconscious (dark) that is frightening, some repressed emotion."

"To see a vampire in your dream, symbolizes seduction and sensuality, as well as fear and death. The vampire represents contrasting images of civilized nobility and aggression/ferocity. It may depict someone in your waking life whose charm may ultimately prove harmful. Deep down inside you know that this person is bad for you, yet you are still drawn to it. Alternatively, to see a vampire suggests that you are feeling physically or emotionally drained. The vampire may also be symbolic for someone who is addicted to drugs or someone in an obsessive relationship."

OR it's very possible that maybe I shouldn't eat a weird concoction of whole wheat pasta, salmon, salsa verde, and Parmesan cheese right before bed.

Snow Day 2.0

2011-01-12T00:16:00.001-08:00

This snow day was way less intense than the last one.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

Normal Conversation

2011-01-11T00:50:00.001-08:00

I have just finished a successful work phone call at 10 pm. In which I cajoled, begged, verbally genuflected, and eventually got my way. I hang up. I pause.

"YES!"

Roommate, who had been trying to sleep, rolls over. "Hmmm."

"You're a little scared of my cutthroat business tactics, aren't you?"

"Honestly, I'm always a little scared of that."

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

QotD: Responsible Engineers

2011-01-10T14:32:00.000-08:00

"He didn't say 'That's weird.' He wouldn't have said 'That's weird' if a flock of sheep had cycled past playing violins. It wasn't the sort of thing a responsible engineer said."--Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, Good Omens.

It's been stuck in my head all day, so sue me.

Last Day of Vacation

2011-01-03T14:09:00.001-08:00

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

We have had a week of this stunning weather, from the 30th on. The urge to go condo shopping is almost irresistible.

Post Shopping Snack.

2011-01-02T17:17:00.001-08:00

The juiciness of this pluot cannot be accurately described. It's an explosion in your mouth. Thanks, Fremont Farmers Market. Paired with some Port Salut from TJ's.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

Infamy

2010-12-27T11:42:00.001-08:00

I'm in the car with the Ex on the way to Jazz Alley and "Ridin' Solo" comes on. I laugh.

"Is this your theme song right now?"

He laughs too. "It's been played a few times. Maybe more than a few times. And it's made the karaoke rotation maybe a few times."

"Wow, I'm famous!"

"Sort of. There's another word with 'famous' in it, have you heard of that word?"

"Nope. No idea what word you're talking about. Never been applied to me before, either."

Important Distinction

2010-12-24T11:04:00.000-08:00

Roommate and I are locals, and have lived in Seattle proper for years, on and off, and currently live eleven blocks from Pike Place Market, which we have pretty much memorized, and yet here we are at Information, trying to find a tobacco store.

The Information Ladies don't know one off the top of their heads, so they are looking at a map to help us. I study the map outside. Roommate has been up since 2 am (not a typo) and is getting a little punchy and I'm worried she's going to cause the Information Ladies serious psychological damage. There are several maps of Pike Place Market, all drawn poorly, none with any relation to each other.

"This map is color coded according to building," I say to Roommate, around the corner talking to the ladies. "Apparently there's one in the Stewart Building."

"That's what they just said," she said, frustrated, "but who knew the buildings had NAMES? I just need them to tell me what it's by." (Pop quiz: can you name ANY of the Pike Place Market buildings?)

We finally agree that the tobacco store is probably by the Original Starbucks. We set off.

We walk in frustrated silence for several minutes, pushing our way through the hordes of tourists and Christmas dawdlers. Both of us agree that making maps that only reference building names is probably not the best way to go.

"Just proof that in the Information Age, simply having a lot of information is NOT the same thing as knowing anything useful," I said, rather dryly.

We found the tobacco store.

Winter afternoon sunshine.

2010-12-22T15:28:00.001-08:00

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

Activate Plan Get Me The Fuck Out Of Here

2010-12-10T21:04:00.001-08:00

Okay, I have spent some time in Asian countries and third world countries and I rarely get overwhelmed, by ANYTHING, but I am in Seoul, and I just flat out escaped into a Starbucks. Let me tell you how rare that is for me. This may actually be a first.

Do not go into Namnaimun Market without valium.

There are things I actually want to buy, and every time I reach for my wallet I become paralysed by indecision and then I have to sit down, and there's no place to sit and I'm surrounded by 50,000 Koreans and everyone's pushing and shoving and no one loves me and I'm freezing and I have cramps and my roommate is cleaning the apartment and going on ACTUAL DATES and I am weirded out, man, and I need out NEED OUT I'M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND OMG A STARBUCKS.

Yeah. That's kind of how it was.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

Single AGAIN.

2010-12-02T09:21:00.000-08:00

And I'm really pretty okay with it.

In honor of the demise of that relationship, I have an excellent text that I once typed, very drunk, to the most recent ex:

"Wowm jm. Uh noy sure how phrase the fact that I'm too dino to khalsa a penitent."

No, I didn't send it.

2010-11-17T14:33:00.001-08:00

Portland Thoughts, At the Breakfast Table

2010-10-24T22:21:00.000-07:00

(Author's Note: I recently had the opportunity to attend my great-aunt and great-uncle's 60th wedding anniversary with a lot of other family in Denver. It was a real blast, and one of the awesome moments was having my aunt-and-uncle's best friends come in for a surprise, who had been the matron of honor and best man at their wedding. Sunday morning, we were sitting around the breakfast table at the hotel and they started reminiscing about Portland, back in the fifties. It was a wonderful moment that I had to recreate from memory, an hour later--I didn't want to record it and break the moment. The following is the best I can remember.)

Our apartment back then had bunk beds.

That’s right! Bunk beds. Because there was no space for two beds side by side. But it was classy--hey, it had a separate bedroom! That was CLASS.

That’s right, and in the living room we had that double bed, with wheels on the top.

That’s right. If we had overnight guests, we’d lay it flat, you know, but in the daytime we’d push it up against the wall, and it became a couch, you know, because one side of the double bed had wheels on it and it ran up against the wall.

Like a futon, these days.

That’s right.

We shared a bathroom with the couple next to us, and SHE kept the bathroom clean.

That’s right. That was a miracle, such a boon for two bachelors living alone, you know.

Yes. And the walls were so thin that she could easily hear our alarm through the walls, so when our alarm went off, she used to jump up and run into the bathroom first.

That’s right, and one day we got wise to this, so Dave set his alarm for three o’clock in the morning.

(Laughter)

(Dave: I cannot confirm my actions at that time.)

They were such a nice couple, though, that the husband--what was his name?

Hap.

That’s right, Hap. Hap found me (Jimmy) the next day and said, “Hey, you know my wife gets up when she hears your alarm, and I think yesterday you might have set it wrong! I hope you didn’t get up late or miss an important meeting.”

(More laughter)

And he meant it, too--he was concerned about us.

That’s right. And then he was so nice about the girls.

That’s RIGHT! The landlady, would only rent to couples, normally, but she made an exception for Dave and I, but she said: “NO GIRLS.” We weren’t allowed to have any lady guests at all in the apartment.

That’s right. So Hap says to me, (Dave), “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “If you want to have lady friends over, you just tell me, and we’ll run ‘em through my apartment.”

(Laughter)

And when it rained, we had to put a PLANK down to walk over to the university.

That’s right. Thirty bucks a month, we paid for that place, fifteen a piece.

(Joan speaking.) And then there was that big house on Stevens street that we lived in right after we were married. And we threw a New Year’s Eve party.

(Dave speaking) And that was the LAST New Year’s eve party we EVER threw. All my fraternity brothers came, and their wives and girlfriends, and it got pretty wild.

[Name forgotten] got so mad that we ran out of fixings for Tom and Jerry’s, and so he went into the kitchen and scooped that stuff out of the sink!

(Joan) That’s right. We threw a dinner party there and we [she and Matron of Honor] were making spaghetti, because that was all we could afford in those days, and we didn’t have a colander so we were draining it over the sink and the lid came off and there went all the spaghetti, right into the sink.

[Matron of Honor] We looked around, and we didn’t see anyone, so we just scooped it out of the sink and put it back in the pan.

(Laughter)

Well, there wasn’t any more! To serve, I mean, or eat. That was all we had.

That was a wonderful old house, though. On that New Year’s eve party, Margaret’s husband Whitney was supposed to leave for Korea the next day, and in the middle of the festivities, he quietly left the party and went out to his car. No one saw him go.

All of a sudden we hear a gunshot.

All of us, thinking the worst, run out to the car, and there is Whitney with the gun in his hand, very calm. He had just fired it in celebration of the New Year. It was a tradition with him.

That’s right! He fired it into the ground, though, not into the air, because he was smart and careful.

Yes, he was very savvy with guns. Always was.

That was a wonderful old house. It was old and large and falling apart, but I loved it. They knocked it down, you know, because they put the street through there.

Oh, I didn’t know!

Yes, it’s gone.

Well, it wouldn’t have lasted long anyway. It was falling apart. Needed a lot of work.

(Dave) Like that cabin that my father’s friend, Jay Gould, (Author's note: ?) had. It was out by the lake. We used to go out there, and fish during the day and play cards at night, and he (Jay) had to have the biggest and best of everything, so one year he buys this gigantic, high-powered, portable radio. This thing was HUGE, I remember, although of course most of the size was due to the batteries. And it was my job, back when Portland had a ball team, to listen to the radio and call out the score. And I could barely hear it, because the reception was so bad, but still it was my job to sit with my ear pressed against that goddamned thing.

What was that announcer’s name?

Randy Truitt. (Author's note: I got this wrong.)

(Wow, there’s a name I haven’t heard in fifty years.)

Yes, Randy Truitt. And when they hit the ball, he’d announce it, and he had a matchbox in the press box and he’d flick the matchbox--thwock--so that it sounded like you could really hear it.

That’s right.

Right before we got married, Joan’s mother knew that she was going to move out, so we moved her into a much smaller apartment downtown, so she could get to work easily.

That’s right--right around the corner from the big Unitarian church. I slept on a cot in the living room, because we knew it wouldn’t be for long.

Right.

(Author's Note: It sounds so...simple. I'm not one to be nostalgic, but...awww.)

Beautiful Fall Day Conversation

2010-10-15T13:58:00.000-07:00

Me: (begins to steer our walking back to work)

Kentucky: "Oh, yeah, guess we should turn."

Me: "Well, if we want to go back to work, we should."

Kentucky: "Let's just keep walking!"

Me: "And arrive in beautiful downtown Kent!"

Kentucky: "Hey, if we kept walking, we'd eventually get to California."

Me: "After a week."

Kentucky: "More like three weeks. How far do you think it is?"

Me: "From here to California? At least five hundred...I'd say, eight hundred miles."

Kentucky: "No! It is not THAT far. Well...where in California?"

Me: "Just to the border would be shorter."

Kentucky: "No, I want to go deep in California. San Francisco or L.A."

Me: "At least 800 miles. Maybe 1000."

Kentucky: "No!"

Me: "Yes! There's a LOT of California to cross!"

Kentucky: "I'm going to look that up."

(Much later.)

Me: "It's 808 miles from Seattle to San Fran."

Kentucky: "Hahaha."

Me: "And it's 1,135 miles to LA. AM I GOOD OR WHAT?"

Kentucky: "Yes. Quite!"

Me: "Thanks."

Kentucky: "If we walked at a 15 min mile pace, it would take us 20 days at 10 hours a day to get to San Fran." (Author's Note: She was right on when she estimated three weeks, earlier.)

Me: "4 miles an hour for 10 hours? We'd have to train."

Kentucky: "Yeah, I'm not saying it's going to happen anytime soon."

Me: "But what great training for Nepal!"

The Best Scene Of The Movie

2010-10-02T12:32:00.000-07:00

Foy: ...He certainly did give himself a billing, this George M. Cohan.

George: You don't have to memorize that one, kid. There's plenty more all over town.

Foy: I'd like to forget it. Say, mister, you connected with this turkey?

George: What makes you think it's a turkey? I hear it's pretty good.

Foy: It's a malicious rumor to gyp the public. Who is this guy Cohan? Where's he from? What is he, an upstart?

George: Oh, he's been through the mill. Played everything. Small time, big time, vaudeville, rep shows. Even followed dog acts.

Foy: Must've looked like an encore. Say, uh, is he as good as Foy?

George: Who?

Foy: Foy, Foy. (Foy sprays George's face) Eddie Foy. Oh, pardon me.

George: Pardon me. I didn't quite catch the name. Would you mind spraying it again?

Foy: Eddie Foy! The star that's got the big show down the street with a chorus of seventy.

George: Why, I thought they looked a little younger than that. I hear now that Cohan's in town, Foy is gonna retire.

Foy: Foy won't retire till he's ninety!

George: Is it gonna take him that long to discover he has no talent? Why, they tell me when he tries to sing, the orchestra puts up umbrellas.

Foy: Tries to sing! Foy is a genius! He keeps his audience glued to the seats.

George: That's one way o' keeping them in the theater. Cohan does it with talent. Look (he points out the poster) - produces his own plays, writes his own books, lyrics and music, plays the leads, and he's a great dancer.

Foy: He dances, eh? When does he get time to practice?

George: When you write your own plays you don't have to practice. Cohan's done all right. He's given the world 'Yankee Doodle Dandy.' What's Foy done for his country?

Foy: He gave 'em seven kids.

George: Does he dance?

Foy: One o' the best.

George: When does he get time to practice?

Foy: Say, listen, young fella. My name's Eddie Foy.

George: I know it. I'm George M. Cohan.

Foy: Oh, so you're Cohan? (They shake hands) Well, if I said anything accidental to make you mad, I want you to know I'm darn glad I did.

George: I don't blame ya. I'd feel the same way if I were up against Cohan. What do you like to drink?

Foy: Oh, moxie-

George: I can supply it! The attraction inside is a whole lot bigger than I am. Come and see it when your show closes.

--From Yankee Doodle Dandy, 1942

Sittin' In Some Place Weird

2010-10-01T10:22:00.001-07:00

The boy was sitting outside the restaurant, on the ground, I mean fully on the ground, his butt on the dirty concrete and his back pressed hard up against the railing that separated the restaurant's territory from the territory of the sidewalk, with all its casual passers-by, of which Bobby and I were two.

At first I thought the boy was a homeless kid high out of his gourd, with his legs hanging out slackly in front of him, cuffs and shoes resting fully in the filthy alley, his arms hanging limply by his sides, but his shirt and jeans were pristine and not cheap. His face was clean, he was young, and he wasn't mumbling or grinning, but his eyes stared blankly at nothing.

Bobby put a finger on it first: "THAT'S a breakup."

I turned to him. "You're right! I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on."

Bobby nodded. "We're all been there. You have to leave the restaurant, and your feet won't carry you any farther than you to absolutely have to go. So you end up sittin' in some place weird, and you know you're being awkward, and you know you're attracting attention and you're just like, "Fuck ALL of you. I'm gonna sit here and be weird, and fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

Taxi Driver Interviews: Part I In An Occassional Series

2010-09-23T12:41:00.000-07:00

(After the taxi driver caught my eye a few times, as I was hesitating between grabbing a cab and taking the bus.)

"Ah, I THOUGHT you wanted a taxi! I thought to myself, 'She needs a taxi, she just doesn't know it yet.'"

Yes, I was thinking about taking the bus, but if I did, I would have been late, and I can't be late. It's important.

"Oh? You have an important meeting? Is it with a VIP? Is it work, are you on your way to a work meeting?"

Actually, it's with my boyfriend, so...yes, he's a VIP.

"OH!" (Laughing) "He IS a VIP! He's a super VIP!"

Yes, I think so.

"That is good, you're a good girl. But you know, men, we are used to waiting for women. Women are ALWAYS late."

Yes, we take a long time. We have to get pretty.

"Yes, but they are always worth it!"

Oh really?

"Yes! Women are always worth it. We men, we always wait, but if she is a good girl, she is worth it. If she is nice and sweet, and doesn't cheat around, and a pretty girl...she's worth it."

I see.

"You can tell your boyfriend I said so."

I will do that.

"Now, my older daughter, she is not a good girl. Not worth it."

...I'm sorry, what? Your daughter is not a good girl?

"No! She is not a good girl. She's not in school, she doesn't work around the house, all she does is sleep all day and go out all night, she's loud, always playing the loud music, keeping her door closed. Lazy. Worthless girl."

Oh?

"Yes! I kicked her out. I told her, 'You have to go, get out.' Because you have to be firm, you know. I asked her to do just a little bit of work around the house--help your sister, clean your room, help clean the kitchen, you know, just...HELP! It wasn't a lot--just help out the family, everyone has to pitch in!"

Yes, that doesn't seem like a lot.

"But she wouldn't, so I kicked her out. After two months she came back, she said that she was sorry and she didn't like living without the family, that she would change and it would all be different. And after three weeks...she was back to her old ways. Going out all night, never helping. I kicked her out again. Three weeks, she lasted, but without the family, she is still crying."

That's sad.

"Yes! She is loco en cabesa, as the Spanish say."

(Laughing) Crazy in the head! Yes. Are you Spanish?

"No, I am Egyptian. But I love languages. And you speak Spanish?"

Un poquito.

"Un poquito, well, that is still good. I speak Spanish and some Italian, and I am trying to learn Japanese."

Wow!

"I love languages. I love people!"

Me too.

"Oh, here we are! Tell your boyfriend that you are worth waiting for. You are a good girl."

Words of Love

2010-09-09T14:44:00.000-07:00

Boyfriend: "I remembered that tonight is the start of the NFL season but am going to the symphony to be with you anyway."

Standby Dish

2010-08-31T14:00:00.000-07:00

That I eat at LEAST twice a week, sometimes more, for reasons that you will soon discover.

The Savoy Supper Version, which I had for dinner last and caused me to moan at every bite, is:

Kale, sauteed with two serious knobs of butter and a lot of garlic, and deglazed with several splashes of dry vermouth and then some lemon juice.

Very gently scrambled fresh chicken egg from co-workers chickens, scrambled for barely three minutes in more butter.

Sprinkle of Pecorino if you have it.

Kale, egg, sea salt, ground pepper, and pecorino: pretty magical. Nutritious, fast, super delicious. (Remember that eggs are much more common at dinner in most of the world. It's just North America that insists on eating them for breakfast.)

And then...there is the Trailer Park Version:

About 3/4 of a cup frozen spinach, warmed in the microwave for about a minute, or until hot. Sprinkle several squirts of lemon juice and shakes of sea salt. (Don't overdo! Sea salt is SALTY.)

One egg, poached in the microwave. (Seeing the theme?)

Dump egg over salted, lemony spinach. Break yolk, mix. Grate pepper, add salt to taste. Possibly add a nice grated cheese, if you feel like it. Parmesan is the classic, but Pecorino is my favorite. Also good with just the lightest sprinkling of truffle salt, which seems ridiculous to sprinkle over frozen spinach, but whatever.

Easy, fast, semi-nutritious. Both go well with red wine, the Trailer Park version slightly better. The Savoy Supper version doesn't need red wine.

Puns Make Things Better

2010-08-25T10:35:00.000-07:00

Boyfriend: "Here's how my morning has gone: just plunged my toilet, and now there is standing water and poop in my bathtub."

Me: "OH MY GOD."

Me: "Well, I hope the rest of your day is less shitty. ;)"

Two Steps Forward...

2010-08-13T22:22:00.000-07:00

"It's ironic," I said, on the phone with Chalie.

"I have this boyfriend who has spent the last several years without credit cards. He doesn't even have a debit card on him. He only buys things through cash."

"Okay..."

"So thanks to his excellent example, I've started leaving my American Express at home."

"Oh yeah? Any particular reason?"

"Well, to help pay off my debt," I said, rather shamefacedly. "It's going down slowly but surely, and I thought going on a cash system would help."

"That's great!" she said, politely ignoring the fact that I ought not to have any debt at all, and that my debt roughly totals--or used to total--how much she actually makes in a year. "How's it going?"

"Well, I have one credit card on me--it has a $500 limit, so I can't go crazy with it."

"Okay..."

"...and I'm at a gas station, and...my credit card is maxed out. I've paid the dang thing online, but it hasn't gone through yet."

"Oh."

"And the Tank is seriously on fumes. I can't get another ten miles."

"Uh...didn't this happen to you once before? You got stranded at a gas station with an empty bank account and an empty tank?"

"Yes. But that was a long time ago and I think Mom would not be as inclined to bail me out, this time."

"Uh...don't you have a debit card?"

"...It's in the mail. I lost my original one and they're replacing it."

"Oh for GOD'S sake," she said, exasperated. "What are you going to do?"

"Oh, I have a cash card. I can't buy things with it, but I can get cash."

"Oh. So you're okay."

"Oh, yeah. I have just have to walk into the store and hit the ATM before I try to buy gas."

"Okay. So WHAT, exactly, is ironic?"

"Suddenly I have money--paying down my debt and everything--and suddenly I can't get to it."

"Uh huh," she said, her voice dripping with ice crystals. "You. Poor. Thing."

Modern Conveniences

2010-08-06T18:29:00.000-07:00

"So there I was, cruising down East Marginal on the phone," I said, "and of course it was boiling hot yesterday and I had to close the windows because I was on the phone."

"Uh huh," said Helpful Friend.

"And because I'm on AT&T (nice choice, B) the connection kept dropping."

"Uh huh."

"So I'd lose the connection, shout, 'HELLO!' for several minutes, then give up, hang up with my chin, roll down the window, let the phone drop off my shoulder, and crack open the side triangle, which is the only way I ever get any cross breeze in that car."

"Uh huh."

"And THEN the person would call back, so I'd pick up, say, 'Hang on,' glue my chin to the phone to my ear, roll up the window, close the side triangle, and pick up again, shifting with my glued-in-place-elbow, saying, 'Okay.'"

"How were you steering? With your imaginary third elbow?"

"Steering?"

"Oh Lord," said the Helpful Friend. "Uh, couldn't you just wait until you were somewhere, you know, stationary, before calling people back?"

"No. Everyone calling me was at least three levels above me in org charts. [President of my Company] is only six levels above me total."

"How many times did your phone ring yesterday?"

"About 25."

"TWENTY FIVE!"

"Yes."

Silence.

"Okay, I have two things to say," said Helpful Friend. "One, I am never, ever, riding with you again, at least until you get a goddammed EAR PIECE for that phone. Seriously. You now have a job in which Boeing executives call you on a regular basis. Get. An. Earpiece."

"Okay..."

"...and two, did you know that modern cars have power windows?"

"What?"

"And...air conditioning?"

Me: "GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE."

Helpful Friend: "True story."

Deserving

2010-07-28T13:45:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago--a matter of months, maybe--a bartender and I had an intelligent conversation about absinthe as I waited for Calsee to open her apartment door. The crowd at the bar was extremely mixed, as it always is, at the Zig-Zag; on my left sat a blond, large-framed drunk woman in business clothes, I think drinking a martini; on my right sat small-boned skater kid drinking whiskey and beer, his over-sized t-shirt showing off his closely-shaved dark hair and arm tattoos. I pulled up a stool and asked the bartender what kind of absinthe he served. He offered me tastes of two kinds, and I shared them with the drunk woman in business clothes and the skater kid, knowing that one serving of absinthe is about all I can carry, and even a sip or two over that limit can be too much. They tasted. The drunk woman, very talkative, had barely a sip of each and exclaimed much over them; the skater kid appreciated it more and accepted my gift of the rest of the tastes. (A man after my own heart--never turn down free booze.) I drank my chosen absinthe--I forget what it was, now--and made a little more small talk to my left and to my right, until I asked for the bill. The skater kid made a move for my number, and I turned him down, gently. Calsee called. I strolled out of the Zig Zag, carefully, feeling the affects of the absinthe. Ahead of me on the Pike Hill Climb, walking up to street level, was the drunk woman in business clothes, who had left the bar with a late-arriving date. "This girl sits down," she says to him, loudly, and I realize she's talking about me, "says she builds planes for a living, and orders ABSINTHE!"

I brushed a little imaginary dirt off my shoulder.

ANYWAY, this is not about me, and I can't collect a speck of dirt compared to that bartender. Because that bartender with the intelligent absinthe conversation was just crowned "best bartender in America". Congratulations, Mr. Stenson. Wonder how this compares to being featured in Playboy's A-List?

Never a Dull Moment

2010-07-09T11:20:00.001-07:00

I've been putting off renting a truck for Sunday's move--yes! I am moving! On top of getting a new job!--and it turns out it's a good thing I did, because the new apartment building had a power outage and all the outlets in my new places BLEW OUT.

Yes, they did.

Now it turns out that I can't move in until the DAY that I have to MOVE OUT of my other place.

Even for someone as used to living on the edge as I am--and let me reassure you that I have made a damn career out of it--this is cutting it...a little close.

I'm not even sure what I'm going to do next.

And so I'll post a funny exchange from Facebook about LAST weekend:

Me, to T-Town: "After locking us out of your house--in the cold rain, in our pjs, without phones or wallets, getting into a fender-bender, driving like a maniac, and blowing out a tire--not to mention ziplining--Lilith Fair seemed pretty uneventful."

T-Town: "Two questions: 1. How is this different than a normal weekend for you? 2. Were you somehow under the impression the Lilith Fair would be interesting? But seriously, it was great to have you here and you still owe me 20 bucks."

Me: "Well, I don't normally go ziplining."

T-Town: "Good point."

Where My Head's At Today

2010-07-01T10:57:00.000-07:00

Here:

And here:

And here:

http://www.omniglot.com/blog/?p=2888

I got there because my boss and I are having a discussion about how to identify a language she overheard, not long ago, at the airport, that she couldn't identify on the spot. And since my boss is Irish, has an aunt who is Welsh, has traveled all over the world and spent a lot of time in Turkey and Saudi Arabia and Brazil, AND is a language nerd...let's just say that there's not many languages that she CAN'T identify on the spot. Lots of soft round sounds, and clicks, she said, spoken by three slender dark-haired girls with faintly olive skin. In this case, I think the gender identity of the girls is a red herring, so to speak. We've already ruled out everything on most continents, including Welsh, Basque, Catalan, and Icelandic. Nothing Cyrillic or Germanic, for sure. My boss' description makes it sound African. It's POSSIBLY Romanian or Finnish. Thoughts? (Celia? Rob?)

In any case, Omniglot looks fascinating. I may spend a lot of time there in the future.

And here:

Take me there, please.

Survived My First Week

2010-06-28T09:28:00.001-07:00

At the new job. I'm not going to lie, it was a little touch-and-go. But I made it. Still alive, still hired, people seem to like me. Now I just have the rest of my career to go.

Anyone know a good eye cream?

2010-06-25T11:07:00.001-07:00

My old friend "Bobby" rolled in last night at a bright and early 1:25 am, and to kill time before I picked him up, I went salsa dancing. And then he and I stayed up until 4 am talking, laughing, and gossiping, over wine. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

This morning I'm blearily staring at my computer screen and this pops up:

Tri-Tip: "You went to salsa and then picked up "Bobby" at 1 AM? You, ma'am, are truly hardcore."

Me: "More like two am, because his plane was delayed."

Tri-Tip: "I salute you."

(Note: Those of you reading along at home may wonder why Tri-Tip knows I went salsa-dancing last night, when this IM conversation is obviously the first time we've communicated today. Is he my boyfriend? Do we talk in the evenings? The answer to both questions is no. He knows because he follows me on Foursquare and Twitter, and has access to the places I check in. If this entire tangent confuses you, welcome to the 21st century. Moving on.)

About 9 am I IMed Kentucky. (Who is new on this blog! Welcome, Kentucky!) The New Job moved me to her work site, which is great because a) I don't see her enough, b) it gives me someone to bug at times like 9 AM when I've gotten two hours of sleep. "Today would be a GREAT day for our first Tully's run," I write to her. "Just saying."

Fifteen minutes later she hits me back. "YES. See you in five."

Turns out she was ALSO at the airport at 1:30 am. We could have gotten a damn drink in the airport while we were waiting for our respective arrivals. We laugh about this, back in her office, comparing how little sleep we got.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure my eye-bags are purple," I said, mainly joking.

She gives me a critical look. "I wouldn't go so far as to call them purple," she says. "More like lavender."

"Hmph. Well, I haven't slept much in four days," I said, pulling out my concealer, which I happened to put in my pocket this morning, even while sleep-walking, because I knew this was going to happen.

"I'm not judging you, doll! I feel you! But they ARE there," she says, pulling out her mirror. I futzed--gently--with the skin under my eyes, and the concealer, and looked at her for approval. "Much better," she says, encouragingly. "No longer purple. They're still puffy, but you can't fix that without cream."

See Title.

Cheese and Coffee and Lipstick

2010-06-24T11:35:00.001-07:00

This describes most of my breakfasts. And the following describes the past five of my mornings:

I bit into a chunk of Manchego and sipped my barely-warm VIA as my boss held a hand mirror for me, sneaking around the corner of my cubicle wall, so I could apply eyeliner before the foreign nationals came in. She talked at me a mile a minute as I kicked off my ballet flats and stepped into my brand-new black slingbacks, breaking off only to say, "Cute shoes!"

My slingbacks are the tallest work shoes I've ever owned, and my boss is so well-dressed that I'm currently overhauling my wardrobe so I can keep up. So when she says, "Cute shoes!" I say, "Thank you!"

She turned the mirror around and applied her own lipstick. "It probably wouldn't kill you to be here earlier," says the petite powerhouse, who is going to school full time while managing my department for two continents and half of Europe and Asia, as she wielded her lip pencil.

I make a mental note to overhaul my wardrobe AND go shopping AND drink more water AND eat healthier. Whatever this woman is doing, I would like to also do.

Contentment

2010-06-23T19:04:00.001-07:00

It's 78 degrees. I'm wearing a white t-shirt dress. I'm drinking a strawberry daiquiri which, miraculously, I have not yet spilled on the white T-shirt dress.

I have a strawberry daiquiri because I had extra strawberry filling from making 12 strawberry tarts a week ago, which I'll talk more about in a later post. Also being made as I sip my strawberry daiquiri: a strawberry pie, with the extra strawberry filling, and a loaf of gougere, with extra dough from making cheese puffs, also a week ago. The extra ham and cucumber has been made into sandwiches with the extra white bread, the chicken from TWO weeks ago has been picked clean and tossed--with the leftover meat waiting to be a part of another meal--and I am listening to this song:

Into the Fire

2010-06-22T13:33:00.000-07:00

I have a new job here at the Lazy B, and so far it most reminds me of a mix of the West Wing and the Devil Wears Prada, except that my boss is totally awesome. It's fast-paced, tons of things happen all at once, things change minute by minute, so I'm behind already, and really I just want to take my boss out for coffee and listen to her talk because she's that cool.

My meals here at work have consisted of peanuts, granola bars, and slices of cheese, because I'm too busy to eat or cook, and last night I came home at 4:30 pm and went to bed an hour later.

Whew.

P.S. Hi, mom. I have eaten some quinoa and yogurt as well. And YES, I am drinking enough water.

Staying Enaged

2010-06-14T09:42:00.001-07:00

It's hard.

It's hard to stay focused. It's hard to take the long way around. It's hard to come home after work and devote four hours to your side projects. It's hard to remember how to spell "devote".

It's hard to wake up early in order to bike or take the bus, when it's easier just jump in your car. It's hard to pack a lunch the night before, when it's so easy just to buy pre-made food. It's hard to pre-set your coffeemaker, when you can just buy a latte. It's hard to eat simply, when it's so much easier to buy fancy restaurant food. It's hard to read Shakespeare, when it's so easy to read Agatha Christie. (Or worse, blogs.) It's hard to just walk to J.Crew when you need new clothes, instead of scouring thrift stores.

And now that you've taken the easy and more expensive way out of all your obligations, you find yourself with a lot of free time on your hands, so it's even harder to pare your life down to its basic necessities instead of filling it with things that fill your extra gobs of free time.

It's even harder to bitch about these very, very small concerns in the face of so many REAL problems in the world. That is all.

Overwhelmed by Other People Today

2010-06-11T10:44:00.000-07:00

On gray June Gloom Seattle days, it's wonderful to know that other people are creating amazing things, so I can just sit, and drink my coffee, and stare out the window, and enjoy their things instead.

All of this woman's photographs are so amazing.

Oh, just check out her flickr stream.

And a slightly different take on art, aesthetics, and fantasy:

This is a real artist's commune, only not a commune. From the NYT article:

"The woman, J. Morgan Puett, a fashion designer and artist, is also a kind of radical homesteader, having staked a claim here on land stalked by black bears, deer, coyotes and porcupine. Along with her 8-year-old son, Grey Rabbit, and a changing cast of friends and romantic partners, she has built a home that is an ongoing experiment in art, design and aestheticized living, an artist colony conceived in the communal spirit of 20th-century institutions like Roycroft and Black Mountain College, with her own house, just now being finished, at its heart."

People who can do this with their lives make me think I'm wasting my allotment of oxygen.

And finally, it's probably more artistically appropriate that you listen to something like Ratatat or Tom Waits as you look at the above images, but THIS is what's in my head:

Share Ghost In The Machine by B.o.B

Love the amazing, AMAZING, almost-an-afterthought, harmony in this song.

Overheard at Olivar's

2010-05-31T14:48:00.000-07:00

A heavier young man in black frame glasses sits with a gray haired lady. It becomes clear that he is, in fact, her son, and they are both from the East Coast and she is here to visit him, as he has apparently just moved here.

(In regards to some work she is doing.) "Well, you can use my computer any time this weekend, Mother...although I don't know how you'll access your files." Black Frame Glasses says loudly.

"I carry them around with me on this flash drive on my key chain," she murmurs.

He gasps. "You DO? That's not safe! Anyone could just pick that up and download all your important information!"

"It's encrypted," she says.

"Oh? OH! Encrypted, eh? Oh, that's good. That's a good thing that you did that. As long as there's no way anyone can break it."

The waiter arrives.

"Now, Mother, you have to let me order for you. Yes, you do, you're a lady!"

He turns to the waiter. "The LADY will have..."

I silently judge behind my coffee. You will not do well in this town of tech-savvy feminists, Black Frame Glasses. Your mother may be used to putting up with your peculiar mix of idiocy and self-importance, but we are not, and furthermore, have no desire to become so. You will do better in the mid-size East Coast town you are undoubtedly from. Please return there.

Also, you shout.

My Friends Are Funny, Too

2010-05-20T16:45:00.000-07:00

Chalie: "I heard a TV newscaster say, the other day: 'I'm told they plan on baiting the bear trap with Krispy Kremes & stinky fish.'"

Me: "Oh?"

Chalie: "I figure that trap ensnares just as many middle-school-ers as it does bears."

John: "Maybe they should just bait the trap with middle-school-ers."

Me: "Would that be like killing two birds with one stone?"

Chalie: "No, that would be like killing two stoners with one bear."