HAPPY HAPPY MONDAY

Warning: I'm spazzy.

I had a helluva weekend, a FANTASTIC weekend, and I hope everyone else did too. House Parties were good, my new neighbors are awesome, it's record-breakingly gorgeous outside, and I get to home very shortly.

La la la. Pictures from the weekend:


One of my favorite pictures of Titan and I evah!


Titan being adorable.


Action shot!


More Hot Dog Action.


And a Tale of A Tennis Ball:


A-One...


And A-Two...

Ker-SPLOOSH!


And finally, the beauty of nature:


Oh, wait, I'm sorry, I meant the beauty of the WATER. Because we were SAILING. Right.


Beauty. And Water.


More beautiful, gorgeous water.

Fast winds, bright sunshine. Green Tea Frappucinos. Seeing Bling. Seeing Pink. It's been a good weekend. Hope everyone's weather is just as good as mine.

TGIMFF

For the record, that's TGI Mother-Fucking Friday!

It's 75 degrees and sunny. I'll be out of here in a couple of hours. I took the bus so I don't have to drive, so on the way home I can kick back with my iPod, my Doubleshot, a book, and a feeling of contentment big enough to cause a tidal wave.

(Hey, I worked hard today, swear it on my mother. Long telecons, persuasive arguing, document revision. SWEAR. But you don't want to hear about that, do you? I thought so.)

It promises to be a very busy weekend, which is awesome, although with the added challenge of the previous post--a cash limit. No matter. I will press ahead toward the goal. Want to know what I'm doing? Want to know how I'm going to squeeze in happy hour, one house party, two house party, red house party, blue house party, tennis, taking Titan to the beach, going sailing, going out at night, breakfast, coffee with T-Town, feeding at the parental units', and BFD all in the same weekend?

Well, me too! In fact, I'm probably the only one who cares. But assuming that you really are just dying to know Where in the World is Aarwenn?, click that Google Calendar link, over to the right on the tool bar! And then you'll know! And knowing, as they say, is half the battle.

Announcement

In my ongoing quest for Self Improvement, I have another blog. Find the link if you can. :)

It's not private, per se, but it will be much more boring, if that is possible. So. Now you know!

Seattle on -$45 a Day

Tuesday afternoon dawns sunny and fine, and I have visions dancing in my head of a long walk with Titan and maybe a glass of wine on the patio. Get home early from work, salivating over this vision. But there are a few things on my mind, like:

1. I know I have about $100 to my name, which will cover gas, dog food, and a ferry ride. And it has to last nine days. Scary, but doable if I really tie myself down.

2. I realize I have forgotten to cancel the power at the old place, so I pick up my phone to call Tacoma Power.

3. That's when I realize that I forgot to pay the phone bill. For two months.

4. My service has been disconnected. And it will STAY THAT WAY UNTIL I CAN PAY IT, WHICH IS NEVER.

5. Immediately have a nervous breakdown, because worse than the thought of no phone is the thought that everyone who calls me will get that "Service has been temporarily disconnected" message and they will KNOW that I didn't pay my bill and that I'm a loser. This list of people included my friends, my BOY, and my MOTHER, y'all. This could not be worse. (Until I broadcast my troubles on teh Internet.)

6. I immediately call Verizon and commence getting shady with credit cards. I read them every card number I have. All of them are declined. The lady on the other end is not sympathetic. You can tell she thinks I'm a loser. This is getting worse and worse, and now I can't call Tacoma Power.

7. I hang up and cry.

8. It occurs to me: hey, checks take a few days to post and will buy me some time!

9. I pay by electronic check!

10. I HAVE SERVICE AGAIN!

11. I have no idea what will happen when the check is posted, as I'm already $73 dollars in the hole. Will the bank cover it and charge me? Bounce it all together? Who knows? So I'm reprieved, but definitely not home and dry. Oh well. I'll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.

12. Now I have $40 to my name. For gas, dog food, ferry rides, and nine days. I will not make it. I pray for money to fall from the sky.

13. I take Titan on a long, long walk.

14. Wednesday: still praying for money to fall from the sky, I open my mail from Monday, which got ignored because the LT was there, and...

15. THERE'S A SMALL REFUND CHECK FROM MY INSURANCE COMPANY! Why? Who the fuck knows? I'll take that! It's twice as much as I'm currently worth!

16. Only seven more days to go.

Stranger in a Strange Land

SCENE

1. Aarwenn walks east down the hall. Another person, a man, is walking towards her.

2. Aarwenn and The Man exchange brief eye contact. Aarwenn realized The Man is obviously trying to check her out without seeming obvious. Aarwenn rolls her eyes and focuses on her office door.

3. Aarwenn reaches her office door in safety.

4. The Man's thought are almost audible: "SWEET! Now I can check her out without getting caught! The Man commences staring at Aarwenn's rack.

5. Too bad Homeskillet didn't notice the trashcan in the hallway...

6. BA-BAM!

Food Porn

The dinner went awesome! I used this recipe, which has the added value of not only being vegetarian but also VEGAN, which is cool. The LT asked for seconds. (He reads this occasionally. Everyone say hi!)

UPDATE on the food porn: I had leftovers from this dinner today for lunch (some of them, because I made a TON) and it was just as good, if not better. It was so good that I got distracted eating the cold leftovers in the tupperware instead of getting up to microwave the plate of leftovers I had just dished out. That's how good it was.

Eating out veggie is going well, so far. I ate at Quizno's today (which I've loved ever since the spongemonkey advertisements) and had the Veggie Sub (scroll down) which was AWESOME. It's not vegan--but it is totally yummy! Sunday I ate at the local Annapurna Cafe, which was sadly underwhelming. They do Indian, Nepali, and Tibetan food, which I think is too much for one restaurant and may lower the quality of all dishes, but what do I know? I do know that I had the Himalayan Curry with tofu and veggies and didn't bother finishing it OR taking the rest home. Bland! Sad. (My dad loved his Mango Mazza, though, so who knows?)

Fortunately, eating at The Green Papaya was NOT bland or sad. I had the Claypot Tofu, which was AWESOME--I took the leftovers for lunch yesterday and made The Intern jealous. Love, love, love it. But at the same time, my two dinner companions thought their dishes were only okay, so again...who knows? An important part about The Green Papaya: they stress in their menu that separate cooking things are used for the vegetarian entrees. Always good to be reassured.

Announcement

I'm going vegetarian!

This was mentioned earlier, offhand, but I wanted to make it REALLY SUPER CLEAR.

Also, I've changed the links on the sidebar. The Pandora link is still up, but I've taken off other things and added blogs that I like for other reasons, like house blogs, veggie blogs, and fashion blogs. Blog, blog, blog. Hey, it's cheaper than therapy!

You know you're not the only one feeling the stress WHEN:

On a business email, someone hits reply all and types one word:

"Bullshit."

YEAH, AEROSPACE!

Religious Thoughts and An Orgasm At The End.

Yeah. It's really, really gray outside. But I soldier on! Trudge, trudge trudge.

So, About Religion.

Father's Day went well, in spite of (or maybe because of) our discussion of politics and religion. I didn't mention that I had started reading about Wicca, but I did break the news that I no longer considered myself a Christian. My dad, bless his heart, took it well, although to him it was like telling him that I planned to kill myself the next day. (If I'm not a Christian, he won't see me in heaven, and I'll be doomed to hell forever, unless I repent. Which is, I'm sure what he's hoping for.)

Yes, I'm reading about Wicca. Do I feel like every "I'm not religious, I'm spiritual" freak I've ever rolled my eyes at? Yes. Do I still believe in Christianity? No. Why? I don't understand a religion that views this life as a preparation for "eternal" life. Christianity believes that it's not the kind of person you are--all you have to do is believe that Jesus Christ died for your sins and ask him to take them away, and you're saved. This sort of thinking is what leads to people thinking that it's okay to lie, cheat, and steal, because hey, I'm going to heaven anyway. This makes NO SENSE--not only does it fly in the face of scientific cause and effect, but it doesn't demand Christians to be good people, therefore ensuring a terrible life on Earth. "Look at the results," I said to my father. "Christianity does not demand results! It makes this life on Earth meaningless!"

"That doesn't matter," said my father. "The only thing that matters is the Eternal consequences."

Yeah. I just can't believe that that's a good way to live your life. Especially when I look at time travel and quantum physics, and then I try to jive those concepts with idea of a Person, one who killed everyone except the Jews in the Old Testament and then preached love in the New Testament. I can't believe.

On the other hand, my dad is a relatively good representative for Christianity. He's a nice guy, he accepts everyone--especially homosexuals--and he believes The Church is DEEPLY flawed, so at least we agree on most things. We differ on what you might call exclusivity: Wicca believes that any path towards enlightenment, as long as you're not hurting anyone or yourself, is valid, and Christianity that they have a lock on salvation and no one else has the right idea.

If my dad has one flaw, it's that he's rather...patriarchal. Not about ME--his only child and daughter, the light of his life, is allowed to do anything she wants--but his views towards women like Hillary Clinton, teenaged mothers, women's rights, etc, etc--are awfully tough for me to not rail against. We survived our political discussion anyway.

Moving on.

Odds and Ends.

I've started travel journals here.

I'm trying to go vegetarian. Maybe even vegan. I've been partly inspired by this girl's post, which centers around this book. Try. Read. Fascinating.

I'm still too much of a chicken to actually detox. Besides, I detoxed while sick--four days without coffee, alcohol, or cigarettes! If that's not detoxing, I don't know what is. (Okay, so I drank tea. Whatever.)

Making Mix CDs for every mood helps with the June Gloom. So does coffee. MMMMMM, COFFEE.

I'm making dinner for the LT tonight and it has to be vegetarian because I am! He seems okay with that. Hope he's okay with mushrooms.

And last but certainly not least: Happy Orgasm Day!

I own a CUTE duvet cover!

FINALLY!

Take a look.

Timeline of a sickness

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 1: Huh. Sort of sniffly today. Quick check: I have sick leave. I'll stay home.

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 2: Not 100%, but I don't want to waste my sick leave! Back to the office!

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 3: Still not at 100%. Took afternoon nap when I got home. Not the most restful, as Titan whined the entire time because he wanted to go out and I sweat like a motherfucker in the sunshine. Dinner for both Titan and I is late. I go to bed even later.

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 4: Definitely getting worse again. Stayed at work late for no reason reading archives of Dooce online. Go home, let Titan out. Sit up and play Solitaire for no reason at all. Go to bed late.

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 5: Don't have to be at work, thank God. Not feeling TOO bad. Go to a high school and be around a bunch of germy kids all day. Got home and my glands are HUGE. Went out anyway. Not a good move.

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 6: Woke up too sick to make my tennis date, do chores, or really do anything except curl in a ball and moan. Took Titan out, drank fluids. Eventually left to make a house party in Tacoma. It was a necessity, I swear.

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 7: Woke up sick and hungover, but not as sick as the previous day, so maybe there is hope. My famous appetite has left me, as I discover at a fabulous breakfast place when I get a huge plate of wonderful wrecked eggs and just push them around on my plate. The waitress came by and I said I was done and Former Roommate looked over at my plate: "I don't think she's even started." Later on at my parents' house I ate half a grilled cheese and got a Frappucino with The LT. It's easy to feel better on a sunny day at your parents' house in a beautiful part of town with a Navy stud mentally undressing you.

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 8: Woke up sick, but decide to go to work anyway. Had a friend over after worked. Stayed up very, very late.

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 9: Woke up extremely sick and crabby. Yelled at friend who had spent the night on the futon. Crawled in futon with computer, connection to work, and CSI. "Worked" from home. Started heavy application of water, vitamins, and Top Ramen.

Diary of a Sick Girl, Day 10: GODDAMMIT I AM TIRED OF BEING SICK. I'm staying home and doing NOTHING today except BEING SICK. I have to go buy more Ramen. Maybe some cheese toast would help. I will buy throat lozenges with zinc and eat them by the bagload. I will take echinea every hour on the hour. Where is my water? I NEED MORE WATER.

Help me.

One-Upmanship

T-Town: I am here for a 10 hour day today, on barely six hours of sleep and a wicked Champagne hangover.
Me: I just have my glands swollen to the size of baseballs. As in, they are visible to little children, who run away from me now on the street. They may actually be glowing. And I got FIVE hours of sleep.
T-Town: At least that is not your fault.
Me: Well, not DIRECTLY. I mean, who knew that a lifestyle of no sleep, wine, and cigarettes could be bad for you?
T-Town: I will also be $200 in the hole at any moment.
Me: My rent check bounced.
T-Town: Well, this weekend cost me $300--and I was spending my money on OTHER PEOPLE.
Me: I spent $25 on cab rides ALONE on Friday.
T-Town: So this weekend I just need to:
1. Keep my bank from overdrafting
2. Pack my whole house
3. Move
4. Pack for Mt. Rainier
5. Climb Mt. Ranier
6. (Make a TOP-SECRET life-changing decision, edited for privacy.)
7. Work 40 hours in four days.
Me: Well, I have to have dinner with a new boy!
T-Town: ...
Me: Okay, back to you. So, in this week you will: move, xxxxxxx, and climb a mountain, not to mention work ten hour days and fight with your bank.
T-Town: Yes.
Me: Fine, you win. I'm only $900 in debt.
T-Town: Thank you.
Me: ...so, can I help?

Sunday Evening Contentment

Good Things: I went to Target today! I bought necessities--facial wipes, a dog food container--and non essentials--silver shoes, a wine cube.

Bad Things: I feel asleep on the couch instead of going to the grocery store.

Good Things: I pampered myself! Legs shaved, face masked, arms covered in heavy lotion.

Bad Things: When you fall asleep on the couch with heavy lotion on your arms, you pick up couch wrinkes twice as fast.

More Bad Things: When you sleep on your hair wet...

Really Bad Things: When the Hot Metrosexual across the hall knocks on your door, and you jump up half-asleep from the couch and open the door, and he says, "Oh...wow. I can see this is a bad time."

Good Things: The tuna with sauce packets that Trader Joe's sells. HELLO! AWESOME!

More Good Things: Dinner date on Wendnesday!

Trying to convince myself it's a Good Thing: It's Spring. Time to detox!

Bad Things: No caffeine, sugar, salt, or nicotine.

Really Bad Things: UGH.

Good Things: I'll feel so much better when I'm done!

Really Bad Things: UGH UGH UGH.

Good Things: At least I can wait until Wednesday to start, because really, what kind of girl would I be if I went on said Dinner Date and then refused to eat anything on the menu?

Bad Things: Welcome to Seattle!

Question of the Day:

Are the birthdates of the world evenly distributed over the days of the Gregorian Calendar as we know it?

Original question between me and T-Town: Is there an equal number of Virgos (she) and Sagittariuses (me)?

T-Town: No. Birthdays are not evenly distributed. But I have no proof.

Me: The Intern and I think that they are, although although there might be nation-centric patterns depending on differing social customs.

T-Town: Also in countries with poor health care, babies born during harsher months might be less likely to survive, so there would be less people living with those birth months.

Me: But does it even out overall?

T-Town: Thanks to Hallmark, I can tell you that:

• More people are born in August than any other month (9.07 percent). About 21 million Americans have birthdays in August.

• In recent years, July ranks number two in birthdays (8.80 percent of births) and February is last (7.55 percent)

And also bring you this handy chart:

Rank Month Percent
1. August 9.07
2. July 8.80
3. September 8.62
4. October 8.60
5. March 8.51
6. May 8.30
7. January 8.25
8. June 8.15
9. April 8.12
10. December 8.07
11. November 7.96
12. February 7.55

Me: So the months are pretty evenly distributed, with not more than 1 and a half percent between smallest and largest. But even with that low difference, there ARE more Virgos than Sags. Because I'm low on the list, whereas you are high. So by definition, there actually ARE more Virgos than Sags, especially because both months that contribute to virgo and both months that contribute to sagittarius are close to each other, in their high and low spots, respectively.

T-Town: So are you saying I am more ordinary than you?

Me: Duh.

Because Lists are SO Five Minutes Ago.

Good Things: I'm working from home today!
Bad Things: It's because I'm sick.
Really Bad Things: In an effort to be a responsible adult, I'm refusing to drink coffee.
Really, REALLY Bad Things: OH THE MIGRAINE.
Good Things: I have drunk a lot of really good tea instead.

Good Things: I made chocolate chip cookies! I BAKED! And Not Under Duress!
Bad Things: Being home puts me closer to the gigantic plate of fresh cookies.
Really Bad Things: I've had four. Today.
Good Things: I only baked 15 in the first place, so I can't get into too much trouble.

Good Things: Also I have clean clothes!
Really Good Things: YAY CLEAN CLOTHES!

Good Things: My blind date--thank you, Craigslist--went well on Saturday.
Bad Things: It may not matter because I just discovered last night that I have a crush on a friend.
NOTE TO SELF: DRINKING AND MEN FRIENDS OR NEIGHBORS DO NOT MIX.
Good Things: I did get to see my friend, and it's always nice to see someone you care about.
Bad Things: We really CANNOT start to see each other. I'm tired of my ruining my male friendships with sex!
Really Bad Things: Uh...I swear, the sex is not that bad. I'm not that bad. I swear.

Good Things: Got to see the Hot Metrosexual Across the Hall.
Bad Things: It was in order to borrow his cookie sheet for the cookies.
Good Things: So far in our relationship he has dressed me, taken out my trash, made me coffee, and loaned me cooking utensils.
Bad Things: Most of those things I should be (according to gender roles) better at than he is.
Really Bad Things: This ruins any chances I had of sleeping with him.

Okay, that wasn't a short post

But this is.

Things T-Town (the girl, not the city) and I have decided after discussing our incredibly drama-filled weekends:

1. Drinking and male neighbors don't mix. I think I will need to be dry for a week before I feel better.

2. Sometimes I just think I should never have been left in charge of my own life.

A List, and a Short Post

Things I did this weekend:

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

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

Was that hard to understand?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In other news:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Note to Those of You Who Thought I Was Going Overboard With My Last Post:

1. Eff you. I have to do something with all this nervous energy that I'm NOT spending on jail, right?

2. My brain still hurts. It hurts on the inside.

3. (That MIGHT have something to do with the coffee and the lack of sleep. But Mom, I've been eating right, I promise!)

4. My connection has gone out five times in an hour.

5. And Finally, What Happened With That Damn Jail Term?

Very simple. The cop's calibration on his laser was out of date!

He still paced me at 85 mph, which is still pretty reckless, but it's not jail time. No jail time, no suspended jail time, no revoked license, nothing--but a $200 fine! Yay!

The REAL kicker is that apparently 97 mph is an eye-brow raising, shock-whistling speed. I was FAMOUS today, y'all. (And not in a good way like before.) I was the fastest speed case on the docket. Other lawyers that I called (when I was shopping around) had remembered me and my excessive speed, and they were all watching Garrett, my attorney. One of them asked Garrett, "Hey, where's your high-speed girl?"...right as I walked up behind him. (Garrett's reply: "Actually, she's right behind you!")

So, there's a fine, and a reckless driving conviction, but no other consequence. It's a heavy speeding ticket! YAY!

Now to bum around in D.C. for two days while I wait to fly early standby home. Sigh.

So, I'm a free woman!

But I don't want to talk about that right now.

Instead, two things that I really want to talk about, but are impossible to explain in any words on this planet:

1. How much I hate T-Mobile.
2. How much I can't stand annoying noise.

How Much I Hate T-Mobile

Such a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is that they once tricked me into buying a year-long contract--that I couldn't get out of. Thirty dollars a month. For 12 months. I wanted to punch T-Mobile in the throat every time. Some months, that payment made me OVERDRAWN. For a CONTRACT I could not GET OUT OF.

(Full Disclosure: I'm using a T-Mobile connection to type this. And it's just as craptastic as every other connection I've ever used, thereby proving my point.)

But I HAD to. Kind of like how I HAD to go to Starbucks.

Because in Seattle, which is basically fueled by free wireless internet and bottomless cups of coffee as dark as our skies, both things--coffee and internet (and darkness) are in HEAVY supply. Four strong connections bleed over into my apartment. Capitol Hill is wired by the city. Every coffeeshop worth its salt offers free wi-fi.

And of course, the coffee kicks ASS.

Here in D.C., where I sit in Foggy Bottom after being released from my impending doom, the closest I can get to this feeling is, of course, the nearest Starbucks. Its internet is not free--TEN DAMN BUCKS for a Daypass--and the coffee is mediocre. But it's the closest fascimile to Home I can get. Yes, I could have gone to a Cosi for cheaper internet, and I probably should have. But the coffee. And the ATMOSPHERE. And the...the...it's like being home. It's a crappy imitation, yes. But it's as close to home as I can get right now. And since all I want to do for once in my life is go home, I'm a slave to Starbucks from now until I leave.

Sigh.

How Much I Hate Annoying Noise

This is even more difficult to describe, since it's, you know. Noise. And these are, you know, words. And if millions of poets since the dawn of time have still not succeeded in connecting words on a page directly to the other four senses--although some of them have come damn close--then who am I to try?

But I will anyway.

Okay. It's not noise, per se. After all, I live in a noisy area. Usually four or five sirens go by on a nightly basis. (Club Drug Overdoses, my favorite!) I love loud music. I like to shout when I talk. I like to scream when...well...you know. I'm a loud girl!

But I'm not repetitive. If repetitive noise starts to occur--be it an alarm clock, a smoke alarm--OH MY GOD THE NOISE THAT DROVE THIS POST JUST STARTED AGAIN AND I DON'T HAVE MY EARPHONES OH MY GOD MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP. Whew. Okay.

Sorry about that. Repetitive noise, as I was saying, does this thing to me. It makes the imp on the inside CLAW ITS WAY OUT OF MY BRAIN. MY BRAIN MATTER SHREDS BEFORE ITS FRANTIC CLAWING OH GOD MAKE IT STOP.

It would be safe to say that when the smoke alarm goes off, for example, I cannot focus on ANYTHING ELSE UNTIL I CAN MAKE IT GO OFF OH GOD MAKE IT STOP PLEASE I'LL DO ANYTHING.

Yes. It would be safe to say that I freak the fuck out. (The Kiwi was over just a few nights ago and watched this happen. He was calmly continuing his sentence, assuming it would turn itself off in a few minutes once the smoke dissipated, and I was screaming at him: WHAT ARE YOU DOING CAN'T YOU HEAR THE SMOKE ALARM OH GOD WHY ARE YOU STILL TALKING OH GOD YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BREATHE UNTIL YOU CAN STOP YOUR MONOLOGUE AND PAY ATTENTTION TO YOUR SURROUNDINGS FOR ONCE IN YOUR GODDAMN LIFE OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD THE SMOKE ALARM!

Perhaps it would be safe to say that in addition to the imp that CLAWS its way out of my brain, an army of small-brained mice runs around and around a cloistered piece of cheese while the water rises on a small family trapped in a boat and a twister descends on a tiny, defenseless town as the wind whips cows through the air. It's THAT BAD.

And I am not getting better about it, and I don't care.

Debauchery

The "Before" shot:



The "During" shot:



The "After" shot:



WOO!

Also, huge shout-out to my boy Mark, who took me as a passenger on his sailboat yesterday out on Lake Washington. Pictures of the Lake, NOT taken by Mark or myself:

Marina.

Bellevue. Bill Gates lives somewhere by there, on the Lake.

Nature Shot.

More Nature.

We didn't take our own cameras because the boat is REALLY, REALLY small. Anything we brought had the possbility of going over the side at any time, and if I lost my camera...well...I would cry. A lot. For days.

Besides, I spend most of the sailing trip in my underwear, so would the pictures even allowed on this blog? (Hey. HEY. I had to pee, and we were miles from the marina, and there was no wind...so I stripped, dove in, and peed in the water. Happy?)

I could not for the life of me find my black bikini, or else I would have worn it. SORRY. Mark wasn't sorry.

Work is my Savior

Last night, in the middle of a downward spiral--a SERIOUS downward spiral--I tried to post, but my spotty (stolen) wireless connection prevented it. Probably a good thing.

Because today I feel tons better, and I think it's because I'm at work. I can't believe I'm saying this out loud, but it's true.

Being home is like being trapped in the darkest recesses of my own mind. There's laundry to be done, Titan hasn't been groomed, I need to vacuum, I should be writing, I should be putting more pictures up, something, ANYTHING, I'm broke, I'm going to jail, OH MY GOD I'M HAVING A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN.

Being at work involves lights, a faster internet connection, more people, less opportunity to waste time playing Freecell, Things To Do, a fancy color printer. It's better. And that's all I have to say about that.

Now and NOW.

It's cloudy here today after four days of GORGEOUS sunshine. Although gray is the Seattle standard, it's almost painful to have beautiful weather shown to us and then snatched away.

It's a Blue Friday for me. I am wearing unfortunate jeans and having a bad hair day. All I can think about is the future. Not the immediate future--THAT's filled with jail and brokeness.

The FUTURE future, on the other hand, is the early spring of 2009. It has me sipping coffee on sun-drenched balconies in Spain. I'm a published author--maybe three times, by then. I have gotten a work visa for Canada and ski-bummed for a winter in Whistler during the 2008 Olympic Winter Games. I have been to Cuba. I have taken a road trip with my girls to Mexico. I have camped and hiked and rock-climbed. I have been to Africa.

I am 25, in early 2009 I'll be 28, it is three short years from now and I won't make it. Let's get real. In three years, I'll still be working here. I will have been nowhere. I will still be in debt.

I'm FAMOUS! Part Three

Really, I mean it this time! Check me out in the Stranger, now on newsstands everywhere. They printed my letter!

(It's the one titled 108 Pages of Suck.)

Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics

Number of Sparks currently in my fridge: 4
Number of Sparks ORIGINALLY in my fridge: 6
Number of days ago that I bought the six-pack: 3
Number of girls that will be appearing at my apartment needing Sparking, including me: 5
Number of days this will be happening in: 2
Number of Sparks I need to buy: at least 17.

Days until jail time: 8
Days until I leave for jail: 7
Days of vacation I will waste: all of them.
Dollars I spent for a one-way plane ticket: 190.
Dollars I will spend on lawyer fees: 900.
Number of dollars I will have left over: 0.
Way I will get back to Seattle with no money left: Hitchiking, maybe?
Weight, in pounds, this morning: 137.
Weight, in pounds, after walking back from D.C.: 120.

Hey, it's an exercise program!

Number of cigarettes I had yesterday: 3
Number of cigarettes I will have on Friday, the Night of Debauchery: 217
Number of cigarettes I will smoke in preparation for going to jail: 1,489.
Number of games of Freecell I will play: 16,834.

Number of hot U.K. guys I talked to last night: 3
Number of drinks I got bought for me: 11
Ways in which I love Rolls-Royce: 15

Pounds of hair that Titan is shedding: 4,000.
Number of days until I get him trimmed: Possibly forever, see, number of dollars I will have left, above.

Number of ways I've considered selling myself: 6

Number of ways I love my friends: Countless.

I am an island.

So, as always happens when I try to work on my actual WRITING--as in, stuff that has a beginning, middle, and end, and maybe some kind of point--my blogging has completely disappeared. I'm trying to get art back into my life, and while I'm succeeding in that--stage-managing a show about femme queer art and trying to write a script for a playwriting contest--my blogging has completely fallen by the wayside.

In some ways, living by oneself allows one to tunnel further and further into oneself, becoming certainly more insular and, if one is also obsessive complusive, then exponentially more narcissistic as well. Examples of insularity: because I am naturally a dirty person--shout-outs to the two people among my reading audience who have lived with me--I am likely, with no outside influence, to get dirtier and dirtier. Last night after wearing the same clothes for almost a month, taking them to Pittsburgh, and moving in them, not to mention usually sleeping in them, I realized that I STUNK.

Also I realized that I had a pot that had originally held mac + cheese soaking in my sink--for days now--and the mac+cheese water STUNK. Enough to put me off mac and cheese for a long, long time.

And I could have let those travesties go on even longer--Titan wouldn't mind, certainly--but I pulled my socks up and got to it. I did two loads of laundry and washed all my dishes. I hung up my clothes. I finally unpacked--fully--from Pittsburgh. I went to bed at 1:30, tired but content.

See what I mean? There is nothing interesting about the above story WHATSOEVER. I'm excited to have a clean house, and even more excited that the entire apartment now smells like Mrs. Meyers Lemon Verbana scent, but no one else should be excited by this.

I could mention that I was hit on, fully and obviously, while buying Sparks--a cute young punk saw my Blockbuster bag, asked me what movies I was watching, and then said, "Would you like company?" I was so suprised I asked him to repeat himself, and he said, slowly and clearly, "Would you like. Company?" And I smiled and said no, but I appreciated the offer--true--and went off, smiling to myself. And I might be able to make a good story out of that, but that's not HALF as important to ME as the fact that I have a clean apartment--well, clean-ish, I still have vaccuumed or fully unpacked--and so I don't want to write about it. I only want to write about boring stuff. Like laundry.

Sigh.

For all those who laid bets at the time of the New Male Roommate announcment, we're dating now. Just so you know.

Very, Very Early, or, Notes on Living Alone

Like last Saturday, this saturday I woke up early. Only earlier. 7:00 am, this time. And could not go back to sleep.

I don't remember this ability to wake up early from the last time I lived alone--but I barely remember anything about the last time I lived alone. It's a mishmash of gorgeous hikes in more gorgeous weather, knocks on my door at all hours that preceded yet another complaint that I was making too much noise, doggy day care as I was traveling for my Bob, fighting with TheBoy, and eating. Compulsively. (The gorgeous hikes were both a reason to spend as much time as possible out of the apartment, and a way to burn off the calories I was ingesting because of the stress of living in that apartment.)

The weeks I have spent in THIS apartment, however, have been some of the best of my life, and I say that about a time period in which I broke up with a boy (one of them) and got arrested. I was terrified about living alone--I'll admit it. I was scared it would be like the last time, or even the time before, in which Titan and I lived in a beautiful studio and I was depressed as hell.

But it hasn't been. I see now what everyone is talking about when they say everyone needs to live alone. Everyone needs to live alone, even if they hate it at first. It took me three tries to find the right combination of neighborhood, apartment, and neighbors. From me to you, if you hate living alone, I say: stick with it! Try and try again, and when you are successful, you will discover how much you enjoy your own company, and you will never be lonely again.

Now that I have the strength of my convictions, I made what may turn out to be the worst decision of my life just a few hours ago, and I don't care. I got a call from a lawyer, whom I had called yesterday, and within a few minutes on the phone I knew he wouldn't be the lawyer for me. He talked...very...uh, uh...slowly...and he called me...from...his vacation...while...talking...to his, uh, uh,...little boy. And he talked. And talked. And TALKED. 37 minutes later he was STILL talking. He took long side trips to tell me about his 30-year-career, his kids, how his littlest was definitely going to law school (because he comes from a chain of lawyers. duh.) And halfway through I thought, This man represents everything that I hate about the patriarchy. Because of that he may be a better choice to help me win my case. But I simply cannot give my money to him without a part of me dying. I hate him and all of his ilk. I cannot support him and would rather die on the barricades.

Vive la revolution.

Continuing in the "Good Quotes" category

Me: "Can I just say right now that I am listening to Ashlee Simpson. WILLINGLY."

K: "I have both of her CDs. And Lindsey Lohan's."

Me: "Darn, I could have had you burn them for me!"

K: "Trust me, you don't want Lindsey's." (Because ANYONE SANE would want ANY of the CDs we're discussing?)

Me: "Okay."

K: "I like the first CD of Ashlee's better, but her voice is better on the second one."

Me: "..."

K: "I seriously can't believe we're having this conversation."

Me: "Me either. I was just trying to figure out what to type in response."

K: "..."

Me: "Okay. We're officially moving on from A. Simpson, that talentless whore of the music industry who inexplicably has us in her thrall."

K: "That'll work."

And, talking to T-Town:

Me, talking about a boy: "Besides, we know it's not what he looks like, it's the fact that he drives: (1) a Jetta 1.8T (new. Red.) and (2) A DUCATI."

T-Town: "I don't care if his jetta can cause an earthquake and then fly away from it, it is still a JETTA. The ducati is cool though, if you are into that sort of thing. And I know you are."

Me: "Hey!"

T-Town: "One has to raise their standards. A Jetta is by no means a bad car, I am just saying it is not lust inducing."

Me (muttering under my breath): "It induced MY lust."

T-Town: "And that is hard?"

...and I'm going to the slammer anyway.

The talented and funny Beau, talking about my upcoming jail time:

"It's too bad that you aren't a celebrity. Then you'd for sure get suspended jail time. Wait...why aren't you a celebrity?"

Me: "It's on my to-do list."

Beau (pretending to be me): "Okay, I've become a fanatically successful chemical engineer, I've sexually dominated Seattle, I've moved into a kickass apartment...oh SHIT, I forgot to become a celebrity! What is WRONG with me?"

At Long Last

Did I mention I have a very nice camera? A Canon SLR, 30 years old, that takes the most gorgeous pictures ever? and yet, they are not digital?

And did I mention I have a camera phone?

And did I mention that my camera phone pictures turn out very poorly on the blog, and I don't have easy access to a scanner for the Canon pictures? (Blatant lie. I do have access to a scanner. But I hardly ever develop my actual pictures. Yes, really. I have boxed of undeveloped film sitting around my apartment. That I have successfully moved at least four times now. But I digress.)

So, I don't have a lot of digital pictures. Of important things. Like, say, my haircut. That happened THREE MONTHS AGO.

BUT I DO NOW!

A bunch of very hot girls, and me. I'm on the bottom right, with the weird mouth thing happening. I think I'm about to say something? And you can see for yourself: short hair!

Me, drunk, with a drunk work friend. Awesome night. Yes, I stick my tongue out a lot when I'm drunk. And I have short hair!

A cute shot of my Big Brother Ethan and myself. (With short hair, in case you didn't notice.) Many thanks to his lovely wife and my lovely sister Sylvia!

And finally,

My favorite picture of my current life status, ever. Note the labeled parts.

For all those who love words

And to their friends who love them anyway!

English Genius You scored 100% Beginner, 100% Intermediate, 100% Advanced, and 93% Expert!

You did so extremely well, even I can't find a word to describe your excellence! You have the uncommon intelligence necessary to understand things that most people don't. You have an extensive vocabulary, and you're not afraid to use it properly! Way to go! Thank you so much for taking my test. I hope you enjoyed it! For the complete Answer Key, visit my blog: http://shortredhead78.blogspot.com/.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 65% on Beginner You scored higher than 39% on Intermediate You scored higher than 73% on Advanced You scored higher than 81% on Expert

Link: The Commonly Confused Words Test written by shortredhead78 on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Got Up Swirly

(Read: So early, read really fast.) (Also: shout-out to my dad, who loves corny old radio shows.)

It's 10:15 am here in Capitol Hill, and let me tell you that in a bar district such as this, it is vewwy, vewwy quiet. You could hunt a wabbit with no problem. Last night at 1:45 it was very loud, and we stopped and got street hot dogs, along with a million otheres, all shouting over each other and trying to avoid being pick-pocketed by the homeless people, and we ate them standing up in my kitchen and I put Male Friend From College on my sofa with a blanket and pillow and Girl Friend From Work next to me in bed, and I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

We are all early risers, and they woke up two hours ago and he drove her back to her car in the U-District, and I was already awake so I made coffee and drank some fancy green juice and am spending a very quiet moment at home with Titan, fast asleep on the sofa next to me and curled up in a ball with his tail covering his nose, and we are getting our culture on. We were up s'early that any morning radio programs hadn't started yet, so I listened to twenty minutes of rather whiny politics on KEXP before I came to my senses and turned to KING FM. (Both are available online! Have a listen!)

We caught the end of a musical radio drama about when Tchaikovsky came to the US and now we're listening to a broadcast of Wagner's Lohengrin from the Met in NYC, which is lovely. I meant to get up from this sofa two hours ago and be at the door with my nose on the window when Barnes opened, but I enjoyed my blog reading.

My apartment is slowly, but slowly, being unpacked and arranged, and I'm on my sofa with my computer and my coffee on a gray Saturday Seattle morning, looking at the skyline, and Titan is next to me, and in a little bit I'll wash my face and take Titan out and start the rice pudding for tonight's Fancy Greek Dinner and buy tickets for tomorrow's Common Market show, and really, it's just how I imagined my life would be, and it's heaven.

Heaven.

Anyone want some REALLY CHEAP bedding?

Le sigh. Perhaps T-Town is right: Don't buy sheets or bedding online!

The lovely gray sheets that I bought with so much hope, for $19.

The supercool blue duvet cover that I ALSO bought with so much home, for $5. Yes. $5. I missed the return period on both stores. So sue me.

Oh yeah, comment on me, baby! HARDER! OH BABY, COMMENT AGAIN!

Not really sure what was up with that title.

("Faster, faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!")

There's been a lot of blog traffic recently about hate mail.

This lovely woman has certainly had more than her share, as a chick in San Francisco writing a quirky, amusing and popular blog. (K, if you're out there, can you respond with the links to The Posts Heard 'Round The World?)

That is, if a girl like K with a hot boyfriend and demanding Bob even wants to take time to purposely search for her own hate mail. I did a quick search and couldn't find anything, because I couldn't remember the name of the posts or even what they were about. Why?

The Number One Reason Why Hate Mail Sucks: It totally obscures the original issue.

For examples, look at any Craigslist Rants 'N' Raves Board. Or this now infamous post, or hell, any post on the most famous blog ever, especially this entry, which started my own post. Do an experiment: read those posts, read the comments, and then try to remember what the original poster actually said. See? Totally impossible.

Which didn't used to bug me--I've always been firmly in the mushy-supportive-love youSOMUCH camp of commenting--until last week.

Because in the last week, you see, I've come across several posts that...well...what's a good way to ...they bug the shit out of me.

As in, I TOTALLY disagree with them and think the poster is stupid. (Full disclosure: I was on the rag.)

And of course, after a few minutes of serious contemplation, it becomes clear to me that one post really hasn't obliterated my good opinion of said bloggers. They're all still great, intelligent writers, and I will continue to enjoy their posts. And have.

But there were a couple times there--short-lived--where I was in the middle of composing a vitriol-filled hate mail of a comment--and I suddenly stopped and thought, What the HELL am I doing? What have I become?

So I deleted the comments before they were finished and went on with my life. And I made the write decision. (HA!)

But it got me thinking. Because blogs are all about open discourse, right? The ubiquitous O puts it best: "The internet serves the unique purpose of providing everyone who has access to a computer with a voice, creating channels of communication that we couldn’t even have imagined twenty years ago."

And that's why people HAVE blogs--to generate discussion and get in touch with millions of readers we'll never meet. I'm thankful for my IIFs. What would I do without them? And if I withold my comments on a post I disagree with--especially if I cleanse them of vitriol--am I really doing them a favor by witholding my opinion, which surely they desire? Isn't hate mail defined, by connotation, as generally anonymous and hate-filled, and not signed by a familiar IFF and well-thought-out? Is there a difference?

NO. There is not. If it looks like a duck, acts like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's a duck. Who's to say that my well-thought-out isn't someone else's vitriol-filled? How many people have already used that excuse? Don't be them.

So, two personal rules for bad-comment-writing:

1. Sleep on it. Almost anything that you can say in a comment has already been said by the dozens of others who read that blog daily. You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake--really, it's not IMPERATIVE that the blogwriter hear YOUR PERSONAL THOUGHTS on this issue. If, in a few days, you still think you have a unique comment, you may make it.

2. If you really want to say something immediately, write about it in your OWN blog! After all, long-drawn-out comments are for suckers! Write in your OWN blog! And if you want to tie it in, you can always send the original blog author a note saying, "Hey, I wrote about this issue in my own blog, take a look if you want", and they can make it their choice.

(Or you can leave a comment to that affect! HA!)

The World's Shortest Fairy Tale

(Blatantly stolen from many email forwards.)

Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl, "Will you marry me?" The girl said "No" and the girl lived happily ever after and went shopping, drank martinis, always had a clean house, never had to cook, stayed skinny, and farted whenever she wanted.

The End.

Effin' beautiful. It brings tears to my eyes.

I'm FAMOUS! And I have breasts.

IIFs, I am stuttering and shaking. I'm famous. I'M FAMOUS!

Okay, I'm not, because this lovely lady respected my privacy, but I (me! WOO!) inspired this post on SheWalks today.

(Note to k: I know your blog address so well that I can type the whole thing out from memory. Just sayin', is all.)

And, BREASTS! (I know you just skipped down until here, so go back and read the above, because I'm famous and I want you to know.) Done? Okay. Here is an excerpt from one of my favorite new blogs:

"If you want to date me, you have to like breasts.

Think about it like this. Let’s say you don’t like dogs. And let’s say I have, oh, a Chihuahua. That’s okay, right? I mean, he’s small, we can work around him. The Chihuahua can take a nap in the corner or something and you probably won’t even know he’s there, as long as he doesn’t do the yappy running-around-in-circles thing.

But now pretend I have a Doberman. That’s a little different, isn’t it? There’s no ignoring the Doberman. If the Doberman’s on the bed, well, that’s a lot of Doberman. It’s not like you’ll overlook him. And, I mean, when we go out. Other guys will notice the Doberman, too. They’ll be like, Nice Doberman. Because people NOTICE a Doberman. You don’t overlook a Doberman."

Excerpted from Dobermans, by star firstbaseman.

Pictures! And a political message.

So, I don't own a camera, because I totally suck, but I DO have a friend! With a camera!

(Note: I do actually own a very fine Canon SLR, easily 30 years old, which takes the most gorgeous pictures ever. Note the 30-year-age: NOT DIGITAL. Thank you.)

And this friend brings his camera with him everywhere, becaue he's a man and has a gigantic coat that fits the camera, and thanks to him, here are some brag shots:

The view from my balcony, artistically taken. (Read: drunkenly.)

View again, slightly less blurry.

View to the South

View West by West, towards the water. And my favorite shot.

And you KNEW you couldn't get away without a dog picture:

Titan, in the unpacked mess that is my apartment, wondering if he'll ever be fed again.

And finally, the policital message, taken straight from the Human Rights Campaign:

"The Federal Way School Board is voting on including sexual orientation into the district's Anti-Discrimination Policy. Join us at the meeting (Tuesday, April 25th, 6pm) and show your support for basic equality. Mark your calendar and come stand with the students as they strive for positive change in their schools. Together we can ensure schools are safe for every student."

Not doing anything on Tuesday, one week from today? I'll be there! You can meet me! EVENT DETAILS.

Things That Make a Monday Better

I woke up this morning in the usual way, except that now since I live only eight miles from work, I can wake up at seven and get to work at eight. Assuming that I don't actually wash my hair.

Also I'm not sleeping particularly well. Again. Because, although falling asleep on my futon/sofa (how DID I sleep on that thing all these years?) while an open can of Sparks goes to waste and my dog whines at the door is not as restful a way to sleep as you might expect, I also have OTHER things on my mind.

1. Like, for instance: cops in Fairax County don't like it when you go 97 mph.
2. In fact, they get really shirty about it.
3. LAWYER ATTORNEY RECKLESS DRIVING NO MONEY LAWYER ATTORNEY JAIL TIME YOU FUCKING IDIOT.
4. Sigh.

(But the title of this post was not faceitious, really.)

Because I got to work pretty close to on time and I was okay, and now I have plans for lunch, and Mentor just leaned over and said, "I want to compliment you. This has nothing to do with work, but I've watched three young women of my acquaintance actively try to ruin their lives with terrible men this past month, and you have never done that in the time I've known you. I realize that that's a serious accomplishment. Good on you."

I am not a complete failure. Some days, that's all you can ask for.

Snapshots, and if you're male, be careful at the end.

I'm still alive. Barely.

Last night I got home after being gone for four days in DC on business travel and was so overcome that I crawled underneath my kitchen table for security. I clasped my knees to my chest to take up as little space as possible, under the big marble table, and rocked back and forth on my bum a little, because it felt comforting, and talked on the phone to some very sympathetic people, all of whom were a little concerened to hear that I was rocking myself under my kitchen table. But they cleverly hid their "You're doing WHAT?" reactions, and as far as I know no one called the EMTs to come take me away to the loony bin, and after awhile I felt better, crawled out from under the table, and went to bed.

Today is much better. (Not difficult, right?)

And out of curiousity, I checked Mandy Moore's Celebrity Playlist on iTunes. She has access to a lot of bands that no one else does, and she knows her music, but our music styles are in NO way similar. One more angsty, accoustic girl-music song and I was going to puke.

Also, has anyone tried the new Tampax Compact? What do you think?

My dog is my child and I'm dating a plant

I have a dog, right? You know this. (And by "you" I mean "everyone".)

And we just moved to a new apartment.

And BY GOD I WILL NOT BE EVICTED FROM THIS ONE, BY ALL THAT IS HOLY, may Coco Chanel give me strength.

So, in addition to spending my life savings on a bark collar, which I did, and making him wear it all the time, which he does, and let me take this moment to say that he is SO ADORABLE, I am working on separation anxiety techniques, which I enforce on everyone else but not myself (especially my mother, who I really like to punish by forcibly reminding her that Titan is MY DOG NOW)...anyway, where was I? Right. I'm possessive about my dog, obessessed with his behavior and his GI tract and his poop, and protective of my training techniques, or lack thereof. Really. Tell me how to raise my dog, even lightly as a joke, and I will snarl at you, refuse to talk to you for hours, and break up with you.

Really. Even if I'm NOT dating you. Ask anyone. In fact, really do ask anyone, because I think I've dated almost everyone worth dating. Go on and ask the person next to you. Go ahead, I'll wait.

See what I mean?

Anyway. Moral of the story: DO NOT MENTION MY DOG AROUND ME, except to mention how adorable and well-behaved he is. And we'll be the best of friends.

Moving on: in fact, getting back to moving, I'm all by myself now in the apartment, which gives me a lot of time for...navel gazing. A lot of time. I stare at my own navel all the time. (Joke.) (Not funny.)

Uh...which means I obsess a lot, as in, more than I did before. And since there's a point at which I can't obsess about myself anymore--really, even I get bored of myself sometimes--guess who gets it?

Let's just say this: I own a plant now! Who is steadily withdrawing from me, and it's not even animate. That's how smothering I am. (Joking.) (But I really do have a plant. More on that later.)

But seriously folks, Titan gets the brunt of it, and although he doesn't yet seem to mind, I'm rapidly becoming that crazy lady on my block. Besides staring at his poop while trying to magically diving his state of health (the folks at the dog park think I'm really weird) I also stare at his butt when he walks, trying to determine how bad his hips hurt him. (Also, I've taken to starting at my own teeth in the mirror. I've become convinced that I'm losing gum tissue, and that MUST BE STOPPED.) (Total tangent.)

So, long story made longer, Titan is old, and he's developing that classic German Shepherd low-rider walk, where the butt sags a little like the poor dog's about to take a poop at any time, because the hips hurt too badly to straighten out. To say that this scares me is an understatement; I have nightmares about it. Intellectually, I know it's inevitable, but BY GODDESS I WILL OVERCOME SCIENCE. Paris Hilton give me strength. Because I have overpriced supplements from the purely natural organic dog food store (duh), and I am NOT AFRAID TO USE THEM.

On the vitamin bottle it says: "Add one tablespoon of liquid to dog's meal morning and evening."

Here's what they don't tell you: "Your dog will hate the taste of these vitamins and refuse to eat his dinner, driving you into a panic. You will wonder if you've turned him into a picky eater by giving him samples of fancier food. You will assume he has a GI bug and is about to throw up all over your (brand-new) carpet. You will stare at his poop even more than you already do. You will wonder, vaguely, about the cost of ripping out your brand-new carpet and applying pergo flooring instead, or if it'd be easier to cover the whole apartment in saran wrap instead. And while you wonder all this, your dog will quietly eat his dinner, and you'll notice four hours later."

They don't tell you that part.

Electroshock Therapy and My Bowels.

Yes. Isn't that a sexy title?

At any rate, it's a lot more interesting than Things I Have Learned in the Past 48 Hours.

See? WAY more sexy!

Anyway, onto the actual things. That I have learned.

1. Whether I'm the worst or best dog mommy ever--the jury is still out on that, but you can form your own opinion based off this shocking piece of news: I have bought Titan a Shock Collar. (Although the marketing department at PetSafe calls it a "static" collar, you know what I'm saying?) I thought about it and felt awful. I bought it and still felt awful. I let it sit in the bag when I brought it home. (Titan was with me at PetSmart when I bought it. I swear I didn't do it behind his back. And I had a ten dollar gift certificate, so the collar was only HALF my life savings!) (I can't believe how much they charge--if I wanted to torture my dog, I could just beat him for free!) (Joke.) (Not funny.) (Also, can you tell me why human nature makes us buy the mid-range whatever it is? They had a cheap, a middle, and an expensively priced collar, and I bought the middle. Why? WHY? Wouldn't the cheap have been as good? But...I digress. Again.)

Ah. Where was I? Yes, the shock collar, half my life savings, used at first as a paperweight. And I thought, Well, I kept the receipt, he's not barking here, I can just return it.

Ha HA! Said Fate. And then Titan and I had a little incident. (Update: the closet door guys are supposed to come TODAY!)

So I got home that night, took Titan to the dog park like normal, and then brought him home and thought well, here goes nothing and put it on. He was so patient standing there for the collar, too, and I knew he was being patient for his own hurt, and a little part of me inside died, but I gritted my teeth and went on. And then I let him stand on the deck outside. For awhile there was nothing, and I was about to take it off, and then someone walked through the bottom gate, and WOOF! Zzzzzzzzz!

Okay, so you really can't hear it. That's exaggeration. But I knew it worked because he suddenly leaned his neck back, instinctively trying to get away from the prongs on the underside of his neck, and his ears flared a little. Silence. Then a test bark: Woof! And the ears flared again.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I got a dog who used to bark his head off at every opportunity, including, but not limited to: squirrels, cats, other dogs, people, being tied up outside places, postmen, any men in uniform, etc...to be a dog that sleeps happily in the car and waits patiently outside stores when we go on walks! In the space of two days!

Okay, so that was a really long Number One.

Onto Number Two: (HA!) Number Two! Because this is ABOUT Number Two!

Sort of.

Because, okay, my metabolism is changing, and apparently my body is, too. Some days I have terrible gas and other days I don't, and I don't know why. I thought it was greens. Today I learned a lesson: I think it's greens with NO OIL, which is what I was doing because I'm weird, but greens drowned in olive oil are awesome!

Which is weird because milk doesn't give me a problem, but cheese and ice cream do. So is it animal fat? Or greens with no oil? Or both?

No matter, I solved a big part today. And that's a good thing.

Number Three: This super cute haircut that I adore...it takes on a whole new meaning in Capitol Hill. (For those non-Seattle types: Gay/Lesian Central.) When I wear it with my big sunglasses and my muscle tank, hoodie, and gas station corduroys...you know what I look like?

That's right. Every other slim androgynous lesbian in Cap Hill.

For right now, I'm kinda liking it. Fun to be someone else for awhile. :)

And the beat goes on

The end of last night's depressing story is that my mother called, so I had to stand up and answer the phone, and then I turned on some lights, walked Titan, bought Sparks, set up my sound system, and unpacked most of my kitchen. So I snapped out of the funk and made progress. The move itself, on Saturday, was the longest move I've ever had. God forbid that I even own this much stuff! We moved for 12 hours straight. My friend Chris gave up his entire Saturday to help me move. He really needs Mariners tickets. (Note to self: next time, just hire the damn truck. You'll spend less by the time you're done repaying people for favors!)

This morning: WOW. This morning was, in short, a little rough. There's no good or funny summary in my head yet. Suffice it to say: I have Titan in my car, we almost made it past the guard at the gate (remember, secure site!) and then Titan barked at him, the guard read me the riot act, we turned around and pulled out of the property and I pulled over so I could cry because the guard was mean and also properly scream my head off at Titan, who is apparently trying to make my life as difficult as possible. Now we're parked far away from the gate, but still technically on B-----'s property, so I'm still breaking the rules. Right after I finish this email I'm going to move Jeep and Titan to the Museum of Flight parking lot across the street, which is NOT B----- property. Fuck THEM.

Because you're not allowed to have animals on company property. Because the Lazy B wants to turn all of us into robots with no problems, schedule changes, or emotions. Not that I'm bitter.

And the whole reason I have Titan in the car is because some guys are supposed to come to my apartment today to replace one of the three sliding mirrored doors in my closet. But the apartment manager hasn't really kept me in the loop and I don't want to bug him because I'm living there rent free for the time being. (Shhhh!) So if they don't come today, I'll be a little mad, but not half as mad as before--now that I know how to work around the rules and bring Titan to work if I park in the right spot, it won't be a problem.

The only problem with TODAY is that I'm wearing the wrong shoes. They're really cute, but I've never worn them before and after Titan's walk this morning and walking in from the car, parked far away in Mars, I have gigantic blisters on my heels. This is not improving my mood. I walked in from the car barefoot carrying my shoes, and I was just WAITING for the guard to give me a hard time about being barefoot. His body would never be found.

Fortunately for him and his family, he simply smiled at me.

Did I mention also that I had to have a different kind of fancy coffee this morning that I wanted because apparently the closest Starbucks to Bob is OUT of the Cinnamon Dulce syrup? And breakfast sandwiches? Can I tell you how unhappy I am about that?

And did I ALSO mention that I forgot to sign my electronic time card at the end of Thursday (remember, B likes to treat us like lab rats and not like professionals on salary) so my manager is mad at me and that the next time I forget to sign my time, I'll get all my flex time and virtual office privileges yanked? Because I'm apparently still in high school and the Fucking B thinks that allowing my manager to effectively ground me is a good plan for employee relations and not at all blatant ageist abuse? Did I mention that?

Sigh. Send Sparks.

I am sitting.

In my new and very dark apartment, on the floor, by myself. My dog is asleep behind me, also on the floor. I cannot see the keyboard; this is how dark it is.

I am facing my new balcony. The sliding glass doors and the windows on either side of the balcony face the other fifty apartments that face me. My blinds are fully up, exposing me sitting on the floor with only my computer. Someone in another apartment facing me would see only my head and upper torso, illuminated by my computer, floating in a sea of blackness.

I cannot grasp the fact that it is 8:00 pm and I don't have to go bed soon because I don't have to get up any earlier than six. I may not fully shake the feeling of having to go to bed before 9 on Sundays for a very long time. I may never shake it.

I feel like I will never move from this spot, that I will die here with my computer, with my windows staring at the fifty sets of windows across from me, forever.

Favorite Things

Grrrr. This is the THIRD TIME I HAVE STARTED THIS POST.

The whole point of this post was to talk about how much I love the new Butterfinger Crisp and how awesome it is. This was before I tried to visit the Butterfinger Site.

WELL. I hope no one whom I care about EVER visits the Butterfinger site EVER in their ENTIRE EXISTENCE. It crashed Firefox and Internet Explorer both, in some complicated way that I can't fix without restarting my computer! Something to do with cookies? And not the good ones, either--in Firefox, I had to close it, and now I can't open it again. It keeps saying my default profile is already in use! What? Several checks on Task Manager, both in Applications and Processes, have shown no use of Firefox. I'm confused. Then IE crashed when I tried to use it instead, and in signing onto Blogger, it told me I wasn't accepting cookies anymore! WTF?

It was extremely complicated, annoying, and suprising. So, eat Butterfinger Crisp as much as you can, but don't buy it--go straight to the factory nearest you and steal it in bags!

Also, more least favorite things: My coworker and Mentor (in name, at least) just walked in from an all-day meeting. He walked in, walked to the back of the row of cubes where his desk and my desk are (and it's a long way), poked his head in, said hi, and walked out again.

I sat in shock for a moment before it came to me: THAT MOTHERFUCKER CAME ALL THE WAY INTO WORK TO SEE IF I WAS STILL HERE!

ASSWIPE.

Also, I have updated the books in the sidebar to your right. They're all awesome.

I'm Evil with a Map, I'm Evil with a Map--or, the Axis of Evil.

You Are 48% Evil

You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side. Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.

How Evil Are You?

I'm evil, and I'm okay with that.

Second:

Okay, I knew my EVIL commute of 60 miles round trip was bad for a) the environment, and b) my wallet. Which is why I'm moving. But I wasn't really aware of HOW bad. So when in the middle of my frantic online research/preparation for my impending move I came across this handy-dandy little calculator, I immediately entered my numbers, because I love calculators. Because I'm a nerd like that.

My dear IIF's, I am spending, roughly, $200 A MONTH in COMMUTING costs! And that's only gas! Not including wear and tear on the car!

Fuck THAT noise.

So, you wanna see how much closer I'll be? Huh? Huh?

Of course you do!



(Wondering why I have "my old apartment" on there? Read The Seattle Saga.)

Raise Up a Girl In the Way She Should Go II

Google didn't exist when I went to my first Expanding Your Horizons Conference, so they weren't a sponsor then. I was 12, my ears stuck out to Australia, I had big moon glasses, and I was wearing a dark teal sweatshirt, oversized, of course. It was 1993 and the Eighties were stubbornly holding on to our fashion psyche. (They might have left sooner and with less fuss if they'd known they'd be back 13 years later.) Local news anchors came in to cover it; we were at a local middle school.

I remember so much about that day: the lab we did our experiments in had black lab benches, I was wearing black jeans. Once when the camera was filming I looked straight into it. That was the day that led me down this path, this fascinating path of math and science and engineering and quantum physics and time travel. That was the day that started it. That day.

So I'm proud to see that my favorite company ever is now a proud sponsor. May millions of girls the world over be affected the way I was.

The Saga of Seattle. And Me.

Right, so I'm moving to Seattle!

Good Things: Shorter commute! Great bus system! Time to myself! Walking distance from clubs! EVERYTHING about Seattle will be good!

Bad Things: Um...this isn't the first time I've done this.
Really Bad Things: I failed miserably the first time.

Just eleven months ago, right before I started this blog, I was living in West Seattle--still technically Seattle proper but across Elliot Bay. It was beautiful and beachy, and I had a lovely apartment in a great location, but I was absolutely miserable. Why?

First, I learned to my great surprise (and WAAAAAAAY after I signed the lease) that you can't have dogs on the beaches in Seattle! There's a $500 fine! Yay!

Second, this was in the Dark Ages before Purl's Budget, so I had no idea that I couldn't really afford the apartment after all. According to my very rough (and very inaccurate) budget, I could totally afford it! And yet all my money was disappearing every month and I didn't know why! I thought maybe gnomes were taking it.

Third, I was driving to Tacoma to see TheBoy every weekend (not good for stress OR money, apparently) and not only was I not getting to know my new city or my new apartment, but Titan was missing me, barking, and driving the other apartment residents crazy. The assistant manager of the complex lived directly below me and he hated me. I was about to be evicted.

*Insert long weekend in which I ran away to Pittsburgh for CMU's Spring Carnival and crawled into a pitcher of Yuengling.*

After Carnival I sobered up, bucked up, came back to Seattle, and put my resourcefulness to good use. Two weeks later I was out of the lease, owing them nothing, footloose and fancy free. I moved in with my parents for the rest of May, then moved out at the start of June, and have lived in my current adorable little house ever since!

With me so far? Awesome.

Now: It's been ten months in the same house, gas prices are going up again, my Jeep is complaining that she never signed on to be a commuter vehicle, I feel bad driving 60 miles round trip each day on this small planet, and I have a ton of friends in Seattle. Solution? Move again! WOO! It's the answer to everything! When in doubt, move!

(Side note: while I was explaining this to R last night, he said, "Do you have gypsy blood in you or what?") (One summer in D.C. I moved seven times in thirteen weeks. You do the math.)

What's the apartment like? So glad you asked! Next post!

Why I Want to Drink at Work

I'm working as a site lead on a research team. The actual lead is in sunny Southern California. As much as I like my lead, his...leadership style, or lack thereof, is making my life...interesting. And by "interesting" I mean "fucking terrible".

So, Monday morning we had a big teleconference in which I'm supposed to give our customer our first draft. Let's not forget the fact that this is two weeks before the draft is actually due, and the customer already yelled at me for not having it ONE MONTH before the draft is due, so already I'm behind, under the gun, and in trouble. (WHY did you want the draft one month before due date? Surely that would obliterate the DUE DATE? Is that not the definition of a DUE DATE? But I digress.)

I made up a presentation outline (key word here is? Outline!) and sent it to my tech lead a week and a half ago, expecting to get feedback, so I could incorporate the feedback before the teleconference Monday morning. With me so far?

Monday morning, he calls: "Um...this isn't ready."
Me: "Um...I know. It's an outline. I sent it to you a week ago looking for feedback."
Him: "Well...it's not ready."
Me: thinking, no shit, Sherlock! "Well...okay.
Him: "I'm canceling the teleconference."
Me: "Okay, if that's what you want to do."
Him: "Well, it's not ready."
Me: "I hear you, it's not ready. That's why I sent it to you a week ago. So we could talk about it then."
Him: "Send out the cancel meeting notice. I'll call you later."
Me: thinking, SHIT. "Okay."

The customer who screamed at me three weeks ago for not having the draft responded to me: "No worries! Hope you feel better! Looking forward to the next meeting!"

Me:...WTF?

Later on that afternoon on the phone, I begin to take my tech lead through the presentation.

Him: "Most of the slides are blank."
Me: "It's an OUTLINE. The content of the slides should be summarized in the titles. The TITLES, Tech Lead."
Him: "Oh!"
Me: thinking, you've got to be kidding me.
*Moment of silence while my lead actually looks at the presentation for the first time.*
Him: "Oh, this isn't bad."
Me:...Oh, for fuck's sake!

I swear, it's like working with Schizophrenics.

Realization

You know it's a bad day when you think to yourself, in all seriousness, Man, I sure wish I could drink at work.

For the record, it's not quite noon.

Help me. Send tofu.

Tomorrow, I'm drinking jet fuel

So, let's say that you're me. And you're supposed to be in Kent at 7:30 in the morning. And you wake up at 8:00. (For reasons why this happened, see previous post.)

So you decide that, since the only reason you had to be in Kent was to go to a two-day systems engineering class, that they won't know or care if you're late and your manager certainly won't know, so you decide to take your time in the morning, showering and putting make up on and getting pretty, because you know you have a long day ahead of you. And you decide to open your work email and maybe answer some email because, in spite of your class, you still have a big project, the first draft of which is due on MONDAY, to do, and the other new hire working on it with you will be GONE FRIDAY AND MONDAY.

So you call the few people you know who work in Kent and they tell you a place to set up your computer, because your desk is really in South Seattle and yet you have to get things done in Kent and are planning to call suppliers, so you really need a phone.

AND THEN you drive to Kent, and on the way you talk to the Other New Hire you're working with, and you decide that, really, very few phone calls need to be made and you're going to email them (the suppliers) first anyway, so fuck that noise. You get lost while on the phone and curse, out loud, on a business phone call. You apologize and quickly find the nearest Starbucks, as it is now 10:15 in the morning and you have had no coffee.

You arrive in Kent and set up in the place your coworker told you about. You answer some emails, very quickly, and run to the systems engineering class.

You get there in time for some boring ethics talk and then you Break For Lunch. You and your friend decide to drive to Subway instead of eating in the cafeteria.

Subway takes forever. You and your friend scream back to the Engineering class. You arrive in time to pilfer the snacks and to take a personality test. You run out in order to meet Old White Guys who offered you a job, back in December, but you didn't take it because you got put on a really cool project. You meet Old White Guys. Apparently they didn't get the memo, the one about how you're on a really cool project now and can't leave it.

After about ten minutes, they try to call your manager and arrange the transfer of you down to them. You tell them you can't leave the project you're working on. They offer to take you half time, and again, they want to call your manager. It is a shock to realize that, even though they're doing high-tech electronics, it's not as high-tech as the stuff you're already working on. They offer you a chance to design your own projects. They take you on a tour of their labs. You agree to talk to you manager on Friday.

On drive home, talk to mother for forty-five minutes about weird turn that career has just taken. Talk to all boys on roster, set up dates, break dates. Talk to girls about plans for that night. Talk to T-Town Girl about apartment decorating. Eat something before you fall over.

Arrive home. Chatter nonstop at Roommate about nanotechnology vs. high-tech electronics until he reminds you, gently, that he has no idea what the fuck you're talking about. Retreat into room. Sit quietly for half an hour with wine and computer, picking nose, until it's time to go to Jazzbones to meet T-Town, Tacompton Tiffany, and a host of others.

Is it any wonder that I have trouble falling asleep at night?

I'M APPROVED!

(Like I wasn't going to be. But still.)

So, my dear IIF's, as of April first, I'll be a resident of Seattle!

The apartment management is very cool about some things. Not very flexible about move in dates, though--I have to wait to paint until I move in on the first. Too bad. I really want to go crazy with the painting! I want to paint windows and swags and all kinds of stuff! Never mind that I don't have an artistic bone in my body. I've been reading too many trompe l'oeil books and it looks easy to me now. Yes, y'all will get pictures of the terrible results, never fear.

It's probably better this way anyway--I get to put my furniture in now and see how it looks before painting. Although it's more work this way, I'm more likely to get a good result. So, c'est la vie.

Important questions for my listening (reading) audience: as I mentioned earlier, I recently got this duvet cover.

Only it's not as blue as it looks in the photo--more of a blue-gray. And because it's "all-terrain", it's nylon, like snowboarding pants. I really liked the idea, but once I got the box I'm not so sure. My (very small) bedroom in my new place has a nice big window and a ceiling fan, and I was thinking about making it an African safari-type-theme, with mosquito netting and such. The duvet cover might work well for that. Or I could go in more of a summer-harem-palace direction, with more pinks and reds and purples. And I could hang up my chaps and frame them like a symbol of power. The duvet cover would NOT go well in there!

Thoughts, suggestions?