Blogging the Relationship Special Edition: HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the LT!!

It's today! The LT was born today! WOO! Obviously, I am pretty happy that this man chose to enter the world. Safe to say that I am a fan.

After all, this is a man who is letting me attend a book signing tonight, a book signing celebrating a woman who is a She-Hero of the Bloggernets, a woman who has written honestly and openly about her divorce and her finances and her job and her hobbies (knitting) and her cats' hobbies (pooping) and the amazing part is how little I have in common with this woman and yet how much I--and every other woman in the world with a sense of humor--identify with her. But enough about me, the point is that the LT does not mind that I am spending his birthday celebrating a woman who is divorced and living alone with three cats, spending her days knitting. (I don't understand why all the men in town, including the LT, aren't falling all over each other to attend this book reading, but apparently it's not very manly. Or something.)

Also, this man is the kind of man that has all the right responses to important questions like, "Will you still love me if I confess now that we were supposed to take a left three blocks ago?" He did, he said, through gritted teeth. (My ability to give directions to a driver, even if I know the area well, is a byword in Seattle.)

"Is it okay that I don't wear makeup much?" (Read: hardly ever.) His answer: "Yes, definitely. I couldn't stand it if you had to put on makeup before we left the house to go to brunch or drop by the video store."

"Do you notice that I have gained ten pounds?" Yes, I actually asked this question, trying to stop myself even as I said it. The LT may be the only man in the world who had the right answer to this question, said so straightforwardly that I actually believed him: "No, I really can't."

Whew.

He loves Titan, so much that Titan would much rather live with the LT, I think, than with mean ol' mama who keeps taking him to the vet and making him take pills. (Update on Titan: he has a bacterial skin infection, which didn't respond to the antibiotic shampoo, so now we are trying oral antibiotics.)

In other news: I'm still sick, but on the mend; I'm keeping a really long and boring log of Food I Ate This Week that will be published on the other blog, in case other people want to know how I eat and when I eat it. It doesn't seem exciting, but I confess that I LOVE to see what other people eat on a daily basis, so I thought I would publish mine. I love food logs, especially detailed ones, I love sample menus, I love it when chefs talk about what THEY eat, (hence my irrational love for Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant, and therefore I am forcing myself to write down what I eat in an attempt to make it look more like a sample menu, i.e., something that an adult should be eating as opposed to what a child eats with an indulgent grandparent. (Left alone, my diet consists of pieces of bread with some kind of spread and/or cheese. And steamed spinach with sauce. That could be my whole life, easily.)

And in spite of the LT's proclamation that he can't see my extra pounds (God Bless the man), last night's dinner of a Chipotle burrito, a piece of toast slathered in fake cheese, a few spoonfuls of carrot cake Rice Cream, and a tumbler of scotch on the rocks is definitely not a bikini dinner*. Something HAS TO BE DONE. And seeing Crazy Aunt Purl is proven to be low in fat and high in fiber!

Bikini dinner: a dinner that keeps one in shape for bikini season. Substitute lunch or breakfast when necessary.

Been Sick, Plus, an Idea

Very sick. I was priding myself on the fact that I hadn't gotten sick, when indeed half of the Seattle-Tacoma area seemed to be out sick, and then...I got sick. (I blame Tut-Tee Claire. At first it was only she and I who weren't sick, and then she fell, and then I did. Dammit.)

Anyway, whoever is to blame, I fell sick overnight on Tuesday and woke up on Wednesday with glands the size of golf balls, a headache, and the shakes. Fortunately, I had just been to the library--literally the day before--and stocked up on a bunch of fiction I'd never read: four Charlaine Harris', two each from two different series, and three non-fiction: The Tipping Point, French Women Don't Get Fat, and The Year of Magical Thinking, that last one on my mother's recommendation. I've read all four fiction paperbacks and am partway through Magical Thinking, although I've gotten distracted with The Eye of the World. Yes, the very same Eye of the World, I don't think there are two, that starts the famous Wheel of Time series, that will probably never actually end as the author just died. May Robert Jordan rest peacefully in a world beyond blood diseases and book critics. And as he would say, I'm not sure which is worse! As for the rest, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about with French Women Don't Get Fat, and I've already read Blink and loved it, and so wanted to read Tipping Point. From now on, all the books I'm reading or have read will be in their own list right above the blog archive, so you can click on any title and be taken to Amazon. No, I don't make any money if you buy it...yet. (Some of the books I've read will be in Aarwenn Culture, if they're reference books I refer to often.)

Reading this much fiction--especially by authors I enjoy, although the jury is out on whether I actually enjoy Robert Jordan yet--has got me thinking (again) about my own work of fiction. I've been thinking for some time that I would post the first chapter here, on this blog, so that people can read it and hopefully give me their opinions. I hope that might spur me on to finish it, as the plot has been finished long ago, and now it just requires the words. Sadly, the words--as Robert Jordan knows--are the hardest part. The plots are easy. It's the words, and the characters, that are so hard. Anyone can describe a plot. Telling a story is the tough part.

So what do you think, readers? Yay or nay posting the novel? Would you rather wait until its finished? Anyone out there want to be my writing buddy? I can't seem to do it alone.

ING and Mary Kay

The two things aren't really related, but the LT read the previous Mary Kay post and said to me, "You spent two hundred dollars on make up. Isn't this going to directly affect--in the reverse way--all this progress you're making with your ING account?"

To which I say: "THBBBBBBBBBT."

But that's just the short answer! I have a longer answer, which involves more B's.

No, seriously, I do have a longer answer, mainly about ING, based on a number of questions I've received recently. (And thank you! Ask more questions! I love to talk!)

What kind of interest rates do you get?

I get 3.5% on my checking, and 4.0% on my savings. Yes, that's excellent, and getting paid real money on YOUR money is just as excellent as it sounds.

What are some other good things?

No overdraft fees! Instead, they charge you interest on any amount you're overdrawn, calculated by some complicated algorithm per day. I can be hundreds of dollars overdrawn (just for a few days, I swear!) and be charged 85 cents total for the month. That is really nice. (I'd like to pretend I'm perfect, but I'm not. Sadly.)

So what's the catch?

Well, ING doesn't have any branches. And they don't have any ATMs. So you MUST have a "real" checking account linked to your ING account. And that's a problem, because in moving money around, you can (if you're me) end up short on one or both accounts, and then you get slapped with terrible overdraft fees from Real Bank.

I opened my ING account in very late May, and let's just say that although I have made something like 35 bucks in interest since then (for doing nothing! Just saving!), I have also spent 181 dollars in overdraft fees. I have also earned money (occasionally) for ING promotions, like 1% cash back on purchases during June and July, which netted me an additional 25 dollars (roughly), but still--as of now, opening my ING account has cost me money.

UPDATE: This is actually not true, at all. I have saved a great deal of money that I would normally have had to spend in overdraft fees, since I have mentioned I've been overdrawn a few times on my ING account. Conservatively, applying Key Bank rates, I have probably saved 180 dollars. At least.

Okay, but assuming I'm not you?

First of all, congratulations! Second of all, I would say opening an ING account would be a terrific idea for you. You won't have the overdraft problem that I did.

What are some other catches?

Well, even if you're not me, you'll still have a problem writing checks from your ING account. They have an electronic check option, which works almost instantaneously, like paypal. And then they have a paper check option, which thanks to some fancy graphics you can fill out online and send to someone--and that's neat--but it would be faster to buy a donkey and a horse, have them mate, raise the mule, train it to be a pack mule, and send it to the person with your check--which the mule may or may not eat on the way (um, the check, not the person)--than to send an paper check through ING. This is a serious problem.

However, it's very tempting to send checks through ING because even if you don't have enough funds to cover the check, it won't bounce OR slap you with nasty overdraft fees. They treat it exactly like a normal overdraft. In some cases, with returned check fees being as high as $75 dollars, I can imagine this would save a large amount of money. I mean, if you were me, which you're not. So maybe this won't matter to you.

So what do YOU, personally, use your ING account for? Or alternatively, why would I open one if I can't write checks from it or deposit money into it? Sounds ridiculous?

Good point. I use my ING account for everything except writing checks. I use my debit card for all my purchases (or at least I do when I can find it), I pay all my bills, all my student loans, and I give to my Roth IRA every month from it. What I don't do: pay rent, or buy Mary Kay. Evil Mary Kay.

Had I thought about this at the time, I would have written an electronic check to Jen the Mary Kay lady from my ING account, as there wasn't a deadline like there is for some checks. And I would also have paid my utilities bill from it, because again, had I sent the check right away it would have arrived in plenty of time (even if the mule ate the first one) and I wouldn't have to worry about having enough money in the account to cover the check at the right time because they don't bounce! Wow, that would have been a great idea! I could have saved 75 dollars!

Focus, Aarwenn. Why would I want to open an ING account?

Because if you're not me, and assuming you have the same amount of savings as I do (kind of insulting for you, I'm sure you'll have more) you'll make about forty dollars in four months! Ten dollars a month in interest is nothing to sneeze at.

And also, having an account with no real branches is no challenge at all for our generation. I assume you already do everything online, including bills, student loans, dating, savings accounts, group games, etc, online. (Maybe in some future world Match.com will put a link on your profile to your ING account so your potential dates can verify your income?) So it's not so odd to have an account you can't go to, in person. I also assume you already have direct deposit of your paycheck and don't get a lot of other checks, and so you have no real need to visit your bank anyway. (Although I hope EVERYONE knows they can deposit checks by ATM at your bank. I'm always shocked at how many people don't know this.)

One additional note about ATMs: the ING site has an ATM locator, in which you can find all the free ATMs that ING has, and there's a lot, all over the country. There's one half a block away from me; it's great.

So, what's the verdict?

If you're not me, i.e. you can do math and you can learn from your mistakes, opening an ING account will be the best thing you ever did, and even if you ARE me, you'll still be happy you did. I am.

Okay. Good to know. Last question: what started you on this "Money Watch" phase?

This book: Women and Money, by Suze Orman. A fabulous, wonderful book. And you can make $100 dollars by opening a Roth IRA. I'm serious. Go out and buy it, now!

Happy Tuesday! May Mary Kay ladies run from your door and may your bank suddenly decide to suspend their overdraft fee policy!

The Evil that is Mary Kay

So, I have this friend that I met at a bachelorette party, once upon a time, and she said she had just started selling Mary Kay, and because I really like the idea of Mary Kay in theory--the idea of women being able to work at home, woman-owned small businesses, etc--and she was looking for test subjects, I volunteered.

Side note: Not only am I NOT a girly-girl, I am also kind of a sucker for advertisements and clever packaging, and therefore I had a period in my life (sadly, right over the time I moved a lot) in which I had TWO FULL CARDBOARD BOXES, the gigantic moving kind, of...hair product. That I never used. That I carefully moved to at least four separate residences.

Based on these experiences, and the subsequent kicking-myself-in-the-head that I did, I am very hesitant about buying any makeup product at all, although I make an exception for lip gloss. (Buy it, lose it. Buy it, lose it.) So I went ahead and volunteered to be her Mary Kay subject, but I was NOT going to buy anything. Not. Not.

What I didn't bargain on was the Mary Kay program of doing TWO facials, a starting facial and then a follow-up facial. At the starting facial I bought three lipglosses, something I always need, and also bronzer, which impressed me during the facial (and has continued to impress me.)

And then I started getting the calls for the follow-up facial.

I resisted. I flaked out. I refused to return calls. And then finally Jen (the Mary Kay girl, and actually very nice) nailed me down and sure enough, a week ago yesterday, we had the follow-up facial, and I could hold out no longer, and I bought a skin care system. And some eye cream because that would push my total up to (big scary number I can't reveal here, except that it has three digits) and then I would get a free makeup bag, and let me tell you, the makeup bags at Mary Kay are unbelievably terrific.

HOWEVER. The reason I bought the skin care system, or part of the reason, is that Jen said, "Look, I will make you a deal. If you buy this system, and use it faithfully every day, twice a day, and your skin doesn't get better, I'll buy it back from you. You're a great test case. Please, buy it and use it every day. Please?"

How can I resist a deal like that? And so now I have spent close to two hundred dollars on makeup and skin care in the past month that I will probably never use, since I did indeed use the system three days in a row last week but completely forgot over the weekend AND Monday, and all I can say is that the next girl I meet who tells me she's selling Mary Kay I will punch in the face and then run away.

Expensive Lessons Get More Expensive the Second (Hundredth) Time

For example, I was with the LT (with whom I had a great weekend, even driving back and forth from Bremerton to Seattle four times) on Sunday, and I took a look at my bank statements. I should know better, because the LT manages his money like Alan Greenspan (or how I imagine Alan Greenspan would handle his personal accounts, not America's money) and I...do not.

It's not that I'm poor, as you'll see from the following conversation. It's more that I'm...well, scatterbrained. To put it mildly.

Me: "DAMN!"
LT: "What?"
Me: "I owe Key Bank $73.00 in overdraft fees!"
LT: "Baby! Are you okay? Do you need me to pick up some coffee bills?"
Me: "No, I'm fine." (I click and login to my ING account, which by the way I still love.) "See? I have a healthy balance here."
LT: (Confused) "Why do you have two accounts?"
Me: "I wish I could--I wish I could just go with my ING account. I hate Key Bank. But my ING account needs to have a "normal" checking account linked to it. They require it."
LT: "Okay. But why don't you keep more money in the Key Bank account?"
Me: "Because ING pays me A LOT more interest."
LT: (With great patience) "Fine, but why don't you use your ING debit card, then, more often, instead of your Key Bank one?"
Me: "Because I lost it."
LT: (Throwing his hands in the air) "I give up!"

I was passing this story along to my Tut-Tee Clair, and she said, "Um...shouldn't you cancel it?"
"Oh no," I said cheerfully. "I know it's somewhere in my apartment. I just have to find it."

For the record, when a sixteen-year-old gives you good advice--that you should be taking--about your money situation, you know you're beyond the repair given by professionals.

However, just to make my point, I did in fact TODAY find my ING debit card. Which never charges me overdraft fees. (One of the many, many reasons I love ING.)

And I have a Roth IRA, and a 401(k), and just a plain old savings account. It's not that I'm destitute. It's just that...well, let's just say that money is easy in that it just goes into accounts and earns interest all by itself. In this case, I think my own money is smarter than I am.

Stuffing Face With Spicy Coconut Milk Noodle

It's sort of amazing how many of my posts could accurately be titled that way, as that is what I am doing pretty much all the time.

The important part, of course, is to leave room for the Sparks at the end.

Hello! It's Friday night, the biggest party of the year will technically start in a little over an hour, and I am not showered OR dressed.

And the party is happening at my house.

I am pretty much ready, if by "ready" you mean "sitting at the computer still wearing my coat, stuffing my face with Spicy Coconut Milk Noodle." But like I said before, it's amazing how many other words in my life--like for example "working", "writing", and "cleaning" can all mean "sitting at the computer stuffing my face with Spicy Coconut Milk Noodle."

But seriously, folks. I've never been this ready for a party in my entire life. The bathroom is CLEAN clean. You could eat off the floor. So is the kitchen. I have my costume all ready. (The theme of this pary, besides "Holy Shit Aarwenn is throwing her first house party in two years," is, "Back to School!") I have a keg, arranged for, picked up, and paid for. It's in my Jeep now. I don't have keg cups or mixers, but people are bringing those. I have very few munchies, but people are bringing those too. (SPECIFIC people who know their tasks, not just random people that I hope remember.) The apartment is cleaner than it's ever been, including the day I moved in. My neighbors have been warned of the party, I've wiped down all flat surfaces in all rooms, I've de-furred the apartment and the dog, I've even gotten my hair done.

-Post broke off here, as the LT showed up with all sorts of things, and the party commenced!--

It's now Saturday afternoon--late afternoon. The party went well, although it was a little small since apparently half of Seattle is out sick. We had plenty of people here anyway--the kind of crowd where you can't really keep track of all the conversations, and I'm sure a lot of things happened that I didn't even see.

On a more updated note, Tukwila PD found the LT's motorcycle! LT and I arranged a long and complicated plan to go get it, as we now have two people and three vehicles on this side of the water. The plan, which depends on ferry times, probably won't be complete until nine or ten tonight, and that's just in time for us to go to ANOTHER party.

Sigh.

Also, I'm currently stuffing my face with Spicy Coconut Milk Noodle.

The Lord Giveth, and the Lord Taketh Away

Or maybe it’s more appropriate to say that we are in a continuous cycle of giving and taking. Feng Shui teaches that we really own nothing on this earth, not even the bodies we stand up in, as we certainly can’t take our possessions or our bodies with us when we die. So an appropriate response to any theft is to take a deep breath and say, “Well, they’ve come for it.” “They” being some representation of the world outside us or around us, some element that helps themselves to our possessions without notifying us, and “it” being some element that we expected to hang on to for the indeterminate future.

And after this weekend, the LT can say, “Well, they’ve come for the motorcycle.”

I'll put that more plainly: the LT and I came back from Beerfest to discover that his motorcycle was stolen, the wrenched-off ignition lock lying in the street.

Yes, he has insurance. Theft insurance, even, which you have to pay extra for with a motorcycle because of this very possibility. Yes, I was very attached to that motorcycle and am rather sad that we can’t ride it anymore. (That we know of. SPD may find it—the nice officer who came to take Mark’s statement about 1:07 this morning said the chances were better than average that he’d get it back. I’m not so sure.) In fact, my own father owned a motorcycle when he and my mother got married, which was stolen not long after they were married. He never replaced it.

The awful part is that LT has worked twelve hours a day every day this week and been called in to work twice in the middle of the night on top of that. (And last week, and for the next two weeks.) I put in eight hours of overtime myself, not including my normal tutoring. I was insulted at Beerfest by a boy who told me I needed acne cream. (Maybe if I repeat it enough, the sting of this remark will eventually dissipate.) Two lines of girls—the line I was in and an upstart line—both in line for the same four porta-potties almost got in a knock-down drag-out brawl, resulting in me comforting some gorgeous tennis-player-type blonde who was crying over being called “ferret-faced” by some female who was apparently shallower than Saran Wrap. Four security guards crossed their arms in front of the four porta-potties, sending in one girl at a time after that.

Fortunately the whole event paled in comparison to our triumphant entry, the LT and I able to buzz in for free and, more importantly, past a line that was miles long. (In any big city, free admission pales in comparison to being to skip the line or achieve free parking, for example.) A group of us went out for really good Thai food, disdaining to feed ourselves on fair food at Beerfest, and today, the ‘Hawks beat the Bengals and the Steelers beat the 49’ers. Next week, the ‘Hawks play the 49’ers. Should be an interesting game.

And tomorrow I get to work from home, a wonderful thing, and I get to try out a new salon on Friday (Vain, for those playing along at home) and most importantly, my BACK TO SCHOOL! Party is on Friday, and drinking games galore, fifty of my closest friends in costume, and a brand-new (to me) Polaroid camera to record the events will chase away a lot of ills. And even if it doesn’t, I keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The Only Phone Calls I've Gotten On My Landline Are Telemarketers, Or, Fall Reminds Me Of Aging

And I have no idea how to retrieve my messages anyway, so this is probably as it should be. Oh: and once I called myself--only to see if my phone number works.

It does.

I could summarize this week, but instead I'll say that I am really REALLY looking forward to this weekend, which I suspect will be amazing. Tomorrow night, the LT and I will be volunteering at the Fremont Oktoberfest, which I think will be some work, but also a blast, and then Saturday we get to actually GO to Oktoberfest! For free!

Sunday I think we have something or other. (My apologies if whoever we're spending time on Sunday is reading this. You're important. I swear.)

On the Radar This Week, or, What This Post Is Really About

I've been spending all my free time (what there is of it) with my old friend Beau Prichard, who besides having a brand-new book out, is also starring in Conor McPherson's St. Nicholas, an engrossing drama about a real prick of a theater critic (but aren't they all?) who ends up working for vampires and discovers what real evil is. (I can't help but wonder if Mr McPherson got in a few personal zings against theater critics that may or may not have lambasted him in the past.)

It's a one-man show, and Beau is in the process of learning his lines, not an easy feat when it was written by an Irishman with apparently no grammar school education; the changes in tense throughout are appalling. He keeps me in Sparks Light and I pace around his apartment in the Central District, wearing holes in the rug, or occasionally stretching between paces, hearing my joints pop. His roommate, a real darling whom I would have fallen for were I five years younger, pokes his head around corners and makes sarcastic comments between riffs on Guitar Hero. It's all very "we'll look back on this one day and laugh", or at least it would be if Beau and I both weren't closer to thirty than we are to twenty. Still, I'm proud of him--the man can actually finish his novels, something I've yet to do--and as life expectancies lengthen, we have more and more years to make our own paths rather than needing to hop on pre-made ones to save time.

Not that Beau is particularly behind--he's not. As I said, he's written far more novels than I have and actually has one available to sell. And my perspective is skewed, too. One of the reasons I love living in Capitol Hill is that it keeps me with one foot in the art scene, one eye watching people who have carved out unusual lives for themselves and don't seem burdened down by guilt that they're not Type-A enough, and half my brain on my novel. The other half of my brain, of course, is focused on nanotechnology, giant lasers, and chemicals galore. The other half of my brain is stressing that I won't put my name on a patent or make sweeping changes in the Lazy B before my car loan is up (the end of my short-term goals). The other half of my brain is constantly pushing myself to do better and better things while I'm this young, racing against the clock.

In addition, people keep getting married on me, which can (in my darker moments) contribute to my sense of urgency. I do also realize that just because some of my friends are married doesn't mean that they have their lives any more settled or have necessarily accomplished more. (I mean, marriage is a big accomplishment, don't get me wrong. But it's not necessarily a good analogy for winning a patent, or writing a novel, or starting a full-fledged acting career. I don't know if you can ever really cross marriage off on a list titled, "Things Done.")

However. In the midst of all this strife, I recently devoured "Alone in the Kitchen With An Eggplant", a wonderful collection of essays written by authors who love food and cooks who love to write, about that extremely personal of issues: cooking and eating for and by yourself, and only yourself. I read every single word--parts of it I even went back and read again--and it's so wonderful. Not just because I get to peek into the private lives of some amazing people and some of my favorite cooks, but also because like a good music anthology, it almost accidentally covers the extremely complex relationship that humans have with food, both good and bad, and the specific periods of life that such relationships recall. I read about apartments the size of postage stamps and cooking setups with two burners and no kitchen sink, meaning that Laurie Colwin had to do her dishes in her bathtub, I read about mothers getting angry about secretly consumed carbohydrates, and about the best salsa rosa ever, one I intend to try immediately if I ever go back to cream. Indeed, the best essays were part food and part memoir, times of extreme loneliness at 26 and wondering what effect the hash had on the food at the ripe old age of thirty. It's essays like that that I live for, reminding me that perfection is impossible--especially in my kitchen--and that one's life at 26, even though it seems settled, may not even resemble one's life at 30, which is good because that's after my short-term goals are over and I think I'll want to do something else.

Optional funny ending: I was with Tut-Tut just last night (maybe at some point in the future I'll open up a school for girls) and I was having her write an essay on technological changes and how they've improved--or ruined--our lives. She was having a hard time thinking of an example. "What about texting?" I said.

"But texting's not NEW," she said in tones of great disgust. "Texting has been around FOREVER."

I Remember Very Few Things About This Week

I worked a lot.

However I DID actually find time (a long lunch hour on Thursday, the only free time I've had ever) to work on the long and long-suffering cleaning project (did I mention I was de-cluttering my house?) and I found some things of note:

My power bill, unpaid.

Bus schedules that became inaccurate a year ago.

Several wedding invitations, most of which I went to, but without actually sending the RSVP card because I lost it

Several cable bills, all of which I paid online

Pilates/Yoga studio fliers from a year and a half ago

Receipts, saved from a time when I meant to track everything I bought

Cards I bought for people and never sent

A lease agreement from two and a half years ago.

And hordes of other things.

Also today, for the first time, I am pleased to announce that I have a house phone line for the first time in two years, maybe longer. It came as a package with the rest of the cable stuff and I got it, and then I had to track down a phone, and THEN I had to track down a BATTERY, and THEN I had to remember to set the handset on the actual charger. And once I had done that, after I got to wonder why it was dead a few hours later, I realized I also had to plug the phone base in to an actual plug on the wall. Who knew? I now have four extension cords running off of one socket in a series. And that reminds me: I should probably get renters' insurance.

The point of this post: I only had my house line for six months before I started using it! Once I found it under the piles of paper, of course.

New! Shiny! And it Moves!

Check it out, right to the right of this main space. The LT will soon be an LT in the RESERVES. Yes, the Reserves. Not Active Duty. He will soon be a member of the Reserves.

How soon, you ask?

Great question! Check out my handy-dandy Countdown! -->

Apparently I Have Really Ugly Clothes

I have this bag of clothes that I'm trying to sell to consignment or second hand shops and I've been turned down twice. I will have to donate them, not that that's a bad thing, but I can't help but feel slightly rejected. My clothes are so ugly that even secondhand shops won't take them? That can't be good. Maybe I've been walking around wearing ugly clothes this whole time and no one told me. (Tut-tuts! I expected more out of you all!)

Seriously, what is the good of hanging around teenagers if they don't tell you when you're out of fashion? It's possible that they think I'm too far gone to be saved, in which case, I might as well let myself out to pasture now. On the other hand, they are certainly handy for keeping up on on musical tastes. I was in the dance club on the cruise ship with all the girls, and I knew EVERY single song that was played. On one song, Ali asked me, "Okay, so what's THIS song?"

"Souljaboy", I said, with authority, trying to act like I'd known the song for months, when the truth was I had heard it for the first time with New Tut-Tut just a few days before. See? Teenagers ARE good for something!

On another note, the LT had my new computer all ready for me when I got back, it's awesome, and I'm typing on it now. Everyone thank the LT for keeping me sane. (My previous computer was almost ten years old, and that is just ridiculous for a computer.) The problem is, the chair I'm using for my computer desk is far too tall for it, and I had never realized that before because I didn't spend enough time at the computer. Now that I'm more sucked in because of my awesome new computer, I realize that there's terrible glare on my screen and sitting here for hours on end will make me bent double before my time.

Of course, I could just sit here less, but we all know THAT'S not going to happen, so I'll have to find another chair! Darn, more stuff to buy!

Too Tiredf to Spell

I wrote a post on the other blog and tried to use the word "excellent". After spelling it wrong four times I had to have google correct it for me. And the typo in the title is accidental, but I thought I'd leave it because it was so apropos.

Hello from San Jose! I was in Miami two days ago and the Bahamas two days before that. My brain is actually emitting a buzzing noise when it tries to think, like a very old computer that sounds like its chewing gravel when it has to run more than two applications at once. (Speaking of very old computers, the LT is building me a new one as I speak! YAY! Thank you, LT!)

I was home for about four hours on Tuesday, between spending all night in a Miami airport and taking off again for my business trip to San Jose. Fortunately here on the West Coast there are Starbucks galore, oh so handy if you're trying to stay awake in a business meeting. Also let me just say that I absolutely love Miami and plan to convince the LT to move there. Nobody tell him, 'kay?

Pictures:

Titan wearing his vest, five weekends ago.

LT and I on the beach in Seaside, Oregon, four weekends ago.

Leslie and I ready to go out, three weekends ago.

Titan wants to go out, too!

Pictures from backstage at the Wilco Concert, three weeks ago

Miami, looking gorgeous, last weekend.

And yes, I will post more pictures from Miami! Coming soon!

After I sleep for twelve hours.

Notes from the Miami Airport, 12:25 am

Do not forgot cute quotes from this cruise weekend! Too late. (We said a lot of really funny things--I think--but I forgot them all. Dangit!

Spanish television appears to have a lot of actual making out on it. I ended up watching some silly reality television show about matching up couples due to their astrology sign, and even though most of the questions were standard dating questions, they showed a “successful” couple in flashbacks who appeared to make out constantly. Although it was odd, it was neat. American dating shows often stick to a chaste peck during TV time and then flash forward to the sex part.

Speaking of television, I can see why non-native speakers can teach themselves English by watching television. Especially television with sub-titles. Since reality TV is equally bad in Spanish-speaking and English-speaking countries, it was easy to figure out what questions they were asking—and then match the questions to the sentences flashed on the screen at the bottom.

Speaking of, again: Maybe I could have used a little more of that TV watching. My Spanish is, yes, pretty bad, although after a few days in Miami and on a cruise where most of the guests were bilingual, Spanish and English, I picked a little back up. (Of course, my ORIGINAL plan was to work on my Spanish long before the trip with The Intern Who Is No Longer An Intern, who speaks Spanish fluently—having spent many summers in the Dominican Republic—but we all know how well my pre-planning works out in general. Honestly, I just never got around to it.) In any case, I was faking it well enough by the end of the trip that two very nice boys from Mexico told me my Spanish was excellent. And while I tried to appreciate the compliment, I knew they were either kidding me or just plain wrong—I couldn’t even remember the word for “rain”. (I was trying to say it rains in Seattle. In case you’re wondering, gentle readers, it’s “Hace joviendo”—“We Have Rain.”) (A lot of Spanish phrases, literally translated, sound like badly-written commercial jingles, I don’t know why.)

Okay, so I was told by a nice older lady here at the airport that my Spanish was good, but I must admit she had an ulterior motive. She was selling me coffee. (Perhaps she wouldn’t have worked so hard to flatter me if she knew how likely it was that I, personally, would buy coffee.)

All in all it was a great weekend, in fact a fantastic weekend, both the parts in Miami and the parts on the cruise, and especially the parts with my girlfriends and ESPECIALLY the part with a Miss A. Klinger, who was my buddy the whole trip and whom I should really email more, and especially fly to L.A. to see the first chance I get.

But of course, it was also just as amazing to see Anna Banana, one of my closest sorority sisters of all time, and also my old roommate Noaillese, who roomed with me for two years. Now that I am sitting in a lonely Miami airport at Oh-Dark Thirty I keep thinking I hear their voices, and yes, I realize how crazy that makes me sound.

My excuse: it’s been almost a week since I slept more then four hours per day, including naps.

I have talked with the LT twice, both of us laughing from exhaustion (he went on a two-day backpacking trip, and by the way I should ALWAYS call him when we’re both this tired, he thought all my jokes were funny) and arranged most of my trips for the next three days (I won’t be home until Friday) and have at least some idea of what I’ll be doing here at the airport for the next seven hours. (Sleeping and watching movies.) I am so tired I am ready to fall over dead.

Ah, Family

Me, packing up the Titan Tote for his trip to grandma's house: "Oh, there's a bottle of wine in here."

My mom: "Oh, good! I'll take that! It'll be something for your grandmother and I to drink on the drive home."

Me: "Yeah, if you actually did that, I'd be really impressed. And then I'd call the cops."

Mom: "Some friend YOU are."

My grandmother, joining in on the Aarwenn trash-fest: "Yeah, thanks a lot, lady. Who are you anyway?"

Me: "Okay, I'm taking the bottle of wine. For myself. THANK you very much."

Mom: "Typical."

Who says we're not related?

Also.

Claire, my Tut-Tee, has expressed her opinion that my Blogging the Relationship posts are not as exciting as they used to be. "Spice it up," were her exact words.

Whatever.

In retaliation I say: I know ten times as many words as you do.

It's Already Been a Week? WHAT?

I saw my Number One Tut-Tee today. "You haven't blogged in awhile," she said, and I said, "I've been busy!" She accepted my answer, which is a good thing because if she had pushed the subject, I would have said, all self-righteously, "I just blogged, like, yesterday!"

There's two things wrong with this. First thing: My Brand New Tut-Tee (yes, a new one!) says "like" so often that in our first meeting I kept a Like O' Meter, so I should really be watching my own use of "like", and second, I blogged nowhere near yesterday. Even like, yesterday. I last blogged A WEEK AGO.

Dammit.

It's sad, really, because I've had lots of stuff going on. Tons of stuff to blog about. The LT has been gone--at his ten-year high school reunion, at the risk of aging him, and I've been doing lots of really neat things. Yes. Neat Things. I know adjectives, I swear.

I've been doing some home improvement, for one thing. I hope to (eventually) post a bunch of pictures from that. I spent a serious amount of money at IKEA. I hung out with someone I've referred to as "Dave's wife Julie" before this, but can now proudly refer to as "my friend Julie." I saw C, she of Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Sanity. Titan and I took ginormous walks. Oh yeah, and I went to work.

It's Sunday night, again, again. Titan is asleep next to me on the sofa, and I'm eating Garlicky Swiss Chard and Tahini Dressing, and for a full discussion of why tonight was the hardest cooking night ever, check out my Other Blog. I'm reflecting over the weekend, which is certainly not the first weekend I've spent without the LT, but rare enough that it's worth at least a little reflection. For example, on the night that Julie hung out, a guy tried to eat my arm.

I'll let that sink in.

Yes, a guy tried to eat my arm. It was was very bizarre. I have had nights before where men followed me around the bar and stuck their noses in my neck (my perfume, that I've worn for years, is a minor celebrity in my hometown) but someone trying to nibble on my arm was pretty new.

Although that level of attention can be uncomfortable, I have to say I hope this magic lasts until MIAMI!

I swear, I SWEAR, there will be a few more posts in the upcoming days before I leave. And on that note, I leave you with this picture of Titan in his vest:

Oh, whoops. Maybe tomorrow?

Hello, I Am Broke

But I had an EXCELLENT time.

An old friend of the LT's came into town this week, mainly just for vacation, and we had a great time going out and spending a great deal of money.

We ate out, we drank, we ate out some more. Then she and I bought clothes and ate out some more. And then...well, you get the picture.

LT and I drove her to the plane today and proceeded to do the only thing we knew that was free, i.e., eat leftovers from all the days we went out and then go on a long walk with the pooch.

As of now I am sitting on my sofa, thanking Blog that I get a bunch of new tutoring students AND (supposedly) my raise, because otherwise I'd be begging on the street. And I'm yawning. A lot. The Dawg and I are both exhausted. He was curled up next to me just now, and I tried to show Titan a recent (semi-recent) Mythbusters episode, entirely devoted to dogs, and although he usually reacts to barking dogs on television, in this case I may have been a victim of poor timing. On the screen, German Shepherds (Titan's own breed!) (mainly) did their guard dog thing, bloodhounds bayed, and Alaskan Malamutes (Titan's other breed!) howled, and what did Titan do? He snored.

Maybe I'll try again when he's more awake. The man is in his sixties, after all. Sadly, I don't have the same excuse, and I'm just as tired. 'Night.

Random Thursday Thoughts

Author's Tolerance Misplaced, Sense of Righteous Outrage Takes Over

I saw a bumpersticker on my way into the Lazy B today that read: "Marriage is One Man, One Woman. Visit: www.NoGayMarriage.com."

Someone who is more compassionate may have the courage to visit that site; I sure haven't. Much like I don't visit the site of the National Vanguard, or whatever the heck they're calling the Neo KKK these days. I just don't want to see that much hate before my first cup of coffee. Of course, it's possible that the owner of the car and bumper sticker simply believes anything his or her church tells him or her, and got that sticker out of a welcome packet, and hasn't done any critical thinking, so that this bumper sticker displays ignorance, and not hate, but I think it's unlikely.

But ignorance does happen. It reminds me of an episode several years ago in which a professor at University of Indiana Bloomington wrote in his personal blog, "Why don't they keep gay people from having childcare jobs, since they're so likely to be child molesters?" There was a huge storm following this post, in which several people challenged the professor to present his facts, and said professor was flabbergasted when people asked him for facts. Didn't everyone just know that gay people are child molesters? The poor guy was even more flabbergasted when he couldn't find any facts to support his assumption. The rest of the university was much more flabbergasted that one of their professors seemed to be unaware of the importance of "facts" in scientific research, and fired him. (Last I heard.)

Being Frugal Still Exciting to Author, Still Boring to Blog Audience

I have learned: driving down to the ferry after six and parking on the street, as long as you can manage to retrieve your car before eight am the next day, is the cheapest and fastest option to get to Bremerton. Parking: free. Time to drive: Maybe 12, the way I drive, if you head east on Aloha and take 12th Ave south all the way to Yesler.

What is not frugal: having houseguests. LT has old friends from high school in town this week, and we have eaten dinner out or had drinks every night so far this week. And I haven't had time to go the grocery store, so I'm buying my LUNCH, too. It's lovely, but terrible for the swimsuit figure (thirteen days until I leave for Miami!)

It's okay, I have totally given up on having a hot figure for Miami. I'll try to rock a Marilyn Monroe aesthetic.(Marilyn Monroe was a size 14, according to legend, although that probably translates to a size 10 in present-day vanity sizing).

Only slightly more tan, I hope.

Titan Receives Birthday Present, Not So Thrilled

But it does not matter, because I love it, and what humans think is all that counts, right? RIGHT?

Titan's birthday present was this K-9 Cooling Vest, the first piece of clothing he's ever owned. He doesn't much like wearing it, but the thing works like gangbusters--he doesn't even pant on hot days! It's really amazing. And it assuages my owner guilt that I don't make time to take him to play in the water every day, especially in the summer. And like I said. What I think is all that matters.

Blogging the Relationship, #18

The LT mentioned that I hadn’t done one of these in awhile, and that is indeed the case—but not because we’re not dating or talking anymore. I used to do them a lot, especially at the start of our relationship—we communicated well and were from very different backgrounds, so it was a kick to see how different—and how similar—we were, not to mention we spent every waking moment together, so there was a lot to blog.

Recently, things have been changing so much—LT’s getting out of the Navy! LT’s NOT getting out of the Navy! LT’s getting out in August! LT’s getting out in January—and we’ve had so many social engagements that a lot of our time has been spent strategizing, planning, and traveling.

Oh, and going to weddings. (The bane of my existence.) (Except for yours, T-Town.) But at any rate, we’ve mainly been doing stuff, not really chatting, and there hasn’t been much to blog that wouldn’t have required a map and a ten-minute explanation of the event, and no one wants that. Do you?

But just this weekend we got to run away together to Seaside. Yes, that is actually the name of the town. It’s a town…on the sea. Seaside. And it also happens to be the host of the largest amateur volleyball tournament in the country, and even though I hadn’t played volleyball since sixth grade P.E. and had bad memories in any case, one of LT’s old high school friends, now in Phoenix, is pretty big into volleyball and was going to this tournament, and the LT and I thought—why not?

So we ran away to the beach, leaving everything else behind, and had a magnificent time. I even played volleyball.

But the coolest part was that the LT and I got to…you know, TALK. When you’re stuck in a car with someone for ten hours round-trip, there’s not much else you can do. We talked about movies I wanted to see (Stardust) and meat substitutes (generally a bad idea) and our friends and what we’re going to do with his houseguests (LT has TWO ex-girlfriends coming into town, and they’re BOTH staying with him!) and fashion (!) and all sorts of stuff. It was nice.

And, of course, the hanging out on the beach wasn’t too bad, either.

Anyway, I'm now home with a dog who was spoiled all weekend by visiting family, a dirty apartment, and the worst traffic to hit I-5 since the Viaduct scare. And fifteen houseguests arriving. Fun, fun! If only the sun would come out.

My House is Filled with Fruit Flies and I Can't Take My Trash Out

Also I have nine things overdue from the library and some of them are CDs, and it's very gray here (this summer has been a much more typical Northwest summer than our previous summers, perhaps global warming is more of a myth after all) and for some reason neither the recycling nor the trash has been picked up from my apartment building in what seems like weeks, and I am not happy about it. At all.

However, in happier news, I did get to go to The Sale. Yes, THAT sale,, one of the main reasons to live in Seattle, in my opinion. I missed it last year and was distraught, much to the LT's bemusement, and was overjoyed that my aunt, my mother and myself got to go this year. We shopped until we dropped, and I haven't dared to look at my credit card yet, but I'm pretty sure I'm not in the poorhouse. Yet.

And in much MUCH happier news, I have bought a motorcycle helmet! The LT has bought a motorcycle, you see, and in order to ride on said motorcycle I need a motorcycle helmet, which I have finally bought last night and am super happy about it. It's plain silver, a full face helmet, and it's perfect.

Final note for Monday: RIP Aarwenn's microwave, which she bought not more than two and a half years ago and now refuses to cook. It does everything else--keep time, run a timer, all the lights come on--but it refuses to cook and the terrible Westinghouse people have screwed on the back with special fasteners that cannot be removed. T-Town, reading this, will remember that she and I had a similar issue with a Sharp Microwave that I ALSO ruined (with a baked potato) and she henceforth went out and bought a simple, twenty-dollar microwave that could be fixed if necessary, although of course it wouldn't be worth it to fix a twenty-dollar microwave.

Apparently I didn't learn from that experience and did not check the back of my Westinghouse microwave, being distracted as I was from its gorgeous dark gray color and general Jetsons style. (Really. It was pretty.) One might also point out that I didn't respect its beauty enough, as I moved five or six times in the two years that I owned it and I can't promise I always treated it perfectly, probably leading to its early demise.

Too bad. It was a very pretty microwave.

Finally, a Day Off

...and I spend it by blogging, of course!

As everybody local has noticed, the Blue Angels are in town for Seafair this weekend, as mentioned here, (albeit nastily). But don't mind them--or mind me minding them--as I'm a little pissed at that blog anyway. That blog mainly covers 15th Street in Capitol Hill, and they wanted someone to take over the Broadway Blog, which naturally I jumped at...but did they pick me? No.

I hope that guy's good, that's all I can say.

I planned to wash dishes today--I really did--and then this morning (or maybe afternoon) before I was really too awake, I was about to start washing when my elbow acted of its own accord and knocked a wineglass off the counter, sending shards of glass flying everywhere on my kitchen floor, right as I was trying to feed the dog. I froze, of course--suddenly I had glass everywhere and Titan was calmly eating his breakfast as if nothing had happened. I moved his food out of the kitchen, checking it carefully (almost gone anyway) and rinsed out his water dish, which had what seemed like hundreds of little glass shards floating on top. Not having a broom and having run out of swiffer cloths, I had no choice but to vacuum, which may not have been the best idea, but it got the kitchen clean enough for me to leave, which I had to do to buy a broom.

Of course, I also happened to swing by the Wayward Cafe and eat a full breakfast along with a peanut butter-chocolate square, just like the ones my mother used to make, and also return some shoes and also maybe buy some hot rollers and ALSO, finally, buy a broom. But I swear all those things were necessary. I swear.

After the busy-ness of last weekend, with a wedding, camping, Capitol Hill Block Party, a family reunion, and tutoring, I'm looking forward to this weekend being slightly more chill. On the radar: LT, our friend Dave, myself and a few others hitting The Ave tonight. Nordstrom's Sale with my mother and aunt tomorrow morning. (A Seattle tradition.) Motorcycle helmet shopping (!) tomorrow afternoon. House party tomorrow night. An oil change. And, of course, tutoring.

And I swear that is slow compared to LAST weekend.

Pictures!

LT and I, dressed up,

Leslie and I hugging,

Myself, posing by a fountain.

Leslie and Eric got married at the Thornewood Castle, a gorgeous manor house here in the South Sound.



These two taken by the LT or myself.

This one taken from the website of Thornewood Castle.

It was really stunning.

Off to shower and primp--it's 4:20 pm, and the weekend is fast approaching!

What Can Keep a Girl Up at 3:30 in the Morning?

A MAN, of course.

And I refer to just one man: Mr. Potter.

Yes, I have finally got my hands on a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I have read it, and I should be beaten heavily for doing such a thing to myself on a work night. It is three thirty in the morning and my eyes hurt, and I am going to bed for the next three hours. Everyone wish me luck.

Wiped out and Working

One of the interesting things about getting paid for your brainwork, with its definite intangible qualities, as opposed to getting paid for more visible work like (for example) running around waiting tables, is that your work is definitely cyclical. Some days you get to enjoy the results of your brainwork, days on which you write reports, attend important meetings in which Decisions Get Made, and tell your boss things like, "The Air Filtration team loves me!"

And then are days--that stretch into weeks, that stretch into months--in which you sit on your rear, read some reports, and do basically nothing.

Or at least it FEELS like nothing.

And while those times are happening, I'm worried and stressed out. I read as much as I can, drop by my bosses' office, try to arrange meetings with people--and nothing happens. I sit on my rear for months and feel guilty about it, terrible slow-motion knawing-away-at-me guilt, but there's nothing I can do about the nature of the business, and that makes me feel out of control and stressed about it, like I'm drifting along a pretty lake and pretty soon, with no warning, a gigantic pleasure cruiser will come along, and WHAM.

That never happens. Although this happens every summer, this period of downtime, I haven't dropped the ball yet, no one has suggested to me that I'm not working enough. But the possibility that they might--that eats away at me.

So let me just say that even though I'm dead exhausted and working on my days off, the sudden upswing in activity--just as it always happens--is so much easier to face than a vague, terrifying anxiety, and therefore even though I have fifteen social events to attend this weekend and only 24 hours in the day and people keep scheduling meetings on my days off and I can't take a break for the next two months, I feel great.

Also, my friend BL is in town--a very old friend from college--and I fully expect to kick it, as the kids say, with both him and assorted friends and motley hangers-on every night this week, and it will be awesome.

Send coffee.

The Birds and the Bees

T-Town, who is not dead but indeed is married, emailed me today to complain about her lack of exposure on this blog. "I do not feel that I have done anything so grievous as to be demoted to a once a month supporting character in the drama of your life," she wrote, "and furthermore, I object to being referred to as "panicked" the morning of my wedding. I think I was quite calm, thankyouverymuch! So if you could simply print a retraction of the aforementioned comment about my mental state the morning of my wedding and begin to include me in more of your online life, that would be great. Thanks."

Let it heretofore be said: T-Town was NOT panicked on the morning of her wedding. In fact she was remarkably calm. I admit to stretching the truth to make a funny blog post, so sue me. Calm brides are just not as funny as panicked ones. I have spoken.

Moving on: I wrote that I had appreciated the laugh, and that the LT had made me laugh that day too, as he called me and said, "HIBABY!" and hung up, just like that. And she wrote the following, which is too good not to share:

"I'm glad I could make you laugh. I am sometimes afraid that people will not understand my sarcasm over the Internet, but you always seem to get it.


For example: here at the Pierce County Office, there tends to be three kinds of people:

1. People who have had their sense of humor beaten out of them by working for The Man
2. People who are so tired of working for The Man they communicate entirely in bitter sarcasm, and
3. People who are too stupid or too new to feel as though their soul has been eaten by The Man.

And the other day there was a post on the Intranet want ads that displayed all of this very well. It was a contentious debate over how to rid your house of unwanted bees and the war raged on for three days.

The original poster was a #2. He explained that he had bees living under his house and before he sprayed them with gasoline and torched them out, he figured he would ask if anyone had a better idea.

The next poster was a #3 and he explained that gasoline is noxious and would probably kill the bees even if you did not light it on fire.

The next poster was a #1 and she said that bees are harmless and valuable and gave him the contact information of five area beekeepers he could contact to come "reclaim" his bees.

The next poster was also a #1 who suggested that the original poster would be put on some type of arson watch list if he was not careful about his posts from now on.

Then the original poster explained that these are not honey bees and he had no real intention of burning his hose down he just wanted some advice on riding his home of bees.

Enter a new poster obviously a #3 of the "new" variety, who suggested Simple Green, actually a reasonable suggestion...

...And then another #1 responded with, "O M G PLEASE TELL ME THAT YOU ARE JOKING....GASOLINE !!!!! AND UNDER THE HOUSE NO LESS !!!!!!!!. TALK ABOUT YOUR STUPID HUMAN TRICKS !!!!"

It went on and on this way with people cracking jokes about "igniting a firestorm of controversy" and other people berating people for joking about arson until...

The only sane person finally suggested that the man with the bee problem should acquire some Mexican killer bees to kill the bees he has.

A perfect solution! The End.

All Discombobulated

...a word that is not used often enough, I think.

LT and I were talking on the phone a few nights ago, and our chat turned to upcoming events, and people coming into town, and more weddings and trips we were taking and camping trips and all sorts of other things, and by the time we were done I felt like I should have gotten out my calendar. But since I hadn't done that, I was going crazy trying to remember everything instead, and my brain is now twitched so far ahead that I just looked at this blog and was SHOCKED to see that I had only written five posts in July. And then I was even more shocked to realize that indeed we are only halfway THROUGH July, and I still have half a month to go!

Which is good, because although the LT and I have gone camping, taken Titan to the beach, and also Titan and I stroll through a wading pool on warm evenings, therefore celebrating summer in a small, citified way, we have not yet played around with the sailboat, an important thing to do as much as possible every summer. In fact, I have bought a new swimsuit for just such an occasion.

La la la. Onto Aarwenn Summer Culture.

Watching

Burn Notice and Psych, both lots of fun.

Listening To

Back To Basics

Handsome Boy Modeling School

Lakme

Blue Scholars

Tombraider Soundtrack

Eating

Fruit by the pound. Hooray summer in the PNW.

Drinking

Strawberry and banana daiquiris. With a little added spinach and flax oil, you can convince yourself it's good for you.

Hooray for summer!

Also, a Note

I was just searching my posts and I can't find a mention of this at all! What is WRONG with me??

Happy One Year Anniversary a month late, sweetie! (Could I just say Happy 13-Month Anniversary?)

For our one year, we went out to dinner, and the LT got me two dozen of the most gorgeous, perfect roses I have ever seen:




They wouldn't even all fit in the same vase. They were stunning. They made my whole apartment look better. Thank you, love.

"Just Back Up Over That Tree!"

When we last left our heroine and her faithful companions, they were starting on a long, slow ride in the back of a sheriff's truck, away from a jeep our heroine thought she might never see again.

The sheriff dropped us off at our campsite with nary a lecture, and we moped around (or at least I did) trying to figure out what the hell we were going to do. We had trapped the Jeep on a path that couldn't even be called a road; there was almost no track, meaning that anyone we got to bail us out would need both a car that could get back there AND a towing winch.

We took a walk down the camping road, more for something to do with Titan than for any other reason, and lo and behold: we saw a great big rig with a towing winch being loaded onto a trailer. The three of us looked at each other, and agreed that even though they (the people with the four-wheeling rig) appeared to be leaving, they were our only shot, and we might as well try. As we approached, I asked the LT to ask them, and he looked at me. "You'll have a better chance," he said, a serious compliment to a woman who hadn't showered or combed her hair in four days.

We approached. I had no idea what to say. How DO you ask strangers to give up their plans and drive forty minutes up a mountain road to bail YOU out?

I stated our case, finishing by saying, "So, I was wondering if you could drive us back up there and help us tow out my Jeep."

The two guys looked at each other.

"Sure," the driver said, the sweetest sound I had ever heard. "We can do that. Give me a few minutes to set up and come on back."

LT, Dave and I ran back to our campsite with Titan, tied him back up, and ran back down the road. We did our best to make ourselves useful and complimented everyone effusively, and before too long, we were riding in the back of another pick up truck, pulling a four-wheeling rig behind us and praying the Jeep was still there.

Me, standing next to the rig that became our savior. The guy who owns it is under it. Notice the pretty sunshine and how cold I am--the mountain altitude bites through a sweatshirt in a hurry.

The rig, in position, with the winch.

LT and I watching the Jeep's progress. Notice how the rear passenger tire is actually floating. This is NOT optimal.

After a few minutes, we realized that the ground under the Jeep was so soft that, as the winch pulled, it was simply eroding the ground under it, not climbing back on TOP of the ground as we hoped it would. The Jeep was just scraping out the hillside like a big shovel. This was putting extra stress on the winch and compromising our leverage, none too strong in the first place. New steps had to be taken.

The guys backed their rig up OVER a tree, to solidify its bracing, and someone had to get in the Jeep and steer--and apply the brake--as the boys rearranged the winching. That someone was me. LT offered, but it was my Jeep, and if it was going anywhere, I was driving it.

LT giving me helpful instructions like, "Let the clutch out veeerrrrry slowly. If you pop it, the sudden stress on the winch could--although it's unlikely--snap it."

Coming around...

Success! (No picture.)

Posing with my rescuers, and my boyfriend.

Off the mountain WITH Jeep.

And that, ladies, and gentleman, is how you get the donkey to come down the minaret.

Moral of the story: don't get the donkey up there in the first place.

Ah, Seattle

There are weeks--or weekends, rather--when I think I get out a fair amount, that I actively explore this city that is mine, an amazing city that is the destination of so many pilgrimages.

And then I learn about the Pioneer Square Fire Festival, and an art installation in my very own park, which is sadly gone. (The temporary quality being, of course, once of the characteristics of an art installation.)

If you have five minutes, want to watch something trippy and relaxing, and need to get your art in for the day, definitely watch the video.



Anyway, it's times like these when I think, "Damn, what do I DO with my time?"

Sigh.

Whew! Wedding is over!

No, not MY wedding! T-Town's wedding, the wedding of the year, the wedding that has consumed everyone's thoughts for at least a month, or at least all of MY thoughts, or at least all of my thoughts that weren't devoted to work or my novel or my dog, or my cousin in town, or my boyfriend or the three other college friends coming into town in the next few weeks.

The wedding went very smoothly, considering the size of the bridal party and the number of completely slacker bridesmaids (moi) and the number of things that had to be coordinated at the last minute. For example: as the wedding was at noon, and the pictures were first, we were up at SIX. Six. In the morning. Six grumpy bridesmaids, one panicked bride, having all spent the night together in a hotel room after a rehearsal, up at six in the morning to start getting our hair done at seven.

I do not do early well.

But fortunately, after enough caffeine, we woke up:

Sassy!

More about this coming in a later post, I promise this time, no excuses. Because I have a ton of other pictures to post, from my cousin and her fiance visiting me (hi, guys!) and about a guy on a motorcycle, and a bunch of other things. Yes. I swear.

Random Pictures:

Pretty Titan.

LT and I on our one-year anniversary.

Next up: How did my Jeep get off that mountain, already?

Update on my Soda Bread

It molded in the hot weather while I was gone. Boo.

On the one hand, it's okay, because it cost just the price of a tiny bit of flour to make and at least Titan didn't get it, but on the other hand, boo that my time and energy to make bread were wasted! Boo! Stupid bread boo!

Off to Trader Joe's again. (I have time and money to go the grocery store, and yes--I successfully avoided going last week when I didn't have the budget! Yay!

Adventures in Housekeeping

In Which I Discover How to Treat a Rust Stain

...Sadly, AFTER I tried to treat it with bleach. Bleach had just whitened my sink and I was about to use it on my bathtub. Why wouldn't I splash a little on a rust-stained counter?

Because the oxidizing action in bleach SETS rust stains, which are themselves a reaction of metal and oxygen. I can't believe I have a degree in chemical engineering and still didn't think that one through. Now instead of a small rust pan-ring on my counter, I have a large orange diagram of an ameoba.

In Which I Set My Kitchen On Fire

I've flirted with this for some time, as I often turn my oil on very high even for non-high-heat things like sauteing, but finally it happened: the oil in the pan caught on fire. Nice big orange fire, too--nice red flames. I looked at my pan, and said, out loud, "My kitchen's on fire," very calmly if I do say so myself. LT, who happened to be at my house at the time, rushed in. I said, "Oil fire," he looked around for anything solid (NEVER put out an oil fire with water!) I handed him a gigantic bag of baking soda, which was not open. "Knife," I said, handing him a knife. He opened it with a few cuts and dumped the baking soda on the fire. Crisis averted. Later he said, "At least I know you don't panic in a fire," and I appreciated this, although I felt pretty panicky at the time--I had to have him come in and put it out!

In Which I Make Soda Bread

I am not Irish at all, but between my name, my reddish hair, and my strong angular features, I swear something weird happens when I walk into an Irish bar. Suddenly my freckles show up and my hair glows real, actual, red; fiddles start playing in the background. I've had people ask me how long I've been in the States. I should learn an Irish accent just to give them a thrill. (Often I pretend to be Irish, actually, even in real life, because no one believes me when I claim I'm a mix of various Scandinavian countries with a little Native thrown in.)

Anyway, even if I'm often mistaken for Irish even though I'm not--that doesn't mean I can't make soda bread, long thought to be an Irish invention when all they had was potatoes and no yeast. It can be made with any kind of flour, gets its rising action from a combination of vinegar and baking soda, and doesn't require special dough rising cycles--you just throw the dough together and stick in a pre-heated oven. Since Titan ate my second loaf of bread this week, I went ahead and tried soda bread instead, since I have several more days to go before I can visit the grocery store--and even when I do, I can only spend negative thirteen dollars. Yes. I am over The Grocery Budget. It turned out fine, although a little heavy. Next time I might glaze the outside, which will give it a crisper crust, and actually mix the wet and dry ingredients separately, which will allow more overlap of the baking soda and vinegar. The taste is quite nice, though--a nice sweet flour flavor. (No yeast taste. Odd.)

In Which I Learn to Apply Contact Paper

I always thought contact paper was for frumps with too many cats. But then I saw some very nice applications in some of my favorite design magazines, and I looked at my plain brown shelf in my kitchen, and I thought, "Hmmm!" So I ordered some nice black and white checked contact paper, looked rather like the pattern used on racing flags, and also threw some tan and green printed diamond paper in for good measure. (It looked vaguely harlequin-like on the website.) The rolls came in about two weeks ago; I cheered at the black-and-white, frowned at the tan-and-green, and let the rolls site under my entry table for weeks. Finally, yesterday, I had a chance to clear off the ugly wooden shelf and apply the black and white.

It's surprisingly hard to apply a very, very long sheet of contact paper with no wrinkles or bumps, but I managed it--I peeled one end off first, stuck it down evenly, and then peeled the paper from under the patterned side in stages, pressing as I went. No, no pics--sorry. But boy, does it look good!

In Which I Learn How to Clean My Gas Stove

My particular gas stove top is a bear to clean because the pilot lights are always on, meaning that any sort of cleaning spray I use immediately fumes up--not to mention even the littlest stain on the stove is continually baked onto it by the heat. Finally I hit upon the bright idea of filling a plain spray bottle with water and just spraying the stove down constantly--this got off a majority of stains, especially with a little elbow grease. For tough stains, I sprayed enough water to make a pool on the stove and sprinkled in a little cleaning powder. And then I applied lots and lots of elbow grease. And hey, presto--clean stove!

Even the LT noticed.

And finally, a product plug: the Pet Hair Removal Sponge. (Brand shown is not quite the same brand as the one I have, but the sponge looks identical.) I got this almost a month ago after the pet store guy had rave reviews for it, but I wasn't ready to try it until yesterday. (Who knows why?) I can tell you: IT WORKS. It is absolutely amazing. The pet hair clings to the sponge and balls (or threads) up, eventually rolling off for easy removal. I cleaned the futon and Titan's bed with no electricity, and no "blowback" from the vacuum! Amazing!

Next trick I plan to try: putting aluminum foil on the sofa to prevent Titan jumping up on it. Will it work? I'll share it here.

And I Was All Worried That I Had Nothing to Post

Once upon a time, (aka a few weeks ago) the lovely and breezily elegant Kristy had a burst of creativity. She suddenly remembered her old corporate seminar days, and offered a very lucky ten people the chance to field Deep and Important Questions from her and answer them on their blogs!

And I thought, What a fabulous idea! I love talking about myself and answering random questions, and I love Kristy! I will volunteer! And I did!

And then I completely forgot about the whole thing.

But never fear, Kristy. I have finally answered them. And let me just take this moment to say that it is Kristy, and Kristy ALONE, who got me into this fabulous world of blogspot and introduced me to Crazy Aunt Purl, and my life will never be the same again. (Also, apparently Firefox spellcheck doesn't recognize Blogspot or Spellcheck as words. That just seems wrong, somehow.)

Without further adieu, onto the questions!

1. You've been kidnapped by crazed plastic surgeons. They will release you, of course, on the condition that you let them perform ONE feat of cosmetic surgery. What do you do?

This one is super easy: my...okay, no it's not. My boyfriend reads this blog!

Um...think, Aarwenn, think...well, okay, I'll just be honest. I would have them slim my thighs. If I could change one thing about my body, it would be my thighs--I know, I know, they're muscled and womanly, but hey. She asked me.

2. Poof! You are The Queen of Kingdom Fabulous. You have devoted royal subjects and are allowed -- as is the decree of this land -- three servant-like people who are on-hand all the time. Each of them have very specific roles; they each assist you with a specific duty. The question is, if you did have three people who tended to you every day, taking care of one of your needs, what would those three things be?

This one, too, seemed easy until I tried to answer it! Hmmmm, three servants, three specific duties...okay. I would have one collect all the dog hair in my house. Her job would be defined by dog hair, be it bedroom, bathroom, sofa, on the floor, on my clothes, whatever. She would be the Anti Dog-Hair Zen Master. I would have another one do my laundry, if that's not too many subtasks under one--she'd wash, dry, fold, and iron. Laundry Zen Master. And finally, when I wasn't racing my many motorcycles or sports cars, for everyday driving, I'd get a damn driver! All I want to do is read while I'm in the car! (Too many years of being an only child and accompanying my mother to work and back, I fear.)

3. What's the hardest you ever remember laughing?

During Bambi, at the ice-skating scene. The image of Bambi losing his traction on the ice and skidding into a snowbank with Thumper on his nose STILL makes me giggle.

4. In what role was Michael Keaton sexiest? Why do you think so?

I have only ever seen Michael Keaton in one movie, and it was Batman Returns. Therefore.

5. What's one bit of trivia that you know and love to be able to throw out every now and again to (maybe) perhaps the company you're in?

76.4 percent of statistics are made up on the spot! No? Okay, I admit that I told people that a few times, and then the joke got very old--which didn't deter other people from telling me the same joke, apparently. My favorite new statistic for environmental supporters is this: in Puget Sound alone, the Lazy B's employees drive a total of ONE MILLION MILES A DAY.

It's pretty amazing.

The author would like to thank Kristy, Blogspot, and most importantly...people like you.

New Blog Widget Announcement

Don't pretend like you didn't notice, you totally did, I saw you look over in my sidebar.

Moving on.

The absolute BEST thing on the internet today--seriously, you can skip everything else, except maybe perusing my webspace--is this article in Wired. I have reprinted the entire thing below, because the risk that you might not read it if I left it as a link was just too much to bear.

Narcissistic Blog Disorder and Other Conditions of Online Kookery
Lore Sjöberg

The AMA recently suggested that perhaps gaming addiction should be considered as a sub-category of internet addiction. This is a step in the right direction. Clearly "internet addiction" doesn't begin to cover the realm of bizarre and pathological behaviors the internet inspires. Herewith a list of afflictions and syndromes I feel should be added to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders IV, or perhaps the DSM IV.Ib.

Narcissistic Blog Disorder

This disorder is characterized by the creation of a blog in which the individual consistently denigrates not only the opinions of others, but the very fact that others have opinions, saying things like "nobody cares what some overpaid starlet has to say about global warming" and "nobody cares what some crusty career politician thinks is wrong with society today." Simultaneously, the individual assumes that people do care about what he or she has to say, in spite of the individual's only political or activist experience being watching the movie Dave twice.

Bookmark Loop Disorder

Web bookmarks remain a popular way to waste time when one should be working. You check a site or two, get something done for a little while, then check your bookmarks again. Careful research, however, has shown that at a certain point the list of bookmarks grows, the "get something done" period shrinks, until the reader goes directly from the end of the list back to the top, just in case there are new updates. Once entered, this "bookmark loop state" often cannot be broken until a couple hours after a sane bedtime.

E-mail Gullibility Syndrome

Adults who preserve a healthy skepticism when people knock on their door asking for assistance or political support often lose that sense of suspicion when they first receive an e-mail account. Every caution about the dangers of kiwi fruit, every warning that the U.S. Congress is about to outlaw Santa Claus and every plea for assistance from deposed royalty is treated with utmost credulity and, where appropriate, forwarded to a dozen of the recipient's long-suffering friends and family members. Luckily this is usually a self-resolving disorder, disappearing after two years or $30,000 lost, whichever comes first.

Atemporal Fad Disorder

The desire to participate in an internet fad is considered by psychologists to be a natural, if sometimes unfortunate, aspect of human nature. Some individuals, however, appear to have a clinical inability to recognize the fleeting nature of fads, and continue to attempt to participate after everyone else is sick to death of the whole thing. The current diagnostic criterion is "the use of the phrase 'all your base are belong to us' in any non-ironic context" but in 2010 it is expected to be expanded to include any suggestion that a photo depicts a cat interacting with an invisible object.

Pugilistic Discussion Syndrome

In this curious form of aphasia, the subject is unable to distinguish between a discussion and a contest. The subject approaches any online forum as a sort of playing field, and attempts to "win" the discussion by any means necessary. The rules of the imaginary contest are apparently clear to the individual as he or she will often point out when others break them, but when asked to outline these rules the individual is reluctant, perhaps not wishing to confer an "advantage" on any "opponents." The conditions for winning are similarly difficult to pin down, although in some cases the individual will declare himself the winner of a discussion that, to all others, appears to be ongoing.

Amusement Identify Disorder

This is a sort of inverse cousin to Pugilistic Discussion Syndrome, in which the individual has difficulty distinguishing between an online game and real life. The individual sees his or her online character as being as "real" as the individual's real-world self, if not more so. One manifestation of this disorder is the tendency to treat game accomplishments such as impressive magic items or guild leadership as the equivalent of real-life accomplishments like pursuing a successful career or raising a family. In addition to impairing the individual's personal growth in the real world, this disorder also makes them extremely boring at parties.

Huge props and credit to Lore Sjöberg, in case you didn't notice his name earlier. According to his bio, Lore was born helpless, nude and unable to provide for himself, Lore Sjoberg eventually overcame these handicaps to suffer from at least two of the above afflictions.

The blog author herself also suffers from at least two specific afflictions in the list above.