It's Beginning To Feel...

I put up my tiny wee tree yesterday! And by put up I mean take out of the antique trunk I keep all my holiday decor in. It was my grandma's little tree. There are little felt santas, and little angels made out of netting and plastic. I'm pretty sure the ornaments are painted with lead paint, because they have this sheen to them now that they're over 30 years old. My ornaments are older then me.
It's my birthday in about a week!
24. Twenty four! Years old.
That is not so long. Sometimes it astounds me how not very long I have existed. Comparatively. Sometimes I like to make lists of things that are older then me.
Like the building I live in!
The car that's parked outside (It's a '72)
This neighborhood!
The space needle!
My Christmas tree!

I wonder if you ever wake up and feel like a grown up. I'll keep you in the loop; if I wake up on the 16th and want to do my taxes and not order Pagliaccis (cheese pizza with gorgonzola cheese on top) every Sunday at 11:00 PM, I'll let you know.
I get to watch my baby niece tomorrow while my sister takes my other two nieces to the Nutcracker.
God I love her. I love all three of them. I remember the night my oldest niece was born; I cried like my heart was breaking because I didn't even know her, but I knew I couldn't live without her. She was the tiniest, ugliest little thing I had ever seen, and I was overwhelmed with love for the tiny stranger.
It was so strange.
And I wonder if it's nature doing that; just to make sure that our little babies survive. Instilling a dramatic, instant love in the hearts of their relations.  I think I saw how tiny her hand was, wrapped around my thumb, and I knew I was responsible for her, in a way.

Now I make her pancakes in the shapes of 'L's and throw her in the air even though it's freaking killing my back. But I remember when people stopped throwing me in the air and it broke my heart, thinking that something had changed and coming to the conclusion that it was me.
So I will never stop throwing her in the air.
That will be awkward on prom night.

I think I'm going to paint a self portrait today. It seems appropriate at this point in my life. I have one from when i was about 16. I'll have to find that. It will probably be embarrassing, but what isn't from when I was 16?

It's just so wee! 

And Then He...

We sat across from each other in the bright restaurant. There were so many things to say, and so many things that had already been said. Everything was robotic and sterile and serious and wrong. Technology had stunted the healing of the relationship; facebook and text messaging made it to easy to proclaim 'i'm sorries' and 'i miss you's.' And now we were left with the real physical fact of our bodies that used to move closely and with familarity, now moved jerkily around one another's, not sure where to rest. Even walking to the restaurant had been tense with unfamiliar movements: a nod when there should have been a kiss, hands held inches apart when walking that used to clasp warmly and with confidence.
So we sipped water and watched others in the place smile warmly and woodenly. We hoped to do the same, but time was not on our side, and neither were words. Sentiments easily voiced through the vessel of a computer or a phone are so hard to work through the lips. Lips and tongues are easily hurt; to bite ones tongue, to bite your lip: to take back what you wish you hadn't said. Harder without a delete button.  We sat there and it felt like hours when it had only been minutes.
It was fucking uncomfortable.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" I wanted to go somewhere else. I didn't know how to exist here. I felt like smiling crazily, which is always a sign I am uncomfortable. I have the weird tic of smiling with teeth when something horrible happens.  "Like... a bar? Somewhere... Not here."
Here was bright and clean and neat and somewhere a couple would go if they had a celebration. If they wanted to drink a clean white wine with their quince.
"I don't want quince."
"What?"
"I mean...We can stay here if you want. But I... Um. We should go to the bar next door. And drink."
"Okay."

We ordered a pitcher in a dark bar and it felt the way I felt. Guilty and worse for wear. Dark and frequented by dark people and dark thoughts. But comfortable. The bar didn't put on airs; it fucked up and it regretted things. But it existed and woke up every day and started again.
I am the bar in this metaphor.

We drank a lot, we talked less then I thought. We didn't need to talk as much as I thought we would. There was not really anything left to say. He held my hand and it felt perfect.
Later when he kissed me, I would hear music.

It's Sunday

How To Be Alone

[Tanya Davis]

If you are at first lonely, be patient.

If you’ve not been alone much, or if when you were, you weren’t okay with it, then just wait. 

You’ll find it’s fine to be alone once you’re embracing it.

We can start with the acceptable places, the bathroom, the coffee shop, the library, where you can stall and read the paper, where you can get your caffeine fix and sit and stay there. Where you can browse the stacks and smell the books; you’re not supposed to talk much anyway so it’s safe there.

There is also the gym, if you’re shy, you can hang out with yourself and mirrors, you can put headphones in.

Then there’s public transportation, because we all gotta go places.

And there’s prayer and mediation, no one will think less if your hanging with your breath seeking peace and salvation.

...

The rest of this awesome poem can be found here: http://lybio.net/tanya-davis-how-to-be-alone/poem/ or the awesome reading of the poem (Which is also incredibly beautiful): http://youtu.be/k7X7sZzSXYs

I think it's really amazing. And I wanna learn from it. 

Welcome To the Roller Coaster That Is My Emotions

Wheeeeeeeeeee!
I'm sure someday they'll use this blog as a textbook example of crazy girl disease PMS. Literally, in a textbook. I'm not sure what class they'll be teaching in the future (Robot... Class...?), but yes. I will go down in history as that crazy girl whose emotions ranged from Ecstatic ("I'm okay! I'm okay! And I go running and stuff!") to Completely Despondent ("I hate holidays. I used to have a boyfriend. And we had a christmas tree.").
I googled "PMS rollercoaster graph" because I can only assume that if I haven't drawn a picture of this, some crazy bitch on the internet has.
Sho' nuff! :

Accurate representation of what I like to call:

Rage Time

I probably should not have googled "roller coaster" because not only is that redundant when paired with "PMS" it turned up a lot of these:

Also induces nausea, coincidentally.

And then, in a sweet merging of the two:

I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. 

Okay, so this has officially become the most girly posting EVER. Let's talk about pap smears next. (Yes, I went there. Please guys, you don't even know what it even entails. Stop crying.)

Ah, no. Sorry. It's been a hard couple of weeks. 

I can't help but type: First world problems...

I'm so tired of myself. 

Happy Thanksgiving Ya'll

This Thanksgiving my mother and I decided to stray away from the traditional menu of gigantic turkey, sopping 'tatos with gravy and delicious rolls and try something... A little more classy.
But now that the day has arrived and I am stuffing tiny cornish game hens with wild rice and pomegranate seeds, I think, "Why the hell am I doing this? I LOVE GRAVY."
It's going to be good, you'll see. The only thing I'm hanging on to at this point in my life is my job and the fact that I'm losing weight like a mofo.
So Thanksgiving (aka The Eating Holiday) does not hold very much joy for me at the moment.
Don't get me wrong, the whole spending time with family thing is wonderful and I love them dearly...
But Thanksgiving and Christmas were always very couple-y holidays for me. I was shopping for my boyfriend like, months before Christmas. Collecting socks and dress shirts and fun novelty gifts to stow away in our closet (But down below where he wouldn't see). And this year...
Well this year I'm going to be spending a lot less money.
So that's nice.
SEEING THE SILVER LINING.
Ugh. I am so tired of being cheerful. (I know, you're like, when were you being cheerful? I missed this.) I just want to wallow in my little pond of depression and discontent over here. But my mom is making rolls and telling me how much she missed me, and my dog is next to me on the couch (Occasionally leaning over and licking my keyboard) and I just feel like a Grinch.
I guess the reason why we're making a new menu, new everything, is because everything is different this year.
My grandma is gone, my cousins are married, my sister and her family never come over for thanksgiving (She goes to her mom's; half sister you know.) and so it's just us. Mom, Dad, Katie and Brother. And Brother's Girlfriend. Who is incredibly silent, but very nice. Probably. Also include the random orphan assortment of neighbors that come over, awkwardly bringing boardgames without knowing that our family has almost NEVER played games involving boards (or tiny metal dogs, or wrenches or games involving apples). It's a good old time.
I don't sleep very well anymore. I had a dream the other night that I was in the house of my childhood, running door to door trying to lock them against the wolves and SHARKS that were gathered outside. According to a dream dictionary (Ugh, I know) that I was reading, wolves represent financial ruin, sharks represent an adversary and closed doors represent a missed opportunity. Though since I was closing the doors against the wolves and sharks, am I avoiding these things?
Or am I having crazy dreams that just mean I watch too much animal planet?

At the beginning of the summer when I was incredibly depressed and tired (I know, I've made such a leap forward!) I wrote a list of things that would make my life better.
1. Job
2. My own place
3. Boyfriend

Now I'm here, 2/3 and I feel ten times better then I did this summer, but I still don't feel great. I don't think those things are the things that will make me happy. (No comment on #3) I don't think changing the Thanksgiving menu will change my life (Except for the lack of weight gain).
I think I need a different list.

1. A Sense Of Purpose

I'm really hoping this is going to be our "end result" photo...

Right now they look like tiny, naked, baby heads and 

they're making me question my mortality. 

All Aloney

In an attempt to be completely honest, but not be cryptic or hurt anyone's feelings, I will say this:

(And this took about 15 attempts to get right)

I know I did the right thing, because I am not ready to have a boyfriend or commit fully to a relationship...

but. 

Man.

It sucks a lot.

Because you get to know people, right? And then you like so many things about them, and you get them. And they get you! And then suddenly they're not there, and you turn to say something funny to them, or you look at your phone every five minutes and... shit. 

You're a tiny little teenage girl again. Go put on My Chemical Romance and eat some cheetos to drown your sorrow you little bitch!

Well that wasn't cryptic at all! I'm sorry! I have very little patience for cryptic people so I try not to be myself. I guess long story short, which you may have already guessed: Seth and I are not so much with the dating anymore. My choice. Which was a good choice. But a hard, grown up choice that I'm finding hard not to regret. I'm just not ready to be a good girlfriend, and that was what he wanted. 

I thought when you made grown up choices, everyone was happier.

Or at least you got to have some like, some self satisfaction with making a better choice for everyone's feelings.

No. It just sucks. There is no satisfaction. 

There is only eating tacos alone at midnight. I'm going to resist the urge to post some poignant, sappy music video about regret and love and stuff. You're welcome. 

At least I'm not waiting in line for Twilight!

Thank. God. 

Draw Something Every Day

My new goal. No excuses, nothing special. Just draw something. I stayed up until 3 last night reading this book about Bill Watterson, the creator of Calvin and Hobbes. The book was so incredibly inspiring, and the funniest thing about it was that the author never even spoke to Bill Watterson. He's a complete recluse. He doesn't see any reason people should be interested in him as a person. He changed millions of lives with Calvin and Hobbes, a kid and his tiger, and he has no idea why people want to know him.
I hope that my art changes like, one person's life. Someday.

It's easy to draw a picture of my outfits. 

Today I am very autumnal, eating pho. It's that kind of day. 

Palm Talk

Day off today. The thing about me is, I am not so great at relaxing and doing nothing, as is usually a popular choice on one's day off.

I want a project, I want a purpose.

I have a couple brewing in my mind, but never put them into practice. That in itself drives me insane! I have these wonderful ideas,  but I can't set my mind to it because... Why?

I'm worried it won't work? I'd rather browse other people's wonderful ideas on the internet?

I had my palm read the other day. No, I did not pay 60 dollars and my firstborn child. And I don't normally believe in that kind of thing. I'm cynical enough to feel like I'm getting ripped off or tricked, but enough of a child to want to believe that my entire life is written on my skin. It's the most romantic thing I've ever heard; my body being it's own book.

As the creepy french lady bent over my left palm I struggled to keep a poker face. That's how they know, I thought, your facial expressions tell them they're on the right track!

"Mmm, you're very creative. Very artistic. Lots of ideas and passion, but you don't use it. It's right here, through your life line and love line. It's part of your life, but you don't DO anything with it. You need to use your art. You can't wait for things to HAPPEN to you. You must make them happen. You are a great communicator, but strong and in charge in love. You'll have many disappointments in love. You can't make love happen.

Listen, don't talk. Listening is better then talking. That is how you'll know him."

I was a little creeped out. Is it like a horoscope, and I'm hearing things I want to hear, or things that make sense to me?

Do better, be better. Follow your passion. I'm sorry lady palm reader; it's so hard when I'm in my bathrobe and there's leftover pizza in my fridge. 

It's About To Get Girly

Yeah, I'm gonna talk about weight, so if you're incredibly bored or irritated by this topic...
You're probably a man.

I recently had to visit the doctor for some lady issues (This makes me sound as though I am infertile, or frigid, like I visited Dr. Freud) and the nurse did the usual to prep me; take my blood pressure, ask me about my medical history... Asked me to step on that scale...

I hate those medical scales. The metallic, sinister sliding scale that tips wildly back and forth as if to say "WHOA BESSIE. SHOULD NOT HAVE EATEN THAT PIZZA!"
It's so judgy, that inanimate doctor's scale. I know, I'm getting all Cathy on you. I'm sorry.
So with the posture of a death row patient getting strapped into the chair, I step onto the scale.
And after some adjusting and poking, the nurse says:
"Okay! 158!"

Ladies and possible incredibly bored gentleman: I have not weighed in the 150's for like, three years. I have been trying to lose this freaking college weight the entire time I was in college!
For some reason I just thought all those jeans in my closet I hadn't been wearing just got magically comfortable. Or I had forgotten about them. I thought that since I was dating a guy that thought I was super hot it was just making me feel more super hot.
I mean, that helped.
But I actually am. I finally lost that stupid weight, I'm finally wearing the clothes I want to wear and feeling cute and buying hot underwear!
This should feel like a victory!
And it totally did, for like a day.

And now all I feel is anxiety about KEEPING the damn weight off! I thought there would be some relief, you know?! I thought once I lost this weight I've been crying about for years, YEARS, that I would breathe a sigh of relief and be happy!
I am happy, to some extent. But there is no magical cure. It is all in your head. The way you see yourself is all in your head.
I have brainwashed myself into thinking I need to change, and now that I actually have, I still can't be relieved and happy.
So that sucks.

In some other amazing news, I went to "The Glitter Sale" at Goodwill this week. If you don't know what the Glitter Sale is, you really should, because it will change your life.
If you're a big fan of fur and vintage clothing.
So perhaps a smaller percentage of you then I thought. But still!
From what I gather from the website explaining the sale, the employees of Goodwill hoard the really nice, vintage, big ticket items and hide them in a room all year. Then for two bloody, grueling days, they open up a completely separate building INSIDE Goodwill and allow too many people to line up outside to cram inside the building with a million other women with sharp elbows.
I came away with an evening coat from the 40's (Maybe?) with a fur collar. I'm a little torn about that fur, but mostly because I don't want paint thrown on me.
Please don't throw paint on me.
This dead animal feels so luxurious against my cheek...

100 little Asian ladies line up outside the Goodwill on Dearborn.


Wanda Jackson wrote the soundtrack to my life.
So interpret that how you will. 
FUjiyama!

Incredibly Introspective and Preachy

You know what's gross you guys? Right now I am at a coffee shop in Seattle.
Blogging.
In a scarf.
And you know I am drinking me a wet cappucino.
Despite this, me being out in the world with other people, sitting here on our computers together, I feel strangely disconnected. And I've been thinking a lot about why that is.
There was a time when people had journals, or diaries and they poured their bitter thoughts and feelings about unrequited love, or how fat their ass is, or how much they need to get laid right onto those little pages with the cartoon kittens on them.
These days we take those thoughts and feelings and vomit them out into the internet where strangers can read them and... What?
Judge you? Empathize with you? Feel smug in the knowledge that they are somehow better because they aren't feeling angst-y on that particular Tuesday?
And I don't know if it's healthy, or kind. Especially if you are writing about other people, as I tend to do.
It's this kind of self celebration that facebook and twitter and blogger all succeed with.
I guarantee that a person that writes "God today is a deep pit of despair and doom" on their facebook, will reply "Great! How are you?" to the age old question: How are you doing?

What is that? Why does the faceless facebook allow us freedom to be whiney and judgmental and bad without feeling any guilt about it?
Perhaps because when we post our status about how much our day sucked, we see a million other voices proclaiming the same thing on our "news feed".
EVERYONE'S DAY SUCKED.
If I wrote all the things down that I've ever written on facebook in an actual BOOK and left it at work, or a coffee shop, I would probably be mocked mercilessly for my diary.

Which brings us to this blog.
Sometimes I can be very catty and bitchy and bitter. These are the bad things (Oh just the tip of the iceberg really) about me. Sometimes I write about things, and then the next day I feel completely different and I wish wish wish I could have never written it. That's probably not healthy.
I guess when I started this blog I was really lonely, and really angry I was lonely.
I suppose that I also felt my life was in need of a theme.
"23 year old single in the city" seemed fun and witty and something people would want to read about. Something I wanted to write about.
But instead 23 has been incredibly hard and confusing. And not romantic or sassy single girl living at all.

It's been me; painting my walls and learning to hail a taxi and ride the bus and fix my leaky toilet.
So as much as it may pain you to hear this, I don't think that being single is my theme.
I think figuring out my theme is my theme?
(ITS SO DEEP)

So instead of writing about the failures of men, or okcupid or my romantic fantasies that involve a bookstore and coffee:
I am going to write about me. Living here! In this city. And yes, there will be some nods to men in my life as they come and go. That is probably inescapable.
But mostly it will be about how much I love Than Brothers, and the monorail even if it's full of tourists.
It will be about the color of all the trees in Queen Anne and the millions of colors of the leaves and the matching scarves of all the children around the fountain in the Seattle Center.
I want to explore everything, and connect with people. I want to meet everyone and write about everything I see that I love, and some things that I don't.

I want to write about it if you want to read about it. Hell, I actually don't care if you're reading it. I'll write about it anyway.

The List

I think this is a topic that has been pretty well covered in the media. Everyone's got one, even Barney Stinson. Okay, especially Barney Stinson. (By the way, How I Met Your Mother is not always the funniest show, but at least there's Neal Patrick Harris. Worth it.)
It's not necessarily the people you sleep with. I wouldn't post that, that would be tacky. Also I'm a virgin.
(Pause for laugh track)
The list I'm specifically talking about is your list of types.
The cliche guys (Or gals. God knows there might be some man somewhere reading this, hoping to pick up on some tips. Good luck.) you found yourself romantically (Or genitally) entangled with.

My List:
The Nerd - Oh my god he's so nerdy. But so smart. And also so grateful to touch your boobs, even if he's grappling around with them like they're game controllers. 
The Asshole - Sure, for two seconds at that bar he seemed nice. But now he's hitting on that girl. Your waitress.
The MindFuck - Wait, you thought you were winning this argument. He didn't come home until 3 in the morning, why are you apologizing? Yeah, of course someone just gave him those condoms you found. Wait... What is HAPPENING?!
The Nice Guy - Nice guy, why are you so nice? At first it was really... nice. But now it's just boring.
The Great on Paper - Everything about this guy is awesome! He works for an airplane company! He builds airplanes! He owns stock! He is in awesome shape with awesome facial hair! ... And there is absolutely no chemistry.
The Military Guy - He's on time, treats you like a lady and wants to drop money on you. Drawbacks? He voluntarily owns guns and enjoys it.
The Funny Guy - Oh, he's funny. Very funny. Someday you'll probably have a serious conversation. 


And of course there's always the guy that fits into a couple categories. But I prefer to fit people into tiny cliche boxes and label them. It's more fun that way.
What's your list?
I asked Seth, and he gave me incredibly cliche titles for women that's he's encountered. So very successful, in other words.
Seth's List
The Scenester
The Party Girl
The Prude
The Ditz

Newsflash, no one says ditz anymore. We say "Kim Kardashian," or "dumb ass bitch". No just kidding. We say Snooki, obviously.
I am none of those things he listed, so apparently I'm not included in people he's dated. Though we are "casually dating"? Whatever that means. Once you try and define things, things get all messy and weird.

It sounds to me like he has dated a lot of "crazy" people. I sometimes balk at men that have a long history of putting up with insane women, because it seems like there's something wrong on their end. Endless patience, or just an inability to find a normal person?

Hello, attractive lower halves. 

I'm Much Too Young To Be This Insane

I have been thinking a lot lately, for no reason at all other then obvious ones, about falling in love.
I think too much. I know that. But how can you tell yourself to not think about something? Especially if that something is thinking itself!
Okay, I can see I'm getting a little too deep for you. 
Let me lay it out here.
The things I've been thinking about.
Love:
How do you know it's there?
Are you supposed to be hit with it? Like a train, or a bus or other things people use to violently describe the feeling of love? 
If I broke up with boyfriends that I said 'I love you' to, was I actually not really in love, since we broke up?
Is this "love" bullshit actually created by the media and only exists in television and movies and is only intended for people like Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock? 


I would always ask my ex boyfriend, "Why do you love me?" In a whole, desperate sad girlfriend way.
"Chemicals in my brain! Hormones and pheromones," he would say, kissing me on the top of my head on his way out the door. My love for him felt desperate and tangled, mixed with a lethal dose of anxiety and passion. 
So that was sweet. 
To my other ex boyfriend I would ask the same question, and he would tell me a different thing every night. My love for him felt warm and comfortable, and sometimes spread through my chest and shoulders like a blanket when he touched me. 


I don't know what love is, or what it is supposed to feel like. It feels to me right now like love is made of compromise. I don't date smokers, but he is incredibly funny. I don't date short guys, but he likes to read.
Full of things you don't like, mixed with things you've always wanted. 
When you find love, do all the pieces fall into place and that person is perfect? Or do you just not care about those little things you hated because... I don't know!


My boss at work is awesome, and she and her husband love each other very much. When I asked her how she knew that she was going to marry him, she said,
"After two weeks, I knew that if I spent more time with him and actually dated him, I would never leave him. We would get married." 
That is an example of the hit by a train love. That actually exists for people!
My mom and dad have been married about 30 years. They are the perfect couple. I have only heard them fight once, that I can remember. My mom loves my dad more then herself and vice versa. Sometimes they meet for dinner and they're wearing the matching outfits. It's disgusting. 
My mother on my dad:
"I didn't think I was going to marry him, no."
So that's comforting! 
How did you know you wanted to marry Dad then?
"I guess because I couldn't imagine being without him."


I know I shouldn't even think this much about it. I'm 23, it's not like I want to get married tomorrow. But I have always been so curious. So, so curious about everything. And incredibly impatient to boot.
And now it's like, I want to experience this thing, but it's not like sky diving, or sushi. You can't just order it.
I want to know how it feels, I want to know what I am like in love. I want it to color my day and my being a bright yellow. 
Is this going to be like college, where the entire time I was stressed out, and tired and having the time of my life without realizing that it was the time of my life?
Is being single right now going to be like that?
Should I not be in a relationship just for the experience of not being in a relationship?
Can I turn my brain OFF?

"At one point, we were very attractive and young,

but then you got Alzheimer's and I lost the ability to hold 

an erection."

All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name. 
- Andre Breton

Mr. Attractive Seth Rogen

Sorry I've been a little absent, but I've been going on some amazing dates. Dates: plural, man: singular.
Mr. Attractive Seth Rogen. Which is a really long name, but I can't for the life of me think of a better one. It's strange, because there are so many good things about this person, and a couple of very unique things, but his resemblance to Seth Rogen (Yet attractive) sticks out the most. Who can question the inner workings of my mind.
Not you, dear readers! (All 7 of you.)
Lets call him Seth. That's a little shorter, and at this point I think I'm on a first name basis. Seein' as how we've been on about 5 dates and I know his face pretty intimately with my face.
Too much?

First Date
I met him at a party. He was standing there with a martini, being funny. We talked about things he later forgot because he was drinking. When we left the party, I mentioned to my friend that he was cute. She offered to set us up (With extreme enthusiasm because that is how she does everything.) and I hesitate.
I do. Because even though this blog is fun, and all tongue in cheek and stuff: I am exhausted. I am exhausted of holding my tongue (In my cheek?) and acting very polite and acting interested and... Acting. I am holding up a drawing in front of my face of a very interesting, normal, cute girl and my arms are tired.
Because, although I am very interesting and cute and all of those things, I am not normal. Who thinks they are, in this world.
I am bratty and spontaneous and quick to judge and say what I'm thinking (Even if it's really uninteresting) and I have a vendetta against very elderly people and cars that refuse to let other cars merge in traffic.
I am just a ball of weird.
I am tired of pretending I am not for these random strangers. They are not even worth the trouble.  If you recall, the last time I told someone that I liked them, he called me and told me Jesus was not a fan.
I did not want to waste more time and effort on an awkward encounter in which I waste my time and he wastes his money (Though that is being hopeful).
It wasn't like that, not at all. Well, maybe a little awkward. Luckily I am a destroyer of awkward; cutting through silences and pauses with my sword of irritating babbling about random shit.
We met on the pier in Seattle, in front of the pirate store. (His idea.) There was not a plan, but I am also a destroyer of plans, so that worked out fine. We walked and talked about things. We went in antique stores and weird tourist traps. We went to the comic book store. I noticed he was not dressed like a hobo, which was nice.
I imagined myself as Katherine Heigl in Knocked Up, only not pregnant or a bad actor.
At the end of the date, we smoked a cigarette. He is a smoker. I hate that action, not only because I hope to date someone who will not die anytime soon, but because I have it within me to become a smoker. I like to smoke: I started in Paris when I was 17, and I have smoked sporadically at parties ever since. I never buy a pack, but I hear cancer doesn't give a shit about stuff like that. It smells bad, it makes my throat hurt, I can't run up hills as well, and my brain won't shut up about how bad it is for me. I am too smart to be willingly drawing chemicals into my body that injure it.
And that is my rant about smoking and how much I hate it.
So we smoked a cigarette. And then he kissed me.
THAT was awkward. I'm just gonna calls it like it is, because he is so cute, but god it was awkward.
I understand. It's hard, as a guy, to know what kind of lady you're kissing. Does she like the cute 90/10 equation? Does she want to be grabbed by the shoulders and kissed like you're going off to WWII? Who can say.
So instead he chose the third: awkwardly lean forward and trip off the curb into your face option. Which I continue to laugh about. It was a nice kiss.
We planned a second one. Date I mean.

It will take about a million years to write about all the dates we went on, and what we did. Also I am a lady and only kiss and tell 79% of the time. That's an exact percentage.
But here are some hot spots:

The Needle and Thread
Seth had jokingly spoken of taking me to a speakeasy, and silly me, I assumed he was kidding.
Not so.
I'm not going to tell you how to get here, because you'll have to find your own way in. Part of the magic.
After making a reservation, your date escorts you through the restaurant and find your way to a wall. With a door and a telephone. It's all very mysterious. He then picks up the phone, states the reservation and the door is buzzed open. Then you go up these stairs:

I freaking know. 

And you're in a freaking speakeasy! With the music, and the highbacked chairs and the two lone bartenders polishing glasses. 

He bought me an amazing drink. Whiskey sour with egg white, which sounds gross, but is actually foamy and delicious. Try it. Maybe it's gross somewhere else, I don't know. 

Then if you're really lucky, when you're done with your drink your date will take you to

Quinn's

We were seated upstairs, in the 

"I'm Better Then You Because I Eat At Gastro Pubs" Section.

Oh wait. That was the whole restaurant. 

It was amazingly good, the waitstaff was nice, and it was really cozy and not pretentious, like you think it would be. Seth got bone marrow. That is exactly the kind of person I like to eat out with, the person that gets the weirdest shit on the menu, so that I can try it without committing my order to it.

My steak was better. 

I give it a serious 5/5. It's relatively inexpensive, delicious and fun.

Then we went back to his place and made out. So that was awesome. 

I am having way too much fun with this person. How much time are you supposed to spend with someone you just met? Am I jinxing things by talking to him every day?

Can things actually be jinxed?

In other news that is awesome: I signed a year lease on an apartment in Queen Anne. So I am no longer "the girl crying on the ferry because it's 2 in the morning and she just wants to sleep."

I am "girl who lives in hip neighborhood and has amazing calves from hiking up hills."

Or "girl with absurdly long nicknames."

A Date With Michael Bay: Part 2

Oh gosh, are you excited or what. I know I am. I love to relive these moments. These moments of deep, deep shame and humiliation...

Part Two
So we're at the park, holding hands and things. Sitting and talking. And he leans over and kisses me. No big deal, easiest thing in the world! I think that was the big draw there. It was not awkward, not forced. Nothing with this guy was. It was... sweet.
I try and refrain from being sweet too early, so guys don't get the wrong idea and think that's how I normally am. I don't want to give them the wrong idea and crush their hopes and dreams. Usually...
At this point in the summer, I had an internship at a theatre where I was working backstage as a stage manager. It was a play with teenaged actors and not something everyone would enjoy... Actually probably just the parents of the children and people that appreciate youth theatre... So like five people.
In any case, I had to go. It was in Seattle, we were in Tacoma, I had to drive and that was the end of our date. OR WAS IT.
"Well, I could just drive you there on my MOTORCYCLE."
He did not really speak in capital letters, but that is how my brain saw it.
And my brain said yes. yes. YES. Almost immediately.
I try and follow the simple rule of "If my mom would not like this, I shouldn't be doing it." Now, I'm not a total prude, I do occasionally ignore this rule and revel in the debauchery of my twenties. But I've noticed a lot of things I do that I know my mom would not like, I regret later. Or I'm on my knees throwing up later. Either way!
In this case, I totally ignored my rule.
And then got in a horrible fiery motorcycle crash.
No, jay kay. I did not. Gotcha. But we did drive all the way to Seattle and by the time we got there my ovaries were vibrating. And I was clutching on to him like a baby panda. Or koala. Whichever you prefer envisioning me as.
"We can sit up a little bit you know. You don't have to lean forward the whole time."
"OH. Yeah I was doing that out of terror."
He watches the play, poor soul. (It was actually quite good, and I like this theatre a whole lot, so I'm sure he wasn't completely tortured.) Then we're back on his motorcycle and back to Tacoma.
Riding on a motorcycle, on a freeway, at night. One of the most exhilarating things I've done this summer. I watched my shadow race by me as we passed street lights and laughed, and it was scary-cool-amazing.
"So do you want to come up and watch a movie or something?"
Gentleman, can I just let you guys know: we've cracked your code. You don't really want to watch a movie. You just want to make out and touch our boobs. And that's okay! You don't have to keep up this pretense that you want to watch a movie on your laptop on your bed. We're okay with that!
Ladies: They don't really want to watch a movie.
We didn't watch a movie.
What we DID do, I'm not quite sure how to describe.
So I've decided to do a mad lib for you. Whoever comments and has the most hilarious fill ins wins an illustration of your mad lib from me. Now, not the most accurate, the most hilarious. Got it? I don't want to draw me in any of your strange fantasies.

We went up to his room and he immediately                 me up against the               . "Man," I thought, "This guy is                !"  Making out with this guy is like                              . And it's                     . I never thought that I would find someone else that liked to                           . He pulls my                     over my                   , and suddenly we are outside on his                      and I am upside down, looking at the lights of Tacoma.                        are coming off rather quickly for someone who proclaimed himself to be a                    , but no big deal! "I don't want to be that girl you                    in the morning," I say seriously, looking into his                 . "I really              you." That's probably where it all                    . He doesn't seem like a               , with the kind of                he is doing, but I'm not one to judge. Maybe he's read lots of                   ? It is outta control, and I have                in places I never thought I would have                . It's perfect. It is like Fight Club up in here and I am                  . There are some things he does that I don't like, such as the frantic                      . But you win some, you                        . At the end of this, after                hours, we are                     and                        and collecting our                        from various places.
And I am                      .


I don't know what you gleaned from that artistic rendition of what I like to call, "One Night With a Marine," but I hope you enjoyed it and didn't think any less of me for my cryptic mad libs.
I drive home at about five in the morning, floating on this candy cloud of bruised lips and words that I haven't heard anyone say to me in a long time.
This was my first "date" I guess you could say, since my boyfriend and I had broken up. I missed him, a lot. He was my best friend, and despite incredibly obvious reasons we could not be together, I thought about him every day. It was nice to not think about him.
It wasn't my first "date" though, as much as it was my first time finding someone that I actually liked to talk to. I was beginning to think I had given up my only train ticket; that at 23, I was going to be left behind on the platform and everyone else was going to have their great love. All I had to do was compromise a few things, and I would've been fine. Now I know that's not true, but this summer was a hard one. It was really hard.
The next morning he texted me.
"It looks like a wolverine attacked my back."
"Well, it looks like a crazy sucker fish attached itself to my neck. So there."
I didn't really say that, but it did look like that. Who gives hickies?
The day goes on and I am singing and polishing things and contemplating inviting him over for dinner so that we can actually talk and find things in common and jump each other.
He calls later then expected.
"Are you somewhere where you can talk?"
"Um, sure. I'll go outside."
I settle myself on the lawn, expecting a warm lover's voice and instead getting a cold stranger. I am confused.
"Are you okay? What's going on?"
"I went to dinner with an Elder from my church."
Oh no, oh noooooo. I am writhing on the grass I am tearing up things and throwing them.
"Oh?"
"I'm really sorry. I didn't respect you as a gentleman last night and I apologize."
"It's really okay. I mean, it takes two to-"
"I can't see you again."
I am silent on the grass. I am contemplating at one point I hated being 23 and alone. This point. 
"Like, ever? Because we don't have to do those things, I mean, I'd like to just go to a Mariners game and-" stop stop stop being so desperate oh god stop
"Ever. I'm really sorry. I need to be in a relationship where I can come before God with my partner, and I don't think I can do that with you."
I'm pretty confident he is correct, but still cannot believe this is happening.
"So you're just, not going to see me again? We can't just take a step back or draw a line?"
"No. I'm really sorry."
"You know, it's funny how that doesn't make me feel better. I hear it does sometimes, but it's really not working for me." please don't cry with this stupid person on the phone. 
"I know. Look, I'm going to have to let you go."
"I hate when people say that. I didn't say I wanted to go, you can't let me go."
"Goodbye."
"Yeah."

Now I wonder if he was really talking about something else. I throw the phone.

Top Five Pick Up Lines

I know, you thought it was going to be part 2. Psych! Yeah, I'm bringing "pysch" back. From the 90's. We're gonna play POGS and yell "NOT!" and "PYSCH" at each other.
Instead of that, I'm going to share some pick up lines with you.
Guys seem to take a certain freedom with pick up lines on the internet, because I'm sure in real life they would choke on their own tongue if they tried to talk to me. On the computer, alone in their house, they imagine that they stride up to me, possibly holding a rose, and dip me back in my barstool saying:

Pick Up Line # 5
I think you are, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women on this site... And that is an understatement... To add more to that, you sound like you have an amazing personality, at least from what I have read about you... 
I know that I have already written to you, and you probably just ignored it, (I did) since there are so many guys out here that just want to get laid and throw you away after they get what they want... I am not like that, and I just want to treat you like a goddess... I want you to be my Cleopatra.
Oh man. Can't hold myself back from that one. But does he want to be Caesar or Antony? That's a pretty telling question. 


Pick Up Line #4
Hey cutie im a marine
Dayum. Hold me back guys! That was the whole message, nothing else. Hey buddy, I teach children's theater! Sup.


Pick Up Line #3
I eat a lot of mustard.... and i can't stop going back to the trampoline picture. what is it with hot ladies bouncing on trampolines that makes it so hot! sorry.
I love this one for so many reason. The "trampoline" picture he refers to is a picture of me in a sweatshirt and jeans jumping on a tiny tiny trampoline. Don't be thinking that I posted a bikini picture of me jumping. Gross. My bikini picture is me being really flexible.  Geeze. I have some pride. 


Pick Up Line #2
When are you going to admit your attraction for me? lol You seem very interesting! I would like to get a chance to know you!? Maybe a drink or something of your choosing?!
Me: I guess when you start using punctuation correctly!
Nah, your right! I dont have time for a perfectionist over silly shit. Your loss! C YA
I was in a bad mood that day. To be fair, he is probably right. Not about the "my loss" thing. But about the perfectionist over silly shit. I can't help it! He just seemed crazy excited with his punctuation!


Pick Up Line #1
I almost don't want to post this, because he really needs no boost to his ego. But I have never laughed so hard at a pick up "line". 
While I am flattered that you wish to swoop in and meet me just like that, understand I have a few reservations, as any insane man masquerading as a sane man masquerading as an insane man such as myself would have before jumping into bed with every seductive siren that beckons hither. 

But really, did you have to send me 73 messages in a 24 hour span? Okay... I'll bite.. you've got my attention... congratulations.. You sure chose an odd way to go about it, but it has worked, I'll admit that much. 

I was confused by that first note, but when you followed that odd letter with some poetry, I was intrigued.. but no sooner had you written, when you immediately sent me a follow up message asking why I had not responded to your poems. I'm sorry, but I'm not on here at all hours, and hadn't even received your message. Then you left that note stapled to my live cat, in MEXICO, and I have to admit, it was all a bit much, and believe me, I was kind of creeped out by the whole thing, but then I remembered that I made all of this up, and that you aren't crazy and I'm only pretending to be, and I felt better after that. 

So, fine.. I'm sold... I submit to your demands of unbridled lust and debauchery, though part of me thinks that the imaginary you that wrote me an imaginary letter is going to great lengths to just confuse me into meeting you out of sheer curiosity. That would be a dirty ploy, and I sincerely hope that it isn't the case.

Puzzled but intrigued,
               


Still have not met this gentleman in person, because I'm still not convinced he is not going to kidnap me and sell me to sex slavers in Mexico. I was convinced it was some sort of insane form letter that he sends to everyone he meets on okcupid, but he assures me this is not the case. 


I hope you guys are having a lovely day. It finally smells like Fall, I have a date tomorrow, and I have a million books from the library to read today. And eventually I will take a shower. 
I'm just so happy to not go to work today, I don't even care what I do! 
I've had a couple people tell me they are reading this blog, so what's up guys? Comment a little, show me some love. What is your worst pick up line? Whether you've had it said to you, or you just made it up. Post it! 

A Date With Michael Bay, Part 1

Lemme tell you about a really great date I had, resulting in my brain imploding in anger, followed by the worst summer of my life.
It's a good story, and also totally Tom's fault. Tom is my best friend, and I have no reason to create a pseudonym for him, considering I only have one dude best friend, and it's not so much a mystery.
I met Tom at community college when we were cast as a couple in The Nerd. I was really excited, because I had never had a stage kiss, and this was going to be it. Fantastic love affair with co star! Instead, he and the other guys in the cast threw as much shit at me as possible, called me a transvestite and I became one of the guys. (Not...literally...)From then on, we were pretty close. Except for that one time he got a girlfriend and ignored me for two years. We female friends, we get the shaft. In the not positive way. In any case, we are friends still, he is single, I am single, and I love to say 'I told you so.'
I love when things are Tom's fault, because then I can hold it over his head forever, and whenever he gives me shit, I can just say, "Hey, remember that one time, you introduced me to Mr. Military?"
Mr. Military
Tom and I had just graduated from college and in the tradition of all broke ass graduates, having a grad party. Mine was kind of a bust, really rainy and hard to play bocce ball. But lots of money that I promptly spent at Target, so that was nice.
Tom's party was at his mom's house. It was a lovely sunny day, and I was ready to get drunk and make fun of Tom with his family. I walk in with my posse and here is some stranger with aviators.
Don't even get me started on aviators. They are an insta-hot camouflage for anyone. Not coincidentally, he knew something about camo, having just come back from Iraq. Or Afghanistan. Or somewhere hot where they shot at him.
"Hey, would you like a ride on my motorcycle?"
I can pretty much pin point the moment I was totally hooked on this person that was totally wrong for me, and it is the motorcycle.
Being brought up as a super bleeding heart feminist liberal has been really wonderful for me in some ways. I enjoy and am knowledgeable about my rights, have a sassy retort for misogynistic assholes, and can hold my own in a debate on gun ownership.
But I'm still a total sucker for a guy with a motorcycle and aviators.
And then he picked me up and spun me around in a circle (eeeeeeeeeee!) at the end of the night and I was all like, "Feminism? I hate pants!"
It was bad.
Can I just say though, that he was a really nice guy? He was not an asshole, and was in fact the perfect gentleman. In hindsight, that was probably the biggest warning sign.
Enough foreshadowing! I told Tom to give him my number. He called me.

The Date
He called me the morning of our day date (people still do apparently, have dates during the day) to ask me how I liked my eggs.
I did not say fertilized.
He was making me breakfast! Who does that?!
I arrive at his house he shared with two other military guys expecting a total shit hole, and instead arrive at a lovely duplex. It's clean. With a puppy. (A puppy!) And breakfast.
Do you see now friends, how I had no chance? No chance whatsoever?
I hope my parents do not read this blog for many, many reason, but the main reason right now, is that I really do not want them to read about what we did on this date, because my mother will KILL me and then my father will hide the body and pretend they never had a daughter.
We went shooting.
YES. I know. He dared me to come with him shooting and see if I liked it, I said I would never like it. So to prove him wrong, (Yeah I am not always this dumb) I went shooting.
It hurt a lot. And I did not like it. Because guns kill people and I don't take any joy in hitting targets knowing that the targets symbolize people.
But I liked him. And his dog tags.
Also, I was completely terrified and out of my element, like a scared puppy at the 4th of July. You ever want a girl to like you, just scare the shit out of her. That's why they invented scary movies, so the chick is too scared to walk home by herself.
Skip ahead to the park. The rose garden. The hand holding ("I LET HIM HOLD MY HAND." This will become my constant refrain to Tom later when I am screaming obscenities about Military Man). the talk about how he really hates the mentality of the military but he wants to make a difference and be a military pastor...
Yes. He wants to be a pastor. Now you may be able to guess what is going to go wrong in this scenario.

Sidebar:
Let's talk about Jesus. Now, I don't know about you (Five people that read my blog), but I love Jesus. More specifically, God. People usually assume that I am not religious (For a number of reasons I'm sure, but probably my propensity for swearing like a sailor) but I am.
I am Episcopalian, which I like to refer to as "Catholic Light." We drink, we smoke, we use birth control and sing traditional hymns, and love the big G (That is the first and only time I will ever refer to God as the big G. It was a mistake and I apologize). I personally find my religion kind of bad ass; I love God and science, I'm not a bigot and I'm not a douche bag on an acoustic guitar. So now you know: I like to go to church and I love tradition. I like to wear hats to church and I believe in the existence of a higher being that created the earth using evolution as a tool! Surprise!
Apparently that is too much, (or not enough) for some people.

I googled "cool Jesus" and this was the first thing

to come up... If I get this as a tattoo, is that too

redundant?

Detritus of Relationships Past

Detritus
Noun
Definition: Litter, Waste
Synonyms: Pieces, Crap, Rubble, Leavings, Shavings, Shit Your Ex-Boyfriends Left Behind

Having moved and broken up with a boyfriend fairly recently, I have quite a bit of experience with this. However mutual and amiable a break up is, finding his stuff never comes without a bit of a sting. Like, when will all this shit be gone? Can I not completely purge this from my life? No, you cannot.
There will always be a birthday card slid in between the pages of a book you never read, some movie stub lost in the caverns of your suitcase. Or there's the millions of facebook pictures you're tagged in together. Those too. Thank you technology. Gone are the days we could put all of that stuff in a barrel out back and burn it ritualistically (Not that I did that. At all. Okay that one time.).
Now we're reminded of our failures (Or theirs, but it feels the same doesn't it?) on a daily basis.
My break up (Which I will not speak of at length, but here is a little nod) was mutual and amiable. And stings me daily.
Not because I want to be back in the relationship, I do not. That whole mutual thing. We-will-find-our others-which-are-not-each-other and blah blah blah. But I think it's almost worse to be mutual, because what do you do with the detritus? 
I'm not mad at him, per-say. It sucks, and there's no reason to throw away that photo album, but there's no reason to keep it either. Is it a sad gesture, or a friendly one to keep it? Is it moving on, or throwing something away when you toss it out?
I hope one day to move somewhere and not bring anything, but I know that's not a reality. I like my stuff. It's just the odds and ends that stick around that bug.

I call this "Comfortable Clothes Named for Boyfriends"

Every girl keeps a t-shirt. It's a known fact. It's like a bonus

after getting your heart pulverized! Also, please do not assume 

anything from the fact the blue t-shirt says "Kids Club". 

Your Hair Looks Nice From Behind

OkCupid has this new feature for the android called "Locals," which I guess is supposed to force you to interact connect you to people in your area at the time. Apparently what did not occur to the creators of this app, is that is a perfect stalking tool. It's basically stalking-made-easy.
I'm at work, doing my thing, restocking or what have you and my phone hollas at me.
mathew27 is in Queen Anne, right now! He wants to meet up with you!
It even does the little italics, to give you a sense of impending doom anticipation. I can only imagine it shows mathew27 the same thing.
This thought results in me looking over my shoulder so much I must seem epileptic to the people walking next to me. I can't help it; I must assume the worst. He's totally following me and smelling my hair.
In a perfect world, those of us that have grown some cojones would click "Yes, let's meet up!" And go on a fantastic and spontaneous date and everything would be hunky dory. But instead I'm a little bit nervous about this random meet up action, and can't bring myself to do it. That seems like a trap. I need to do a little research before heading out with these guys from the internet, CALL ME CRAZY.

It also may have to do with the fact that I work until 10:30 PM and then have to catch the 11:40 boat in West Seattle. It doesn't leave a lot of time for fantastical dates.
On Saturday I sat at the bar in Pagliacci's and devoured two slices of pizzas. Yeah weekend, woo!
It was delicious, I regret nothing.
Last night was kind of the employee weekend, and everyone went out for karaoke. Then I watched all the guys from work hit on different women in the bar! It was great. I drank about three whiskey sours, then I went home.
I think I need to work on seeming more available, but I don't know what that means. Less smart? Can anyone tell me? Seriously guys, if you know me, can you give me a break down of how I seemed the first time you meant me?
Needlessly bitchy?
Repellent?
Been a cold, dry summer my friends.

I just don't understand how you could resist this. Also,

this is my Hermione face. They made her all pretty in the 

movies and I was like, hell no. She is a crazy face. Stick

to the book man!

Enemy: 99 %

A nifty feature on Okcupid is their matching system. And by nifty, I mean potentially useless and fun to think about.
You answer questions on the site, and it gives you matches based on how many answers you have in common. Now, in a perfect world, this would totally make sense and everyone would find their perfect soul mate using this method. HOWEVER. People tend to have complicated personalities and cannot be defined by some random answer to a completely random question like:
If you had a pet, would you let it sleep in your bed?
For the record, it really depends how big the pet is.
That's the problem with me; I rarely answer questions Yes or No. There is always a possibility, a 'C' answer, a third option. Or a fourth or fifth.
 It's interesting to look at people that are your "matches," but you know what's even more interesting?
Finding people you would absolutely despise.
And going on dates with them. I bet you someone that is my "90% enemy" will be more attractive to me then my "99% matches". We'll see.

Let us begin with:
fmlshifty
Stats: 0% Match, 2% Friend, 99% Enemy
Profile Picture: Guy with shaved head hugging gigantic stuffed dog you might win at the fair.

WELL. It looks like he's at least 6" tall, so we're off to a good start.
Tell me a little about yourself FML:

"im a great listener... I know grammar and punctuation its just that im too lazy to press the shift key or the ' key. but you all know what i mean... lol"

Hmm. Okay, but what do you do?

"Im getting promoted fast and i deploy often. So basically FUCKING SHIT UP. :)"
Oh good. That seems legit. Fucking shit up with a smiley face. What's your favorite book, movie, etc?
cat in the hat
I also enjoy children's literature! Though not Dr. Seuss. At all. ... Let's move on to some questions. How do you feel about same sex relationships?
Girl on Girl is okay, but Guy on Guy is wrong.
But... That makes... no sense... Moving on... Do you like to discuss politics?
Hardly. Politics are boring or personal. 
What do you do for a living?
I'm in the army.

I think we're done here. 

chris1984mays
Stats: 0% Match, 0% Friend, 86% Enemy
Profile Picture: Guy in cowboy hat.
Okay, we have no chance of being friends ever, but that's okay. We can just be passionate lovers.
I just want to be able to have the conpanian ship of a woman
Oh. Okay. Uh, what do you like to do on Fridays?
I am a cow boy so the country club is were I go on weekends
Yeeha! I love cowboys. So tell me a sexy secret.
I am startin to think I will be alone all my life.
I'm sure that's... Not... True...

JuicyMcPirate
Stats: 0% Match, 16% Friends, 75% Enemy
Profile Picture: A pirate.
What are you pirates up to these days?
Pillagin' the gentry, keelhaulin' filthy bilge rats, drinkin' rum, buryin' me booty, n' makin' treasure maps. 
I loves me a good keelhauling. Tell me more.
Me life revolves 'round yonder high seas of the mighty Carribean. However, in recent times I have realized me life tis empty without a buxom wench at meside. Do to a shortage of time (what with cap'n duties and all) me only hope is too search the internet for me perfect wench.
I think I love you. 

Yar, I am so sexy my hair be steamin.

The Lookout, Capital Hill

Went here the other day on the date with Mr. Financial Adviser. It was quite nice. Had some macaroni! No salads for this girl. (Though really I do love salads.) It had bacon in it, which you would think would make it ten times better then normal mac n cheese, but no. It was still just mac n cheese.

The view was awesome however.

 The Lookout on Capital Hill

I would give it a 3 out of 5 stars. The food was pretty okay, the waitress was nice. It was almost impossible to get a seat outside and when we did we were seated by some construction they were doing on the patio. But the view! That's such a Washington thing. "Look at the mountain today!" is our motto here. I used to get irritated with my mom for being so crazy about a damn mountain, but now whenever I'm driving and I see it I do exactly the same thing. Oh Washington.

 

I'm sure this is super interesting to ya'll, 

but this is the Klahowya, the ferry I ride every morning. 

We're on a first name basis and stuff. No big deal.

I am kind of like a hobo these days; I have my hamper of clothes in the trunk for my two jobs (Pants, t-shirt and TOMS for the youth theatre, Black dress, fishnets and high heels for other theatre. Hamper very necessary.), my quilt and pillow in my backseat for my 6:30 ferry ride and my millions of library books which are probably overdue. And the detritus of a million Starbucks runs. It's not pretty. Now all I need is a grocery cart and a sign and I'm all set.

It would probably say, "Please let me sleep." Which is not even close to being as cool as this dude:

My relationship with homeless people is very complicated, having 

grown up in Seattle. I am a pretty compassionate person, but when it

comes to the homeless people in the city, I pretend they don't exist. I 

was taught this from a very young age. So I feel bad for them and all,

but also do not acknowledge their presence.

This week at work I am sitting at the front desk, answering calls and making appointments. It's all very Mad Men (If the women on Mad Men wore khakis and had to deal with children running around the lobby pretending to be pirates).

 

So not so much.

In any case, I will probably be posting a lot! Normally I would be running around pretending to be a turtle, or whatever my classes require me to be, but this week I am "secretary". Not my favorite role.

I'm going to go answer phones now. Potentially in a British dialect. Like MonePenny.The best secretary ever.

That's more like it! Ta!