We Recieve an Email You are Dead(no subject).

Junk mail box leads to sad news. This is exactly the contents of my junk mailbox today:

VIAGRA (no subject)
VIAGRA (no subject)
VIAGRA (no subject)
Fetch Dog doggie breath beaters
Ultimate Replicas high end designer watch and handbag replicas.
Adderol+Percocet (no subject)
V1AGROW number 1 male enhancement
MR.SCOTT WILLIAMS we receive an email you are dead

From what I can tell, Mr. Williams, you should have read the warnings on the pill bottles you were taking, seems like with all the viagra, percocet, and adderol you were doing, it's no surprise you are in an early grave. I hope someone is there to take care of your dog, even though he has bad breath, and that you are buried in your favorite Swiss Chronographe knock-off.

Here's Where I Lose It.

I just spent an hour and forty-five minutes of my life on the phone with my bank. This was after a very frustrating half hour inside the actual bank branch. Here's how it went down;

A girl walks in wearing a jade silk dress, black tights and grey jacket. She has her deposits pre-filled out and in her hand. After waiting in line for exactly eleven minutes, she is nearing the counter. She wonders, "why is there one bank teller behind the counter, and 2 bankers come up to me in line to take my deposit from me-to as they tell me "make things easier and more efficient", when no-one wants to hand over their deposits that way, we must have other banking to do or else we would just deposit it in the ATM". Also, the girl in the jade dress wonders why besides the 2 bankers probing the line, there are 4 bankers at desks, one at the weird hub at the center of the room, one greeting people at the door, and 2 talking to each other near the far side of the counter. Let's do the math shall we! That makes 9, 9! people on the floor doing nothing, essentially and 1 behind the counter as the 8-14 of us wait in line. Grrrrr!!!!

When the girl finally gets to the counter, she hands over her slips and says, "when you are done, can I have my balance please?". The teller absentmindedly takes her deposit slips and starts typing with one hand, while talking to her co-worker who just came around back to stand at her booth with her. She passes the girl in the dress her deposit verification and then turns to keep chatting with her co-worker-note: no balance receipt and there are 6 people behind still waiting in line.

Once the girl finally gets the balance, she notices it is not correct and tells the teller so. Teller calls over the personal banker(what does that mean?), and the PB tells her to please use the courtesy phone to clear up the confusion. (Courtesy phone? Since when is getting the brush off from the place you store your money a courtesy? The mattress I keep my savings in never treats me this way!). Said courtesy phone drops the call, misdirects the girl, doesn't offer the option needed and finally the girl-oh screw it- finally I realize I need to get back to the shop and get to work.

Once at work the girl calls the number on the back of her debit card and endures the same run around as the courtesy phone-no wonder since the number she dialed was called "direct assistance" and has been anything but. Seems banks are so safe to leave your money with because they are geniuses at smoke and mirrors, misdirection and downright confounding even when you have the account number and SS# right there is front of you! How do identity thieves do it? Do they have their own line they call for optimum service? Any identity thieves who read my blog, please feel free to give me tips on how I can get to my money and information.

Finally I talk to someone and don't get dropped or transferred long enough to explain that as far as I know, the balance on my account is incorrect. Here is the part where I lose it: the idiot hired to answer the phone and who has access to MY bank accounts tells me the business account I'm referring to belongs to a Miss ______ _______ (and tells me the name of my accountant, actually my previous accountant) and he can't give me any information since I am not the owner of the account/business. WHAT!!! Oh, so I own, work, slave, fore go, invest, cry, sweat, bleed for this business for over two years, open the account to begin with in your #$%@ing institution and you are going to tell me it doesn't belong to me!?! That you won't tell me anything because some idiot entered some data wrong-over a year ago!?! That for over a year I haven't owned my business and yet I get my statements at the address I gave you, I pay all the bills through this account, my signature is on all the deposit slips and I have been using MY SS# for reference and you didn't seem to have a problem till NOW!?!

To shorten this horror story to the appropriate feature length of 90 minutes, I will close by saying: it was a bank glitch. They "apologized for the inconvenience, and they are happy to help me again if I have any future questions". Bank of America: Go To Hell.

Getting Lucky

First, a disclaimer: if you are too high-bred for direct talk on subjects involving lady business, read no further.

Okay.

So my good friend has been dating women for some time and decided that she would like to try pitching for the other team and see how it went. She went forth and you will not believe this: the guy she hooked up with starts CRYING in the middle of it! While he is still inside her! WHAT THE WHAT?!?! Who does that? Turns out he had just broken up with his girlfriend so was feeling rather sad...blah, blah, blah... No excuse!

Here's the thing I told her when she came over scarred and swearing off men for good; "look, (we will call her Lucy), look Lucy, it's the law of averages. You can't expect to go out and fuck one guy and it's all fireworks and perfect. It's not fair to the rest of us who have been wading in that pool for years with as many failures as successes. It's called "getting lucky" for a reason. You may see a guy who looks like a 10, and turns out to have the sexual prowess of a 4. You can see a 8 and think, well he's kinda cute and a bit nerdy and turns out, he rocks your socks off in the sack! (Not that anyone should be wearing socks during sex. Creepy). You never really know, but once in a while, you get lucky. Here's the other side of that coin: men's definition of getting lucky is getting laid. Which, I feel goes to prove that most women are dynamos in the sack, or at least we don't jack-rabbit hump you till you need a back brace.

Some of my lady friends and I were talking about why this actually happens, why we are so shocked when we set out into the world of male/female relationships. Here's what we determined should be set forth in a handy guide book given to all young ladies to clear up misconceptions:

1. Men who look like they will be "good in bed" rarely are.
2. If you aren't sure how you "work", don't expect him to know either.
3. Never go to bed with a man who is drunk on bourbon or sells pot for a living.
4. When a man asks you your number(you know, the NUMBER), always say: "seven".
5. For every man that is bad in bed, there is hopefully one who knows what he's doing. Don't get discouraged, just keep expectations in a realistic realm.

To all the ladies out there who are bewildered or disenchanted, here's the silver lining: if you go to a lame movie, you probably won't get your $12.00 back, but if you have a lame time in bed, at least you didn't pay for it. And Lucy, believe me, one day- this WILL be funny, bad sex is always at least good for a laugh later on...

2010

My dad left back in January. He left nearly everything and is living somewhere in the desert of Nevada, Colorado, Arizona. Before you get all choked-up and sympathetic, let me do some explaining...
The year is 2010, we can email, watch TV shows on hulu, order groceries to be delivered to our homes, and look through people's profiles all from our cell phones. Our cell phones are built to last, approximately 8 months. The chargers they use are meant to last between forever and 4 weeks but cannot be used with any other phone except for the one right there in your hand. We can vote for an American Idol, but we can't believe in our President. We can buy anything with plastic cards and then keep paying on that one item the rest of our lives. We can drive shiny new huge cars, but we can't afford to put gas in them. We have the best hospitals, but we can't afford to go to them even if we need to. Our kids can take out student loans to afford the astronomical tuition expenses, and they can start their lives as they will end them-in debt.
My dad left and is now living off the grid for all these reasons. He is living that way because he can't seem to fit in to the way we live in 2010. He left because when he was little bad things happened to him and back then, dealing with it meant shutting-up, shutting-down, keeping it to yourself. He left because he never took the chance before. He left because he wasn't who he thought he would be. He left with hardly anything, unfortunately he took guilt, pessimism, self loathing, rejection, denial and disillusion with him.

I am not sad, angry or worried that my dad left. I'm not putting this out there to incite empathy or concern. I tell you all this, because I hope that whoever out there feels any of these things; that they aren't good enough, that they don't belong, that they can't figure it out- you aren't alone. 2010 came without flying cars, rocket packs or a world of peace where everyone can buy the world a coke. But here's what 2010 does have that we can all relate to:

1. When you are really sad, going through a breakup or missing your dad, you can log onto YouTube and watch Old Spice commercials and instantly feel pretty good. http://www.oldspice.com/videos/

2. Even though it's 2010, you can still pick up the phone, order a pizza and have it delivered in 40min. or less. Unless you live in the middle of nowhere in the desert (that's you Dad). Think about what you're missing!

3. Books haven't been burned and in fact there is a magic place on the internet called Amazon where you can buy them really cheap and have them delivered almost as fast as a pizza!

4. If you don't have the internet(how are you reading this?) you can go to libraries. They still exist. They are still free. And yes, you still have to whisper, but now you can check out DVDS and not just Encyclopedia volumes! Note to self: return Six Feet Under season 2...

See! Things really aren't so bad, scary or confusing as they seem. And if you still feel like they are, well, feel free to pack up and move south to the desert-I hear they have great sunsets...

Dear Dad, if you ever read this; xoxo miss you.

Seattle buys stock in Tide sticks.

I have heard people complain about how people in Seattle wear alot of black clothes. Not black clothes like Sean John or Baby Phat, but black as in not from Miami. As in: goth girl sitting in corner drinking black coffee writing black poetry-black. Well, lets review the facts here on why that is:

Why we don't wear white: we live in a very rainy city and wet t-shirt contests are a little too LA for the 206. Also, our cynicism and sarcastic bitterness goes alot better with a basic black turtleneck than a white oxford button down. Also, Seattlites love coffee and red wine-here is a little tale of why that doesn't work out so well...

I wore a white and light gray BCBG zebra sweater allllllll day yesterday. No problem. I got coffee, pumped gas, applied lipstick while driving on Seattle streets(pot holes and suicidal bicyclists). Totally uneventful. I ate a very messy Schwarma sandwich from my favorite street vendor-beets and dripping sauce included-clean as a Tide comercial. I made it until 7pm when I poured a glass of red wine and sat down on the couch. There I am, chit chatting away with my friend when my dog jumps right up onto my lap and...you guessed it. No more white and light gray sweater. It now looks like someone masacred the zebra and bathed it in it's own blood before carefully sewing little pleats into the sleeves and adding a hem. Less Ferragamo and more Freddy Kreuger.

You can't blame the dog, though I figure he knew what he was doing because he didn't miss a beat when it came to licking the wine up off my sweater, couch, floor, wall etc. Lush. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree it would seem....

Let's review the plus sides of the equation: I have someone in my life who loves me so much he leaps without looking(even if it's just because I buy him turkey bacon dog snaps), I have wine-or I will as soon as I stop by the market. I have friends to chit chat-and laugh uproariously with when things go wrong, and believe me, when you wear white- things DO go wrong. So, I hope that clears up why I, along with most other Seattlites, wear black. Just to be safe, I will have a gin and tonic please...

Wallpaper vs. Girl

I've been up against a wall all week. Backbreaking work, hours and hours spent seemingly in futility, frustration, disappointment. I can't begin to tell you how many times I have cursed my very existence! By now you are probably asking yourself, "Jeezus lady, what's the problem?". Well, like I said, I've been up against a wall, four of them actually. Four floral, blue and pinkish mauve-small repeating pattern-walls of paper! Yes, that's right. I have been taking down WALLPAPER!
There is nothing, and I mean NOTHING more frustratingly painstaking, slow paced and maddening than removing wallpaper in a small bathroom put up in the late 80's. However, here are the things I have learned:

1. Goo Off won't take the paper off, but when used in an enclosed space it will get you high enough not to care.
2. Martini's between walls is mandatory. If you don't have that, perhaps large doses of prescription pain killers.
3. Just when you think you can't take it any more, a unusually large piece will rip off the wall and it will give you the emotional fortitude to tackle that horrible space around the toilet.
4. never put wallpaper up to begin with. Ever.

While battling through these "highs" and lows, I had much time to think about where my life was going, hopefully at one point it would be taking me out of the bathroom...
I thought about my Mom, it is her bathroom after all, and thought how she was so stubborn about putting this @$%#ing paper up all those years ago, but now here I am taking it down! That said, she was in labor with me for 4 hours, carried me for 9 months before that...guess I owe her a bathroom. I hope when I'm her age I have some slave child who loves me enough to come 6hours and one state over to tackle some project from hell.
Thought 2: will my adopted children love me enough to do said hell task? Note to self: add addendum to adoption paperwork...
My other thoughts wavered-depending on the amount of paint/Goo Off/plaster fumes in the air- from what kind of tree house mansion I would build if I lived in French Polynesia to who is it that stamps all the "Ms" on M&Ms?...

Long week in review-and it's only Wednesday; removing wallpaper sucks, have kids so you never have to know it's pains.

Sweet and Sour

Ah, Valentine's day. For a holiday based on love, it sure brings out the haters. Oh come on, admit it, whether you are a lovely lonely or a cute couple, VD-day(double bag it kids, STDs are on the rise) causes a lot of broken hearts. The reason for this is a little confusing when you take into consideration what the day consists of:

1. Thoughtful cards, ephemera, and treats all signed: be mine. What's the problem there? That's just charming!

2. Flowers-especially pink ones. You can't hate flowers, especially in the cold month of February.

3. Chocolate. Nuf said.

Let's be realistic though, the day may consist of these lovely things, but the weeks-heck, months, leading up to Feb. 14th consist of:

1. E.E. Robbins and Kay Jewelers commercials. Trust me folks, they are annoying yes, but it would be FAR worse to get one of those crappy heart-key diamond chip pendants that are on sale for $79.99. What is that!?! The cheapest, worst design sprinkled with the left over diamond granules found on the floor of the sweat shop- lets be honest: if hardworking African baby's didn't mine it-it wasn't stolen from a museum-or Paris Hilton didn't have to hock a hotel for it, it's just insulting. I would rather someone gave me a new traveling tooth brush container.

2. Thinking if you lose 5lbs, dye your hair, get a raise, cure cancer it will make you feel better when V-day actually arrives. Try this instead: solo-mojo dance party in your living room to Peaches. Fun.

3. And this is the most crucial: Expectations. Oooooh they're a killer!
I have a formula worked out for life happiness, H=R/E That is: Happiness equals Reality divided by Expectations. Meaning, the only way you will be happy, on Valentine's or life in general, is to lower your expectations so that when divided into reality you come out with a positive number. Let's face it, unless you are extremely wealthy, (and if you are bothering to blog on a Friday morning you are not), you can't change your reality. However, you can change your expectations, your perspective, and that will help things come out alright.

All right ladies and fellas, for this Valentine's Day let's expect to get kind-of-trashed, high on pink frosted cupcakes, and probably fall asleep watching Joe Vs. the Volcano for the 80,000th time. Sweet dreams.

Dental Damage

As I previously mentioned, I am recently single. When one has spent a decent amount of time on the other side of the fence; the side with his and her bathrobes, his side of the bed, her razor...things are thrust into focus quite abruptly when one finds herself on the side of; watching whatever movie you want, having popcorn and a gin and tonic for dinner(again), and laundry taking a lot less loads to do(please notice how these are not actually bad things).

One thing I have noticed being blatantly biased is buying a tooth brush. Having been mugged(see earlier post) and therefore robbed of my green tooth brush, I set out to find and purchase(I hope you are reading this, mugger!) another dental tool. I was quite disturbed to find that the only way to buy a high quality, beautiful green tooth brush was as a SET of two tooth brushes. Yes, sure, I could buy one of those horrible hard, clear plastic brushes like the kind the dentist gives you with their name in gold letters on it, but who buys those?

My other option for buying a SINGLE toothbrush(because it must be thrust in my face at all times that I am single), was to buy a child's toothbrush which I don't want because though it is fantastic that it is the shape of a T-Rex, it has a weird little suction cup on the bottom and I really don't care for suction cups. These are my options!?! The crapo tooth brush, the creepo suctiony tooth brush or buying two tooth brushes when I only need one? One more discriminatory issue with the double brush situation: blue comes with pink, green comes with purple. See where I'm going with this? Same sex tooth brush scenarios are out, unless as a dentally hygienic gay man you like pink brushes and your partner happens to like blue...but really, what are the chances of that. Also, if I buy the two pack, I can have my green brush now, but in the future I have to brush with the purple one...geez.

Enough ranting, or I will give myself a tooth ache. As always, the silver lining, or rather, the gold filling; I don't work at Bartells selling bull-shit brushes. Ahhh...not so bad after all.

2010: it can only get better from here.

January ended with with me getting dumped, mugged, and poisoned. Seriously.
Exhibit A.
My 3 year relationship ended, or since we are staying friends- we had a change-up rather than a break-up. I know what you're thinking; "suuuuure you can stay friends. You have fun with that". Here's how I break it down based on the "what won't kill you makes you laugh later" strategy:

1. He wasn't putting out that much anyway, so no real difference.
2. You don't throw away a friendship when you are in the middle of a break-up(you need all the drinking buddies you can get).
3. When he starts dating again, I can tell myself: "she may be a one-night-stand, but I still get to eat large amounts of dim sum with him". And he pays the bill.
4. When I start dating again, (read: rebound fucking) I can look forward to that really special 10 that knows what he's doing or that 8 that is good enough to go back for seconds with.

See! 4 great pros out of what first seemed like a con. Actually, looking back it was a con-3 years spent thinking this was going somewhere and now... joking. Joking!

Now on to exhibit B: the Mugging
Regardless of how exactly it happened, what is important here is not what I lost-purse, wallet(I own a small business so there was no money in my wallet), sense of security; but rather what the mugger gained. For you, the reader and the Seattle police department, a short itemized list:

1. my traveling tooth brush. Yes, a used green toothbrush in a plastic case.
2. half a packet of birth control. Dear crack head's girlfriend, please note you must take one a day at the same time everyday for it to be effective.
3. a staple gun-sans staples. (I was taking it with me so I could get the right gauge).
4. my favorite tape measure. Yes, I am STILL pissed about that one.
5. LG phone charger that only worked half the time with MY phone, good luck to you mugger since they only make phone chargers compatible with the phone it comes in the box with!

As you can see, the poor mugger had a far worse day after he mugged me than I did. No doubt after rifling through my purse he cursed this lame economy and decided to get a job at the only place still making money these days: Verizon.

Exhibit C: food poisoning.
If it has happened to you, you don't need the grueling details. If it hasn't happened to you, you haven't eaten at the Jalisco Bravo on w. 48th st.
There is really no upside or funny side to food poisoning. It is horrible and not humorous in any way.

Okay! That's all for now. I hope my cynically tinged optimism makes you feel a tad better about your own sad state. Happy thought of the day: I have all ten toes.