One Day This Will Be Funny

Laugh, not cry. One day this will be funny.

I keep chanting that in my head. The scooter broke down, I broke my ankle, and today as I was trying to get out of the bathtub with one foot and some secondhand crutches-I fell and chipped my front tooth. I look like Lloyd Christmas in Dumb and Dumber.

One day this will be funny.

Until then, I plan on getting drunk with my best friend-the salt to my pepper. I plan on letting the dog lay on me all day on the couch. I plan on sending flirty texts to my Partner in Crime that well, I may be falling apart-but my vagina is still working(maybe not in those exact words).

One day this will be funny. But today I will get drunk. Please don't judge.

Choose Your Own Adventure

I broke my ankle.

And that's not the worst part.

I don't even have a good story about how it happened. So, here's a "Choose Your Own Adventure" list so my mundane injury will not seem so embarrassingly lame(pun intended).

A.) While scaling a rickety metal fire escape in 6" heels to rescue a Labrador/terrier mix from a burning building, I successfully rescued Captain Kirk, and it wasn't until my return trek up to help a small box turtle in a lovely vintage terrarium that my heel got caught in one of the slats of fire escape. I wrenched my leg free and saved Tim Jr. It wasn't until the adrenaline slowed half an hour later when I, and half the Austin fire department were having a beer at the local tavern, that I noticed that my ankle was at a skewed angle, mottled in Seattle sky shade bruises. I had indeed received an injury for my heroic deeds.

B.) It was a Wednesday evening, fully dull and meaningless with it's extra "d". Sitting there thinking that life is short and time moves fast I grabbed all the cash in my couch cushions and made a brake for the nearest train tracks. That's the Texas B line where I'm at, and readily I waited for that tremor from the rails and the sheer violent shriek of the whistle to signal my ride to the unknown was approaching. Soon enough that train sped closer, closer, with steal nerves and heroic trepidation I ran parallel to the ore plated serpent until with a deft grab I hauled myself and my pocket of cash aboard. I rode rail through sunset southern ranges, gambled on over maize-filled Mexican fields, skirted sea and surf with only a slivered moon's illumination. Come 5am I determined it was time to head back in time for work at 9, so I cartwheeled off and shimmied up the next clinking caravan heading north. Dawn broke with promise over fields of those famous Texas Poppies-red heads bobbing in the breeze. As I neared my destination I readied for the jump that was to come-somersaulting down an embankment and arriving with not but a tumbleweed hair net to show for it. If I hadn't tripped on that empty bottle of Lone Star on my way up the embankment, no one would have been the wiser-except for me, having learned that Poppies purse their lips to the night, something you find out on midnight train rides.

C.) I owed $500 large to the Austin Mafia and was late on a payment.

Well, hope that gave you some good options as to how I broke my ankle. Remember kids, when you "Choose Your Own Adventure" your risk is your reward.

No Good Deed, EVER AGAIN

So much has happened since my last post, but as this blog is simply a site for people to read when they have nothing better to do-and judging from last year's popularity of Honey Badger on Youtube, and this month's obsession with The Hunger Games-I am sure it has not been missed by the vast majority.

Ahem.

I was recently sharply schooled in the old adage: "No good deed goes unpunished".

I received by post a very imposing and official declaration that I have been charged CRIMINALLY and there has been a warrant posted for my arrest. Having been expecting "Thank You" cards from my Nieces, not only was I disappointed, but I was thoroughly annoyed at the candor in which the word CRIMINAL was being bandied about. A diligent sift through the sordid decree led me only to a case number I could reference when filing my plea of guilty or not guilty. I take offence to this since I make it a personal vendetta against the Catholic Church never to feel guilt and, secondly, had I committed a crime I detest that the first thing I would feel about it-having been caught-would be guilt! Ha! Far from it! Judging from the government systems I see running day-to-day I take it as a matter of hurt pride that they could have found me out in a crime that undoubtedly I SHOULD have been deft enough to hide! So, the letter should read- "Check one and return with proper postage(circa 2012 that's about $3.15) -"Responsible" or "Not" for ______________ criminal trespass.

It wasn't until I called and went through 2 different Marilyn's and a Jen that I found out what they were wanting me to feel guilty about.

Parking in a handicap stall.

NOW! Before you start judging me and touting how SHAME is the box I should check-let me first describe the circumstance to which I received this citation.

7 months ago-Texas law enforcement is obviously working at a southern draaaaawl-I had recently moved to Austin from Europe and drove my small scooter up to the grocery store to get some bare move in basics(sponges, hand soap, everything to make guacamole). This grocer is quite busy at all times and there is never enough parking for everyone. Knowing this, I did not want to take up an entire parking space for my minuscule moped so I parked in the hash marks between rows-NOT STALLS-rows. I was squeezed in between 2-3 shopping carts and one of those plastic buggy cars for kids that also has a grocery basket on it for children that can't make it through one of the most colorful and wildly displayed places in the world without entertainment. Definitely no room here for a full size van with a wheelchair capacity. Neither was it anywhere NEAR a handicap stall that a poor 90year old abuelita would need as she made a quick stop for New Flaming Hot Gruyere Cheetos.

In trying to save more car space for all those Ford F 1-50 Texas Edition trucks, I committed a crime so heinous as to incite CRIMINAL charges and a WARRANT for my ARREST.

Needless to say, the only sure thing to do is walk everywhere and never open my mail again.

TXMas 2010

"It you're real good, mind your momma, eat your vegetables and go to church on Sunday, when you die you will go to TEXAS".

That was printed on an old vintage t-shirt in a small little shop in S. Congress that I stumbled into with my friends on a recent visit down south. I gotta agree. Between the "ghetto quiles" with hash browns instead of tortillas-and the amazing tacos from Taco Deli, from the brisket bbq to the 82deg. 2am beer drinking on the back porch, Texas was pretty heavenly.

With only 3 and a half days to eat, drink, and take in the heat, I soaked in cicadas and dove chirping and cooing to the tune of 362 lost nights spent in Seattle: bundled inside drinking hot tea trying to make the most of a 5odeg. rainy evening. The spices, citrus, salsas and scents permeate more than the food, engaging you in a way you forgot possible when it takes 5***** star curry to wake you from your coffee/gray day comma.

The heat! You sweat and your muscles finally relax, beer and sweet tea is MANDATORY since you have to stay hydrated after all. I found myself going into shock as the tension literally melted away walking from the pools at McKinney Falls to the car-my shoulders, jaw, back finally let go of all the cold, work and pressure that crushes down on you when you live, as any Seattlite does, on the inside of a ping pong ball.

All this said, when I stop craving TexMex, brisket, and potato salad, I will feel really fortunate that good Thai food and great Sushi is around the corner. That a fantastic cup of coffee can be carried into one of a dozen used bookstores brimming with finds-fiction and non. That I don't need air conditioning in the music venue hosting the Fruit Bats that the night before carried Peaches on their stage and at one time or another has been graced by so many of the amazing musicians that come straight out of Seattle's heart. That Seattle has one, maybe not as big as Austin, but then again, everything is bigger in Texas-but we can visit and that about makes the 362 days just about bearable for this Seattlelite.

The MEN

A few months back, Esquire published an amazing article called "the Women I Know". A list of all the women in the Author's life. Well, damn straight. It is good to reflect on the opposite sex's role in your life. Here's my list of MEN.

Rick. My dad and a caveman. Andy. true genius. Matt. computer-lover, slightly depraved. Jerry. lamp builder, dreamer. Mark. always a great source for stories or true heartfelt conversations over brunch. Onur. the love of my life, best friend, savior, and lots else. Matt. brother and knows the difference between Tatooine and Hoth, and taught me what it was. Damir. Troubled and sweet, a real jokester. Scott. Stronger than he knows, always aware of when a girl needs a bit of bubbly. Tyson. nobody loves Tom Hanks like we do. Tim. Tres bien my own Bill Murray. Clem. About 104 years old, and still comes to every party thrown at the shop. Alex. The only artist that I know that will one day make millions. Don. Grandfather, the one who taught me how to splice electrical cords. Ryan. friend, over beers or coffee, the only hedonist I know. Brian. band sensation and bar tending colleague. Jay. funnier, sweeter, & smarter than I thought. Furkan. so in his head that sometimes he misses out on some pretty great stuff. Ted. pretty impressive entrepreneur, and I hear, tennis player. Deniz. a man to have on your team. Cody. Brief but a kick. Doug. gives the best advice. Jason. takes care of Doug as much as he knows how. Ryan. Amazing photographer, possibly better with food. Rob. loves Emily. David. Makes pretty things, and takes ladies along for the ride on silly fun nights. Eric. my favorite neighbor of all time. Ian. can't get it together. Kyler. summer of 2009, sketching in our notebooks and laying in the sun. Frank. model and super sweet man. Casey. Ended up exactly where he should. George. Favorite barista, your move to Hawaii is a bummer for us all. Nick. Had a baby. Tom. a hoot and my Southern Belle. Jim. the only Uncle I give a damn about. Dan. a lazy sleaze-ball. Ron. owner of the Big House and friend to all dogs. Spencer. Sarcastic and too cool for me, but it makes me want to be his friend even worse. Phillip. a flirt. Tyson. my kindergarten crush. Honest Jon. my tattoo artist. Matt. the husband of my Sister.

And yet, I'm single. Go figure.

For Good Reason

Here is a list, a list of some things I know to be good, real, worthy, and interesting. I post this list because I feel lately-maybe it's the weather, maybe it's the city-whatever it is, is distracting us, ME, from these things. The things that matter.

1. work ethic. Not trying to be Capitalist here, just that when you are sad, down, out or distant-working, and working HARD will get you to pass through that time with dignity.

2. friends. The true ones. The ones that you have sat on curbs for, waiting to make sure they get home ok. The ones you can rant and rave to and the next day they forget about it. The ones that don't offer advice beyond: so, another beer? The ones that make you laugh so hard you think about it later and giggle.

3. the outdoors. Being in the trees, on the beach, in the desert- it is a reset. It calms you. It can cure you if you let it. Just go and be quiet in it. Don't hike, ski, paddle, drive. Don't bring anyone. Especially your cell phone.

4. green food. Asparagus, spicy green beans, barley green pot-stickers from Shanghai Gardens, guacamole, split pea soup. Trust me.

5. Manners. Basic table manners, social graces including introducing one person to another, poise in public settings. They are there not for others, but for YOU. They make you look good, sure, but they also give you POWER.

Here is one more list: a list of what happens when you don't value these things.

1. Work ethic. No work ethic makes you LAZY. You aren't really hurting anything, but you aren't doing anything either. You show up, but you aren't present. If you want to surprise yourself, it won't happen watching hulu.

2. Friends. Don't ditch them for new boyfriends or girlfriends. Don't make them last on your list. It isn't the down times you want to be able to call them up for-it's the victory drinks you want them to share with you. Ditch them now-don't expect them to cheers with you over a pitcher later.

3. Outdoors. Noise, movement, time lines, deadlines, twitter, facebook, email- trust me. They will be there when you come back from your afternoon in the Oregon rainforest. And people will still be posting that they are "going to the grocery store for a frozen chicken pot pie" or that their cat just swallowed a marble.

4. Green food. Yellow foods: pasta, cheese, chips, the list goes on if you get my drift. What I'm saying here is, once in a while, your mom was right, green foods do what green foods are supposed to- make you smarter, more vibrant, they make your skin nicer, sure they may make your pee smell weird, but why are you smelling your pee? Flush, wash hands and move on. P.S. They do great things for endurance and the libido. Just a thought.

5. Manners. ALL YOU SEATTLITES who think you can go to the ballet in your NorthFace jackets and Crocs, YOU MAKE ME SICK! Think how long those ballerinas spent forming their bodies into perfect instruments for your viewing pleasure and you can't even put on a real pair of shoes?!? Also, the next time someone doesn't hold a door for the person right behind them-I hope you slip on the wet mat outside and drop all your grocery bags- unveiling to the world that you buy 24oz cans of BudLight, are stocking up on athlete's foot lotion, and that you read Dianne Steele novels.

CasiNO?

I have a confession. I make snap decisions. I am a bit judgmental and at times quick to disregard people, places, items of clothing... completely out of hand. That said, I can usually be won over and then experience the unexpected delight of enjoying something or someone I never thought I would.
What am I referring to here? The casino.

I HATE CASINOS! They are filthy, aesthetically void, full of zombies pulling levers and staring at flashing lights in the hope that their pathetic lives will be changed-all with not having to get up off their #$%es! It's dark for a reason, the place smells like cigarettes smoked in 1994. The food-well I wouldn't know since I was too scared to order any. The drinks are uncultivated-just like all the people there. The clothes-the CLOTHES! Are pathetically ragged, dirty, or otherwise black leather fringe-covered. I could go on, and you know it.

Until yesterday I had never stepped foot in a casino. Never cared to. Never been to Vegas, never cared to. I'm Woody Allen-not Heidi Montag. All that said, 30 minutes at the craps table with my best friend was enough to convince me that though it is disgusting and you need serious hand-sanitizer, it's also kind of silly fun.

The rules: um...not all too sure but there is a lot of putting red, white or green plastic circles on a table with numbers on it, rolling dice REALLY hard at the back of a long table and hoping to God no one rolls a 7. Why was this fun? Because my best friend who is not a gambler and has maybe been to a casino 4-5 times was humming with excitement, giggling, laughing, smiling and otherwise totally into the whole experience. We had $100 to lose, and in 20minutes had made about $50. But in the end we lost the whole $100. Sad? Not really. Sure it's silly to throw a Benjamin out on a table and not have any return, but the return was on his face. In his eyes, so sparkly and smiling-we were kids! It was reckless, irresponsible, and down right white trash(believe me, if you knew where I grew up, you wouldn't doubt I know what it looks like), but it was about an hour and it got our hearts racing enough to make the Chinese food we ate half an hour later-not at the casino-feel less artery blocking.

The moral of the story; even the worst has an ounce of the best. You just have to stop judging long enough to see it.

...that said, I think that was enough casino-slumming it for a life-time. :)

Books iRead

Been reading a lot of books lately. Whenever I can. Whatever I can lay my hands on. For now- Debra Oliver's "What French Women Know" is envoi de romance that I need right now. "Water for Elephants" is a re-read that I dissolve in, and "Less than Crazy" is making me feel like maybe I am more than.
That said, when I see someone at a cafe, bookstore reading nook, or even a bus stop whiling away the time engrossed on their iPad, i can't help but shake my head and roll my eyes.

Here are the arguments I have heard for the iPad:
1. it has an app for everything! Star maps, directions, schedules, movie times, Gravlux where you use your finger on the screen to move "grains of sand" into interesting shapes-ok, that one was actually pretty fun for 45 seconds.
2. it is convenient. I don't know how much more convenient than apps and email and photos blah, blah, blah can get on your cell phone. But, ok, why not.

Here are the arguments for books:
1. they smell good, new or used.
2. you can inscribe the inside cover and give it to a loved one.
3. even sitting on your shelf it looks good.
4. it will never need an upgrade.
5. if you drop it in the tub it can be fixed with a hair dryer instead of having to drop another $500.

Believe me, I could go on. Even though books don't have apps for finding out the temperature in Bangladesh, they sure do work well on a beach right here.

Pretty but not THIN

I'm not perfect. Obviously. My name is neither Laetitia Casta or Jane Fonda circa 1973. But I will tell you this: do you find any imperfection with Monica Bellucci? Christina Hendricks? Salma Hayek? didn't think so. In fact, what all these women have in common is that they are glamorous, seductive, beautiful women with pretty impressive vital statistics! And what do I have in common with them? Certainly not an admirable film career, but within about an inch in or out, I have the same measurements as these amazing ladies.
Why then, can I ask you, when I was waiting in line for coffee at my local Cafe did I hear the two women behind me say, "well, she's pretty but she's not THIN". If I hadn't been so shocked at the outright hillarity of it all, I would have turned to say something like: "God, no I'm not. Also, my husband isn't cheating on ME".
WHAT KIND OF COMMENT IS THAT?!? I know very well I am not "thin"! In fact, I dress in clothes and heels that ACCENTUATE my very "unthin-ness"-(read as: hourglass with an extra half and hour.) I am not ashamed of it, do not hide it, make no excuse for what I think is a quite respectable, well proportioned, (fully functional might I add!!!), ladies body. My waist measures 24", the average American female measures between 31-35". My vitals are 35-24-41. Does that mean I have a booty? Hells yes. But that is why I look so cute in high waisted pencil skirts with nice broad belts. Being a size C cup is enough for me, keeps me from worrying about back pain and also, I can usually get away with wearing a pretty skimpy bikini at the beach.
All in all, I guess what I have to say is: cold, undersexed, grouchy women in cafes should probably keep their thin lips closed. It just makes you look skinnier when you talk that way.
For more info about how very un-thin I am, visit: Seattle Met Magazine http://www.seattlemet.com/style-and-shopping/articles/capitol-hill-home-stores-lit-dawn-bassett-0610/

While I am Here

Getting old. I always assumed that it would happen when I was 50, maybe 45 depending on my lifestyle choices. I am sad to say that as it turns out, it happens when you are 26 years, 10 months, and 3 days.

I found a white hair on my head- not gray, white. And in the same week noticed a small age spot on my face, about an inch below my right eye.

One white hair and one small spot seems pretty insignificant, but it simply points out that I am heading towards- though gradual- my end. Or so I first thought.

I started thinking about all I have done, seen, survived. Let me give you an abbreviated list:

1. being born. Horrifying.
2. growing up in a rural nightmare, devastatingly void of any art, culture, or inspiration.
3. surviving Jr. High
4. traveling through Spain, racing cars illegally for $, breakups, breakups, and more breakups.
5. married and divorced.
6. sold first painting for $3,500.00, decided I didn't want to be a painter.
7. attended 3 colleges and 1 university all without suffering the blemish of obtaining a bachelors degree.
8. moved to NY. Lived in NY. Wondered about the popularity of Dunkin donuts while in NY.
9. Worked for wretched people.
10. worked for one wonderful woman, who moved to Texas and who I miss everyday.
11. Started my own business. Didn't sleep for a year. Drank lots. Felt too happy and too scared all at the same time.
12. met a soul mate.
13. soul mate dumped me.
14. bought a pet dog who pees standing on his front two feet.
15. still here.

That said, if I live as old as my grandmothers are, I'm not even 1/3 of the way done. The good thing being, I have already gone through a lot of the rough stuff. When you live fast and hard when you are young, the benefit is you learn what works and what to avoid early on. It may have given me a white hair and a few scars, but those are cheap payment for the focus it gives the rest of your life. Which actually works out, because here is the short list of everything I still have to do:

1. open my shop in Paris on Rue St.-Honoré in the First Arrondissement
2. adopt a sibling pair (ages 3-7)from Turkey and teach them that cheese, popcorn and pickles is appropriate for dinner and to read comic books in the bath tub.
3. fall in love at least 3 more times
4. buy a Welsh Springer Spaniel for my other dog to converse with
5. write a book of poems and publish it under my first lover's name
6. have a place to hang a hammock

That's about it. I figure I can knock all that out in the next 50 or so years, even if it gives me 5 more white hairs and my skin is not so perfect, heck, it's a steal for a place to hang my hammock.

Getting Fresh with Myself

Just a small disclaimer- I do NOT work for Amazon. I do not have stock in Amazon. I don't really think about Amazon except for how much I love the fact that they renovated and took great care in maintaining the classic structure of the 1932 Art Deco styled U.S. Marine hospital. It is the prize of Beacon Hill!

Ahem, that said, I recently "discovered" a little something that has absolutely changed my life! For those that know me, I live for food! I love nothing better, but you try hauling a 32oz can of olive oil, 4 avocados, a pkg. of ground lamb, and 3 bottles of wine home 12 blocks! Without a car, and my scooter waiting patiently to be fixed, the long walk home while plastic handles of the grocery bags cut into my fingers is about all I have. Until...Amazon Fresh! Holy half-price carrots! This is amazing!

I know that I complain a lot about there being no delivery in Seattle, turns out, Amazon completely agrees with me. Not only will they deliver a new steam iron, a pair heels, and a copy of Running With Scissors(thank you Augusten Burroughs!) to your door, but ONLY in Seattle will they also deliver:

sesame oil
tamari soy sauce
brussel sprouts
herbed chevre
a bottle of Cabernet(okay, 3 bottles! But who's counting?)
2 yellow onions
roasted red peppers
and yes, that 32oz can of olive oil

To. My. Door. What?!?

Here is something else lovely, upon receiving my delivery, the darling man who brought me the boxes gave me a bouquet of flowers- I say "oh, wait! These aren't mine!". He asks with a slight smile, "first order?" Um...yes...? "They are for you", he says as he hauls off the plastic bins all my groceries came in. WHAT? Since when has QFC given my a bouquet of flowers? Or anything for that matter?

I spent $38.13 on my first order, I was curious and went to the store and looked up what I would have spent if I had carried the damn bags home myself- $47.80 Also, it was a super sunny day out so I froze to death walking around the air conditioned grocery store wearing nothing but a sun dress and getting a chill from the freezer section. Boo. I hate you QFC.

Okay, there must be a down side right? YES!

Warning: Amazon Fresh is very, highly, ridiculously addictive and now all I can think about is the next time I will see that big green truck pull up! Do not ever use it or you will find yourself wanting to place grocery orders online at midnight just so you can have them a your door by 6am! You will find yourself scouting through their "deal" section, you will find yourself perusing page after page of tiny icons of food!

Guess I won't be able to bitch about no service in Seattle, thank you Amazon Fresh for delivering it.
xoxo

It's a SMALL Town

Hey there all you cheapskates, shoplifters, petty gossips and slanderers- just a note, Seattle is ONE SMALL TOWN. You think your bad behavior goes unchecked? Think again.
We are a small city, as a designer/maker/artist- it is a small community, as a resident of Capitol Hill- it is down right incestuous! You can't go around stealing from people's boutiques, talking trash for the hell of it about someones breakups or just plain being rude without it coming back to bite you.
We watch out for each other. We all are friends with someone-who is co-workers with someone-who is dating someone. We talk. We network. We hold each other up and talk each other up too. We aren't looking for drama or to inflate our egos, we are just living, breathing, and making this city thrive. At least we try to until silly, stupid, psychotic little no-bodies come into OUR spaces that we have worked and dreamed and fought for and try to take it from us- piece by piece!
That's right, LiT got shoplifted from! Lampshades, no. But during the pop-up shop at our store over the weekend SUSIE ******* came in for the opening and stole over $300.00 worth of merchandise. If it hadn't been for her idiotic plan to throw us off her trail by asking to put something on hold and using her REAL name, we may never have caught her! Thankfully, the stupid, silly cow was on facebook so we messaged her into submission and we got all the merchandise back. What an idiot.

To everyone else out there; I'm so glad I know you, even if it's 2 degrees of separation, at least it's not 7. We are all neighbors in some way or another, so lets act neighborly.
xoxo
Stay in touch, Seattlites

Seattle Sinister

Seattle is a truly sinister place. Sometimes it's pure evil. Please, I'm not being over dramatic, this city is in some ways, at some times @#$%ed-up!!!

Exhibit A. Parking
Have you EVER seen so many parking patrol cars? I saw a meter cop on a segway the other day! "Dear Cop, we already do not take you seriously since you are a parking enforcer, but you ride a segway and you think that it necessitates wearing a helmet?!?"
But seriously. The revenue gained by writing tickets left and right would be fine by me if I thought it was being spent to give us more buses, better sidewalks, and finish that damn monorail already!!! From the numbers I could dig up, Seattle made over $210,000 on parking fines last year and bought at least 8 Dodge Chargers with custom paint to use on their "Aggressive Driver Response Team". Ahem. WE WOULDN'T BE SO AGGRESSIVE IF YOU STOPPED TICKETING US FOR PARKING ON THE STREET WHEN WE HAVE NO OTHER MODE OF TRANSPORTATION!
Also, have you ever seen a city with more on-off parking restrictions? On many streets in Seattle you need a zone# parking sticker to park there more than 2 hours. Other streets you can park on the right side of the street, but not between the hours of 4-6pm, the other side of the street you can't park between 7-9am and there are so many bushes and signs and posters it's like decoding a Mayan tablet while drunk and blindfolded!

Exhibit B. Lincoln Towing
If you own a car and you live in the 206, I don't have to explain how @#$%ed-up this company is. I have seen them waiting on certain streets for the hour to end so they can car-nap your little VW Golf and then hold it for $200.00 in ransom. I HATE THEM.

Exhibit C. Delivery/Restaurant Hours
There is none. With the exception of a pizza, or Thai food(with a minimum or $30.00) delivered to your door in an hour-hour and 45min. it just plain does not exist. And who needs $30.00 worth of pad-thai?
Restaurants in this town are LAZY! Or is it the lazy people who eat dinner at 5pm are ruining it for the rest of us? Most restaurants in Seattle are on a cryptic time frame where they are closed Sun-Tues., open 11:30-2pm for lunch then closed until 5pm for dinner. Then they stop serving dinner at 9pm. 9:00?!?!?! I'm sorry, we are not all wanting the early bird special and then to go home and catch re-runs of that terrible Charlie Sheen show, Two and a Half Men. Was there never a time in this fair city when people left work at 5-6 and then grabbed a couple cocktails before wanting to eat? Or what about going to see a show and then getting dinner after? Guess not.

Well, no more negativity for today. I guess I'm just crabby since the car was ticketed and towed this morning and no one will bring me Indian food for lunch.

Watch what you Wear

Clothes say a lot about a person. For example, if I wore a postmaster uniform, you would assume you could ask me the going price of a postage stamp, and presumably I would tell you to buy the really ugly liberty bell "forever stamps" since stamp prices will jump another 3-7 cents every 2 months and your stupid Picasso stamps will be worthless. (also, I just noticed that there is no cent symbol on the keyboard. There is the $ symbol...looking, looking...nope. No cent symbol. Strange).

Back to clothes. It is not only uniforms that say something about you. Very tight thin black jeans, a checkered middle-eastern scarf, large plastic framed vanity glasses(non-prescription lenses), and flat pointed shoes is a good indicator that you listen to obscure bands, spend your paycheck on PBRs and t-shirts from Urban Outfitters. OR you are a 56 year old lead singer from a 70's cover band that works 3 days a week serving pizza, and you date 20 year-olds whose biggest dream in life is to get a turntable to actually play their loose collection of vinyl on. No judgment.

The other night I went with my friend to a restaurant I had never been to before. I was wearing a super cute asian collared, red with silver and gold dandelion print dress from the 60's I found for $18. It was very cute. Very red. And very Asian. The restaurant we went to was Benihana. For those of you(like me), who don't know what that is, it is a Japanese(loosely inspired) restaurant with 0ver 80 locations in the US, including 9 branches in Texas and 4 in New Jersey. Imagine my delight(read: horror) at finding myself walking into an Asian-ish restaurant wearing what some could guess to be the uniform of it's employees. My best friend told me not to worry, no one would notice anyway.

The first round of food was served to us with impressive knife skills, however we were bathed in the steam and smoke from the grill being located at our table. I decided to go to the ladies room to see if any of my makeup had survived the grill-side facial. On the meandering walk back through the cavernous restaurant, I was asked by a woman "oh! is this your restaurant?" Even though all the employees wear black at this establishment, this woman assumed that because I was,

a). half the age of all the employees
b). a white woman
c.) wearing that damn red Asian-inspired dress!

that I owned the restaurant. Well, there was really only one response. I gave her a 100watt smile and said, "why yes! Are you enjoying your meal? Can I get your waitress to bring you anything else?" Thankfully the patron declined, because had they ordered another round of Sapporos or some edamame, they never would have gotten it. I posed my hands in that Buddhist prayer style, gave a bow-yes, BOW, and then told her "Dōmo arigatō" and walked away. I think that means "thank you"....or "make me a awesome sword so I can avenge myself against my former Judo Master"...I've seen Kill Bill like 20 times...either way... it sounded pretty good.

Well, thus proves my point that clothes are powerful. In the right hands they can bring you fraudulent restaurant ownership fame, but in the wrong hands they can make you blend in at a Phish concert. Moral of the story: I don't like hipsters or trust the post office. Also, Phish fans are ridiculous.

Sriracha Syndrome

So, it's been a couple of stressful weeks lately. Between work, making plans with friends getting back into town, moving and painting every wall in my house, and preparing for a show at my shop, I have started a strange activity I like to call "stress-spicing".

A close cousin to stress-eating, stress-spicing is when whatever you are eating or drinking you feel the need to punch in the teeth with cayenne pepper, cocoa powder, hand shaved nutmeg, bucketloads of curry sauce or my favorite: sriracha, sriracha and more sriracha!

What is this? Why does this happen? Well, having a degree in medicine and a doctorate in the way the brain works(also known as brainyography), I can tell you that the neural receptors for taste and sight are un-affected by time of day, amount of direct sunlight, or sexual preference.* Thus, I feel fairly confident in my assessment that "stress-spicing" (or as us medical professionals refer to it in the 2010 bio-medical journal Health-ish as "Spicicological Predispository Manipulating Syndrome*), is caused by the need to feel aware, awake, engaged and otherwise involved. Patients studied with this syndrome were found to have fairly boring, mundane, or lackluster lives. As Clinical Study Patient 2B put it; "I just don't really give a #$%&". Adding spice to foods is one way those suffering from SPMS try to enhance their lives and deal with the symptoms if not the actual cause of their condition.

A sister condition known as ACTE, Add Cheese To Everything, can be even more serious than SPMS since dairy and heavy calories are known to be hard on digestive tracks, and excessive calories can cause weight gain creating a side affect to ACTE known as WWMMNDA, Want to Watch Mad Men and Not Do Anything.

Hopefully my disclosure and honesty of suffering from SPMS will cause more people to come out of the closet where they have been spicing up their foods and we can all go play a super-charged game of tackle kick-ball while wearing flight attendant uniforms and chewing 18 sticks of gum. Time to spice up our lives not our mac-n-cheese!!!

*all medical claims and sources sited are fraudulent and have no basis in medical fact. The blogger does not posses any actual knowledge biologically speaking, or medically. In fact, she never learned the song the "leg bone is connected to the hip bone" and thinks that blood is "icky" and will faint at the sight of needles. She once asked to have her uterus removed so she could wear tinier belts.

Almost isn't Good Enough

This morning my lovely friend Jamie and I were piling brightly colored and patterned lamp shades into the car so that we could take them up to Queen Ann for a window display. Neither one of us had been indulged with coffee or breakfast and as we merrily finished loading the last of the shades, all we could think was- "great! this is only taking 10 minutes, soon we will have a cup of coffee in hand and we will finish this window so we can go get some delicious food at Cafe Presse".

Please note that I mentioned we were maybe parked on the side of the alley for 8-10minutes.

I had made sure to park against the wall so that other cars could still get by, and since my shop is in a fairly residential neighborhood, I figured at 10:37am, who is going to care?

Old, crotchety, barkingly-mad octogenarians that's who!!!

Old-man-white-Ford-Taurus pulls up and climbs out of his car- his little sedan that I guarantee you- could well make it past my car to drive on through the alleyway, and starts berating Jamie about parking there when I walk out with the last load of lampshades. Not only does he NOT ask if we(2 young girls in various un-practical shoes & over burdened with armloads of shades), need help- but he berates us? Jamie tells him "we're almost out of here", and he proceeds to yell at her as he clambers back into his white Taurus- "Almost isn't good enough!!!"

Um, what?

Yes. He actually said that. I think we can all surmise that this man was told that countless times as a child by his abusive mother before she walked out on him, thus leaving him to feel like all well-dressed, busy ladies are abusive and are taking up HIS valuable space- along an alley or otherwise. Look Scrooge, go get a therapist and work out your issues so you can leave un-suspecting ladies loading lamp shades into a beat-up Subaru alone!

Long blog short, why don't we give each other some leeway, a couple grace minutes, and back off a bit!? If we don't, we may find ourselves facing a alley in a white Ford Taurus hating our mothers and cursing out- "ALMOST ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!".... sounds good enough to me.

Stayin' Classy, Not Trashy.

Just in case there are any young, impressionable ladies reading this blog, here is a post especially targeted for you:

NO naked pictures.

They seem like a good idea at the time. It's 11:30 at night and you are texting a cute boy and he requests a "pic" of you. Send him a cute shoulder, elbow, knee, even your feet in a bath tub, but I guarantee you, sending a full frontal, boob shot, money shot, whatever shot- will not end well. I'm telling you the truth. Plus, why throw out all the mystique? A well captured coy look over your bare shoulder is by far hotter in tiny pixelated format than your boobs shot with your iphone's anamorphic lens. (Making them seem bigger but also completely distorting your nipples and honey, you don't need that).
Also, sending naked pics on the internet, or even uploading them onto your computer, is bad, BAD, news. Once it's in the interweb- you can never get it back. If you're looking for a career based on bad PR and gossip columns, by all means, send that money shot and hope it goes viral. For the rest of us though? Stay classy, not trashy.
Back in my day, or rather slightly before, naked Polaroids were the way to play it. They produced that under-developed artsy look and made all your flaws fade while casting you in this moody blue tone. That said, you can burn a Polaroid and there are no negatives, no back up files, no hard drive-thumb nail-copy folder somewhere. The carefree Polaroid was killed by the scanner though, so all in all, it's best not to get too risque in front of the lens these days.

Darlings, I hope you take this to heart. Sexting is great fun, but safe sexts is the best sexts. After all, as my good friend Lynda pointed out, Peaches Geldof was penned to write and produce and rock the UK fashion/editorial world until nudie pics of her surfaced. Let that serve as warning enough...oh, and don't name your daughters Peaches, Pixie, or Fifi.

Grab the day by the pink panties.

Yesterday I decided since I was in an "off" mood, the weather was bi-polar and my steam iron broke, I would pull myself together, wear my favorite panties, and just go get it! (the day I mean).

Well, here's how that turned out. I had to redo a lamp shade twice(I make lamp shades for a living if you don't know that), I received multiple texts from someone who I had canceled out of my life for good reason over a year ago, and I a ran into a girl on the street who the last time I saw her, she basically insulted me for half an hour over a coffee I bought her!

When you are feeling fragile and sensitive, the littlest things can seem huge. Yesterday when I got those "little texts", they sent me into this wretched freak-out attack, making me question if I was still "back there", or if this person would turn into a crazy stalker/killer and come and get me while I would be redoing this shade for the 4th time late that night. Today, having erased all those stupid texts, I realize that no one can come into your life if you don't want them to. They can text or call, maybe show up at your door. But you can, erase, not answer and slam that door in their face and go back to watching 30 Rock on your sofa, "eating my night cheese!", thank YOU, Liz Lemon. Sure they can pop back up when you least expect or want them to, but they don't get to take up any more space in your head then you allow.

That girl on the street? Well, she seems to have forgotten that last time I saw her she had left her manners, charm and common courtesy at home with her wallet, but it was classy and kind of me to buy her that cup of coffee, and it was absolutely RIGHT of me to not spend any more energy on someone like that. I have plenty of friends who deserve a good cup or charitable coffee that would spend that half hour sipping it and telling me jokes, witticisms, or just chatting pleasantly with me and appreciating the time spent together. I will continue spending $3.75(Seattlites will pay up to $8.50 for a cup of Joe, it's a sickness), and 30 min. with them. Done.

The lamp shade? Well, since my iron is still broke, and the new one hasn't arrived from the magical Amazon truck yet, I have a slight reprieve. I think I will use this time to hunt online for more pink panties, wearing them on days I don't feel "off" seems like a plan.

2:16 AM

I'm not a great sleeper. Ok, actually, I am horrible at it. Always have been. I read that people with insomnia are cheaters. Well, I've never been good at it, I haven't a clue who or what I was cheating on when I was 7...I'm pretty sure it is a biological flaw, not a character one.

You see, I am tired at all the wrong times. 3 in the afternoon, Sunday brunch hour, 8pm at night. That's what happened last night. I was falling asleep at 9:30 and had I forced myself to stay awake, read a book, watch Beetlejuice(again), it wouldn't have made me drift off perfect and peaceful come midnight. I would have stayed fixed on that book till "the end". I would have put in Edward Scissor-Hands after the credits rolled naming Michael Keaton in his(as far as I'm concerned)best role. I just do NOT sleep.

When I get to sleep, its either a strange and disturbing nightmare, a simple sound not expected, or the slight shift of my dog at the foot of the bed that wakes me, then the vicious cycle starts all over. I wish I could say I did something constructive with all the extra waking hours, but for the most part they are spent lying there in the dark thinking thoughts not allowed in daylight hours; "what if it doesn't stay this busy at the shop?", "did they mean it when they said that?", "is that spot on my arm cancer?"...it gets more creatively horrible from there.

So tonight, when I fell blissfully asleep at 10:49, I was due to awake with a start at 1:38. I laid there for 12minutes and then decided to just finish reading the latest Esquire, take(another)bath, write a blog, check my email, and then watch the damn Beetlejuice dvd again. (Dear Netflix, I don't care that I will never get to watch anything new, you are never getting this movie back).

I will go to work tomorrow, probably 2 hours early as always since I will wake at 7:34 and the shop actually opens at 10. I will make a bunch of lampshades, I will drink too much coffee, and I will inevitably be ready for sleep come 3pm. But at least with this ruined night I did something...productive; I took a bath.

Phone looses fight to a 5lb Squirrel

See this picture? Looks pretty innocent right? WRONG! This little guy is my pet Papillion(read Mogwai:no getting him wet, no food after midnight, etc. ), and he is a real nuisance!
Okay, okay, that is a little harsh. Here is what happened:
I am taking a bath, my phone is on a little table by the bath so I can answer when my Mom undoubtedly will call on her way home from work. Also, because I have a compulsory need to check what time it is and I think a watch will knock my look. Anyway. I am reading the Tina Fey article in this month's issue of Esquire, and my dog (if you can call something that weighs less than 6lbs a dog), runs into the bathroom, jumps up ONTO the table and "plonk"! there goes my phone into the bath!
I fish it out and do my best attempt of drying it off, taking the battery out and flailing it around trying to shake out all the mint and cucumber smelling water out. I grab a towel and as I am drying the screen off I see it gray out and flicker. Oh, shit. "DOG!!!" I now start yelling "Nikki!" as if he either cares or will change his evil ways of jumping up where he doesn't belong. He runs back into the bathroom, tongue out, smiling and looking up at me with this proud expression that says, "yes? did you call cute little me? I was just out in the living room wrangling your hair pins into bent shapes that will no longer hold hair. That and hiding your favorite bra from you".
As I look down at his pea-brain head I realize that this isn't just a phone to me. This is so much more. Here's a look at what my cell phone does for me on a daily basis:

1. clock. I look at it to determine time, how much time has passed, how much time I have left, etc.
2. calendar. I put all my appointments in this little piece of plastic with timers that go off to alert me when a meeting is, who its with, etc.
3. alarm clock. For when I was out till 3am and have to wake up at 7am. Yes, I still do this to myself on occasion. Not because I am young, but because I am to stubborn and too stupid to learn.
4. texting. Oh texting! My favorite way of communicating! You can relay info, send witticisms, flirt, all without a 8 minute preamble over the phone about "so, how are you lately...".
5. making phone calls. Yep. It does that too!

With all this said, can you imagine my panic when I realized I would be without all of this for a whole night until Verizon opened at 9am? Where is my xanax!?!

As it turns out, when I woke up this morning(at 9:15 because I couldn't set an alarm), I put the battery back in and the damn thing works. I immediately apologized to Nikki, though he could care less and had totally forgotten he was on my #@$% list anyway, and I said a big thank you to the brilliant makers of LG phones! You made a durable little piece of technology folks! You can be proud! Now I must go, I can tell by my phone I have wasted 12 minutes telling you all this.