Cops and Criminals

Thursday morning came bright and twinkling with the smell of cherry blossoms and magic newness! Awakened early by my alarm clock, I was ready and out the door by 8:00. My drive to the shop I own was just delightful! Tangerine and coral clouds clustered in small flocks in the sky, just enough to catch the first glorious rays of sun cascading over the mountains. Ahhhh...what a fine day to live in Seattle!
-----whew! WHEW! WHEW!----blaring, beeping sirens jolt me from my happy reverie. A cop car flips a bitch(U-turn in the middle of the street) and pulls up behind me. Lights blaring, an unnatural neon blue and strident red. I pull over as the sweating po-po gets out of his vehicle. Why are they always sweating? His car is a 2010, I'm sure it comes with A/C, plus it's 8am on a March morning, roll down the window it's sunny but freeeeezing out!
Up saunters the cop-one arm at his right hip, directly above his hand gun. Let's not forget to let this little lady in her friend's 1998 Subaru know where she stands, right lawman! My window rolled down, he asks for the requisite documents. I abide. He saunters back to the car, I flip around in my seat ready to yell "what did you stop me for mutha fucka!?", but he is already sweating and computering in his car.
When he returns, he tells me that the reason he pulled me over is because I had my dog on my lap while I was driving. And here is a $124.00 ticket.

My 4.6lb dog was curled up on my lap while I was driving on a sunny Thursday morning with no traffic, not on my cell phone, and wearing my seat belt going 25 mi. an hour.

Your right. What a hazard!!! Here is where I slooooowly take off my sunglasses take the green carbon copy from him and slooooooowly look back up at him and say "you will NEVER see a cent of this money". Here ensues a conversation which proceeds with him calling me "mam" at every opportunity like I am his 83 year old aunt, and me telling him: there is, to be sure, a judge at the King County Courthouse that would no doubt agree with me that there are FAR better ways for him to be spending his time. I spare him the long list of petty and not so petty crimes perpetrated against myself and/or my friends that perhaps had he been patrolling for actual evil doers as opposed to say, stopping a girl in a Subaru on a sunny morning for her dog sitting on her lap- her less-than-a bag of sugar-weighing dog, would never have happened.

I flick the ticket across to the passenger seat and then with a wave of my hand and a quick replacement of my sun glasses I tell him, "carry on!". As he looks at me in shock, I drive off thinking two things: will he follow me and beat me down with his baton for not showing his "authority" proper respect? And, while he makes an illegal u-turn while talking into his radio and flipping on his lights and sirens, isn't he far more distracted than I am?

Dear Seattle P.D., yet again you have astounded me with your acute sense of right and wrong and your can-do attitude when it comes to thwarting every last effort on the part of us criminals and lawbreakers. Well done! I think I can say with confidence, thank you for making Seattle such a safe place to live!

Heart!

When we are young, we ask ourselves "what do we want to be when we grow up?". I had so many answers for that question;
age 8 an oceanographer and marine biologist
age12 a chef, as well as a food photographer
age 14-17 a comedian
age 19 a race car driver
age 21 a landscape architect
age 23 a fashionista
age 26 Ann Wilson.

Yes folks, after much deliberation I have decided I want, NEED, to be young Ann Wilson- lead singer of Heart.

I need 3 things to complete my dream:

1. a rockin' bad ass amazing singing voice- check!
2. big threatening glorious hair- workin' on it!
3. cool. Dammit!

That's the one thing in my way! In fact it's the very same reason I'm not an awesome chef-marine biologist-comedic-architect: no cool. I just am NOT cool. I don't have the mystique. Something to do with the fact that I wasn't neglected or abused enough as a child(damn you mom and dad for giving me a good childhood!!!!), and the fact that I will always choose goldfish crackers over cocaine. Dangit.

Well, if I can't be Ann Wilson, I guess I will be happy being me: the lamp shade making, little dog owning, cheese craker eating, me.

Paying for sex is not the same as paying for someone to paint your nails.

Paying for sex is completely different than paying for someone to paint your fingernails.

Let's look at the top 10 reasons this is true:

1. there is no manicure pimp, sometimes there is a little Korean boy working the cash register.
2. sanitizing of the equipment is key in a nail salon and regulated by the board of health. The $20 tranny you picked up north of 87th, not so regulated.
3. Prostitutes don't take visa or mastercard. Nail salons won't take personal checks.
4. You can sit with your feet in peppermint scented hot water and have your feet scrubbed and a polish change for about $15. I hear you have to pay a prostitute $150 to do the same thing.
5. First thing a manicurist says to you when you walk in: "pick your color". First thing a prostitute says: "unzip"
6. Manicurists take your money after the service and if you mess up a nail, they fix it for free! Prostitutes take your money before service and if your not happy they send their pimp after you.
7. Manicurists take pride in their work. Prostitutes don't really care either way.
8. Manicurists have salons to go to, Prostitutes can point you to the nearest Holiday Inn or back of a van. (same thing really, but check out goes faster at the van).
9. Manicurists have pictures of their babies and family around their station. Prostitutes have tattoos of Looney Toon characters on their lower backs.
10. Prostitutes is spelled completely different than manicurist.

These are just some of the reasons paying for sex is not the same as paying to have your nails done. Happy thought of the day: I don't do either of these things for a living!

Dear Craigslist, You Lie!

Alone on a couch last night, approaching the midnight hour, I decided to watch a scary movie. That was a mistake. I am neither as brave or as secure in the dead bolt stability on the front door as I thought. That said, it seems a merry and snugly feeling to what I am enduring this morning: apartment hunting.

Oh yes. The apartment hunt. What horrors of horrors you expect to find are nothing in comparison to the reality of the beautiful craigslist post becoming a stained carpet-no water pressure-one window-nightmare. And that smell! What is that? Craigslist should have a search option much like the sort by price button, but it should be: sort by smell. The last place was an infusion of 500 cats and cigarettes dipped in teriyaki sauce. Oh. Dear. God.

Dear apartment gods, here is my short list of what I am searching for, if it isn't asking too much, thank you:

1. NO carpet. Is it unreasonable to not want my bare feet touching the grisly gray filth soaked carpet that has been through 34 tenants? I don't care that is has been steam cleaned with a dirt devil- I would rather have the most scratched and abused hardwood floors-1970's vinyl even- than you, nasty carpet.

2. A clean-mildew-mold free shower/bath. With enough water pressure and a big enough hot water tank to shower without it feeling like I answered an add in the Stranger for someone to pee on me.

3. a two bedroom unit that costs under $1,400.00. We do not live in London, Manhattan, Tokyo or Dubai. We don't have a fully functioning public transportation system or even a night life that goes later than 2am, believe me Seattle, you are lucky to get $950 for a 2 bedroom!

My list goes on; a claw foot tub, a dishwasher, w/d in unit, high ceilings, etc. But really, these three requirements are my only non negotiables. Heck, I'm willing to live above a really bad thai restaurant and smell the ketchupy pad thai they make every morning! (though living above a good thai restaurant and smelling their panang curry every night would be ideal...).

Well, as for now, the search continues. The good side: a sparkling wood floored-vaulted-ceilinged-directly facing Volunteer Park-refinished bathroom-$1,200/month miracle could still be out there waiting for me... I will find you my love! I will find you and never ever leave you! ...until my landlord raises the rent.

Mother of Invention

Picture if you will, a sweet middle aged woman. Short with graying curly brown hair wearing a pink robe, she stands in her dining room at 8:45 at night: dropping knives onto the floor on purpose. Yes, straight down-point sticking in the vinyl squares she has laid out at her feet. What the...?

This crazy lady is my mother and she is not actually crazy, just trying to decide if the new vinyl she is installing in the kitchen is too soft. This got me thinking about all the seemingly crazy and secretly strange things we do when we are alone. For example; someone I know eats only the patty of a hamburger dipped in tarter sauce and throws the rest away. Weird. Truly. Another unnamed friend taps on her teeth in the mirror and tries to "hear" if they sound brittle or strong. I am guilty of draining the bath tub and then continuing to lay in the empty cooling bath for another 35-40 minutes reading Esquire magazine. Bordering on psycho.

That said, is there anything more self indulgent and relaxing than just being ourselves? To do the things that-in some way or another-we all do, we just don't talk about? Okay, maybe it's weird to put potato chips on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but when my sister and I were 8 and 10 we did just that and enjoyed it openly! In fact, I remember distinctly thinking we were geniuses. This leads me to strange curiosity, not necessity, being the mother of invention in our century.

Exhibit A: the Snuggie. Yeah, you know how many times you have thought "I wish this blanket had sleeves so I could read this book without my forearms getting chilly"? I thought that at least 2.3 million times myself.

Exhibit B: the Spork. In a Pennsylvania kitchen late one night, some dude was like, "dammit! I made this chili con carne too thin for a fork, but a spoon seems not quite right... I wish I had a spoon with little prongs on the end"...viola! Spork!

Exhibit C: Facebook. Someone was tired of internet stalking being so time consuming and so he invented this interweb world where people would willingly put their details and thoughts out there for all to read, enjoy and stalk openly.

As someone who gets a little odd in my off time, thanks to Scott Boilen(manufacturer of Snuggie) and Hyde Ballard-Pennsylvania Spork man, you gents are courageous and much appreciated! No thanks to stalkers and Facebook inventor dude; you have both stole countless hours and liberty from my life. Boo to you.

Where is Connery When You Need Him?

My friend calls me around 2am this morning. I am house sitting for her and watching her two little cats, as the phone chimes I wake with a start-the first thing on my mind; "this better not be a booty call!" *note: who would be calling me for a booty call? I flatter myself.

I turn over my cell phone and see that it is my friend calling me from out of town-something is very wrong.

Turns out, her upstairs neighbor called to tell her that her car window was smashed in the driveway and she was calling me for details. Sadly, folks, I have no knowledge of this as I fell asleep watching the Hunt for Red October around 10:00. I put on some clothes- a haphazard ensemble consisting of a bra, leggings, a trench coat and stiletto heels. This is how the pros do recon in case you were wondering. Plus, part of me is thinking- I can be found dead in an alleyway with no shirt, but I gotta be wearing nice shoes.

Approaching the car with nothing but calm and assurance(read: trepidation and fear of the bogeyman around every corner), I find that indeed the window on the passenger side has been smashed, and by all appearances, not a thing was taken. Here is what Detective Heels deduced:

1. Either this was a pointless crime committed by some bored felon or teenage scoundrel, or:
2. It was a focused attack. Did I mention this was the second time her car window was smashed in a month? Or:
3. An asteroid fell from space and shattered the window but I couldn't detect it's remains amongst the other debris in the driveway.

Let's look at the evidence surrounding each possibility(this is how real detectives, as well as Sean Connery as Captain Ramius would solve this):

1. If it was a pointless crime, why was nothing taken? Where was the threatening note left in cut-up magazine letters? Why were no other windows broken? Aha! Because it was pointless!
2. If it was an evil, bad, nasty focused plot to, over the next few months, break every window one-by-one of my lovely and dear friend's Volkswagen Golf...knock it off crazy town! That poor girl doesn't need to be replacing every window of her cute little car and you should seriously look into getting some help with your projection against German automobiles!
3. The most plausible and obvious explanation is of course the simplest: billions of years ago, a star in the Clancy Nebula exploded, sending particles hurtling through space. One of those particles found itself over the northern hemisphere-exact location: Queen Anne Hill, Seattle, WA. As it entered the atmosphere, it began speeding up to the point where when it hit that beautiful and durable German auto glass, it was with enough velocity to shatter the window and knock a tape out of the tape deck.

Case closed. It is such a relief to know that we live in such a crime free city. Watch out for falling space particles though. Oh dear.

*Katie dear! This is not funny at all really, and I am so sorry this happened to you. We will get this sorted out, and I will keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior. Hugs to you. :(

And on the 8th day...

God ate a reuben sandwich. The end.