cinnamon and arsenic

Housewarming

2011-07-31T08:35:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. I know.

I think it's time to move on. Find me at my new home, irreverence press, if you're interested.

Hope you drop by!

The rules of detachment

2011-04-24T15:44:00.000-07:00

I took three days of vacation this past week. I've been stressed and needing a bit of a mini-break, plus my aunt is in town, visiting for the first time in the 25 years we've lived here. Excellent timing!

Dealing with the public is never easy. As a front-line-ish employee, my team and I are often the focal point for everyone's frustrations. And that's at the best of times. At the worst of times (which it admittedly it is as my company has just announced further impending service cuts, layoffs and the like) it's...well, it's worse. Couple that stress with the change in my job, etc., and it's been a challenge. It's been building up.

So I took some days, and my aunt and my mom and I played Seattle tourists for one of the days, visiting the Space Needle (I stayed on the ground, ah-thankyou) and Pike Place Market. We shopped, lunched, and generally had a great time.

The other two days? I did nothing. And it was everything I thought it could be.

I slept late. Like, LATE. For a girl who's used to getting up before 6, sleeping until 10 was deliciously indulgent. Waking up when my body wanted to wake up, that first morning stretch in my sunlit room, an extra fluffy and snuggly pup at my side.

Coffee. At least three cups every morning. Slurped leisurely-style, over the newz and interwebz.

Loo walks. Plentiful. Sunny.

I never checked work email. I never checked our company Facebook page. Ignorance was truly bliss. I made the grave mistake of logging on to my work email once this morning, and the stress and irritation and frustration boomed back into my world like a sledgehammer.

So I'm creating the rules of detachment.

It's not personal. This is my new mantra. I will repeat it to myself a thousand times daily if needed until it hits home. Me? I'm just a worker bee. I have no decision-making power. I'm not the reason that my company is where it is, nor will I be the one to "fix" the situation. It couldn't have less to do with me. When people are mean or combative, it's not personal. Remember this.
Be reasonable with my time and level of involvement. Facebook is 24/7. That means I get notifications by the minute when people are posting, ranting, raving. It's not all the time, but sometimes it sucks to have that telltale phone notification infiltrate my peace and quiet at home. So, set limits. Be reasonable. It can wait until I'm at my desk the next day. So can checking my work email. Shut it down.
Remove myself. Get out for lunch. Go for a walk, do my shopping or errands during that time. When I go out to lunch with friends, no work talk. Just shut it down.
Work out. I've only been doing this for a week or two, and still trying to figure out how best to fit it in my schedule. But the days I go, I feel the stress leaving my body through every muscle flex and every exhalation. It's helping me sleep better. It'll help me shed my "winter coat." Keep it up.
Stop trying to do everything. I am paid to do one job, and even though it's not the one I was hired for, it's my responsibility to do it the best I can. Stop picking up slack, stop troubleshooting. Watch the balls get dropped, as hard as that is to do. I cannot be the one to fix the situation.
Focus on life external. If work isn't going to be what fulfills me right now, I need to find other outlets. Leave by 5pm every day. Travel more. Actually use my vacation. Take a class. DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT.

Any other rules I should look to?

Sour grapes make bad whine

2011-04-08T07:06:00.000-07:00

I am doing something I've never done before: deleting a previous post. Not because I don't feel it, but because it's just bad shit to put out there right now and I should've known better. And also I might need to look for a place with a little more anonymity. :)

Cacao!

2011-03-11T07:19:00.001-08:00

Today I'm over it. Writing it out helped me vent and today I feel lighter and clearer.

If anything, this helps me clarify my path. Funny how that works sometimes...

Reorg'd

2011-02-07T18:44:00.000-08:00

There. I said it. The dirty word that I've been struggling to swallow for the past several months.

Remember how, a year or two ago, I wrote about my fear of losing the job that I loved so much? Yeah. It kind of happened. Still employed, but significantly reorg'd.

I've swallowed this because I have nowhere to go with it. We're losing good people - friends and coworkers whose time left at work is ticking down way too quickly. How can I be so disappointed when at least I'm still employed?

Because I'm now doing a job that I wasn't hired for, that I wouldn't have applied for. I sit between two teams of people and feel completely on my own, because I no longer fit with the team I left, and I don't belong to the team I joined. I finally changed my email signature, and it just about killed me. I miss my (former) boss who I rarely see anymore.

Every day, I try to put on my big girl panties and just suck it up and hope for the best. And every day, I come home emotionally exhausted, thinking only about putting on my pajamas and cracking open a beer. What an awesome way to spend my time. What a delight I am to be around.

I'm not the only one - though I am the only one who had the drastic job change. But we're all pretty damn miserable. Politics, lack of budget, impending doom, future layoffs just waiting in the wings. We're all affected. I'm not special.

But I'm miserable. All I want is to love what I'm doing. But maybe this is how the other 99% live.

Yaaaaaaaaaaay.

The worst

2011-01-17T20:12:00.000-08:00

Me. I'm the worst. I haven't written in eons. I learned from a friend that Wordpress has a "write a blog a day" challenge for 2011, or a blog a week for the more casual writer. Despite my Blogger allegiance, I was going to try and get in on that, and I've already royally fucked up. Le sigh.

I'ma try to get on this. I almost wrote one last week. Does this one count?

The waiting game

2010-09-19T14:11:00.000-07:00

We had a "huddle" on Friday at work, where our Directors laid out the timeline for the impending layoffs. Those of us who are being let go will be notified by Sept. 28. Ouch. The silver lining is that the actual layoffs won't come until April 1 (April Fool's Day, really??!?), 2011, which allows plenty of time for planning - very generous of our company and truly a rare thing these days.

I've never known what it's like to dread every meeting with my boss - I adore her and I would walk through fire for her, so it's not normal for me to feel a sense of doom when I have either my regular weekly meeting or something more impromptu. I know everyone's feeling this way. I know it's hard on her, too - having to make these kind of calls.

I just want to KNOW, you know? I've never been good at the waiting game.

Cold hearted

2010-09-09T16:39:00.001-07:00

I discovered this on a break today: if you play Hearts on your computer, it's waaaaaaaay more fun if you change the names of the computer players to people you have hated at one point or another.
"Ha ha, ____________! You got stuck with the queen of spades!"

"Suck it, ___________! I totally jacked up your sorry attempt at shooting the moon."

It's the little things in life that entertain me.

--posted from my badass htc evo--

Uncertaintea

2010-09-02T13:47:00.000-07:00

Ain't much water in the workplace water cooler these days. Instead, we all huddle and whisper around a tall carafe of strong-brewed uncertaintea. We know the layoffs are coming...we're just waiting to see when and who and how many.

The heavies go into closed-door meeting after closed-door meeting. Our bosses emerge looking stressed and depressed, because they know they have to let some of us go. It's unavoidable. And they might be going themselves.

I feel like we're all lined up in a row with our necks stretched across guillotines. You're laying there with friends and coworkers on either side, not knowing when your blade is going to fall or whether it's going to fall at all. You're as worried about the blade slicing down on your coworkers as you are about the blade poised above your own neck. Nobody is going to walk away from this unscathed, no matter whose blades stay standing.

This uncertaintea is poison.

Gummy epiphany

2010-07-29T14:29:00.001-07:00

It has taken me forever to realize that spending the money to buy more expensive gummy vitamins is actually well worth it, because I will actually take them. Tasty little bastards.

-posted from my badass htc evo-

Sound unheard

2010-07-28T15:32:00.000-07:00

I think everyone has a few bands who you'd put on your "sound unheard" list. You know, the few artists whose albums you'll buy the day they drop without having heard a single track. Because you just KNOW.

I used to have a much bigger sound unheard list. DMB, Keane (sorry, boys - I learned my lesson with Perfect Symmetry, and did not repeat it with Night Train thank GOD), Snow Patrol (removed from list after Eyes Open), Jamie Cullum, Muse, the Shins, even Coldplay, whom I still adore but have been demoted to the "preview the cd on Amazon first and see if it's worth downloading" list. John Mayer got booted down to the preview list, too, along with most of those others.

Now my sound unheard list has been whittled down to this choice duo: Arcade Fire, Ray LaMontagne. I will buy either of these artists' albums the moment they become available, without a preview, without reading the Paste review first, without having talked to anyone or heard what KEXP thinks.

This post is kind of a cheat because the whole reason I feel inspired to write this is that I CANNOT WAIT FOR THE NEW ARCADE FIRE TO DROP ON TUESDAY!!! I'm cheating because I have actually heard three or four tracks off the upcoming album (though I guarantee my excitement would be the same even if I hadn't), and I am ridiculously happy. I'll be downloading it the instant Amazon unlocks it. I feel like it's been forever since Neon Bible, and I desperately hope that a US tour that includes a stop in Washington or the surrounding area (Vancouver, B.C. would be epic!) is in the works. Their concert is probably still the best live show I have ever seen. But I digress - their sound is one I love so consistently that I feel solid about buying anything that they put out without having heard it.

Same goes for Ray. Ray has a new album coming out soon, and I heard the preview single and loved it instantly, of course. But he's another one where I've bought his last two albums without having heard a peep. And have tikkies to see him in September. Yes please!

Anyway, I just wonder which artists make the cut on other people's sound unheard lists. Yours?

Campfire girl

2010-07-19T19:18:00.000-07:00

Things from my camping trip last week:

Drive through a mint field in eastern Washington. It's stunning. It was a sunny, cloudless day and it was hot in the car - windows down, sunroof open. Suddenly we passed a mint field and I swear, the air was so lush, sharp and green that the temperature in the car felt like it dropped 8 degrees. It smelled A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.

Vindaloo is an insanely good travel dog. I pop her bed in the back seat, and she just alternates between sitting with her head out the window (to the delight of passers-by) and curling up on her bed for napping or checking out the scenery. Not a peep out of her. She's amazing. At one point, I stopped and got some chicken nuggets for lunch, and every once in a while I'd break off a small piece and reach back to feed it to her. She takes it so gently, all I feel is a tiny puff of muzzle and then hear a crunch-crunch-crunch. It's at least my third favorite thing that she does. Also at the campground, I never have to leash her (although you are supposed to). She never wanders off on her own. When I walked to the garbage or to get water, she is right at my side and never strays. We use hand signals to tell her to sit or lay down or stay when I am walking on the other side of the site. She climbed right in the tent with me and snugged up, quiet as a mouse (except for a couple warning growls when she heard things in the night). She's pretty much an angel and every trip with her makes me more and more grateful for the amazing dog karma I somehow accrued.

Sometimes, I really love being alone. One of my favorite things on earth is being the only car on a road. That happened a few times on this trip. On the last leg out to the lake, I was the only car headed that direction past gorgeous lakes and canyons. Taking my own path - I kind of like that metaphor.

I made the BEST playlist before I left. Some new stuff, mostly pretty mellow. Normally I like really upbeat stuff when driving, but mellow just felt like the right voice for this trip. Brandon Flowers, Kings of Convenience, Damien Rice, Ray LaMontagne, Death Cab, Owl City, Snow Patrol, Tori Amos, etc. The one exception to the mellow was my favorite album of the moment, "Treats" by Sleigh Bells. I had to throw a couple tracks on this playlist and they were awesome. The Damien Rice song I'm currently obsessed with is Lonelily, and I must've repeated that track like 37 times in a row. I can't just hit the repeat button on my stereo because all the labels have worn off the buttons, and I'm worried that once I found it I wouldn't be able to turn it off. So I just manually replayed it over and over. It was gorgeous and perfect.

Sun. It does a body good. In moderate doses. What does not do a body good are mosquitoes, which ravaged me even though I used enough bug spray to level a beehive. Also, I learned that spraying bug spray on your feet will murder even the glossiest of pedicures.

It was impossible not to think of B on this trip, just like it was last year. We spent a lot of time in eastern WA over the years, mostly for DMB concerts. We camped all the time at Salmon la Sac and Getty's cove, ate breakfast at a tiny cafe in Cle Elum that I loved because they had vegetarian sausage, took jetskis out on the Columbia, and generally had an amazing time. I thought it was funny that the one DMB song I put on the cd, Grey Street, came on literally just as I got to the Gorge exit. They were pleasant memories, but some brought that sharp pang. It's just there - just my reality sometimes. I've gotten to the point where I don't love or hate it anymore. It just is what it is.

Apparently, I still make a kick ass campfire. And I still love making them. The little pyro who accidentally set her parents' living room carpet on fire (and, as punishment, was banned from watching the Garfield Easter special that night, which was the worst punishment I could imagine) hasn't really faded.

I loved how Vindaloo's bright green collar coincidentally matched her bright green lifejacket. Also, I love that I make her wear a lifejacket. Mostly it's just because if she fell out or jumped in, it'd be a bitch to haul her back in without something substantial to grab onto, and I don't really want to jump in after her. Unless it's really hot.

My tent rocked. I bought a little 3-person Coleman tent at Fred Meyer for $50 before I left. B and I used to camp all the time, but all the stuff was his. I've never built up my own supplies, though I've been meaning to for years. Anyway, I wanted a nice backpacking tent but the trip snuck up on me and I didn't want to drop big money on something until I know for sure it's what I want. So I figured this tent would be perfect for Vindaloo and me and our gear. Everyone else was staying in trailers, motorhomes and cabins. Once again, the black sheep (and her black dog!). But I don't mind in the least taking care of myself - in fact, I prefer it. Anyway, the first night there were like gale force winds, and that tent took a serious beating and held up like a little orange champ. I'm psyched! Nothing like putting it through the wringer on its first night out. It was comfy and had great ventilation and was the perfect size for my sleeping bag, Loo's big comfy bed and a couple bags of gear.

Next year, I think I'll only go for a day or two. It was fun as hell and I loved the time with my family, but being the only one without kids now is a bit odd. Everything is very kid-centric, which makes sense - everyone else has them. But there were times where I really found myself missing the adult time we used to have, drinking around the campfire for hours or heading out to waterski at the drop of a hat anytime a handful of us wanted to. It's just not the same and I'm trying to learn that. Doesn't mean it can't be awesome, it's just going to be different from now on. Which means I am allowed to feel differently about it.

Stalk options

2010-07-09T14:53:00.000-07:00

I'm a self-proclaimed Google girl. I love me some Google. Pretty much anything they produce, I'm on it - Gmail. Chrome. Reader. Picasa. Blogger. iGoogle. Android. I love that Google is its own verb, and that it now represents any kind of online searching - kind of like Q-tip became the overarching brand name for all cotton swabs, Rollerblade for inline skates, Band-Aid for bandages. Chapstick, iPod, Kleenex. Need something? Google it. (sorry, Bing - for me, you're just not on the level of being your own archetype).

But one area in which Googling has its drawbacks is that there's really nothing unfindable anymore. Nothing unattainable, unreachable or under the radar. And most of the time, that's stellar. It's only bad when it comes to Googling those things you know you shouldn't Google and that lie mere f i n g e r t i p s away.

You know what they are.

For me, it's ex-boyfriends. It's finding out the stuff that you shouldn't really know and deep down, don't really want to know. The unspoken catch here is, of course, that Googling works in reverse. People are Googling you, too. They're checking up on you, finding out stuff that they shouldn't really know. And if it's not Google, it's MySpace/LinkedIn/Twitter/Facebook/Tumblr/Foursquare/etc., times infinity.

Within the past few months, I found out that there are a couple ex-boyfriends who follow this blog. I was surprised (shocked, actually!) because I tried very hard to remove any real-world attachment to myself. No full name attached, no links to email addresses or anything else. One of them, I'm not at all sure how he located this space. The other I did mention it to while we were dating - I just didn't think he would remember it. I felt like my anonymity was compromised a weense - and then I decided it didn't matter, because I'ma write what I'ma write anyway.

There are so many stalk options available to us now that it's a bit overwhelming. I went to a social media conference the other week, part of the PRSA development seminars, and the keynote speaker was Peter Shankman (Google him - super worth it!). He mentioned that he recently attended his 20 year high school reunion and he discussed how social networking has completely changed the face of those events. Now, it's no longer "I can't WAIT to see what __________ looks like!" Now you see their pics tagged on friends of friends' pages on Facebook. You see that Jane got married to Mike. You know that Bill works for X company. Peter said now it's more like, "so hey, how was that French restaurant you tried on Tuesday?"

The mass amount of instant information available to us is pretty overwhelming. If you wanted to sit home and stalk someone, you'd find it pretty damn easy. Plenty of options at your fingertips.

Happily, most of us have lives and other things that keep us busy. But I challenge anyone to say that they've never Googled someone they shouldn't have Googled.

Home fauxnership

2010-06-27T10:22:00.000-07:00

I almost bought a house last year. It's kind of weird now thinking about where I'd be if I had - would I be happy? Fed up with the godawful yardwork that I've come to hate? Torn by the wanderlust that creeps up from time to time?

I'm just not ready to be there yet. Thankfully, I have great friends who are.

Alexis and her husband Chris bought a home last August in Oregon. I must have visited them at least half a dozen times since then. They even named their guest room the "Jillie and Meli" room, for me and our other bestie Meli to stay in when we visit. They were both so excited to show me the room after they'd painted it and outfitted it with a gorgeous bedroom set.

Alexis is officially one of my oldest friends - we were roommates freshman year in college, which means she's been a bestie for coming up on 12 years. Living together in college made us super close right off the bat, and I've always felt welcome in the places she's lived since. Her off-campus apartments our junior and senior years, the duplex she lived in when she met and eventually married Chris, and now their gorgeous historic home.

It's a truly special and wonderful thing when you feel as welcome and as comfortable in someone else's home as you do in your own. Most of the time I'm the first one up, and there's nothing weird about me heading out to the kitchen and getting the coffee started for me and Chris (Alex is a tea drinker). Vindaloo is welcomed with open arms, too - she must look forward to these visits as much as I do, when she gallops around the backyard for hours with Luigi and Bindi and then collapses in the shade of their huge chestnut tree. She greets Alexis and Chris every morning with a happy smile, endless wags and nuzzles. Today, while Chris works and Alexis has a ton of other commitments pulling her away from home, they've welcomed me to stay as long as I like, soak up the sun in their beautiful backyard, and to generally make myself at home.

This home fauxnership might be the way to go for me. Instead of owning my own place, just have an assortment of wonderful friends across multiple states who welcome you to their homes; help them pick paint colors and set up the badminton net in the backyard. Bring your dog for epic playtime with theirs.

"Make yourself at home," they say - and they really mean it. And that means so much to me.

Almost always alliterative

2010-06-23T13:53:00.001-07:00

I just noticed that almost all of my recent posts have alliterative titles. I promise I am not trying to be cutesy. It just worked out that way.

Double dipping

2010-06-23T13:48:00.000-07:00

Did you know that the third ingredient in sweet & sour sauce is ketchup?

Really? Why wouldn't you, dear manufacturer, just add the requisite amount of tomato paste, vinegar, etc., to your sauce?

I object. You can't just take an existing sauce and use it to create your new sauce. That's totally cheating.

Bad blood

2010-06-21T20:04:00.000-07:00

I can pinpoint exactly when my squeamishness first started. In high school, B had a minor surgery, and his recovery required some kind of drainage tube attached to a small bag that collected the blood. He had to empty the bag a couple times a day, and measure the amount of blood collected so he could report back to the doctor on the progress. The first night he emptied it, I was over at his house and his parents and I were all standing around ready to help. I'll never forget how starkly red his blood was against the white sink.

I'd never felt faint before - but if it's possible for your world to suddenly become etched only in shades of grey, that's exactly what happened. All color seeped out of my vision and the dizzies set in like never before. I excused myself and went out on to the back porch and sat on the steps in the cold air, breathing deeply with my head between my knees. I really thought I was going to puke or pass out or both. I felt bad that he came out to check on me, when it should have been the other way around.

Since then, I've had a hard time with other people's blood. And in hospitals. I don't like tubes, IVs, bags, fluids.

My dad had his angiogram today - the second heart procedure that he's undergone, and only the second time I've seen him in a hospital bed. I tried so hard to be upbeat and funny and to keep him and the rest of my family at ease - sometimes I feel like that's my responsibility alone.

I did ok until I stood around the other side of his bed where the IV was running into his hand, and various tubes snaked around his hand and arm and body. The greyness started creeping in - I got a little short of breath and slightly panicky. I took a few deep breaths and looked out the window and that seemed to help. I did a relaxing breathing technique that I learned years ago, which is sometimes the only thing that can really calm me in these situations.

The weird thing is, I have no problems whatsoever with my own blood. When I've gotten cut, it doesn't faze me. The time I stepped on a piece of broken plate I was fascinated that I could see into my foot and I kept prying it open to look at it. I donate blood regularly, and even seeing other people in that capacity doesn't bother me. I think it's because we're all there willingly; none of us are vulnerable or unwell. I think maybe that's why my own blood doesn't creep me out - it's mine, and I know I'm ok, and it's no big deal. But I can't stand seeing other people, particularly those that I love, in such vulnerable positions.

I'd like to think that in a crisis I'd be able to manage - to shove aside that impending greyness and force my world back into technicolor so I could concentrate enough to help whoever was in need. I think I could do that. But I'm glad I haven't had to test it out.

Wishing well

2010-06-20T20:33:00.000-07:00

I'm happy to report that it's been a full year and I am still standing - taller than ever, in fact. Last year I wrote about the day the world stood still - for kicks I went back and read that post today. I remember how it felt that day, knowing that my first love was getting married, and being surprised that I handled it as well as I did.

B is kind of my kryptonite. Always has been. As recently as November, when I wrote about my second wave, that realization that I'll always carry him with me was pretty overwhelming. I just wanted to be free of him completely, to never let him cross my mind again.

Early this year, I learned that he's moved on to an even more amazing restaurant than the one where he'd been exec chef for the past few years. This unreal feeling came over me - it was sheer happiness. Happiness for B and his talent, and pride that he's doing exactly what he set out to do. It was the first time I'd felt a strong wave of emotion for him where there was nothing but positivity caught up in it. It felt amazing to just feel genuinely happy for him and to wish him all the best.

I know now that I will always carry him with me in some small way...it's unavoidable because we spent so many years of our youth together. Whether it's the way I live or love or merely the lessons learned, there's part of me that wouldn't be the same today without having loved him.

Even when I falter (and I say when, not if, because kryptonite is still kryptonite), it's amazing to have felt such genuine positivity toward him. And having done that once, I know it'll be easier to resurrect that positive feeling and keep the wishing well full.

Facelift

2010-06-19T10:25:00.000-07:00

Blogger added some new template options and I finally had time to sit down and play with them a bit. Just when I'd been thinking of switching over to Wordpress, because they had more customization. Nicely timed, Blogger.

Sometimes it's good to have a fresh start.

Candy coated

2010-06-06T20:33:00.000-07:00

I have a hard candy shell. It's necessary to protect my delicate, sweetish inner self, which --without the shell-- would melt and waste away. I've always known about the shell, but lately I think it might be solidified with Kevlar and carbon fiber in addition to the usual sugar, confectioner's glaze and red no. 40.

Have you ever watched yourself from a third-person perspective when you're with somebody else? I've been doing that a lot lately. When I'm spending time with certain people, my hard candy shell is a tangible thing.

With K, my shell is at its hardest, most impenetrable level. I'm like the most extreme version of myself. Still me, but extremely me. I'm harder. More sarcastic. More caustic. More antagonistic. Probably other things that end in "ic." These are all words I'd use to describe myself anyway, but with him it's the biggest version of all of them. The bottom line is I don't really want him to like me - not the way he likes me, anyway. I want him to find me too all-of-those-"ic"-words I just listed.

With A, it's softer. I'm more of a gummy bear than a hard candy. He's safe, he's sweet - he knows a bit of the inner-me already. The shell wouldn't work as well with him.

The candy coating is really a protective mechanism. Much like the famed M&M, you don't want someone to melt you before you're ready for it. A nice candy shell offers a layer of protection that can be easily penetrable under the perfect combination of circumstances.

There is nothing worse than allowing someone inside that shell - being your real, true self with someone, and having them not like you anyway. The handful of times where I've been able to be myself with someone right off the bat - those have been the most devastating when they fail.

You wish you'd had your candy shell on, so at least you could've looked back and said "you know what? That wasn't the real me anyway. You never gave the real me a chance." But you can't use that excuse here. You can't sugarcoat that shit. You were YOU, and they still didn't like you.

So my shell is harder, GLOSSIER, and it's reinforced with carnauba wax.

I'd love to live life as a gummy bear. But a candy coating extends your shelf life.

Wanderlust

2010-05-29T13:13:00.000-07:00

Two years ago at this very same time, I was in Europe. Four years ago at this same time of year I was "living" in California. Five years ago? Portland bliss. Nine years ago, college in Salem. Ten years ago? Washington, D.C. Eleven years ago, estaba estudiando en Ecuador.

My wanderlust is creeping in again. My own history has taught me that after a certain amount of time in the same place, the desire to move or move on rises up in me and makes me crave something different, whether it's a road trip, an extended vacation or maybe even a full-on uprooting.

When 2010 began, I felt so settled. And happily so - I didn't feel like I'd settled, just that I was completely content with where I was in life and location. But things change, environments change - and now I'm here with this sense of needing something more or maybe just something different.

The work environment, where I spend most of my time, has really changed with budget woes and economic effects. Most of my time is spent breaking bad news to people, and there are days where it takes so much out of me. Other days, I actually relish the opportunity to have conversations with people where I feel that I'm able to explain why we are where we are, and those real connections reward me.

But more than just the effort of outreach is the notion that things have really changed. Will they ever get back to where they were? Everyone tells me there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but I haven't been through this in a workplace before so I don't know how to gauge it. I told a friend the other week that I missed being in love with my job. He quipped "I know - you two were so happy together!" Word.

Spending a long weekend in Portland a couple weeks ago was the definition of bittersweet. I loved every single second of that trip, but the bitter edge came with the reminder of everything I had there that I don't have here. A gorgeous city that I know and love well. Walkability and being close to everything I need. Amazing people on every corner. Great friends aplenty. Awesome memories. It was almost impossible to leave and come back up north.

At the very least, I need a vacation. Somewhere sunny with tropical drinks and vitamin D and lush surroundings. Hawaii? South America? Some exotic island paradise?

Some sunny something to tide me over. Something to quell this wanderlust, or at the very least to help me figure out how lusty it really is - am I looking for a fling, or a long-term relationship?

17 days of (500) Days of Summer

2010-05-20T19:59:00.000-07:00

My latest obsession is the movie (500) Days of Summer. I got it from Netflix a few weeks ago, and have no intention of returning it soon. Ironically, I'm kind of in love with it.

I love how it's an anti-love love story. Sometimes those are my favorite love stories of all, because they're real. I wrote about that once before, my preference for harsh and hurtful "love" stories over sappy and trite romantic comedies. The same holds true for this movie, which warns you up front that it's not a love story at all. Love is never as neat and nice as those rom-coms would have you believe, because love always involves more than one person. While you might be able to control or direct yourself to move in one way or another, you can never really ensure the other person is along for the ride.

Lately, being where I am includes wanting to watch this movie a lot. I've only watched it twice (so far), but it's been in my mind for days.

I think I love everything about it - music, styling, the way they shot LA, how transit-friendly it is, the adorable Ikea moments, the precocious little sister, Joseph Gordon Levitt (grown up, much?), how the things he loves about her become the things he hates about her, the distance she creates, the Expectations vs. Reality scene, his interpretations of her actions, and I absolutely LOVE the fact that he works for a greeting card company and spends his life giving other people the words to say what they're incapable of saying on their own.

I know I'll watch it at least one more time before I send it back. And then I'll probably buy it. I can see it being one of those movies that I just feel like watching from time to time, when I'm being where I am.

Helpless

2010-05-13T18:24:00.000-07:00

Just now on the way home from work, I drove past a guy who was being mean to his dog and it made me burst into tears.

I came around the corner and started down the hill, and saw this guy out on the edge of the road. He was talking on his phone, and then I saw this little bundle of fur down at his feet. I thought for a second he was playing with the dog, and even smiled at the thought - but then he grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and basically threw it onto the gravel near his car. The poor little crumpet cowered down again near the tire, and as I drove past the guy was reaching down for it again.

Maybe this was an anomaly - maybe the guy is normally great with the dog, but today it ran out onto the road and the dude was angry and trying to get it back from the street. But come on! I will never understand how people can be physically cruel to animals, dogs especially.

I wanted to slam on my brakes and get out of the car and slap this dude across the face and steal the dog and take it home with me, where it would know love and affection and peace. It breaks my heart to think that this is the poor dog's day to day existence. Why would someone have a pet and then treat it so poorly? What's the point? Reason number 4,367 why I like animals better than people.

All I could do was drive past. I could've stopped and yelled at the guy, and risked making him angrier at which point he might have been more cruel to the pup. I felt really helpless and sad.

The only way I could feel better was to be extra great to my dog today. When I got home and Loo came in from the sunshine all warm and happy and wagging, I gave her extra extra loves. And Saturday we'll go and walk with our friends at the Oregon Humane Society to raise money for all the dogs and other animals that need good homes.

It's not going to help this particular pup, but sometimes you have to start with whatever makes you feel less helpless, and then build from there.

ISO an ICE

2010-05-10T19:51:00.000-07:00

Nothing makes you feel so hopelessly single as designating an "in case of emergency" contact (ICE).

Most of the time, my ICE is my mom. For work, my doctor, in my cell phone and other things, my mom has always been my go-to. I never really gave it much thought until recent years when I realized that most of my friends and all of my family have graduated to having someone else listed as their ICE. Not this girl.

Today I took Loo to the vet for her vaccine updates, and I also decided to finally get her microchipped - something I intended to do a year ago and never got around to. So I'm filling out the paperwork in the vet's office, and one thing they ask you for is an ICE contact. It's supposed to be someone who likely wouldn't be with you if you lost your dog away from home on, say, a family camping trip. And many of the times I travel away from home and have Loo with me are for, say, family camping trips. With my mom.

DAMMIT.

The girl behind the counter suggested that "your boyfriend" or "your husband" (LOL!!) would be good options.

Oh, honey. Wouldn't they? Wouldn't they just be the perfect options? The universe seems to sense your extra-vulnerable days and likes to throw you these amusing reminders of where you really are in the grand scheme of things. Touche, uni.

So then I sit there, wracking my brain and thinking "who can I list that will take it seriously and really come through for me if my beloved furry baby got lost? Who would understand just how important this ICE is for me? And also, who would answer their phone??!?"

I grabbed my cell and called my dearest Psue Psue, sparkle ninja extraordinaire, animal lover, relative neighbor, phone-answerer and extreme tolerator of my Vindaloo mania.

Thanks, Psue Psue. IOU.

Table for one

2010-05-04T18:24:00.000-07:00

Until last month, I don't think I've ever gone out to eat by myself. Maybe with the exception of hitting the dining hall in college for a leisurely study brekkie or something. I guess it never really felt right - always a little too self-conscious or something. Like somehow you would just stand out horribly as the one person in the entire restaurant who's there by herself. I think it's a girl thing - most women I know don't feel comfortable going out to lunch or dinner on their own, at least not without a good book. I mean, most women even go to the bathroom in pairs, for sobbing out loud. Sitting all by your onesie for a meal in public? Forgetaboutit.

So nobody was more surprised than me that I suddenly did this three or four times last month. The first time, I hadn't really planned it - it just happened. I was down in Portland and out doing some shopping while the friends I was staying with were at work. Suddenly it was 2:00 and I realized I hadn't eaten all day, so I stopped off and grabbed lunch. "Just you?" the hostess asked.

"Yep. Just me."

I was a little intimidated - I didn't even have a book with me or anything, so it really was me myself and I at the table.

And it was kind of awesome! I found that I didn't feel weird at all sitting there by myself. I read the menu, ordered some lunch, sipped my drink, looked around, people-watched, checked email, watched some of the Masters, ate my lunch, paid my bill, and that was that.

This happened another time or two in Portland, because I was there for a few days and although I was on a mini-break from work, most of my friends were still working.

And last week on the way back from the doctor when I'd been fasting all day for my blood work, I was crazy hungry and stopped at my favorite Vietnamese sandwich shop. Just mi and my banh mi at the table.

Why did I think this would be so horrible? I think it's one of those things that you build into a much bigger deal than it is. It's funny to think that I'd never done it before and now I wouldn't think twice about it.

Feeling comfortable in my own skin is something I'm so grateful to be learning as I get older.

Restoration hardware

2010-04-20T19:14:00.000-07:00

I had dinner with a friend recently and as we were chatting over our steaks and Scuttlebutts, one of the topics we stumbled across was the notion of starting over. You know, hitting your rock bottom and then somehow, someway, restoring yourself.

It's been a while since I really thought about that. The conversation brought me right back to my 2006 self, which was the only rock bottom I've really known. There have been plenty of other times when I've been down or recovering from one thing or another, but never all at once like that.

My friend told me about recovering from divorce; how he felt and what he did and how much he grew as a result of that experience. I decided the restoration hardware might be different for all of us, but we all have to find the tools that work for us.

Here's my system:

First, you need a crisis. Or two or three or four simultaneously. The more the better, really. The more crises you can pile on there, the more growth you can accomplish at once. So 2006 for me was quitting my job, moving out of state to be with a guy, having it turn out to be awful, leaving the guy, heartbreak, moving home with my parents at age 26, being jobless and having no possessions. Check.

Then, you need a slump. This is the most important part of the rock bottom. You need to let yourself be where you are. WALLOW in that shit for as long as you need. This is the part that lots of people struggle with, myself included. We're not taught to do this. You're supposed to "shrug it off," or tell yourself "it's his loss," or whatever other Pollyanna stuff has been fed to us for years. I think this part is especially hard for men, because while no one likes to see a girl wallowing in her pity party, it's even less socially acceptable for men (not that I agree with that - it's just how it's been laid out). 2006 is also when a friend told me those sage words that I now live by: "be where you are." In other words, be where you gotta be until you don't need to be there anymore, and then you won't be. Separate incident, but when all the shit went down with B, I never let myself be there. No coincidence (at least in my mind) that I hung onto that sitch for over 7 years before I could let it go.

Coming off the slump part, you might feel numb. You're probably so sick of feeling blue that you'd rather feel empty for a while than feel much of anything. That's cool - go back to the "be where you are" part, and if that's numb, that's numb.

Then comes the first step toward restoration: self-awareness. Be real. Own up to your own shit. Take a look inside yourself and ask yourself the hard questions that not even your family or best friends have the balls to ask you. Then, ask them again. Ask yourself these questions over and over until you've peeled away the layers of filter and excuse from your answers and you're left with cold, hard fact. 2006 - I know there were parts of that on me alone. MY decision to quit my job, sell my stuff, and move. No one else's. MY avoidance of the red flags that had been hanging out in my peripheral vision. MY decision to walk away. Did I fail at that part of my life? Absolutely. For someone with a fear of failure, that's rock bottom right there.

But now comes the BEST part of restoration: getting better. Not just healing from whatever crisis caused it - I mean actually getting BETTER. Improving as a person. Becoming a better version of yourself. I commented once before on this blog that I don't even remotely resemble the girl who moved for a boy in 2006. I literally don't recognize that person and it makes me uncomfortable to revisit her. Because the crises, the resulting slump, the numbness, and the asking (and answering) my own impossible questions led me beyond that point and I don't exist there anymore. I couldn't even if I wanted to.

It's so weird to refer to that rock bottom as the worst and best thing that ever happened to me. It's strange to think that the version of me I know today wouldn't exist without having gone through that. The restoration process taught me things like, "I will never edit what I really think because I'm afraid of what someone else will say," or "I will never allow someone else to determine my self-worth." "I'll never settle for less than I want/deserve," and "This will not break me." Before the restoration, I honestly never thought any of these things. Today I live by them.

I know I'll encounter other rock bottoms in my life, some of which may be worse than 2006. But I'm glad that I found this set of tools that work for me, and I'll keep them clean and organized and ready for future restorations.

We all need a good set of tools, right? You can borrow mine anytime.

Double dog dare

2010-04-14T17:05:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been thinking a lot about getting a second dog. In Portland last weekend, Loo and I met up with my friend Nicole and her husband Peter and their 5 rescued dogs at the park. Nicole is one of those amazing people who really walks the walk - she and Peter both volunteer at the Oregon Humane Society, and annually champion the largest team for the OHS fund raiser, the Doggie Dash (Loo and I are joining them this year! Click here if you'd like to donate to our Paws for Justice team!). Anyway, it was so cool to meet their pack of adopted dogs, and it reminded me that there are so many amazing dogs who need great homes. Loo wasn't a rescue, though she was a freebie who needed a home. How cool would it be to bring another furry beast into our happy home?

I think Vindaloo would adore it. She loves most dogs - especially smaller ones. It was hilarious to watch her play with Luigi, my friend's rat terrier pup. Despite their size difference, they play so well together! And she adores her bestie Grace, and her pal Eddie.

But then I wonder if a second dog would be too much to handle, like I couldn't possibly handle that much love in my life. I adore Vindaloo more than I can say - how could I love twice that much?

Then there's the logistical side. Two dogs means twice as much food, and girlfriend already packs it away. Twice as much yard cleanup. Twice the vet bills. Two kennels? Forget about it. Loo's kennel is big even when broken down, and there's no way I could fit two in my car for all our travels. And when Loo stretches out on my bed, it's like contending with another whole person. Thankfully, she hasn't figured out how to steal covers, but still.

Plus, there's no guarantee I'd be as lucky the second time around as I got with Loo. Loo is super mellow, funny as hell, and good as gold. I hear horror stories from friends about things their dogs have done, and I thank my lucky stars that I got the pup that I did. Very little of it is to do with me and with training - she's just been that good since the beginning. Dumb luck, really. She's not perfect, but she's as close as I've ever come.

So maybe I'm not ready yet. A second dog would be a blast, and would probably make me laugh even more than Loo does on her own. But you can't un-own a dog once you get it (at least I don't believe in it), so this is like the tattoo thing - you think about it long and hard before you act. Not sure I'll impose the 5-year waiting period that the tattoo warranted, but it needs to be more than an impulse adoption.

Of course, Loo herself was an impulse adoption. I saw puppies in the parking lot and I reacted. And look how good that turned out to be...

If I were

2010-04-08T09:16:00.000-07:00

Shamelessly bogarting Eagan's beautiful and inspiring list which I read this morning and which made me smile. :) But these answers are my own.

If I were a month I'd be September

If I were a day I'd be Thursday

If I were a time of day I'd be dusk

If I were a font I'd be Palatino

If I were a sea animal I'd be a seal

If I were a direction I'd be west

If I were a piece of furniture I'd be a chaise lounge

If I were a liquid I'd be lemonade

If I were a gemstone I'd be moonstone

If I were a tree I'd be a willow

If I were a tool I'd be a level

If I were a flower I'd be a lotus

If I were an element of weather I'd be thunderclouds

If I were a musical instrument I'd be a steel guitar

If I were a color I'd be magenta

If I were an emotion I'd be love

If I were a fruit I'd be a passion fruit

If I were a sound I'd be wind chimes tinkling in the breeze

If I were an element I'd be air

If I were a car I'd be driving on a remote country road with no other cars around

If I were a food I'd be pad thai

If I were a place I'd be Deception Pass

If I were a material I'd be clay

If I were a taste I'd be a Secsayhuaman

If I were a scent I'd be that one street in Athens - clementines and olive trees

If I were a body part I'd be a hip

If I were a song I'd be Empty by Ray LaMontagne

If I were a bird I'd be an albatross

If I were a gift I'd be wrapped elaborately

If I were a city I'd be Nice

If I were a door I'd be painted red

If I were a pair of shoes I'd be strappy

If I were a poem I'd be...I honestly can't think of an answer for this one. TBD.

March badness

2010-04-05T09:35:00.000-07:00

I kind of want to kick myself. This is the second year in a row that I've essentially missed out on one of my favorite events of the year - March Madness. After last year's chaos (getting the puppy, almost buying a house and having a complete mental breakdown in the process) I swore I would never make another major life decision in the month of March, so as to fully dedicate myself to the art of bracketing, pools, smack talk and such.

It's true that I couldn't really control any of the March 2010 disasters, but still. I managed to half-ass one or two brackets right before the deadline, but didn't put my usual zest into the process. (This year's tourney started off so wonky that I probably wouldn't have done any better if I'd taken my sweet bracketing time, but I'd like to think so). I didn't organize my annual pool with my usual suspects, which meant that all delightful smack-talk opportunities went out the window. For like three years now I've been planning to take PTO for the first two days of the tourney so I can watch games to my little heart's delight, but no-go this year either. I caught a few snippets of a few games in my hotel room in South Dakota. But that's not really the same thing.

Next year, I am breaking this vicious cycle. I'm ordering the NCAA cable package. I'll start bracket research MONTHS ahead of time. I'ma move into a damn cave if it'll help keep me focused and free and clear for the Madness that is March. You CAN order Comcast in caves, yeah?

Today, however, I will be rushing home to catch the Butler/Duke championship. Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride, etc.

Go Butler!!!!!!!!

Bon voyage, bestie!

2010-04-02T14:42:00.000-07:00

(an open letter to Sabrina).

Today's the day - the big move down to California to start your fabulous new job! I am so excited for you I can barely stand it.

I can't wait to watch you settle in. You're an amazing settler! I know that sounds bad - but what I mean by that is, you have an amazing ability to become so linked to your surroundings. At Willamette, you were very involved and had friends across every dorm, group, Greek house, etc. I wasn't with you in South Africa, but I'd wager much the same. When you moved up to Seattle for law school, you created an epic world for yourself and took full advantage of everything around you. You found some of the most amazing people I've ever met and formed a fabulous and supportive extended family with them. I am so honored to have been a part of that!

I'm not sure if I've ever told you how much I admire your courage and how you take chances, and put yourself out there for the things and people that you care about. You are an inspiration to me every single day and I've learned so much from you over the course of our friendship. I know that I'll always be able to learn something new from you.

Spending our last Seattle Saturday together was very bittersweet, and I wasn't ready for that to be "the" goodbye. And so it's not.

I can't wait to come visit you and see the new world that you're about to create for yourself. New friends, coworkers and opportunities. I hope they all know how lucky they are to be getting you! If they don't already, give them at least a day or two. That's really all it takes. :)

I love you dearly.
xoxoxo,
Jillie

Running on empty

2010-03-21T14:28:00.000-07:00

I am exhausted. The utter insanity of the past few weeks is finally catching up with me, and I'm past running on anxiety and adrenaline and sadness and anger and fear and all of that. It's funny how those emotions can carry you through, even though most of them are not what we'd call positive. But they pull you along in a hazy cloud of emotional energy, and save you from collapsing even though that's all you really want to do.

I feel like I've turned a corner, and I've emptied that reserve tank. That's a GOOD thing. That means returning to normalcy.

Looking onward, upward, forward. And not looking back anymore.

March monsoon

2010-03-11T18:34:00.000-08:00

Everyone is familiar with the old adage "April showers bring May flowers..." This year I'm coining a new term: March monsoon.

I'm trying to make sense of this month and why everything that was going so well seems to be unraveling at the speed of light. My only explanation is that I've had it too soft for too long and the universe is keeping me in check.

2008 is when my salad days really started - going to Europe for the first time and adding so much magic to my memory book; landing my dream job that July and feeling creatively and professionally fulfilled for the first time in my life. This sense of independence and fulfillment has only grown since then, and I spent the majority of 2009 in my office, working hard and loving every single second. Then my darling Vindaloo came into my life last year, and having her has made me happier than I ever thought a dog could.

And even 2010 started off with so much promise...

Then, March. March monsoons hit and I've been drowning ever since.
A wonderful relationship ends abruptly. Family health problems arise and concern me. Best friend lands amazing job and takes it...in California. And today my Grandma died. I'm struggling to keep my head above this fast-rising water.

It's not even the Ides of March yet. I feel like I need to stay inside and hide under a rock for the next few days just to try to make it out alive.

I've had it too soft and I forgot what it's like to fall apart. That's a lesson I think we all need to be reminded of from time to time, though ideally not so hard and not all within a 12 day period. But I guess falling apart is falling apart - you don't get to choose where and how and when. That's why it devastates you.

Things have been so much worse and I'm grateful for every single thing I have in my life, and every wonderful person who graces it. I'm remembering how much I struggled a few years ago and how hard it was to land on my feet, but I did it. I'll do it again.

My Subaru used to be my Grandma's. I bought it from her in 2003 -- my Grandpa had died the year before and she'd decided not to drive anymore. It sat sheltered in her garage through the frigid South Dakota winter, and my Dad and I flew out to spend a few days with my Grandma and then drive the car back. Grandma was tinier than I remembered. Quieter. But sharp and witty as ever and always ready with a pun. Dad and I drove the car back west on a quiet road trip through snowy open country, always with a thermos of hot coffee between us. Dad did most of the driving while I napped in my sleeping bag or daydreamed on the scenery.

I wrote Grandma a letter every single month with my check. Told her about living in Portland, the fun and friends and city life I loved, the flowers blooming in the rose gardens there, memories of her and Grandpa and the too-short amount of time we'd spent with them. Grandma cut short my car payments before I'd paid up - a huge generosity that I wonder if she knew how much I appreciated. I'm sorry to say that my letters tapered off after that.

My Dad turned 60 last month, and his sisters flew out from across the country, friends flocked in from other states, and we celebrated in style. I made a batch of my Great-Grandmother's famous ginger cookies to share, and the looks on my Aunts' faces as they tasted the cookies and remembered their childhoods was priceless. Dad said we had 5 generations represented - My Great-Grandmother (in cookie form), my Grandma (who we called and all talked to since she wasn't well enough to fly out), my Dad and my Aunts, me and my brother, and Andy's children. That was a very special thing.

Grandma fell and broke her hip three days after Dad's party, and unfortunately went downhill quickly after that. She was at peace with herself though, and that's the most that any of us can hope for at that time.

Driving home today in my/her Subaru, I sat at a stoplight and started crying as I drifted off in my head for a minute. A car behind honked and told me the light had changed. I moved on, glancing at Vindaloo standing on the seat behind me as I drove - her snout out the window, ears and fur blown back sleek, smiling her doggie smile and wagging her tail slowly, over and over.

Finding joy in simple things - just the lesson I needed, and the one that will carry me through this. If April showers bring May flowers, what will a March monsoon bring? I look forward to answering that.

Love list

2010-02-27T18:41:00.000-08:00

This is long overdue, as is writing of any sort on this blog.

30 Rock reruns on Netflix - this is totally my guilty pleasure and my go-to when I need a chuckle. I must have watched each season 1 and season 2 episode three or four times. Watching an eppie or two before bed is a good way to end the day.
Cherry blossoms in bloom - my walk today smelled so delicious, it was unreal. Everything was fresh from the rain, very lush and green, and the sweet scent of pink and white cherry blossoms on the tree-lined streets was amazing.
The way Vindaloo unexpectedly and delightedly nips up a stick in the middle of the road and skips along happily as she starts chawing.
James' matter-of-fact perspective on life, which nicely balances my mania from time to time.
Kleenex that smells like fabric softener from sitting close to the laundry stuff.
Snagging an hour of walking time without a single raindrop.
Sunsets - sometimes you stumble upon one that blows your mind. Today's was gorgeous! Walking toward the waterfront park, the sky was dark and filled with clouds. But along the Olympics, the clouds parted in a swirly way that reminded me of one of my favorite movies, "The Fountain." It was so beautiful - as the sun dropped down, the sun's reflection came out across the water and seemed to point directly at me. It felt peaceful and right.
The under-tufts on Vindaloo's paws. Sort of a reverse ptarmigan. It's fabulous.
Selection Sunday is almost here!! All important websites have been bookmarked.
Vindaloo has finally learned to enjoy the fireplace, and now curls up in front of it with her paws and snout toward the heat. She gets crazy toasty and sleepy, and I adore it.

Scary time

2009-12-21T16:32:00.000-08:00

I have this thing that I call "scary time." If I wake up during the middle of the night, and it happens to be between 3:01 and 3:29am, that's scary time. Basically, it's the time when it feels like no one else in the world is awake except for you, and anything could happen, and it can be a bit spooky when you're fresh out of sleep. (3am on the dot isn't scary enough, and once you hit 3:30 it's close enough to waking up time, so that's why the very specific window of scary time).

When I was dating J, scary time was easy to get through because he worked the morning shift (which was basically all night). He made it clear that I could always call him if I woke up in the middle of the night, and unless he was in the middle of a high speed pursuit or arresting someone, he'd answer and soothe my scary-time self. Somehow, the fact that he was always wide awake when I was groggy and spooked made me feel instantly better.

I thought of that last night when I was sleeping peacefully, and all of a sudden this epic crash shook my bedroom. I jumped out of sleep, the dog jumped up, startled - and it was 3:17am. I was pretty sure the crash came from this suction-cup shower basket thing, only because it had happened twice before, and always in the middle of the night. Why can't it come crashing down when I'm at work? Why always at 3, 4 in the morning? I finally got the courage to climb out of bed and go investigate, and sure enough - Aveda bottles scattered all over the shower floor. Stupid basket.

Anyway, it made me remember J with fondness...both for thinking that my scary time was adorable, and for always making me feel better.

Breaking out is easy to do

2009-12-08T12:24:00.001-08:00

I'm well aware of the fact that most people (even family and dear friends (Alaska crew - I'm looking at you!)) don't understand my love of dogs. And it's cool - I know a few other kindred spirits out there who have dogs at the top of their love list, too. If I'm a crazy dog lady in the making, so be it. I've been labeled much, much worse. :)

Anyhoo, I've decided to branch out at the suggestion of a friend and create a space where I can wax on about my beloved Vindaloo and our adventures together. Whether it was my friend's creative way of gently shutting me up or not, I'll never be sure (no, not really, she's far too sweet for that). Regardless, it's a great idea that I've decided to do, so I can have a place to post pics and such, without feeling like I'm overwhelming this space with dogdom.

So, if you're inclined or just want to indulge me, feel free to visit spotted dogspot and follow along.

Checking vs. carrying-on

2009-12-07T16:38:00.000-08:00

As recently as a year or two ago, I was totally freaked out by the idea of dating someone who was divorced. "Baggage" is the word that gets tossed around in these situations. Like, ooh, if he's divorced, he must have a ton of baggage. An ex-wife to deal with. Probably alimony. Icky. MESSY.

Now, this idea doesn't phase me at all. Not because I'm not wary of other people's baggage, but because I've so come to terms with my own. The realization that I've never been married nor divorced, and I still have plenty of baggage on my own (a matched set, anyone?) was kind of a revelation for me. What this realization taught me is that yes, everyone has baggage - but like with actual suitcases, some people check them and some people carry them on.

Carry-on is probably a bit easier, simpler - you can force it out of the way in those overhead compartments if you need to. It's smaller, more compact. Less exhausting to cart around with you. And you can dip into it any time you need something from it during your trip. And then put it away.

Checking your baggage is rough - first, just lugging it around is difficult. A struggle - you need a cart to help. Then, the goal is to get it as far away from you as possible and forget all about it for the duration of your trip, or at least until you're confronted by it at the other end.

I'm a carry-on person. I bring it with me. It's visible, but not overt. It's not in your face, but you can see it if you just lift up the lid on the overhead compartment. Need some room for yours? That's cool - there's plenty of room. I don't take up a whole compartment or anything.

But I don't feel the need to hide it, either. I'm not broken because I admit I have hang-ups. I truthfully think that everyone's messy - some of us are just more up front about it. Are there things that I'll carry around in this baggage forever, and never be able to let go of? Yeah, probably. Does that mean I'm not happy or healthy or whole?

I think the best-packed suitcases need some dirty stuff shoved in with the nicely folded things - it's a sign that you've been out there and done things and lived life, and these soiled articles are souvenirs of all of that, both good and bad. You brought some things back with you and now they're part of your packing and you just continue to bring them with you, trip after trip. The bag gets a little heavier over time, but so what? Sometimes you find that you actually end up needing these things.

Everyone is messy, and everyone has baggage. Only people who live in shells never venture out and are exempt from this. And I bet even they have at least a fanny-pack.

Déjà who?

2009-12-03T16:51:00.001-08:00

I'm kind of a liar. Lots of the time, I like to pretend I'm kind of heartless and made of stone, but I'm much more sentimental than I let on. It's just a little white lie - it doesn't hurt anyone, and it's rooted more in self-preservation than anything else. I'm ok with it.

But it's funny - I know the truth. I keep old love letters, gifts, keepsakes. Old emails. You'll never see them, but they're there. They're archived beyond archived, but they still exist.

Have you ever gone back and read not just these letters from past loves, but re-read the stuff you wrote to them? It's way worse. It's messing with my head right now.

I stumbled across an email today as I was searching my inbox for my Sprint login (I can never remember it). Searching for "Sprint" in my gmail brought up a chain of emails between me and J. For kicks, I read a few of them and was shocked anew to discover that I don't even remotely resemble the person I was when I was with J. This was three short years ago, and I have no recollection of this Jillian. I already know this. It feels like I'm reading someone else's words attached to my email address. I know how different I am now, and I know that he wouldn't even like me today, let alone love me. I know I'm better than I was then, but I'm sure he'd beg to differ. Whatever - that's just one of the many reasons why we're not together anymore.

But it freaked me out to read my words. It was almost an out-of-body experience, trying to remember living through all of that, being one half of it. Who was that person? Who wrote that way? Reading it now feels completely fake. It makes me scoff at myself. Makes me want to go back and shake that Jillian incredibly hard and say "really??"

Growth is a wonderful thing, especially when it's your only means of survival.

Second wave

2009-11-02T17:10:00.000-08:00

One afternoon last week, I was driving in the company car, singing along to some random song on the radio, when this wave of knowledge crashed over me like a tsunami: B is married. He's married. He has a wife. He's somebody's husband. Duh, right? Of course I know this. You all know this. I've known it since he "announced" it to me back in June. So why now? If I made it through then, why is this new wave of pain/sadness/anger/WHATEVER washing over me now? I can't answer that. All I know is that my chest tightened, my stomach dropped out, my breathing grew sharp and my eyes spilled over with tears. On a workday. Ugh, nothing I hate worse than showing emotion at work. Almost nothing.

When I first learned about that upcoming wedding, I did everything I could to push away the knowledge and crawl back to my safe little corner of denial. I think that corner is where I've been hiding for the past couple months. There've been times where I peeked my head out and, at the slightest twinge of pain, I've quickly pushed it away and gone back in hiding. Everyone thinks I should be over it already. "Why do you care?" "His loss." "Just let it go." "I don't understand why you let it bother you." So I keep my head in the sand and pretend everything is fantastic, and I don't talk about it anymore. With anyone.

I think the only way I am ever going to get past this is to just wade in and let it swallow me up - drown in it until I come up gasping for air.

Stop pushing it away and instead draw it toward me. Sharpen it and hone it until it's a thousand razors, packed in tightly around my heart. And then live in it, live with this dangerous awareness surrounding me, and if I forget for one second - move wrong, breathe wrong, sleep wrong, think wrong - it will be the end of me. Live that way, love that way for a while, until eventually the sharpness dulls with awful awareness and time and my movement can expand, my breathing can expand, without fear of irreparable harm. The worst is living like I don't care, like it doesn't matter, because these waves sneak up and they can undo you in an instant. I need to be my own lifeguard and constantly be on the watch for second waves, third waves, fourth.

How many waves will it take? Because tides are endless. I hope this isn't. It can't be.

Word on the street

2009-10-23T13:34:00.001-07:00

Advertising is almost always one of the first budget areas that companies chop when financial times get tough. Ad men, marketing, PR - all the external voices that aren't essential to running a business, in the most literal sense of the word. Can you produce and ship a product without advertising it? Yep. Not smart, but doable in that whole weathering-the-storm kind of way.

Anyway, one area of advertising which seems to be flourishing in the past year of economic turmoil is the street-side sign holder. You've seen these peeps - across the board in terms of age, but usually men who are out at intersections and along busy streets, waving signs advertising "$5 pizza Tuesday" or "the ultimate very last final drop-dead we're serious this time going out of business clearance furniture sale."

Seems like everybody/everybusiness has someone out along Evergreen or Broadway these days. Pizza signs, furniture stores, new home developments, you name it - sometimes you even find dueling companies out sharing street space in an epic sign-waving battle. How do you get your customers, Little Caesar's? Well, we just plain wave better than those chumps at Alfy's.

This one kid I've seen a few times, holding signs for different businesses (I wonder - do they have to sign non-compete clauses? If I hold for H&R Block on Tuesday, I can't wave for Liberty on Friday?). He stands out there with his headphones on, and regardless of what business he advertises, or what shape or size his sign might be that day, he rocks OUT like he's playing the Fender of Jimi himself. Behind the back? Yep. Upside down? Check. Down low and angry like Hetfield? Sure. I had to admire this guy, out making a buck, doing a thankless, cold and lonely job, and so in his own world that his several-hour gig probably passed as easy as a round of Guitar Hero. And I liked that he was making it his own thing - he wasn't schmoozing and waving and trying to interact with cars going past. If you can practice for your next Air Guitar World Championships while you earn your living, well - that's just multitasking at its finest.

And now, a question of etiquette: when these living, breathing, walking advertisers wave to you, do you return the wave? I never do, rationalizing that they're not waving to say hi to me or to be friendly - but rather in an attempt to get my attention and make me realize that I really do want to bring it on in to Omeletteville. But sometimes I feel like a bit of a jerk not returning the wave. It just seems like common courtesy, right? Someone waves at you, you wave back.

I've driven with people who wave at mascots, at street-signers, at politicos out campaigning on corners. And I alway smirk a little to myself and think "tool." But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they're just being nice, and I'M the tool for being so inconsiderate.

No. No, I'm pretty sure I had it right the first time around.

Ketchup

2009-10-05T16:58:00.000-07:00

So for the first time since starting this blog, I went an entire month without writing. Shame. On. Me. But in my defense, life has been crazy. I decided to move, and then moved. Work is generally insane. I waded back into the dating pool. I'm staring down 30 in 5 days. Etc.

Anyhoo, I decided to rent a house instead of buy. It fits in better with my commitment-phobia. So Vindaloo and I are now mostly settled in a beautiful home three blocks from my former flat. Seems like a ton of effort to go through for a three-block move, until I look around at the gorgeous hardwoods, the lovely fireplace and mantle, and watch Loo lounging happily in the sunshine in her new backyard. And when I listen to the amazing nothing that surrounds me. No more shared walls, ceilings or floors. God, it's blissful.

Work is epic, and I'm adjusting to life there without my former partner-in-crime. It's rough as hell, and the only thing that saved me the past two weeks was the fact that I've been out doing outreach more than I've been in my office, so there's been little time to wallow. We all continue to adjust as best we can, but it'll never be the same.

And then, dating. Dating sucks. Let's just get that out of the way right now. It's not super fun, it can be expensive, and it often leads to absolutely nothing. I'm starting to think that my family is right and that I'm just too picky. I really don't mean to be, but if I'm honest about it I have to admit that the criteria of my ideal man don't always add up: An outdoorsy jock type with a healthy sprinkling of nerd and handyman, with a love of dogs, indie music, classic cars and Arrested Development? I mean those aren't set in stone or anything, but dang. Nonexistent, apparently. Maybe it's not fair of me to harp on dudes for all wanting Marissa Miller lookalikes who love cooking gourmet meals in lingerie and stilettos and watching NASCAR. The guy I'm dating is awesome and funny and smart as hell, and yet I'm still mostly "schmeh" at this point. Aren't you supposed to have butterflies and twinkles and shit in the first month at least? What does it mean if you don't? Are you settling, or just being smart? How long do you give something/somebody before you determine yea or nay? These are all questions that run through my head. Having had bliss, is it ever cool to go for less? Or like my coworker told me today, do things really lessen as you get older? Is it unrealistic to still expect the passion and butterflies you'd get when you were just starting something with somebody in your younger years?

Such is my mania. I need to write more, man. Even though it provides me none of the answers, it still feels good to pose the questions.

Irony...it's when something is...ironic.

2009-08-10T09:31:00.000-07:00

I saw on Facebook today that there is a group called "Petition to remove 'Soldiers Are Not Heroes' group from Facebook." Apparently, there exists a group called "Soldiers are Not Heroes," and this angers many people who are now banding together in attempt to get it removed.

Let's think about this.

What do American soldiers fight for? Freedom. Freedom that we enjoy on many levels here in the US, and which is absent in many other parts of the world. Freedom of thought. Freedom of religion. Freedom of expression. Freedom to vote. Freedom of speech.

It appears that the goal of this "Petition to remove" group is to censor a public forum because someone has created a topic that they disagree with and find offensive. So their goal is to shut it down because it offers an opposing viewpoint. Censorship = the opposite of freedom.

I know I've quoted this before, but let me once again point to one of my all-time favorite movie quotes from The American President:

"You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours."

YES, people. YES. That is the freedom that these soldiers (the vast majority of whom I do believe are heroes, btw) fight and die for everyday. You think that for this anti-soldier Facebook group to exist is dishonoring them - I would argue that your anti anti-soldier group is doing more dishonor by attempting to squelch one of the most prominent freedoms that these soldiers fight for. How is that showing your appreciation of what they do? How does censorship honor them?

Celebrate and honor your freedom by allowing it to be exercised - even when it's a voice you may disagree with.

Do I stay or do I go?

2009-07-31T10:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes my indecisiveness is really crippling. I've made offers on two houses, neither of which has panned out, and I've looked at at least 25 or 30 places by now. I'm really starting to feel like the home buying thing isn't going to happen for me this year, and now I can't decide whether I should stay at my current place or look for a house to rent.

I love my place now, except that it's a triplex with paper-thin walls that forces me to hear and share everything with my neighbors. Who are great people, no doubt, but I dig my privacy a bit more than that. Add in a dash of landlord drama and distrust issues, and it makes me think that maybe it's time to move on out.

But if I move out, then it's as good as me saying I won't be looking for/buying a house at all. I'm not gonna move two more times this year, no effing way. Moving is the worst.

I just don't know what I should do or what I should decide. So I'm doing and deciding nothing, which is still making a decision, really.

It'd be a lot cooler if you diiiiiiiiid...

2009-06-23T19:36:00.000-07:00

Vindaloo got spayed today. For years--nay, DECADES--I have listened to Bob Barker give his spiel at the end of Price is Right: "Help control the pet population: have your pet spayed or neutered! Goodbye, everybody!" I mean, when we were little and on those rare occasions where we were both home sick, Andy and I couldn't WAIT to catch ol' Barker and his bevvy of Beauties. So it's only natural that this idea is as programmed into me as the ubiquitous radio commercials advertising the location and hours of all the Shane Co. stores in western Washington. I can recite that in my SLEEP, man!

I knew when I got LooLoo that she'd be getting spayed. I never considered not doing it. On day two of my puppy mama-hood, when I first took her to Banfield, I signed up for the puppy wellness plan where spaying is just part of what you do. Although her pups would no doubt be the most decadent, chubby mini-snouts ever to exist, I knew that I didn't want to bring more pups along when so many get put down every day because they don't have homes or loving families. And also because I'd want to keep every single one, and I'm already well on my way to becoming crazy dog lady. I don't need to seal the deal quite so soon.

Anyhoo, today was the big day. This morning she looked at me sadly and slightly accusitorially as if I'd forgotten to feed her (no food past 8pm the night before), and I brought her to Banfield and grabbed her snout one last time as she toddled off with the nurse.

I was sort of on edge all day. I guess I expected to get a call earlier than I did, telling me that all was well and that she'd come through wonderfully. I was cranky and unknowingly transferred that to my team, which makes me feel bad now that I'm aware of it. But I think they understood (sorry, Gorms!).

After work, I popped over to pick her up. The nurse gave me all the instructions and meds and everything I'd need, and then they brought out my little LooLoo.

She was HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH. As only Dave Chapelle can say it. She looked like I'd just picked her up from a sleepover at Snoop Dogg's. She toddled over slowly, drunkenly, wagging at half mast. As I reached down to pet her, she laid her head heavy in my hand and just left it there, wagging slowly.

Now it was time for the cone. You all are familiar with the cone. They called it an "e-collar" at Banfield, which made it sound like some trendy iPod accessory for goth tweens. But it's still the same old-skool plastic cone that made her look so comical that I burst out laughing. (I found out later it was short for "Elizabethan collar," which I found even more hilarious. Like she's an extra, standing next to Cate Blanchet and Clive Owen (mmm...Clive Owen)).

She was so drugged and sleepy that her head hung low, which made the cone continually stub against the ground and she'd stop suddenly, like "what the hell was that?" I lifted the cone at the top and we walked out together, slowly, while I tried to stifle my laughter. Such indignity.

I lifted her gently into the car, all the while expecting her to yipe as I pulled or stretched something that I shouldn't have. But she just looked at me like "heeeeeeeey, watch the leather, maaaaaan!"

She couldn't make it up the steps at home, so I lugged her as best I could (she's gotten so big!). I laid her on her bed in the living room, but poor bean could not get comfortable. So I took the "Elizabethan collar" off to let her get some rest while I watch her like a hawk. She's made one or two halfhearted snouts toward her stitches, but a quick "nooooo!" stopped her in her tracks. She's thrown up three times, which I am hoping is normal, but bums me out because she hasn't been able to keep water down. I'm hoping that she'll have bounced back quite a bit by tomorrow and will at least be able to snack.

I got special permission to bring her into work with me tomorrow, because I have an epic day and can't take it off to be home with her. So, many thanks to the honchos for allowing me this exception...I'll feel a lot better being able to take care of her as she needs, at least for that first sure-to-be-wonky day.

I know pets get spayed and neutered every day (right, Bob?), but I was too young to really remember my childhood dog, Taffy, and how she handled the experience. I'm sure she was just fine, as Vindaloo will no doubt be, but keeping her low-key for the next two weeks is gonna be a challenge...

Also, it'll be a challenge to not bathe her. Girlfriend stinks. She went off to the hospital smelling like a freshly shamp'd pup, and came back smelling like funk and rabies. But I'll deal with it with a smile, because I love me some Vindaloo.

Marley and she

2009-06-23T19:08:00.000-07:00

Recent conversation I witnessed between a new puppy owner (NPO) and nurse at Banfield Pet Hospital:

Nurse: what's the puppy's name?

NPO: Marley Willow. (she pauses dramatically and looks around for approval/comments from standers-by, which no one provides. I mean, Marley, huh? Not super original, given the recent book/movie sensation...but who am I to judge? I did name my pup after a delightful Indian curry).

Nurse: spelled like M-A-R...?

NPO: um, M...M-O-R-L-E-Y. Is that how you spell Marley? Yeah, I think it is. (giggles)

Nurse: and is Marley a puggle?

NPO: a what? No. He's part um, beagle I think it is? And part uh...pug?

Nurse: so, a puggle. That's what they call a puggle.

NPO: ohhhhhhh. Ok. (giggles) But it's weird because he sounds like a hound dog instead! Yowls and stuff.

Nurse: yep. That's the beagle. A beagle is a hound. They howl.

NPO: ohhhhhhh. Ok.

Oh, poor you, Marley. You were weense and adorable, and almost certainly in for a life of sparkly pink sweaters. Vindaloo and I will keep you in our thoughts.

Still standing

2009-06-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I survived. Yesterday was the day the world stood still, and I'm still standing. Once upon a time, the thought of B getting married was the most devastating thing I could imagine. And when I got his email last week, selfishly announcing that to me, a big part of me still felt devastated.

But it happened, and it's over. The deed is done. And I didn't die (although I did cry), and I didn't even get drunk. Instead, I worked at the Marysville Strawberry Festival. Some good people watching, some solid transit talk -the day provided me with ample distractions. Every once in a while it'd pop back into my head, like "they're probably saying 'I do' right about now," or I'd picture his amazing parents being all happy and shit, and I'd get super sad. Ugh. Or I'd crack up, picturing them opening their bootsie Martha Stewart dining service for 12, or whatever other cliches they registered for.

The karmically uncool part of me wanted an epic rainstorm like no other, and the patches of sunshine and puffy little white clouds made me think that the universe is a lot cooler with this busted union than I am. I think it's safe to say that the universe knows more than me, so I'll defer to ol' Uni and just let it go.

Maybe in some sick way, his incredibly selfish "I'm getting married" email will actually do me some good. Because before, when I'd randomly think about him, I either assumed he already had gotten hitched (but that assumption didn't carry the same weight as actual fact) or that he was on his way. So at least this affords me the finality that he could/would never give me before.

So there we go. Done and done. Moving on.

Signs

2009-06-19T14:53:00.000-07:00

If you haven't seen this yet, watch it. It's enough to make even an emotional fuckwit like myself start sobbing.

Watched it a few weeks ago at work and just LOST it.

Confessions of a blogaholic

2009-06-19T14:48:00.001-07:00

So part of me, a bigger part than I'd like to admit, is totally hoping that something happens tomorrow and B doesn't go through with getting married. I'm not sure why I feel that way, or what I want to happen.

Part of me wants to get that phone call where he says "I couldn't go through with it."

Ugh. Why am I even writing this embarrassing confession, you may ask? Because I will call myself out on this kind of pathetic shit just like I'd call anyone else out on it.

At least I'm consistent.

Seven-year bitch

2009-06-18T17:05:00.000-07:00

Allow myself to quote myself quoting someone else: "Love...she is a bitch." Lost love, in particular.

That day I've long dreaded/expected has come around. B emailed me out of the blue last week, after more than two years of no contact, to tell me that he's getting married on Saturday. In the seven years since our relationship ended, I've imagined that phone call or email or run-in a thousand times. Every possible imaginary scenario usually ended with me puking.

Naturally, I was surprised when I didn't vomit in terror when confronted with the real deal. I felt an icy cold ball in the pit of my stomach, and a massive wave of anxiety crashed over me. It was the morning I was getting ready to leave for Alaska, so the only saving grace was that I was swamped with packing, tying up a ton of loose ends at work, and worrying about how Vindaloo would fare on the plane.

I managed to make it to work before I started sobbing.

Clarification: I am not in love with B anymore. I haven't been for years. But what I realized in reading his email was that some part of me still held on to Hope (again, that little bastard!) that someday we would reconnect, find each other, become part of each others' lives like we used to be. I've never been in love like I was with him. I never had closure. Ending a relationship is easy for the person who chooses to end it - whether through dishonesty and heartbreak, which was B's method of choice, or simply falling out of love, whatever. He got the easy end of the deal and I've struggled for seven years to let it go and get past it.

The worst part of all of this is I can't figure out why he emailed me. Why he felt the need to tell me that he still thinks of me often, and that he's sorry for the mistakes he made in our relationship. And worst of all, that he's getting married. To HER. What made him think that's something I wanted or needed to hear? Ignorance doesn't change reality, sure. But I could've gone on just fine making assumptions or pretending that whole situation didn't exist. I would've been fine with that. He's got this amazing way of coming back into my world and fucking it all up just when I think I'm doing ok.

Did he write me because he's realizing at the eleventh hour that it should have been us? Did he do it as a final sort of closure for himself and himself alone? Is he hoping that I'll respond in some way and give him some catalyst to get out of it? Does he just selfishly think this information is somehow important enough that I would need or want to know?

In the week that I've had to process this, I've debated emailing him back, calling him, talking to him in person, and doing absolutely nothing (which is the course I've chosen to take - except for writing this, which is safe). Part of me, a bigger part than I want to admit, wanted this to be like a movie, where this is the final crossroads and the decision I make determines a major point in both of our lives. I could show up at the wedding, The Graduate-style, and tell him he's making the biggest mistake of his life. I could confront him at his workplace and tell him the same. I could call him. I could email him back and pour my heart out one last time, hoping that's enough to make a difference.

But why? The bottom line is, this isn't a movie. It's not The Notebook or The Graduate. Shit doesn't play out that way in real life, and I'm smart enough to know that. Even if there is the tiny chance that he sent this as a way of reaching out to me, it's not my job to save him from his choices. He's a grown man. It's not like I never took my chances and bared my soul to him before, but I got nothing back. I could have forgiven him anything, except him choosing to do nothing.

So that's that. And now, whether solicited or not, I have the closure that I've always dreaded and wanted at the same time. Ain't no bigger closure than marriage to someone else, except maybe death, and I certainly don't wish that on him.

And I'll forget it all, eventually. How he stood in my living room two and a half years ago with his arms around me, telling me how mundane things were and how much he missed being challenged by someone. So, good choice, B. Have fun with that. Do what everyone does and get married because it's just what people do, especially after seven years.

The difference here is that some crazy someday, if I ever find someone I'm thinking of marrying and decide to take that plunge, I won't be thinking of B - and I sure as hell won't feel the need to tell him about it.

Cure for the common curse

2009-05-27T14:44:00.000-07:00

I have finally discovered the cure for my horrible, wrathful road rage.

Try driving with an adorable 4-month-old puppy riding shotgun. Then try yelling and swearing at the asshole in front of you who just cut you off, and watch the puppy's reaction. When she cringes slightly, or wakes up out of a sound sleep because she thinks you just yelled at her and called her a "fucking douche," it's bound to make you rethink your actions.

So now I silently flip off those fucking douches, or swear quietly in Spanish (which somehow always makes me feel relieved even though it's in a normal tone of voice and not yelling. I think it has to do with the effort of translation. Anyway).

It doesn't eliminate the anger altogether, but it certainly dampens my fiery outbursts. I'll take it where I can get it. One curse at at time.

Cover girl

2009-04-29T06:26:00.001-07:00

My little Vindaloo was chosen to be today's featured puppy on DailyPuppy.com! Please, allow me this one sappy, proud momma moment - it's likely to be the only one I ever have. :)

Go see her today at DailyPuppy.com

Permalinked at:

http://www.dailypuppy.com/puppies/vindaloo-the-australian-shepherd-mix_2009-04-29

What's in a name?

2009-04-21T17:00:00.000-07:00

My brother and his girlfriend had a bet as to how many different names I have for Vindaloo, and he bet more than 10. He wins.

Vindaloo
LooLoo
LooLoos
Peanut
Peanut Butter
Butter
Butter bean
Butter bear
Fatty
Fatty Lumpkin
Lumpkin
Chumpkin
Pupkin
Poppadom
Puppers
Small Horse
Piglet
Bunny
Bubba
Boogie
Snorfle-Whiffle

Um, I think that's it for now. I'm embarrassed. I'm only posting this in hopes of keeping my mania in check. But I don't think it'll help. Next week, there'll be 30 names.

And they called it...puppy loooooooove

2009-04-17T09:41:00.000-07:00

It may have only been 5 weeks since getting Vindaloo, but it's already been quite a journey.

As you no doubt gauged by the last blog entry, "The horror," it was a rough beginning. Granted, there was a lot of stuff going on all at once, what with the house deal, the landlord sitch, the back up plan that broke after three days, etc. I was a ball of stress and anxiety and was regretting making such swift, capricious choices.

And now? I am undeniably in love. I've become one of those irritating people who can only talk about their kid or their pet or whatever. I am irritating myself, and I can't even bother to care. Because Vindaloo is SOOOO CUTE and SOOOO SMART! Today? She jumped up into the car all by her onesie! And last week? She learned to hop down my steep apartment stairs by herself! See? Aren't you irritated? Yeah, me too. But I can't bring myself to stop.

The beginning was rough not only because of all those other elements, but because I am so used to flying solo that the very notion that something else now depended on me was really hard. It actually made me resentful. You mean I can't roll out of bed half an hour before I leave for work? You mean I can't work 12 hour days without blinking? You mean I have to stand outside in the freezing rain for 20 minutes while she chooses just the right patch of grass to pee on?

All of that is funny because of COURSE I knew things would change when I got a pup. It's not like I didn't give it any thought. But actually living it out those first two to three weeks was a different story. If you asked anyone who knows me to describe me, I doubt that the words "nurturing" or "selfless" would come up anywhere.

Now, I get up at 5:45 every day. My favorite time of day - I get LooLoo out of her crate and we have some snuggle time. She's so sleepy and warm and kind of stumbles around for the first few minutes...it's insanely adorable. We go outside, then come back up for her breakfast. She wolfs everything down before our second trip outside. Then, some more loves and play time. Yes, folks - all of this happens before I have my first cup of coffee. Now THAT'S love. We've got our routine down and it seems to be working really well for both of us.

We had our first road trip together last weekend when we headed down to Portland for my friend's birthday party and another friend's wedding. She was so good in the car, and at my friends' house where we crashed. I can see that she's going to be a great travel dog and that she'll be my partner in crime on many, many road trips to come.

I just bought a book called "My Smart Puppy," all about great training methods and positive reinforcement. Can't wait to read it and get started with her! And take her to puppy class. And get her last set of shots so she can go to dog parks. And take her to the Ballard farmer's market on Sunday. Etc., etc., etc.

I'm thrilled that I got her, and that we stuck out the first couple rough weeks, and I can't wait for all the good times to come. She's my best girl already.

The horror...

2009-03-22T09:17:00.000-07:00

Let me start off by apologizing for lack of recent blogs. You'll understand why, in a minute.

For some inexplicable reason, I decided to make more major life decisions in the past week than I have in my entire adult life. And now I'm riding the roller coaster of: what the HELL did I just do?

Firstly, I got a puppy. Her name is Vindaloo. I know, a total dream come true for me. But the way in which I did it was maybe not the smartest thing ever. One of the guys at work had 10 pups - 6 week-old blue heeler/aussie shepherd mixes, and when I held one pup in particular, and she leaned back and studied me carefully, as if to say "hey, you're cool. You and I, we're gonna be tight." And then she snugged her stubby little snout under my chin, right up against my neck, and I was powerless to do anything but fall in love.

Here were the issues: I did not officially have landlord permission to have a puppy. Also, I was in the midst of looking for homes and knowing that a move was somewhere in my 2009 future. I'd talked about this with my friend Matt, who took one of the other pups, and he volunteered to keep the pup if my landlord said no, until I got a new place. Reassured, we each took our puppy and went back to the office, where everyone promptly fell in love with them as much as we had.

Matt and his girlfriend kept her for the first four days. I spent most of the first weekend at their house, helping watch the pups and get them outside in time to pee, etc. But by Monday of that next week, Matt had reached his breaking point, and we stressfully parted puppies. I crashed at my parents' house for two days while I got Vindaloo used to sleeping in her crate, sleeping on the floor next to her crate so I could soothe her when she cried and take her out a couple times a night.

Around that same time, I made an offer on a house. Which was accepted. And now we're doing the inspection tomorrow. And I have maybe never been so anxious and terrified in my whole life.

Here are the bad things:

I got a puppy prematurely.

She makes a lot of noise and requires constant attention.

It's going to be hard to pack and move with a rambunctious puppy underfoot.

I committed myself to a mortgage payment and will soon be broke.

My lease isn't up for a few months, and my landlord might eff me rather than remembering what a rad tenant I've been and how I just found her renters for the basement apartment.

Here are the good things:

Vindaloo is adorable and smart.

I look forward to her being older, an actual dog, when we'll have so much to do together.

She's sleeping very well and not crying at night.

House training is going well.

I have a wonderful puppy sitter four days a week.

Potentially, I only have four more weeks of keeping her here at the apartment.

My parents have been wonderful and supportive and helping me with the puppy.

The house I offered on is beautiful and a great fit for me.

The mortgage is doable, just requires changing my lifestyle, which is not the worst thing.

Clearly, the good outweighs the bad. But still, at least four times a day I think "I wonder who I can give Vindaloo to? I can't handle this." And at least 12 times a day I think "I hope something horrible comes up in the home inspection so I can back out of this."

I've just committed myself to a 30 year mortgage and a 15 year pet relationship. For a chick who's horrible at commitment, it's no wonder I'm freaking out and riding the panic roller coaster. I do have moments of excitement, and I do enjoy Vindaloo most of the time. I just get easily overwhelmed when my plate is loaded, and this might be the most loaded plate I've ever stacked.

Wish me luck, please. My dumb ass needs it.

Monday night musings

2009-02-02T20:15:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I wrote that I've been thinking a lot about when my life was less pathetic. That's not really fair to say, since all things considered I've got it pretty damn good. But I think it's ok to have parts of your life going amazingly well and, while still being grateful for those parts, wishing for improvement in other parts of life.

It dawned on me today that on June 1st I will have been back in Washington for three years. THREE YEARS. I have no idea where that time went, because it seems like yesterday I was living in Portland and living it up. Even a couple months ago I'd catch myself saying shit like "I just moved back here and blah blah blah..." Three years ain't "just moved back here." Three years and I still haven't created anything remotely as cool as the life I left behind.

People talk smack about Facebook, or social media in general, because "why do real people waste their lives on virtual contact?" But for someone like me, whose friends are truly almost all out of state, it's the best thing I have. I can't fly down and visit Meli anytime I want. I can't fly up north and visit James and Co. in frosty AK as much as I'd like. I can't blitz down to Portland every weekend and crash with Alexis or Tina. I'd love to - I really would. But I can't. It's not that I don't have any friends here, it's just different; it's a couple satellite friendships or a handful of acquaintances or colleagues; it's my beloved brother who lives down south and has a family of his own, which makes things different. What I don't have are people I call up a few times a week and spend lots of free time with. I'm truly starting to think that I'm so used to and comfortable with flying solo that I'm settling into it and will never overcome it. Not that I love it, but that it'll actually weird me out when someone comes into my life in a bigger role. If I even allow that to happen without screwing it up like I'm somewhat legendary at doing.

Just feeling the loss of my social life lately, that's all.

Here's what I do have: a job that I LOVE and that I seem to be doing pretty decently at. There are some frustrations like with any position - but the fact remains that I work for a company I adore, whose mission I support 100%, which pays me well and challenges me on a daily basis. In these times of budget troubles and nationwide layoffs, I pray to some secular something somewhere that this won't get taken away from me - that I won't have had a taste of something I love so much only to lose it a short time later. Stressing over it doesn't help, so I don't - just try to do my best and enjoy every day and every challenge that comes.

But while I'm living in my times of elective workaholism, I do sometimes daydream about my former life. Brunch every weekend with 10 girlfriends. Walking home from downtown on a sunny day. Meeting up with the DAs for some drinks after work. Farmer's market on Saturdays and bringing home a loaf of pain biologique with olives from Pearl Bakery and a huge bunch of magenta peonies. Living it up, and not just living to work.

I'm so grateful for what I have...but it doesn't keep me from wanting more.

The great onion experiment

2009-02-01T10:48:00.000-08:00

I have long harbored the theory that the reason I am exempt from crying while chopping onions has to do with wearing contacts, but I have never experimented with the variable until today.

Not like I chop onions all the time, but every time I am around someone chopping them, the tears inevitably start flowing out of their eyes. And I could never recall a time when that happened to me.

I got up this morning with the intent of making a Superbowl chili. So I'm throwing pans around, getting out all the ingredients, and decided to modify this one into a "Sweet onion and smoky chipotle turkey chili." Yeah, huh? Mmm hmm.

So I start chopping the onion, and I'm halfway into it when BOOM - my eyes start stinging something fierce and the tears start comin' - they just start comin'! What the hell? Oh yeah - I am still wearing my glasses. I was so hyped on getting up and getting my day started that I didn't stop to throw in the contacts.

After chopping the first half, I washed my hands, blotted my streaming eyes, and popped in the contacts. Round 2 with the onion was flawless - no tears, no stinging. Has anyone else with contacts tried this? I'm curious if it's just me or if it's universal. Regardless, I was pleased to prove myself correct for once.

Jillian 1, Universe 0.

Oh yeah, and Steelers by 12 today. :)

Thanks a latte

2009-01-31T09:42:00.000-08:00

What is the proper etiquette for this situation: you are walking into a Starbucks, behind a gentleman who then stops at the door and holds it open for you to walk through before him. You say "thank you very much," but then notice that because he let you walk through first, you are now in front of him in line. And you feel guilty about that, right? Because he did a nice thing for you, and that is enough - to go ahead of him in line now feels discourteous and wrong. So you gesture to the line and say, "would you like to go ahead?" And inevitably he never says yes - he lets you be ahead of him in line, too. It's a very cool and nice thing to do, but it kind of makes me feel like I'm taking advantage of someone's niceness.

So then I feel doubly guilty - cheating on Mr. Coffee already (those daytime quickies I mentioned before) and then getting ahead unfairly. I think next time I will walk through the door and then wait for him to walk through and get in line before I do. Just to try it. Someday, perhaps I will offer to buy his coffee, if the vibe and lack of wedding ring seems right. And then I would be wonderfully amused if he ordered a totally frou-frou girlie drink with like three different syrups and whipped cream and vanilla sprinkles.

Maybe this is how I will meet my next fella...just think - we could tell our story of meeting over my manly americano with no room, no sugar, and his $6.50 triple venti white chocolate vanilla cinnamon dolce breve latte with whip and caramel swirl, topped with chocolate shavings and vanilla powder sprinkle. Love it.

My cheating heart

2009-01-16T16:43:00.000-08:00

Sorry, Starbucks. I'm cheating on you. I can't take the guilt any longer, so I'm coming clean.

My brother and Jenn got me a Mr. Coffee espresso machine for Christmas. And he's rad. I'm in love with him. Don't you see? It's not just lust - it's LOVE. I didn't mean to fall in love with him; it just happened. It was just one of those things.

I used to think no one could ever please me like you could. But it turns out I was wrong. Mr. Coffee pulls amaaaaazing shots. He steams just as good as you do. And you know something? He always makes it extra hot --the way I like it-- not like the times you try to pass off a tepid latte as 175°. He gives me what I'm after and he doesn't look for a tip afterward. Wham, bam, thank you Mr. (Coffee).

I just thought you should know. You were a lot of fun while you lasted, and I'll probably still look to you for the occasional quickie during the workday, if you're interested. But my homelife is going to be about Mr. Coffee now. I hope you can understand that.

Can we still be friends?

The weight of the world

2009-01-10T12:47:00.001-08:00

Does anyone else have the feeling that the world is gonna end in about another eight months?

Everything on the news is a nightmare. War in Gaza. Economy collapsing. Crime increasing. Solar flares coming. Flooding. American Idol back for another season.

The attitude is palpable and universal. Everyone is bummed. Around the office, it's never felt so grey and gloomy. People are in their offices, doors shut. Rain is pounding on the roof. Nobody's hanging out in common areas, no laughing. Not because anything specific is going on; rather, I think everyone is just feeling the same blue vibe.

When my alarm goes off at 6am, the first thing they do is read off the daily news headlines. After a week of nothing but nightmares and negatives, I've readjusted the time to go off at 6:10 so hopefully I can miss most of it. I took the news ticker off my google homepage. I scan the newspaper quickly, and mostly read the fluffy, friendly articles from the Living or Sports sections. I've never really believed that ignorance is the way to go, but when everything is so fucking pessimistic, ignorance truly is the path to bliss. If everything you read/see/hear brings you down, you have to limit your exposure.

I'm truly hopeful that things will pick up. I think Obama's inauguration will be a really significant transition for people, even if only emotionally. Let's get rid of this current clown and his administration of doom, and move to something lighter, brighter - inherently more soothing. Because half of this is panic. People are panicky, fearful creatures. The stock market is the best example of that. Media feeds it out, people eat it up and react accordingly. I'm not saying things aren't tough right now, but it's a vicious cycle of fear-hype-more fear. Where does the hype end and reality begin?

That's why I'm removing myself from the cycle. I hate the idea of not being informed, but if sticking my head in the sand allows me to continue living my life, working hard, carrying on as I have been until something in my actual real life causes me to readjust, then I'm fine with that. It's not doing me any good to carry the weight of the world.

Homeowner's ensurance

2009-01-06T20:29:00.000-08:00

I've decided to put myself on a two-year track to buying my first home. I won't accomplish it before turning 30, but I think swinging it before turning 31, on my own, would still be pretty damn cool. This plan is, of course, barring any further economic disaster and is also contingent on me not getting fired, whether for lack of company budget or otherwise. So we'll see how that shakes down.

But I've noticed a bit of a trend on this blog: I said I'd go to Spain in 2008, and lo and behold I went to Barcelona and Cadiz! I said I was going to nail the promotion this past spring, and here I am finishing up my first six months on my dream job! So I feel like if I call out my goal of buying my first house, it'll ensure that I work toward it as hard as I did these other things, and I'll stand just as good a chance at attaining it.

I had a great talk with Gorms today after work about homes, loans, mortgage rates, etc. - and a really inspiring visit to homes for sale on craigslist. He's really knowledgeable about all of these things, and it helps to have someone I can just fire questions at and get instant responses. There are some really cute homes in areas that I dig and, thanks to falling home prices, they don't seem quite as unattainable as they did a year ago. Waiting a couple years might change the available homes, but hopefully there will still be some things that suit me.

Truthfully, I could probably qualify for a decent mortgage right now, but I can't get comfortable with the idea of financing the whole thing. It just doesn't seem like the smart choice, and seems like what got many people into their current housing troubles. The problem for me isn't that I'm single income (though that definitely presents some challenges!), the problem is the same as many people of my generation: we don't have money saved up for down payments. Short of a few people that I know whose family gave them money, or who inherited some, I don't know any person my age who's amassed enough of a savings to use as a substantial down payment for a home. None of us seem to have that. We're all strapped with credit debt and epic student loans, and that's where our extra change goes. That, and mp3 downloads from Amazon.

But I'm really inspired and I'm going to create a budget for myself and stick to it. My friend Ryan writes a great financial blog, and talking with him has motivated me to throw everything I have at outstanding debt and really knock it down. I don't have that much, but it's more than I'd ever planned on having. Today I opened a new credit account (crazy, right?) that's offering a 0% APR on balance transfers until October, 2010. So once my balance gets transferred over, that gives me well over a year and a half to pay off my balance without accruing more interest. Done and done. And Gorms helped me write out a basic budget that gave me a good look at what I spend and where I spend it, as well as how much I have left to be knocking down debt and starting to save.

I'm a firm believer in all work and no play makes Jill(ie) a dull girl, so the budget will include some play money for music, an occasional meal out, the odd album from Amazon. My ex-boyfriend was super rigid with his finances, and squirreled everything away for some far off rainy day. I could never understand that; I view it more like, what if that day never comes? We never know how long we have, and I'm not going to miss out on the present completely so I can throw everything I have in the world at the future.

This is exciting. I can do it. I'm already thinking of paint colors, and a fenced yard where I can have as many dogs as I like. But probably just one, at least to start.

Blue Christmas

2008-12-28T13:39:00.000-08:00

My mom's favorite Christmas movie is "A Christmas Carol," but specifically the version with George C. Scott. We've watched that movie every year since I can remember. And then there were other versions: the one with the dude from Star Trek, and the musical version where, for days afterward, my brother and I would go around singing "thank you very much! Thank you very much! That's the nicest thing that anyone's ever done for me!" (it stuck horribly in our heads). In all of these versions, Scrooge gets a visit from the ghost of Christmas past, wherein he is forced to revisit all his previous Christmases, good and bad, and this year I found myself in that same boat.

This year, Christmas kind of fell apart. We were hit with such a snowstorm that for the past two weeks I've barely been able to get in to work, let alone get out to do Christmas shopping, etc. On Christmas Eve day, my stepdad picked me up in the morning on his way back from work and brought me over to my mom's place to spend the next few days.

We awoke to a white Christmas, with more snow falling every minute, and while it was beautiful to look outside and watch the snow fall, it meant that no other family was able to make it over. It meant that my stepdad had to work that night, like the previous 12 nights, and that he'd be asleep during the day. So Christmas was a complete non-event. We had no family over. No presents to open. It was just like any other day. And it was sooooooo depressing. It was nobody's fault, for sure - just the way it went down. But I sat there and spent most of the day completely blue, missing my brother and his family, wishing my stepsister and stepbrother were over, wishing I'd been able to get presents for everyone and that they were there to open them together, wishing I could've made it over to my dad's to visit him too. I thought about all the Christmases I'd had before; how much fun they were as a kid, how meaningful it was to spend all those Christmases with B and his family, how great it was to come home from college and be around my family and friends. And this year was completely empty. I felt on the verge of tears all day, and didn't even take calls from my two best friends because I knew if I heard their voices the tears would spill over, and I didn't want to make my mom feel worse than she already did. I managed to not cry when I talked to my brother.

Feeling blue only made me feel guilty, because in the grand scheme of things I'm still incredibly lucky and have absolutely nothing to complain about. Roof over my head, warm bed to sleep in, food in my stomach, good health, job to go to everyday, family that I love. So much more than so many people. So I tell myself to suck it up, deal with it, quit complaining. But that doesn't really make you feel less blue. It just adds that nice layer of guilt on top of the woe-is-me.

In the end, 2008 will be the the Christmas that never was. And while I hope I never have that happen again, at least it will be something to look back on and hopefully make me feel more grateful for every Christmas to come.

Dog days

2008-12-20T15:12:00.001-08:00

I can't believe I've been out of college for nearly seven years and I still don't have a dog. Or thirty-seven dogs.

My post-college thought was that as soon as I found a job, settled somewhere, got a place of my own - I'd get my very own dog. And I ended up in a place that wouldn't let me have dogs. And then another place that wouldn't let me have dogs. And then a third. And then to CA, where my then-boyfriend didn't want to get one, not that I was there long enough to have gotten one anyway. And then back to Washington, finally, where I live in a place that I adore that STILL won't let me have a dog.

Why the dog bias? What do landlords have against dogs?

Is it the potential noise factor? Ok, well my downstairs neighbors have small kids. I am willing to bet my life that two small children are vastly more noisy than one small dog. It's not the kids' fault, nor the parents' - our house has tissue-thin walls and we all hear pretty much everything that the other ones are doing. But that's neither here nor there. I'm just saying - kids are noisier than most dogs, so it can't be the noise factor.

Is it the messy factor? Ok, well it wasn't my choice to install WHITE carpets in a rental house. As lovely and light as it makes the apartment, it also serves as a mega dirt magnet, no matter how tidy I am. I covered the living room in area rugs. I take off my shoes before I even go inside. But the carpets are already pretty hashed after two years of normal wear and tear. Also? Kids are messy as hell. They spill things, they color on walls, they have accidents where they're not supposed to. So it can't be the messy factor, because again I am willing to bet that two small children are way more messy than one small dog.

I know the main difference between the kids/pets thing is that as a landlord you can't discriminate against people with children, whereas you're free to prohibit pets, but still. My landlord has a dog of her own, a beautiful dog that she no doubt adores. It's a bit of a bummer to think that she gets to enjoy the wonders of dog ownership and at the same time prohibit me from doing it because I can't afford my own house like she can.

I know that it's her choice as the property owner, and I know that I am free to move. And at this point, I'm seriously considering it. I am nuts about dogs. I always have been. The way that most women gush and coo over babies? Yeah, not me. But that's how I am with dogs and have been since I was a baby. My entire family knows the excited squeal that I utter every time I see a puppy or cute dog. They're more than used to getting emails from me with pictures of a baby dachshund squeezed into a sandwich roll, or the puppy of the day from Daily Puppy, when that day's selection is too cute NOT to email. Which is frequently. My ex-boyfriend once asked me the ultimate hypothetical: if a neighbor's toddler and my dog simultaneously got hit by a car, which one would I attend to? Was it wrong of me to pause and start thinking about it? He sure thought so, calling me a "sick person." But we're wired the way we're wired, man.

Dogs make me happy. I know I will be an awesome dog owner, and a responsible one too. I think my approach will be to send my landlord a nice letter, laying out all the reasons why I should be able to get one, and my game plan for owning a dog while living in her apartment. The worst she can do is say no, and then I really have to decide whether getting a pet is worth the hassle of finding a new place, paying more for rent, and maybe settling for one of those soulless apartment complexes which seem to be the only rentals which allow dogs anymore. It's a tall order. But I think it might be worth it. Life is too short to not have a dog by your side at all times.

Thankful things – 2008 edition

2008-11-22T15:42:00.000-08:00

JOB – I’m thankful to have a job, period. But to have one that I love to an insane degree, for a company I strongly believe in, which allows me to be completely self-sufficient, which challenges and rewards me on a daily basis, where I have the most incredible boss and stellar teammates and genuine friends, is almost too much to comprehend. Since the promotion in July, not a day goes by where I don’t pinch myself and I’m thrilled to report after five months of pinching that this gig actually does exist, and I actually do have it. Cheers! I hope that it continues.

FAMILY – I often write about my amazing family and how much I love what it’s developed into, and as I get ready to welcome my first niece in the coming year I’m reflecting again on how lucky I feel. I have a brother that I’m insanely close to and who is my favorite person in the world, bar none. His family is awesome – Jenn is so crantastic I can’t even say, and of course my first peanut nephew Jase is a total delight. My stepsister Jenn is the one expecting a baby in April, and she and her husband Jamie are going to be great parents. My stepbrother Terry and his wife Tracie are already great parents; my second peanut nephew Julian is about to turn one. My mom and stepdad are amazing and I spend a lot of time with them, which helps me feel more at home in this place that I don’t feel is my home. I don’t see my dad and Carla all that much with our crazy work schedules, but I always look forward to a hockey game with them or our upcoming, second-annual trip to see the Seattle Men’s Chorus holiday show. My family is happy and healthy and whole, and that means the world to me.

TRAVEL – 2008 was the year that I got to see the world, and I still can’t get over that opportunity. I’m starting to pack for my Thanksgiving trip to Alaska, and realized that this year I crossed an ocean and saw eight countries and am getting ready to cross my 41st U.S. state off the list. Not bad for a 6 month time period.

FRIENDS - Knowing who my true friends are is something I'm incredibly grateful for. Seeing the ways they impact my life and make me a better person is even more rewarding. It's hard to imagine life without any of these people, and my only wish is that they know how much I love each and every one of them.

MISCELLANEOUS - the hodgepodge of other thankful things:
~ living in the Pacific Northwest
~ having the courage to get myself out of a bad situation and start over with nothing - I wouldn't be where I am right now without having gone through that two years ago, and in hindsight I'm glad I had the balls to do it
~ thinking and living for myself
~ being able to take chances
~ my education
~ being part of a country that strives to improve itself
~ finding solidarity in like-minded people
~ dogs, and the overwhelming joy that they bring to people's lives
~ scalding hot coffee every morning
~ learning to be nicer to myself
~ reconnecting
~ having a home that I love and wonderful, kindhearted neighbors
~ the ability to feel things strongly, even the painful things, because that is what makes me alive
~ being self aware

He is smarter.

2008-11-14T16:43:00.000-08:00

So, he says it a bit better than I did. One of the most moving and eloquent arguments I've heard on this subject - or any other subject, for that matter.

Separate is NOT equal

2008-11-07T17:00:00.000-08:00

Tuesday night was an amazing, historic and honorable night for Obama voters. The U.S. and the world at large celebrated the leap that Americans took at the polls - a candidate taking the majority of the popular vote, the first candidate of color in the office, the message of hope and inspiration that Obama brought to so many people during his candidacy.

And then came the staggering results of California's Prop 8, effectively overturning the state Supreme Court ruling which had allowed homosexual couples the right to marry. This majority vote by the people of California dealt a crushing blow to the very attitude and change that voters had just embraced nationwide. Granted, Obama himself said he is not in favor of legalizing marriage for homosexual couples. Nor is Biden. They both favored the separate-but-equal "civil union" label, which I took more as an attempt to snag middle ground voters rather than their own personal creeds.

Regardless, I have an impossible time understanding how what amounts to an objection of religious nature can decide the fate of a legal concept in this country. That's great that religious people believe that marriage is sacred and belongs between one man and one woman. Fantastic. If that's how you feel, then that's how you should live. (Never mind the fact that the majority of these one man/one woman marriages end in divorce, which also goes against the majority of religions. Never mind that, in practice, marriage is nothing more than a state-sanctioned legal union and transfer of property.)

I am not religious in the least. I don't identify with or practice any major or organized religion. If I were to be married, it would be in the most secular way possible - no church, no priest, no bible, no blessings, etc. So why would that allowed? If people truly believe that marriage is a religious concept, so rooted in the bible or whatever that they can dictate who can and can't get married, then why would my heathen self be allowed to partake in it? Why is it only homosexual couples who are forbidden this essential right?

Civil unions are not marriages. If you've read much of this blog, you've gleaned that I'm not a huge fan of the concept of marriage, but I certainly believe that consentual adults who want to engage in such a thing should be allowed. Who am I to tell them what makes sense just because I don't dig it? If we as a society acknowledge that homosexuals are people who fall in love and couple up just like hetero people (which we have acknowledged by creating the "civil union"), then why do we feel this need to separate homosexuals from marriage, which has been established as the natural progression for most couples? Why would we recognize that need and desire and label it a civil union, and demand that it be separate from what the rest of society is allowed to do?

Someone needs to make the argument to me how, legally, marriage can be defined as one man and one woman, based on the fact that religious tradition deems it such. Tradition is not enough. And religion should have no part in the legality of it whatsoever. I'm genuinely curious and interested in how that can be successfully argued, because I myself can't conceive of it and don't know enough about it.

All I know is that I'm incredibly disappointed in California and all the states which passed similar restrictions against homosexual people. For such a democratic, lefty election, it's astounding to recognize in cold, hard fact that homosexuals appear to be the last demographic that it's socially acceptable to marginalize and discriminate against.

This is clearly the new civil rights issue. Some people would argue that's a stretch, but remember that interracial couples were forbidden from marrying not too long ago. And most people have commented that they never thought they'd see a black President in their lifetimes, and here we are. Very slowly but surely, we as a society are moving beyond the race barrier. I hope that attention is turned to the very visible barrier between homosexual individuals and the rights that they are being denied. Rights that, as a heterosexual, I could invoke any time I want, even though I don't want them. It's unjust that people who want to excercise their right to marry are given separate standards and definitions. Perhaps Melissa Etheridge's recent statement is right, and those who are denied the basic right that is afforded so many others should also be exempt from other basic duties such as paying taxes. Separate standards, right?

People need to ask themselves where their true fear of homosexual marriage comes from, and stop hiding behind religion as their convenient, catch-all excuse and rationale. Religion is used all too often as a universal argument for or against various issues, completely ignorant of the fact that different religions value different things, let alone that there are those of us who don't subscribe to any religion at all.

Separate is not equal, and this kind of inequality will not stand for long.

To the person who stole my Obama magnet

2008-11-03T18:22:00.000-08:00

Dear unnamed Portland resident,

You stole my Barack Obama car magnet. True, I did have two on the back of my car. But what you couldn't possibly have known was that only one really belonged to me - the other was borrowed from a friend, added to my car for our road trip, thus fleshing out the Obama paraphernalia on my car. If ever there was a town which would welcome a Subaru with Obama stickers, magnets and advertisements galore, it's Portland. Anyway, after our trip I gave my friend's magnet back, and now my car looks a bit less festive.

I know that you are a Barack supporter, because if you weren't, you would have taken both my magnets and my sticker and left me with nothing. Here is the story I have created, and which I hope is true: you must be a voter from a swing state, probably either Indiana or Missouri, who happened to be visiting Portland this weekend. You knew how CLOSE the margin is in your state - and you needed that magnet to bring home with you last night. You're displaying it on your car RIGHT NOW, and it's swinging people's votes like crazy. If your state ends up going Obama, we have each other to thank.

So, I have accepted your reasons for taking the magnet. I know you thought I had two of them, and could spare one for the cause. And even though my car is now without a magnet, it's ok. Shhhh...it's ok. Washington's gonna go Obama anyway. You needed it more than I did. For the greater good.

Understandably yours,
Jillian

Walking wounded

2008-10-20T18:15:00.000-07:00

Love...she is a bitch.

Can't remember who said that or where I read it, or maybe I just made it up right now. Regardless, there's some merit to that statement. I've been super introspective lately, about my love life (or complete lack thereof these days), about old love, first love, etc. I blame the new Ray LaMontagne album. It's drawing it out of me like poison from a wound.

Which brings me to my theory: all of us who've loved and lost are just walking wounded. The very act of falling in love, whether willful or completely out of your control, opens you up to wounds which, although they may heal somewhat over time, are always lurking beneath the surface. They lay there, waiting to rise up in a dull ache like an arthritic shoulder on a damp day, or waiting to flare up in hot, searing pain like tender skin exposed to scalding water.

The question isn't whether you've ever been wounded, because it's nearly impossible to think that there are people living/working/existing who haven't been wounded. The question is, are you able to heal the wounds well enough to open yourself up to more?

I'm walking wounded. It's no surprise, I've talked about it a dozen times on this blog. My wounds wax and wane like a new moon. Most of the time, they're dormant. Sometimes they ache like that arthritic shoulder. And sometimes they flare.

The best times are obviously the dormant ones - when I forget that B even exists, or that we ever shared our lives, or that I ever loved him. The ache comes about when I hear about him through the grapevine or when I read an article about B's success in the paper. And the searing wounds flare up fresh and hot when I hear a song like "I Still Care For You" and realize that I may have already experienced the great love of my life.

I've had relationships since him, and though I loved J very much, there was always something special about my love for B. Something unconquerable and enduring. Even after I'd moved on and thought it was all behind me, the wounds came back and told me I'm wrong about that.

Sometimes the fates converge to remind you of your wounds in a million different ways. You might hear that song that breaks your heart. You might have just passed each others' birthdays, and remember all the previous ones you celebrated together. You might have dinner with your beloved family and realize that you're the only single one left - the only one without a partner, the ninth at a table for eight.

And everyone tells you the same thing - it'll happen when it's meant to. When you least expect it. Etc. But what if it doesn't? Not everyone is lucky enough to find even one great love. It sucks to think that mine may have come and gone by age 22, but at least I got to have it.

I'm not sure which is more frightening - that I may have already had my one great love, or that there's another in store for me. Because if there is, it means acknowledging the possibility of sustaining more damage. That's the danger of opening yourself up to someone. Along with the love and wonder and partnership and bliss is the possible wound waiting to happen. And you either run away from it, or you reach out wholeheartedly for the good and hope that the wounding walks on by.

Upping the auntie

2008-10-19T20:17:00.000-07:00

A year ago, I wasn't an aunt at all. Today, I have two delightful and delicious nephews and another one on the way. It couldn't be more fabulous!

Jase is the son of my brother Andy and his girlfriend Jenn, and he is probably the raddest little kid to come along in forEVER. He just turned four in August, and he's such a creative, fun, happy, adorable, polite, amazing little dude. He makes me laugh all the time, whether on purpose or just as a happy side effect to whatever he happens to be doing at the time. On my birthday, he and Jenn called and sang happy birthday to me over the phone, and then he said "I love you Jillian," and my heart of stone grew several sizes, Grinch-style. It's been awesome to see Andy step into this fatherly role, and Jenn is an amazing and nurturing mom who's raised a completely stellar little kid, mostly on her own until now. I'm so happy to have them as part of my family.

My stepbrother Terry and his wife Tracie have a little son called Julian, who was born a couple months prematurely but is now approaching his first birthday. I haven't gotten to see him as much, since they live across the water, but he's a smiley and happy blue-eyed little guy. I look forward to getting to spend more time with him in the years to come.

And my dear stepsister Jenn is pregnant, and she and her husband Jamie will be having their first baby in April. It's pretty early on, but their first ultrasound showed quite clearly that they should be expecting a wonderful baby boy. A third nephew! Fantastic. Truly fantastic.

The coolest part is that this fabulous family has come into my life over the years and it exemplifies the notion that you don't have to be someone's blood relative to love and adore them. Peanut nephews are peanut nephews. And I couldn't be happier to be their Auntie.

In the key of me

2008-10-15T12:52:00.000-07:00

Everyone has that one musician or band that speaks to them above all others. I know I've made no secret of my love for Mr. Ray LaMontagne. But listening to his new album "Gossip in the Grain" made me realize that it goes even deeper than that...if my soul had a sound, it would sound like Ray LaMontagne.

Now, I don't mean that in a conceited "my soul is so awesome it would sound THIS good!" kind of way, nor in a "my soul sounds better than your soul" kind of way. Everyone has their own sound soulmate. And some of us are lucky enough to find more than one along the way.

My first sound soulmate was Smashing Pumpkins - back in my angst-filled teen years when I was hormonal and emotional and wanted nothing more than to sit in my room and listen to Siamese Dream, Pisces Iscariot and Mellon Collie (disc 1) over and over and over in my triple-disc cd changer until I felt like coming out to face the world. And I did do this process, frequently.

Later, I found a peppier, more hopeful sound soulmate in Dave Matthews, back in those blissful years of first love when my boyfriend and I ate/slept/breathed DMB. Their albums were truly the soundtrack to our relationship and today they are at once very special and very bittersweet because of that.

Years on down the road, I met Mr. LaMontagne. Not met-met, but met - you know. I thought I'd reached the pinnacle of bliss when I heard the song "Burn." It was surpassed when I got his second album and fell in love with the song "Empty." And now, both of those are superceded by his song "I Still Care For You" off of Gossip in the Grain.

Ohhhhhhh man, if my soul could utter beautiful, breathy words it would say what Ray says. It would say them in the way that Ray does. It's very rare that a song makes you cry the first time you hear it - that's only happened once or twice for me. Chalk this up as number three.

I know that I'm not the only one who connects with LaMontagne's music like this. And it's fantastic that other people enjoy his music and FEEL it the same way. Music is such a unique experience for every person, and yet it's also universal - which is only a small part of its brilliance.

Listening to this song feels like somebody tapped into my heart and what I'm hearing is actually pouring out of me like sap from a tree. Jillian, distilled.

Ickonomics

2008-10-01T18:31:00.001-07:00

I am economically challenged. Bailouts? Stocks & bonds? Huh? The most I can do is make ongoing contributions to my 457, whatever that is - but I have no idea where the money goes or what happens to it. The only reason I manage this is because my company helped me set it up and now it's sort of self-regulating. No maintenance.

The current state of the economy, what little I understand, totally freaks me out. At work, we slashed everything to the bone for the 2009 budget, and we're all still in fear of layoffs. As a public transit agency, most of our operating revenue comes from voter-approved sales tax, which is in the negative this year. We are hurting.

But here's what confuses me - I went to Alderwood Mall a couple weeks ago, to grab an REI gift certificate for my friends' wedding gift. It was lunchtime, just after noon on a Friday. And I couldn't find a parking spot to save my life.

If sales tax revenues are abysmally low, how is it that the entire parking lot at a massive mall is packed at noon on a weekday?

I snagged a spot out in the BFE and went in to grab the certificate. On my way out, tons of cars circled the lot, jockeying for position to sneak into any potential spots. As I walked to my car, a man in a minivan rolled down his window to ask if I was leaving. I said I was, and that my car was about 10 behind him. He reversed and waited patiently as I got ready to leave, waving his thanks as I did.

Really? What's happening here? Either there is an uber-epidemic of mallrats, or the majority of cars belonged to teens skipping school to hang at the mall, or people are only doing shopping of the window variety.

In any case, it's strange, and I don't understand it any better than I understand our current ickonomic state.

Maybe, baby

2008-09-24T19:46:00.000-07:00

Lately it seems like everyone I know is either pregnant or having babies or parenting. Only a couple of my closest friends/family have kids at this exact moment, but I know I'm reaching the age where friends/family with kids will be more commonplace than outlier. And while I'm thrilled for them and their little bundles of work vs. reward, it makes me wonder if I'm missing that parent gene. What, you couldn't tell from that previous sentence?

Some women seem like they are just born to be mothers. They're caring, nurturing, selfless - and more than that, some dream about being mothers from the time they learn where babies come from. I've never had that. I've always cooed far more over dogs than I do over babies. When I was a kid, the thing I dreamt about was owning a farm where I could have 357 puppies. I've never given much thought to being a mom.

But now, cliche as it is, I've realized that if I ever do want to have kids it has to be within the next 10 years or so. I'm almost 29 - that means the ol' biological clock is gonna start ticking in. But how do you know if it's what you want to do? It's not like you can change your mind once you make that choice.

I'm not even sure if I'd ever want to get married, let alone be a mom. Part of me is still traditional enough to think that's the way you should do it - you find a partner, get married, and then have a baby. But what if that isn't in the cards for me? Right now I feel fine about that possibility, but I'm sure that will change as I get older.

My coworker and his wife just had twin girls two weeks ago, and today they brought the cute little peanuts in to the office. They were adorable, for sure - tiny little feet, weensy little hands - cute enough to grab even my attention. But unlike all the other women around, I wasn't clamoring to hold them. Granted, all those women are already mothers or grandmothers, but still. I am terrified of babies. I don't know how to relate to kids. Having my nephew Jase around is wonderful and has been so good for me, to learn how to talk to a small child and how to relate to him. He's wonderful, and I'm grateful for his presence in my life because it's already taught me so much.

But when it comes to the idea of having children of my own, I'm completely on the fence. I don't know that it's what I want. Right now, I'm far too selfish to even consider it. I care too much about my career. I'd like to get a Master's. I love traveling, often at the drop of a hat. True, you can still do all of those things as a parent, but you're no longer your own top priority. And I know enough about myself to know that I am still my top priority. There's too much I want to do before I get tied down by another person.

But that time is getting shorter, and I wonder sometimes if I'll ever have that change of heart - or if I'll look back 20 years from now and wish that I'd made kids more of a priority than a job, a degree, a trip. How do you find the answer to that without first living through it?

Itty bitty bloggy bites

2008-09-21T19:01:00.000-07:00

ALL BY MY ONESIE
One thing I adore possibly more than any other is driving along a beautiful stretch of roadway when I'm the only car around - no one in front or behind or me, and no cars passing me in the other direction. Drove a stretch of farm road near Salem, OR yesterday and today - and it was stunningly gorgeous. And I was completely by myself, both ways. Unreal. My first human experience in recent weeks - feels good to reenter the world of zen. Hope I can hang out there for a while...

ALMA - CHECK YOUR BATTERY
My tank has been on E lately. Working too hard, playing too little. This weekend was my friend Nikki's wedding down in Silver Falls, Oregon, and I'd been looking forward to some time with the girls so very much. Being around my besties recharges me in a way that nothing else does and I'm so grateful to have these women in my life, even if we're separated by states and don't get to see each other often. Less than 24 hours with them recharged me completely.

XY SHORTAGE
How is it that I know so many completely amazing, utterly fabulous single women and I don't know any single guys who I would call either amazing or fabulous? Or even just cool? Or tolerable? Every one of my single girlfriends is a catch and an effing HALF, and any guy would be so lucky to snag one of them. And yet, none of us know any good guys. Have we truly reached that point in life where "all the good ones are taken?" God, that's depressing. We're not even 30.

EARLY BIRD
I'm getting ready for bed. At 7pm. Have to get up at 4 to be to work at 5:30 for my first ever launch event that I planned in my new job. Possible news coverage. Stay tuned! I'll be the one with the 40 oz coffee in hand and the mega bags under my eyes. Hangover + no sleep = zombie Jillie.

HITTING HOME
I miss Portland. I know, dear reader - that's nothing new. And you're probably sick of reading about it. But it can't be helped. Every time I cross that bridge back into the land of O, I feel simultaneously heartbroken and elated. It just feels like home. The first place you actively choose to live as an adult is especially meaningful, I think. And someday I hope to find my way back. It just feels right.

I TAWT I TAW A TATTY TATT
So in theory, I'll be getting my first ever tattoo on my birthday. It's been a long time coming. My rule was that if I wanted the same design for 5 consecutive years, I'd get it. And now it's been 6. I'm kind of excited, kind of nervous. We'll see if I actually go through with it.

"Shucks and aw" politics

2008-09-04T21:39:00.000-07:00

I can't sit it out any longer, but I did take a day to cool off a bit and regroup before posting this blog. Writing when you're angry or emotional only gets you so far - and watching Sarah Palin's speech at the GOP convention definitely got me both angry and emotional.

One would think, given the current slump of the American economy, increasing joblessness and increasing outsourcing, the war in Iraq that's been in effect since 2003 and shows no signs of stopping, and the seemingly unstoppable disapproval rating of Bush, that the American people would be ready for and actively seeking change. And yet watching the rapt faces and hearing the cheers at Palin's shortsighted, mean-spirited and downright inaccurate jabs against Barack Obama, that sinking feeling crept in the pit of my stomach that told me the American people are NOT ready, and that middle America will vote the GOP ticket the way it always does. Because when you really break it down, fear of change is stronger to most people than the fear of things never changing.

I was actually astounded by the amount of "aw, shucks" that Palin brought to her speech. The "average hockey mom" bullshit and the "good ole boy" smack talk. It's no shocker that her speech was written by Bush's speechwriters - what I call the "shucks and aw" politics was as rampant in her speech as it is in every one of Bush's bumbling, country-bumpkin, "gee, I'm just a good ole Texas boy!" attempts at speaking.

Why is this enough for people? Why do people not request or DEMAND more of their leaders? Sometimes I still get completely floored by the fact that George W. was elected President. TWICE. It's like a bad Twilight Zone episode. Or something that should be happening in a parallel universe or a Comedy Central cartoon. Not real. Not in this world. And yet it happened, and more than once.

And now the country seems poised to embrace Palin with the same unquestioning, neighborly approach. And I can't for the life of me understand why people are accepting of "shucks and aw" politics.

Having a son who enlists in the military? Doesn't qualify you for anything. Having a special-needs child? Wonderful, I'm sure - but it doesn't earn you a Subway stamp, let alone a Vice Presidency. And as for the people who are up in arms over opponents questioning the Presidential ability of a mother of five children, tell your girl Palin that she's the one inviting the critiques. Stop painting yourself as an "average hockey mom." Stop drawing every member of the family into the spotlight/magnifying glass along with you. Stop touting your son's enlistment and deployment as your own success. Stop highlighting your baby's special-needs status as a badge of honor for yourself. Don't drag your seventeen year-old daughter's unplanned pregnancy into the spotlight to take away suspicion over your own recent childbirth. You want to be a mom? Be a mom. Want to be a politician? Learn to talk about the issues that affect the citizens of this country - mothers and non-mothers alike. If you paint yourself with the soccer-mom brush, don't be surprised when you come out in black and white checks.

I had a great talk with my boss today about the speeches and the election and the fear we both share over people being too narrow-minded to break out of the "shucks and aw" mold that our nation's leaders have created over the past eight years. There's some part of all of us, myself included, that can't separate our own egos from the political sphere. For some reason, people like voting for someone who's just like them. True - I dig Obama because he is educated, compassionate, diplomatic and liberal. I'd like to think that I'm all of those, but I think we'd all agree that these qualities are also things that a great leader should embody (at least I think we'd all agree on the first three). But being a cowboy? Talkin' with a twang when it suits you? Boasting about how you don't even know how to use email? In what way does any of this qualify someone to be the leader of the free world?

It doesn't. It never will. This is the ego rearing its ugly head and saying that we'd rather see someone just like us in the White House, no matter what the cost, because on some level it means we might be great at something like that too. "Look at Bush, he's just like me. We could be friends. We're on the same level." Really?

I'd rather see someone in charge who can kick my ass at anything, out-argue me on any issue, quote liberally from all the great authors and politicians of the past, question the status quo and blow my mind with thoughts I'd never entertained before but that make so much sense you feel like you arrived at those conclusions on your own. That's the kind of leader this country needs. And we're sure as shit not going to find that in a 72 year-old techno-illiterate who appoints a self-proclaimed hockey mom as his VP.

I pray my secular little heart out that people have enough sense to see past their egos and to say no to "shucks and aw" politicians, once and for all.

Givens

2008-08-19T17:15:00.000-07:00

Some things in life are just givens - those things about yourself that you know will never change, no matter what.

For example, it is a given for me that any song featuring vocals by Zac de la Rocha makes me want to shake the shackles of my modern, consumer-driven life, leap into a mosh pit, and then follow in the footsteps of Che Guevara. It's just unavoidable. Two lines of that scratchy and passionate rhythm, and I'm halfway to booking a ticket to any Latin American nation in need of an an outlaw revolutionary. De la Rocha's voice is just that powerful to me. That's probably one reason I never went to a Rage concert...too afraid of how it'd affect me. I'd go in wearing Chacos and a ponytail, and I'd come out in Jesus sandals and dreads.

Another given is that, upon the first ten or so listenings, I will absolutely hate each and every song created by Beck. I will then inexplicably change my mind and completely appreciate and enjoy the song forever more, all the while wondering how the hell he does that. Give Gamma Ray a listen and see if it hits you the same way.

Also, when I am not dating anyone or otherwise distracted by a man or two in my life, it is a given that my thoughts will always turn to my ex-boyfriend B. It took me about five years to get over the loss of that relationship, and it was just last summer before I was able to really forget about him and move on. Granted, I was enjoying a delightfully...busy...summer at the time, and distractions were...um, ample. I never called him back, and I never gave him a second thought.

This summer is quite different. Since returning from Europe, my whole life has revolved around work and nothing more. Which is fantastic - I am LOVING the new gig and working hard and making it happen, and that's wonderful. But my social life is totally non-existent. It's officially been a month or more since I went out on a date.

And then I committed the heinous mistake of watching "The Notebook" on Sunday night.

The tears would NOT. STOP. COMING. I only saw that movie once before, and had the same reaction back then...but that was before the breakthrough getting-over-him summer of 2007. I had no idea it would affect me the same way this time around.

But that premise hits me so hard. First love. That kind of intensity and connection and longing. That idea of coming back together and realizing you were made for each other. It's Hollywood SHIT, true. But there's something very appealing about that idea, and unfortunately it's a given that part of me wishes for that with B. Even though I know how much we've both changed, and that there could never be trust there, and that it would never work, and that I probably wouldn't even like him today.

Even knowing all that, it's a given that part of me is a sentimental and sensitive sap. And even though I try to crush and squelch that part of me at every opportunity, it's a given that it hides somewhere underneath, waiting to be unleashed during an ABC Family Sunday night movie.

And it's a given that I'll never learn.

Maybe it's just me?

2008-08-12T14:03:00.001-07:00

This is really only funny in relation to the blog I posted yesterday.

Today at lunch I popped out to get some gas. I went to the nearby Safeway, where I shamelessly use my parents' Safeway Club Card number to reap the benefits of their Safeway purchases and snag a bit of a discount.

Anyway, I'd just placed the nozzle in the car and started to get the gas flowing, when this man across the fuel island from me says "excuse me, Miss? Can I ask a favor of you?"

He didn't really wait for me to respond before fleshing out his request. And what follows has no embellishment or hyperbole - it's as close to what I remember as possible.

"I normally never ask favors of people. I'm really self-sufficient and I'm not the kind of guy who asks people for help. But today is a bit of an exception. See, I'm on my way downtown for a medical appointment. I have to get to the UW Medical Center. I go there because it's really serious and it's my weekly appointment that I have to get to because they give me an IV. It gives me fluids that I really need ever since the infection that I got from the accident. See, this infection is really bad and the IV also gives me the antibiotics that I need, even though they aren't really helping. So it's really important that I get to this appointment. I just got half my foot amputated and it's incredibly painful and that's where I got the infection..."

At this point, the gentleman points to his right foot, which he dangles and bounces ever so slightly over the concrete of the fuel island. It is indeed half a foot. Bandaged tightly in somewhat grungy looking gauze. No toes. Missing from midway through the arch through where the toes should be. No slipper or shoe to cushion it. Just...half a foot.

Wow. Did this guy really just show me his amputated foot? Yep.

I'm thinking how much worse that is than flaunting the double total knee replacement scars, and now I'm just distracted as he continues discussing his situation.

"I'm sorry sir, what was the favor you needed?" I interrupted gently.

The long and short of it was that this gentleman forgot his credit card, and before he was able to finish I said "I'm very sorry, sir - but I just used the only $40 cash I had to pay for this tank of gas." And it was totally true - ordinarily I have at least a debit card with me. But my card number got stolen last Thursday night when the salon where I got my hair cut was broken into later that night and all the credit receipts stolen. So long story short, I canceled the card and have had NO money for the past few days. I pulled out a few bucks when I hit the bank the other day, and between lunch with Gorms yesterday and $40 for gas today, I was once again strapped. Man, I hope the new debit card comes today. (But see? I didn't share this long-winded reasoning with the gentleman...I just gave a brief explanation that I felt was sufficient for this complete stranger).

I felt bad that I wasn't able to help, even if it was a bit of a scam. I mean, the dude legitimately had a foot and a half - and there's no faking that. I've got two full feet in damn cute shoes - I would've tossed him a few bucks. That's just good karma.

But as I left, I had to chuckle over the timing of my recent post and the irony of this gentleman's incredibly detailed medical explanation and harrowing visual aid.

Sometimes nodding and smiling doesn't work. Sometimes you shake your head and you grimace.

Nod and smile

2008-08-11T18:07:00.000-07:00

What do you do in a situation where someone is providing you with WAAAAAAY too much information?

Part of what I do in this new gig is a lot of community outreach and public event staffing. Which I love, right? I really do. But every once in a while someone comes up and starts talking to you like you're their new bestie, and they divulge way too many details and personal information and medical history and the like. It makes me really uncomf, and especially in that professional capacity I'm not sure the best way to deal with it.

(Ironic, right? Since I write this blog and basically share the details of my life with my three regular readers (shoutouts to brother and madre and bestie!). But I figure that anyone coming to my URL either stumbled across it and is free to quickly click away, or they're there because they actually want to read these details. So not really the same situation, I guess.)

Anywhooz, it's awkward. Especially when my coworkers are there too and I'm trying to give a good response or be a good company rep. And you're trying to be polite and engaging, all the while attempting to steer the conversation back to what you're actually there to talk about. But sometimes the person doesn't want to be steered. What they really want to talk about is their recent double total knee replacement, and here are the scars, and look - this one is so much worse than the other!, and it's painful, and they get tired so easily now, and that's why they had to stop in front of your booth for seven minutes to tell you all about it. Hmm. Really?

Especially the medical information - it's incredibly weird to me that you'd volunteer that kind of stuff to total strangers. I expect a certain degree of that from family or close friends, especially as we're all getting older. But random dude off the street showing me his knee scars? No thank you. Homeslice telling me what a tough last year it's been in terms of his mental health? Not interested. Not in a mean way, just in a polite please-respect-my-personal-boundaries kind of way.

But the best thing to do, I find, is just nod and smile. Not too encouragingly - you don't want them to continue on. A slight gaze directly to the person's left, and uttering the occasional, sympathetic "mmm hmm" to break up their description of their mother's sister's bout with rheumatoid arthritis AFTER she just fought off a wicked goiter, is usually a good rule of thumb. Also, you can eagerly make eye contact with ANYONE standing nearby in hopes of encouraging them to come over and allow you to do your job and focus on them instead of Hypo McChondriac's TMI rant.

The bottom line, I guess, is that sometimes I think people just need someone to listen to them. And if I can be that person for someone for a few minutes while I secretly wish I was anywhere but there at that very moment, I'll do it. Sometimes we all need someone to just nod and smile.

Keep the old

2008-08-05T14:00:00.000-07:00

There are the people you hang out with, and then there are your FRIENDS.

For some people, those categories might be the same thing. But for me, the difference between the two has always been crystal clear. I've never been a person who had many friends. Tons of acquaintances throughout the years, sure - but friends? Nope. My dad always told me that I would meet the friends of my life in college, and he was absolutely right.

Alexis, Meli, Sabrina - my three besties for life. These are the girls who know literally everything about me, the good and the bad, and love me anyway. I would trust any of these ladies with any and everything. Before I met these women, I had an impossible time trusting girls because of all the two-facedness and drama that I encountered when I was younger. But with these girls, it was different right off the bat. Maybe because we were older and in college. Maybe because we lived together and became close really quickly. Maybe it's just them. Whatever the reason, I thank the universe every day for bringing me these friends.

This weekend was Alexis' wedding down in Portland. She's the first of my best friends (other than Nate) to get married, and being part of her wedding meant the world to me. And more than that, it was getting to be around all of these friends together and sharing the whole experience with one another. Alexis, Chris, Meli, Nikki, Nia and Sam - reuniting with the whole crew was incredibly special.

All the laughter and tears and alcohol and hilarity and emotion left me feeling utterly exhausted as I drove back to Seattle on Sunday night, but exhausted in that rewarding way where you know you just had the time of your life and you play back the previous days' events in your mind and laugh and cry some more.

These people are so special and I can't imagine life without them. Even though we don't all live together, or even nearby like we used to, these people are my truest true FRIENDS and I wouldn't trade them for a million acquaintances living nearby. They are worth the wait and the intermittent visits. I feel like my dad was right - I have made my friends for life. If I add others as I continue on, that's great. But if I don't, and these friends I made in college are all I ever have, then my $120,000 education was still the most unbeatable bargain of all time.

Coulda-woulda-glad I didn'ta

2008-07-25T13:31:00.000-07:00

The weirdest thought struck me this morning - I could totally be MARRIED right now.

I moved down to CA to be with J over two years ago. Assuming things had worked out differently, we probably would have gotten married by now. Instead I'm single, traveling, working hard, living for myself and celebrating other friends' weddings and marriages.

It's not a regretful thought - things are exactly as they should be and knowing what I know now, and being a totally different person than I was then, I can't imagine being married to J. It would never have worked in a million years. I mean, it didn't work. We didn't even get to that point. We were two very different people with very different approaches to life. And although the disaster that was the end of our relationship was painful, as most breakups usually are, I know now that leaving was one of the best decisions I ever made. My life is totally different today than it would have been.

No ill will toward J - he's a great person who will most likely make someone a great husband someday. And I'll probably be the eternally single gal who someday looks back and says, "coulda-woulda-shoulda." But it won't be in regard to that relationship.

If anything's gonna-coulda-woulda shoulda me, it'll be B. I admit - I already coulda-woulda-shoulda that situation all the time. If things had worked out differently with B, we probably would have gotten married years ago, and life would also be totally different. And he's probably married to her now; maybe they're happy, maybe not.

B will always be my coulda-woulda-shoulda that didn't-wouldn't-can't've.

Muscle memory?

2008-07-18T18:12:00.000-07:00

There's absolutely no reason I should remember the shortcut I used to take to get from my high school boyfriend B's house to the house where I used to work as a nanny (and where I am currently dog-sitting), but I do. This is especially weird given my complete lack of directional sense and ability. But yesterday on my drive home, I felt like winging it. So I wung it.

Somehow, it felt right to turn left when I did. And then it felt completely natural to flip the right blinker. Go up the hill? Sure...why not? Hmm, I think I will go left here, because that seems like the place to turn. By this time, I knew I was on the right track because the completely erroneous 3-way stops flashed me back to my 17 year-old self who thought they were equally ridiculous back then.

I haven't driven this route in at least 8 years, maybe 10. And for anyone who doesn't know, I can't direct my way out of a paper bag even when supplied with a compass, a GPS unit, a headlamp, three Clif bars for lasting energy and a color printed google map. Why on earth would this route stick with me?

But it did, and I didn't make a single wrong turn, and I made it back to the house in no time. But if you ask me to find a current address that's three blocks from my house? SOL, completely. Weird, no?

Stuck on shuffle

2008-07-16T19:39:00.000-07:00

Ah, technology. Not only does it provide fabulous entertainment and ongoing distraction, but it also supplies tons of wonderful metaphors.

Lately (as I'm sure any recent blogs can corroborate) I have been stuck on shuffle. My moods swing faster than Tiger at the US Open and it's basically been that way since I got back from my vacation. Like I mentioned before - adjustments are always tough for me - and everything in the past four weeks has been an adjustment or a transition. Finishing up old job? Check. Starting new gig? Check. Getting to know new coworkers, responsibilities and job duties? Yep. Finding my balance with personal drama that started before I left? Uh huh. Having my first bestie getting married in a couple weeks? Mmm hmm. It's all been poured on, man - and I respond by sleeping poorly, being cranky, withdrawing from people around me, etc. And it all changes on a dime. PSYCHED during my walk. SAD driving home. CRYING on the phone. THRILLED for my bestie. AWED by the beauty of everything I see. SAD again over growing apart from someone close.

I know that I'm in transition and I'm settling into my new gig and the fact that this is my life for the next few years minimum. But the mood swings are making me feel bad for friends and family and anyone else who has to deal with me (except at work where I keep it locked down, almost a little too well).

This blog is really just me hashing it out. So here we go with my angry self-pep talk.

The trip? Is over. Deal with it. Yes, it was blissful and fabulous and you never wanted to leave. I get it. But it happened and it's gone and you have wonderful memories and pictures, so suck it up and move on. You always do this and it makes me not want to take you on vacations anymore. I'll turn this car around, I swear to god...

The job? Yep, it's way more challenging and you feel in over your head. But you know what? There's a learning curve at every new gig, and everyone goes through it, and you're not afraid of asking questions or saying you need help. So again, suck it up and deal with it. This is what you wanted - and although I know that actually getting what you want can sometimes be the toughest, you can deal with it and will own it. Just do it.

The drama? A big chapter of it just got resolved and you feel RAD about that. Wallow as much as you need to tonight, and then realize that tomorrow it starts fresh and you can have your friend back as much as you decide you want him back. And you do, because he's an amazing person and friend and you've missed him so much. So be grateful that you said what was on your mind, and he responded as he did, and start over. It's well worth it and you know it.

The resulting drama? You'll figure it out. You are confrontational but tactful, and it'll all sort itself out in whatever way you choose to proceed. Mull it over before any big decisions, yes?

And the rest of it? The stuck-in-Washington-woe-is-me-boo-hoo-you-miss-Portland crybaby shit? Snap out of it. You just got your dream job at your dream company and you better lock it down before you miss out on all the opportunities in front of you. YOU CAN'T HAVE EVERYTHING. You just can't. It doesn't work that way and some people never get even a facet of what they want, so consider yourself insanely lucky and call it a day. You will find your balance, as you always do, and this is a limbo that you can deal with.

So effing do it already. Get off of shuffle mode and move steadily forward. You know you can do it - so make it happen.

Bittersweet

2008-07-01T21:06:00.000-07:00

Today I realized the bitter flipside of the sweeeeeet new job I will start on Monday: that means I have to stick around here and can't move back to Portland.

As much as I was unchallenged and dissatisfied by my current-and-soon-to-be-previous job, there was always the notion that I could keep looking for something better, and that perhaps that something better could lead me back to Portland. On the days where the frustration at work was overwhelming, sometimes that thought was my ruby slippers, repeated over and over to get me through the day: you can always go back to Portland. You can always go back to Portland. Only now, I can't.

I know I am going to LOVE this job. It's everything I want: amazing company, stellar pay, heavy workload, fun and fabulous teammates, myriad challenges, room for creativity, recognition, etc. Literally the only thing I won't love about it is that it's HERE and not THERE.

I've been back in Washington for just over two years now. There are days where Portland feels like a distant memory - did I ever really live there? Did I really fall in love with it? Did I adore my neighborhood and working downtown and never driving my car and being surrounded by great friends and billions of things to do? (Sigh). Yeah. Yeah, I did. And through a combination of unfortunate circumstance and my own choices, I landed back here in Washington.

Seattle's great, for sure. But I don't live in Seattle. And although one of my best friends lives on QA, she's been busy in law school and is now studying for the bar - and she may not even stay in Seattle, depending on job prospects. I rarely see her. My other besties are in Portland (about to get married) and Oakland, CA (I'd give anything to get that girl up here - hint HINT, Carmejji!). It goes without saying that I rarely see them, either. Though I grew up here, I don't keep in touch with a single person from my high school days, with the exception of the odd facebook conversation or random text message. And my beloved brother and his girl and their son are getting ready to move to Sequim or Sultan or some other place that starts with S. Wherever it is, it's farther away than here.

And I am fucking LONELY. I'm not too proud to put that out there - I'm not embarrassed by it, it's just an unfortunate place I find myself. It is what it is, and it sucks. But I don't make friends easily, at least not true friends. I've always measured by quality and not quantity, and that works for me. But it sucks not having anyone to go do anything with, ever. I've gotten so used to being by myself that I felt this murderous rage building up during my recent Europe trip because I was around my dear friend James so much that I didn't know how to handle not having alone time. It was nothing to do with him, and it would've been the same with anyone. I'm just by myself ALL THE TIME. Functioning around someone else in close quarters, anyone else, was a real challenge for me some days. Who knows what will happen if I ever start dating someone seriously again...I feel bad for the dude already. Poor sap has no idea what he's hypothetically getting his hypothetical self into.

There's no real point to this post. Just venting. There's nothing I or anyone else can do to remedy this sense of solitude that I feel. And trust me when I say I know how good I have it. I'm near my family, who I dearly love. I have a steady job that allows me to be completely self-sufficient. I just took a three week dream vacation to 8 countries. I am getting ready to begin working what is essentially my dream job. I'm healthy and (reasonably) stable and the sky is the limit, and I know all of this. I know how lucky I have been. And I am truly grateful for all of it.

But sometimes, when I'm throwing myself a little pity party like I clearly am this evening, I think about how much more enjoyable all of these wonderful things would be if I had a few wonderful people nearby to share them with. Or one wonderful person in particular. Hypothetically, of course.

Please upgrade to version 3.0

2008-07-01T10:02:00.000-07:00

How can I miss someone SO MUCH who I barely knew to begin with?

The past few days have seen me overwhelmed by memories of M (2.0). Sure, I'm hyper-emotional and slightly overwhelmed right now, which means that I dwell on everything a bit more than I should. And sure, it was about this time last year that M (2.0) and I first started connecting, so there's that mini-anniversary to contend with as well. And listening to Ray LaMontagne or Damien Rice, both of whom played extensively during visits with M (2.0), is probably not the best way to combat this renewed sense of loss. But I can't really help it.

M (2.0) and I were like an AirBook and an HP - he is exotic, glossy, mysterious, intensely captivating and inherently covetable; I am accessible, user-friendly and prone to periodic crashings and sporadic hard drive failure. The point is, we are not compatible. Not in the long run. And I know this - I know it as much as I know anything. But a big part of me doesn't care and still craves the connection I had with him, fleeting and fatal though it may have been.

M (2.0) - we don't talk anymore, and I know you don't read this, and you've got the whole world on your own plate to contend with. But you should know that I still think of you, and wish you everything bright and good, and dream of those days of blissful intensity and intoxication with you/by you. Even though these memories cause me to crash a little bit every time.

In the words of the sage Mr. LaMontagne: "I never learned to count my blessings - I choose instead to dwell in my disasters." You're my favorite disaster by far, and lately I do dwell in you.

Souvenirs

2008-06-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

This morning started off so well. I woke up to pure sunshine painted pink by the filter of my bedroom curtains. I rolled over and grabbed my stunning new moonstone ring off the nightstand and put it on (I bought the ring in Paris, in Montemartre, after visiting the Salvador Dalí museum and having an amazing lunch in a tiny bistro whose walls were hidden by vines and flowers). When I got out of bed, after sneezing a few times (allergies, anyone?), I popped one of the apple-flavored antihistamines I bought in Portugal, recalling how easy it was to walk into a pharmacy and get a prescription for €5. I grabbed a t-shirt out of my dresser, and remembered that it's the shirt I wore the day that I was visiting Kuşadasi, Turkey, and the Roman ruins at Ephesus. Before running out the door, I slipped my feet into my Chaco sandals, and was surprised by how loose the straps were - then I remembered how swollen my feet had gotten after the flight to Greece, and how much I'd had to loosen up the sandals just to fit my feet in them. Walking across the floor, some tiny pebbles which were caught in the tread tumbled out onto my carpet, and it was remarkable to think that those pebbles traveled halfway across the world with me. Were they from Pompeii or Paris?

I did buy some souvenirs on the trip - the ring, for one, which I'd wanted for years and am so glad I waited on because I can't imagine finding one I'd like more. Some French soaps, some mini mosaic picture frames from La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. And many small gifts for family and friends.

But to me, the real souvenirs are the less tangible things that you return home with - the dust and dirt on your sneakers from streets where ancient Romans walked thousands of years ago; the farmer's tanline you got on your right arm from sitting in the sunshine for hours outside a brasserie on the French Riviera; the numerous receipts and Metro tickets in French and Spanish and Greek that keep turning up in my purse and jacket pockets and everywhere else.

I look at my Nikes with a new sort of reverence when I think of all the places they've been, and even though they've had way too much mileage and the support isn't really there anymore, I don't think I'll ever get rid of them because of all the memories they hold for me. A dusty, dirty, sweaty pair of shoes is all I really need as a souvenir.

Reacclimating

2008-06-22T11:38:00.000-07:00

I'd forgotten how strange you feel when you get back from a long trip. In 2000, when I spent a month in Ecuador, getting home was bittersweet. I'd gotten used to living in Quito and traveling around, to speaking Spanish and having adventures. And then you get home, and although you're happy to see friends and family, it's still just...different. In 2001 I spent a semester at school in Washington, D.C., and returning home was a bit of the same. Happy to see friends and family and be back in my hometown, but I still felt a bit off. Disconnected.

Getting back from Europe has been similar. The couple weeks before I left were so intense with all the job stuff and some other personal drama, and when I was on the trip I tried my best to not think about any of it and when thoughts crept into my head I pushed them away pretty easily. But then you get home from the trip and you're kind of right back where you left off, whether you want to be or not.

Drama doesn't really go away - it just gets postponed for a bit, and sometimes the time and space and distance compound to make it even weirder. I guess now that I'm back and confronted with it, it's up to me to figure out what I want and how I want to proceed. Ignore? Confront? Shy away? Undecided.

Still, life is wonderful and I am so grateful for how things have turned out. An amazing, inspiring vacation where I got to see the world outside of my own. A fabulous and challenging new job where I will finally get to contribute. Reconnecting with dear friends and family. Any leftover drama gets dwarfed pretty quickly by all of that, and that's what I need to remember.

Cloud 9.5

2008-06-17T18:59:00.000-07:00

I did it.

I got the job.

Completely overjoyed and overwhelmed right now - this is the first time in my professional life that I have gotten what I desperately wanted and what I worked so hard for.

Moving over to the Marketing department on July 7, and I can't wait.

:)

Bon voyage!

2008-05-24T08:52:00.000-07:00

Ciao, amigos - I'm off to Europe for three weeks. Probably won't be posting much on here, but if you're interested in reading the cruise blog that my friend James set up, you can find it here: http://boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=759795 . We'll be updating it as often as we have internet access, so feel free to follow along on our voyage.

LOVE LOVE LOVE to everyone.
-J

A change is gonna come

2008-05-20T08:01:00.000-07:00

I can feel it. The winds are about to change for me. And I can't wait.

A few weeks ago I applied for a promotion/move to another department here at work. After several weeks of hearing nothing, I got an email from HR with an assignment for me to do and then present to the interview panel. The presentation is tomorrow. And I don't think I have ever been as confident about anything in my professional life.

You've heard of the syndrome where you're your own worst critic? Yeah, I suffer seriously from that. I doubt myself constantly - my abilities, my intelligence, you name it. And during those few weeks when I didn't know what was happening with this job, I was constantly on edge and anxious about an interview or a work assignment.

Then I got the assignment - and with the exception of one hormone-induced day of funk, I have been so locked on to this thing. Working all weekend during sunny, 80 degree weather. Game face. OWNING it.

Truthfully, I can't wait to present this tomorrow. That's a rare feeling for me. I have been walking around with this inner smile - that's the best way I can explain it. I am radiating confidence, positivity and competency. I hope the entire department is there for me to present to, including the Director. Bring. It. On.

I'm superstitious as a mo', and ordinarily would never post something like this for fear of negative karma. But I feel it so strongly this time - it's my turn, and it's ok to feel that. I'm putting it out there because I really, truly believe it, and I'm not going to shy away from this newfound game.

Office politics notwithstanding, I feel like this gig is mine. This is my shot to show the team what I am capable of and what I can bring to the table. I have had so much fun preparing this presentation and am incredibly proud of the Marketing plan I've put together, and that alone is a great feeling. But the idea that I could soon be getting to do things like this full time is almost too much to consider. I have to focus on one thing at a time, and for now that is the presentation. Then wait and see if I get an interview out of that. And then see how that goes.

But for now, I am owning it. Utterly owning it. I truly feel like a change is gonna come.

Double shot - their (coffee/bra?) cups runneth over

2008-05-12T15:53:00.000-07:00

Additional: how funny is it that some coffee kiosks have resorted to advertising that they actually ARE clothed? I saw several joints this weekend boasting signs like "Family-friendly all the time!" and "We wear more than just aprons."

Think about it - what other industry/business advertises wearing clothes as though it's a rare commodity? Shouldn't fully clothed be the default in the business world??

Their (coffee/bra?) cups runneth over...

2008-05-05T12:47:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been so equally torn on something that you feel like if you were assigned that issue in a debate you could argue either side equally well? I think the thing I might be most neutral/torn on in the world these days is the newish trend of lingerie espresso stands.

Yeah, that's right. You read it correctly. Espresso kiosks where the baristas, all female, wear lingerie or bikinis as they whip up your steaming cappuccino or your caramel macchiato. To spice things up, I've been told that they wear costumes on occasion as well. Cowgirl Friday. Schoolgirl Monday. Plenty of these have been springing up in my county these days, and I noticed one on my way home from work the other day. It used to be a "normal" stand, but now it features a sign that looks like one of those stacked female silhouettes pictured on mud flaps, and there are notices posted on the side of the drive-up kiosk advising that "no photography or filming permitted." Wow, really? Have people tried to do that?

Anyway, I am very torn. The feminist part of me hates this idea and thinks it's the worst thing ever. The libertarian-esque, freedom-loving, "what's right for me isn't right for everyone" part of me says hey, rock on. It's not my cup of coffee, but is it really causing any harm?

Con stance:
Um, totally unnecessary objectification of women. There is no performance-based "need" for these women to dress skimpily while preparing scalding hot beverages, and in fact it's probably a bit of a safety concern in that sense. What happened to having a uniform that's appropriate for the work you're performing? You'd never see a lingerie-clad sous chef, would you? Using knives, preparing food in a kitchen setting? Isn't there a bit of a hygenic concern here also? I doubt that the (mostly) men who frequent these stands are really thinking about whether or not hairs or particles of deodorant or whatever else may be landing in their lattes, but it's something to consider. I think about the women working in these stands before they became lingerie-based; what happened when the decision was made to force them all into revealing outfits? Did some quit? Were some told that they didn't, ahem, "meet the standard" for the new image? Too flat-chested, too boyish, too heavy? I'm not a skinny chick with a hot body - would I have been fired? Would I have been told to slim down in order to keep working there? If I were a parent of one of these women, how would I have felt knowing that my daughter was now working in a situation where she would be scantily dressed for the specific purpose of attracting the attention of leering men? Bottom line (no pun intended): unnecessary, unsafe, unhygenic, and misogynistic.

Pro stance:
The argument here is far more basic. There is clearly a market for this, because more and more kiosks are turning into this type of arrangement. If men (again, I assume most of the clientele are male) are willing to drive out of their way to get a latte from a chick in a skimpy schoolgirl costume, what business is it of mine? I'm clearly not the target market for this type of service - neither as a worker nor as a customer. And clearly there is no shortage of women who want to work at these stands; they probably make far more money in tips than the average barista. If a woman feels comfortable in this setting and can make twice as much money as she could elsewhere by having some schmuck ogle her as she pulls a shot of espresso, why should anyone tell her she can't? Rock on, says the libertarian in me. It's the same argument I would pose for the "uniforms" worn by Hooters girls: not for me, but clearly the girls are fine with it - if they weren't, they wouldn't work there. Bottom line (still no pun intended): simple supply-demand economics, advantageous earnings for women, and if you disagree with the service you don't have to patronize it.

See? Totally torn. It's really rare for me to feel so neutral about something. I sort of want to go to one of these stands and ask the girls how they feel about it. That might help me make up my mind. But for now, I prefer my coffee Starbucks and my baristas fully clothed.

iTouched it

2008-04-19T09:50:00.000-07:00

I did it. I bought the 32gb iPod Touch that I've been craving/coveting/blogging about for months. Little Wing 2.0 officially holds all my tunes now, and I'm kind of in love with him.

I feel a little guilty about such an extravagant purchase, but have justified it in a million different ways. The original Little Wing is a 3rd gen. iPod, seriously outdated, with a battery that lasts about an hour and a stubborn refusal to function with either of my sound docks. I bought Little Wing back in 2003, so he's had a solid run. He'll still have a good home, because I'll continue to use him for the more rough-and-tumble situations, like working out, where Little Wing 2.0 is still a little too glossy and pristine to go.

Clearly, Little Wing 2.0 is the favorite child now - he's the one who gets to go to Europe with me. But there will always be a place in my heart (and a jerry-built connection to my sound dock) for the original.

Freaksnow

2008-04-19T07:58:00.000-07:00

It's a very odd thing when one weekend you have pure sunshine and 72 degrees, and then a week later it snows all day and it's a veritable blizzard when you drive home at night.

But the best way to spend it is this: get together with your beloved brother and Jenn and their son Jase, and drive downtown to visit your dear friend James, and have a fabulous dinner with two pints of one of the most delicious porters you've ever had, and be grateful that the waitress didn't card you because you suddenly realized you forgot your wallet in the company car at work, and then after dinner drive back up north in the blizzard which is adorably fascinating to Jase, making it even more fun for all the adults.

Then go get your wallet. Get in your all-wheel drive and head into the heart of the convergence zone where the snow shows no signs of stopping and has already laid a thick, fluffy blanket on the trees and the roads. Head on in to the yard where the night crew is hard at work and teases you for being forgetful and for coming in to work at 11pm. Lob a few snowballs at the mechanics before you run inside, grab the key, get your wallet from the Prius, run the key back upstairs, lock up, and head out. On your way out of the yard, make your car fishtail - just to try it.

And wake up early the next morning to see snow covering the rooftops and that bright glow coming in the windows. Make a pot of coffee, and sit in your favorite chair reading the Stranger and drinking a huge cup while you debate whether it's the middle of April or Christmastime.

Who doesn't love a good freaksnow?

Shipping rip-off

2008-04-02T21:15:00.000-07:00

Ok, what is the deal with shipping rates on eBay these days?

I've never bought much from that site. A computer game in college, a beautiful Indian sari bedspread, a really hard-to-find DVD (see "Brotherly Love" blog post for details!). Oh, and once I bought a lipstick that was my all-time favorite color EVER that got discontinued. I found out that was a less than stellar idea when I got the lipstick and opened the brand new sealed package and could instantly tell that the seller was a smoker. Lipstick that tastes mildly of berries and strongly of stale cigarette butts? No thanks.

So anyway, I really want to get an iPod Touch. Very badly. I have wanted to for months and months, and continually find new ways to justify the incredibly expensive purchase. But I haven't bought it yet, and I keep researching it. Today I found out that it doesn't come with an AC adapter - you must purchase that separately. A quick glance at the Apple site told me that this adapter could be mine for the bargain price of $29.99. Really? Wow. I have one already for my old iPod but don't know if it would work for the new one. And it'd be a crying shame to drop $500 on a new toy and then break it by being too cheap to get the right adapter, no?

Then I thought of eBay. So I looked on there and found plenty of chargers. I think the "buy it now" price was $1. But the asshole wants like $7 to ship a 3 ounce, 3-inch square piece of plastic to me. I OBJECT. Shipping rates have gotten way out of control on eBay - it's become clear that most sellers are just trying to make extra money by setting rates arbitrarily. When you see someone charging seven times as much for shipping as for the actual product, that's a red flag. Charging $5 to ship a lipstick? Really? One person is charging $4.95 to ship an iPod Touch 2-3 day priority mail. Another person is charging $19.95 for the same thing. Come on!

It pisses me off that sellers can get away with it, and it pisses me off that some buyers will pay that, thereby enabling sellers to get away with it.

This makes absolutely no financial sense, but I would rather walk into an Apple store and drop $29.99 for the charger than pay some asshole $7 to ship a $1 item. I would rather pay over $20 more for the same thing just so I don't contribute to this douche making money off of the shipping rates. You know what? Just list the effing charger at $10, then. People would still pay it. I would pay it. But I am a stubborn bitch and refuse to give in to people who misrepresent themselves.

At least Apple is up front about completely overcharging people. And I respect that kind of honesty. :)

I am an April fool

2008-04-02T20:39:00.000-07:00

ESPN totally got me yesterday. Well played, sir. Well played.

Logged on to ESPN.com last night at around 11:00 and was checking the main stories. There was a link to a video about the Davidson/Kansas game from Sunday, and the headline said something about "Last 16 seconds to be replayed." I flipped out. I clicked the link. I watched the video.

The video was two sportscasters discussing the situation - evidently, there was a Kansas player who'd just fouled out but hadn't left the game and was still playing for the last sixteen seconds (that should have been my first red flag, no? Like the refs wouldn't have noticed that?). So after much debate, it was decided that tomorrow Kansas and Davidson would rematch to play out those last sixteen seconds in question. I was ELATED. I was OVERJOYED. After I'd recovered from Davidson spanking my beloved Badgers, I decided that I supported them all the way and was really rooting for a true Cinderella. So the idea that they had another chance had me on cloud nine - SURELY Curry would sink the three this time and tie the game and go into OT and win it and get to the Final Four - the first time EVER that a 10th seed would get there - and then they'd get to the finals and throw down on UCLA or Memphis - I could just see the Davidson fans streaming onto the court in celebration, Curry being hoisted up with a huge grin on his 10 year-old boy face, cutting down the nets in victory...

And all of this was running through my head during the 30 seconds or so in which the sportscasters were debating the merit of this call. One said that it was a horrible decision, he did not support it, because you play when you play and you shouldn't change it after the fact. The other was in favor of the choice because the league favors the big schools, and this was an opportunity for little Davidson, a victim of poor officiating, to right an unjust wrong.

I was already scheming about how I'd manage to watch this rematch at work. A minor inconvenience which I could easily plan around. I'd make it happen.

And then they dropped the April Fool's bomb, and I actually felt myself deflate in defeat. I held my breath for just a second - totally incredulous - and then I sank into my chair and sighed and was sooooooo utterly disappointed I couldn't believe it.

Then I laughed hysterically at myself and my idiocy, and nodded in appreciation of ESPN and their fabulousness, and remembered why I love them so very much.

Well played, indeed.

What is it about selling out?

2008-03-31T17:57:00.000-07:00

The other week I was at my brother's house watching the second round Wisconsin game, and during the break some sort of car commercial came on which featured the song "Lazy Eye" by Silversun Pickups. And it made me c-r-i-n-g-e and say "really, Silversun? Really?"

Silversun has been one of my favorite bands of the past year and a half or so. I guess their sound would best be described as old skool Smashing Pumpkins, back in the glory days of Gish and Siamese Dream, when you could still hear Iha's guitar licks and D'arcy's bass lines and Chamberlin's solid percussion and it wasn't yet all about Billy Corgan. Pumpkins were my favorite band for about five years, so it goes without saying that I fell instantly in love with Silversun.

So why do I begrudge them commercial success? What is it about an indie band going mainstream that music lovers instantly associate with selling out?

Music afficionados have long reviled that most obvious mainstreaming of music - the commercial track. From punks like Iggy Pop ("Lust For Life" for Carnival Cruise Lines) to relative one-hit wonders like Hum ("Stars" in the new Cadillac commercials), fans of these bands universally roll their eyes and scoff in contempt when hearing their songs in the background of ads, regardless of what product or service is being hawked. It doesn't really matter what's being sold - it's the very act of selling that fans find so disturbing. I blogged last year (twice!) about my disgust with the fact that a Pearl Jam song was featured on American Idol. But that means Vedder & Co. had to give permission for that to happen, right? And that's what really irks me. But why?

In an age of ripping and burning, of sharing music and defying DRM - isn't it really all about the music? Isn't it about turning your friends on to these great new bands? I think it is. And yet at some point these bands cross that invisible and indefinable indie line and there's no turning back. Once bands have gone mainstream, those first fans eschew that success and say, "oh I don't listen to them anymore. They've gotten too commercial." Which sounds pretentious, but I'm totally guilty of that. In Portland I went to see bands like Maroon 5 before they really broke, in clubs with maybe 400 other people, and a year or so later my taste for Maroon 5 was completely shattered when I my mom got us tickets to a show in Everett where 11 year-old girls and their soccer moms drastically outnumbered twenty-somethings. No thank you. Done.

There's something to be said about being the one who deflowers a band - the one who breaks them in, who spreads the word, who "knew them when." Being the one who gets in on the ground floor feels good because it's as though you discovered them and brought them to light. You obviously dug them enough to do that, but how dare they cross that like of popularity and become everyone's favorite band! No one wants to be a fairweather fan - someone who latches on to a band because the radio starts playing them 25 times a day. Or god forbid because they hear their hit song on a commercial and think "hey, that's catchy."

(Except for Apple commercials. For some reason, Apple has enough indie cred yet to bring virtual unknowns into the light without immediately stepping over that mainstream line. Their ad peeps are stellar - STELLAR - at what they do. I'm not too proud to admit that I've bought several songs off of iTunes which were featured on Apple commercials: Jet, Cansei de Ser Sexy, etc. Perhaps it's because the majority of Apple products are music-oriented - maybe that lessens the sellout stigma?).

Anyway, it's a double-edged sword. You want your favorite bands to be successful, just not too successful. You want them to develop a following, just not a following of 11 year-olds and soccer moms. You want them to make enough money to keep producing new albums, you just don't want those albums to be too mainstream.

You want to see them and hear them and feel them, just not on a car commercial or cruise ship ad.

¡Viva España! - numero dos

2008-03-30T00:03:00.000-07:00

I was just going back over some of my earlier posts, and I came across the one from October where I proclaimed that 2008 would be the year I go to Spain. And now, it's actually happening. In less than two months, I'll be traveling to Greece, Turkey, Italy, Spain, Portugal, France, Monaco and England. A two week cruise and four extra days in France. Traveling around Provence, Marseilles, Versailles and Paris. A show at the Moulin Rouge on my last night there. My first real vacation as an adult.

Not only is the idea of this trip incredibly exciting, but it's also exciting to know that I set a goal for myself and am going to reach it. This is one of my first tangibly-met goals, and it feels fabulous. My plane ticket is bought, my cruise ticket is bought, and all I need to do is invest in an incredible pair of shoes, another memory card for my camera and a larger suitcase. And perhaps the new iPod Touch that I've coveted for months. Just to get me through that cross-Atlantic flight, of course.

Viva España, y tambien viva viajar y hacer lo que diciste que vayas.

The Cinderella syndrome

2008-03-21T13:05:00.001-07:00

Ah, it's that time of year again, friends. The time I love almost more than any other. The time of March Madness.

I woke up yesterday morning - tired, cranky, hair horribly askew. I laid in bed much longer than I should have, and as I crankily dragged (drug?) myself out from under the covers, a little light bulb went off over my head: !ding! wait a second - March Madness starts today!!! And it was a total 180°, like I was one person as I laid in bed and a completely different person as I emerged with thoughts of the Big Dance in my head.

I go a little crazy during this time. Occasionally a lot crazy. There is so much excitement and energy surrounding this tournament that I feel like I should have called in sick for two days so I could really take advantage of Round One. As it was, I had lunch with a coworker yesterday who's not really into basketball or the tournament, so as we dined I skooled him on the bracketing system. Our supercute waiter overheard me and said "are you actually teaching him about the tournament?" When I smiled and said yes, he shook his head in smiling disbelief and with something that could have been contempt as easily as it could have been admiration. So he and I talked tourney for a bit - he's a UCLA man, I'm a Wisconsin girl - practically the Montagues and the Capulets, no? After a few rounds of flirtatious smack talk, my coworker and I left - and I reflected on how this tourney really brings people together. Just another fabulous side effect, brought to you by the NCAA.

I think I established last year on this blog that I'm an emotional bracketer. You know - the person who can't NOT pick their team winning, even though you know what a long shot it is. The logic here is that the worst thing that could happen is for you to pick your team (Wisconsin) losing and then they end up winning the whole dang thing. How would you LIVE with yourself??!? I know that I couldn't. I would rather lose in every single bracket than sell my soul and pick WI losing.

So what I do is create many, many brackets. I title them with things like "Wisconsin Wins!" and "Badger Blowout!" And then I create other brackets with quieter, more humble names that feature far fewer exclamation points - things like "Realism" and "Intuition." They almost whisper, don't they? Because I know what a sellout I am for even creating them. Emotional bracketing is not the way to win, which is why I enter pools which require very little or no investment.

And also I am a sucker for the Cinderella. I think everyone has their own definition of what constitutes a Cinderella, and for me it's a #5 seed or lower getting to the Final Four or beyond. Most experts agreed that this is definitely not the year for a Cinderella, because the top seeds are such powerhouses -all of them- that this could be one of those rare tourney years where all #1 seeds make it to the Final Four. Totally boring though, right? So I had to pick a Cinderella.

This year I set my Cinderella sights on Drake. Oh, sweet Drake - I just had this vibe about you and saw great, great things in your future. You hadn't been to the tournament since 1971. I pictured you being so amped up at the thought of breaking that vicious tourney-less cycle that you'd come out on the court and throw down against all seeds, high and low. Your game was actually the most exciting I've seen so far - the only one to go into overtime, and a buzzer-beater finish on top of that. But though you came back from a 16 point deficit to tie the game and go into OT, you did not come out victorious. You were beaten by the #12 seed Western Kentucky, and I can't hate on them because they played such a solid, exciting game - and they provided one of those finishes that will be seen on highlight reels for years.

Dear Drake,
Though you broke my facebook bracket (and sorely wounded several others), I will always hold a special place in my heart for you as my 2008 Cinderella.
XOXOXO and faerie dust for next season,
-J

Brotherly love

2008-03-12T16:40:00.000-07:00

Today marks the culmination (culmiNAtion!) of what has been roughly a twenty-five year crusade. And the only one who could ever really appreciate it is my brother.

No one is going to understand this. For the three of you that read this blog with any regularity, this isn't going to make any sense to you. Just a heads up. If you choose to plough ahead, more power to you - your readership is much appreciated. But really, this is only for Andy.

For years, YEARS - Andy and I have had a very distinct memory of a particular event that we witnessed on TV as very young children. The details we retained from this television experience were very skimpy - we didn't know if it was a TV show or a movie, we didn't know when we saw it, we didn't even know the name. The only things we knew were that we think it was a Saturday morning special, it was a cartoon, and there were kids in it, and these kids somehow traveled underground where they met some class of green dwarf or goblin. That's it. That is IT.

Starting in about 2003, Andy and I became lightly obsessed with this, and with finding out what "it" even was. But how to start this quest? Where to turn with such a minute amount of information?

I eventually found some website which was dedicated to a love of all things 80s. There was a TV forum on this site, and I posted a note describing what my brother and I remembered, and asked if anyone remembered anything similar. I remember being super excited at the prospect of finding out any additional information. But alas, no one ever responded, and it seemed that we were once again on our own.

Fast forward approximately five years to...today. We haven't talked about this thing in probably a year or two. And suddenly, Andy sends me a link to a website which catalogues all the children's shows from the 80s, and he wrote a note saying "You need to peruse this site for that show/cartoon/movie that we always talk about. I’m doing it now, but if you get a chance you need to poke around here." That's it. No further information necessary - I knew exactly what he was talking about.

So this afternoon at lunch, I hopped on the site and started going through all the shows alphabetically. When I got to the letter C, something about "CBS Storybreak" sounded familiar. I clicked on the link, and a brief description of the series came up. Basically, it was a program that took children's books and animated them for a half-hour episode which aired every Saturday morning. Something about this resonated with me, even though I didn't know the name of the particular episode this would have been, or whether it had been a children's book first.

Then I looked up "CBS Storybreak" on IMDB, and found a really similar description of the program. On the message board, I noticed a post where the topic was different episodes of this program. Clicking on that thread took me to one person's message which said she remembered an episode with kids going on a journey underground where they met up with little goblins who could only say the word "og." So then I googled "CBS Storybreak + og" and found a YouTube clip called "The Secret World of Og" from 1983. Check it out:

From the very first second I saw this clip, I knew I'd found it. I called Andy one second later. When he answered, I simply said, "I found it." He couldn't believe it - I promised! - I told him I was watching it at that very second! - I asked him if "The Secret World of Og" sounded familiar - and we both knew that we'd finally found it, after all these years.

Have you ever been so excited about something, so pleased and fulfilled, that you don't really know what to do next? You don't explode with joy - there's too much for that to even happen. You just become very quiet and almost zen. That's been me all day since finding this. And I can't explain it - but the only person who needs to understand is the only one who does understand. It's weird, actually, because I think we each share the same sense of accomplishment and satisfaction at finally finding this thing that's nagged us for years and years, but there's also a slight emptiness now that this question has been answered. Like we were wanting so much to find it that it was almost more about the quest(ion) than the answer. Now that we have the answer, I almost wish we'd never found it. Almost.

The bottom line is that shit like this only reinforces how much I freaking love and adore my big brother. And really, this whole post has been a very long-winded prelude to that. I have always been keenly aware of how unique and special our friendship is, but I think I assumed that all brothers and sisters must be such good friends. Turns out that's not the case. Friends have commented on how cool it is that we're so close, because they are not close at all with their opposite-sex adult siblings. So I've realized that we really are unique, because not only are we truly good friends but we share this ridiculously random and cool wavelength that defies explanation. Sometimes I think we were really fraternal twins but for some inexplicable reason, my parents instead decided to tell us we were born two years apart. Ridiculous, I know. But how else to explain how, at Thanksgiving dinner, we were talking about something random like turkey gizzard, and I said "speaking of that - " and then Andy interjected "David Alan Grier's Maya Angelou impersonation, right?" And I literally burst into tears in delight because that is EXACTLY what I was going to talk about!! HOW COULD HE HAVE KNOWN THAT? There's no effing way he could have, and yet he did. And everyone else at the table looks around wondering what just happened, but Andy and I know.

Kind of like this quest to discover a program we watched at ages three and five, which nobody else remembers, which we knew nothing about, and which we just found. Unreal. I love you to pieces, hermaneaux.

Know when to fold 'em

2008-03-02T08:34:00.001-08:00

This is the best advice I will EVER offer you. Please take it, and then let's never discuss it again.

Should you ever have a houseplant that either comes with or at some point becomes infested with millipedes in the soil, JUST THROW THE PLANT AWAY. Don't be foolish - don't try to be BRAVE or HEROIC and save it. Don't take the plant out in your backyard and carefully unpot it. Don't gently chip away at the soil surrounding the roots of the plant so you can clean off every bit of infested soil. If you have even a slight gag reflex, I really urge you not to expose the most disgusting cluster of eggs in the middle of the root ball. You might be embarrassed when you involuntarily start dry-heaving in the backyard. You might not want to spend an hour cleaning the root structure carefully with a hose, blasting away all of that mess until only the poor little nekkid roots of the plant are exposed. Re-potting the plant is easy enough, and lugging it up the stairs is awkward but doable. But it's probably not worth it, even if the plant survives the trauma you just put it through. Even if it's your favorite plant named after your favorite drag queen. Even if it is lush and jaunty and a solid part of your household.

Just let it go. You don't want to go there. Ever. Trust me.

Chemistry 101

2008-02-28T19:02:00.000-08:00

I don't really know how to date.

I mean, I do - I get the logistics and the basics of it, right? Girl meets boy, girl has dinner with boy or takes boy to hockey game, lather-rinse-repeat. But there's so much I don't understand, and no one that I talk to about it seems to have any idea either. So I've concluded that we're all just walking around, dating blindly (or blind dating, if you will - zing!).

Here's my question: is it stupid/foolish/naïve to be holding out for chemistry's sake? I don't feel like I have unrealistic expectations when it comes to dating - my short list of must-haves would include smart, funny, nice, likes sports. Surely it shouldn't be too hard to find that. And there have been times when I have found that, only there's been zero spark. No click. No chemistry.

You know what I'm talking about, right? That instant electricity that makes you blush a little, flirt a lot, and basically want to be around that person as much as possible (at least in the beginning). That sizzle. That almost tangible connection that just hovers around whenever you're with that person. Lately I can't seem to find that.

But I've had it - I know it exists. With M (2.0), I felt the strongest chemistry that I've ever felt with anyone, ever. Being around him made me completely intoxicated. That first kiss with M (2.0) was one of the most intense moments of my life and I still think about it all the time. I can't explain it, and I can't articulate it, but there it was (at least for me - while I think it was there for him too, I can't say for sure). Granted, in the end nothing became of it, but it had been there regardless.

So my question is, having had that insanely electrifying, intense, palpable chemistry with someone - what happens when you DON'T feel that for someone? Does it come along later? I've never found that it does - if I don't feel an instant connection with someone, I don't really develop it later on. That doesn't mean it's impossible, but it's never happened for me.

How long do you date someone before you decide yep, I can see this working out - or nope, still no click, time to cut and run? I don't want to be that chick who's passing up perfectly good guys because I don't happen to feel that cosmic click with them, but at the same time I know how important that vibe is to me and I really can't imagine being with someone long-term that I didn't feel that way about. I know that passion or intensity fades in time - I understand that. But I'm fickle enough as it is, and I don't want to give that fickle voice in my head any additional ammo by starting something off that's already at that comfortable, mundane, non-chemistry level - there would be years for that to fizzle out later on.

Beginnings should be about the butterflies, right? Intoxication. Insatiability. Electricity. So if you don't have that, do you bail? Or do you stick around for a while and hope that chemistry puts in an appearance down the line?

I volunteer to be the societal test subject. Check in with me in twenty years and if I'm still single, we can all agree that I was foolish to put so much stock in one aspect of a relationship. Or perhaps, we'll find out that while I never settled for one specific person, I enjoyed those fabulous butterflies and crackling chemistry from time to time with the M (2.0)'s of this world. And though that may be fleeting, I think that would be fine by me.

Speed freak

2008-02-26T18:29:00.000-08:00

I apologize in advance for yet another road-rage rant. But I have to get it out - it's my therapy.

Lately it seems that everywhere I drive I am surrounded by people who utterly reFUSE to go the speed limit. For the life of me, I cannot understand this phenomenon. I've tried - I HAVE TRIED - but I can't wrap my brain around it.

Why, oh WHY, do you drive 27 in a 35? Why do you not take full advantage of the wonderful 45 or 50 mph limit south on 99, especially when recently freed from the clutches of the measly 35 limit up north? Do you even know how insane it is to slam on your brakes when you drive past a cop, and YOU'RE NOT EVEN GOING THE POSTED LIMIT?? What are you worried about? I'm pretty sure your 24 in a 30 isn't going to bring the heat!! Oh, how funny it would be if it weren't so incredibly infuriating!! Every time I pass a 45 mph sign, pinned in by douches going 32, 35, maybe even a lightning 40, I die a little bit inside. Every red light that I hit because the person in front of me lacked the wherewithal to just go the speed limit and get through while it's still delightfully green, breaks my spirit just a titch more.

Fellow drivers, I'm not even asking you to speed. You can leave that to me (on occasion) or to the 16 year-old in his tricked-out Honda with shitty exhaust, a wobbly spoiler and a busted ground kit.

But you do know how to read, right? I mean, you had to in order to even get your license. So, as much as it may pain you, effing READ the two weensy little numbers on all those cleverly and conveniently posted signs, and just GO already.

Room with a view

2008-02-23T14:55:00.001-08:00

How great is it when you can open your windows for the first time of the year? Today is absolutely stunning, and the air blowing through my place is heavenly. Cascades in the distance, cool breeze and sunlight filtered through Felicia Jollygoodfellow, my ficus tree. Brilliant.

I wish I didn't have this company shindig later this afternoon - today would have been a perfect day for a hike. :(