if the shoe were on the other foot

the other day i am walking across that skybridge that connects nordstrom with pacific place and i see something that stops me in my tracks: a shoe. it's a man's shoe, off-white with woven leather, something between a sandal and a slip on. i've scoured men's shoe sites and can't find anything that bears more than a vague resemblance to it. (which doesn't bode well for the guy who lost the shoe.) unfortunately, i didn't think to use my camera phone. and that was a prime camera phone moment. what was i thinking?

anyhow, it's a new-looking shoe, so i'm wondering what the heck it's doing in the vestibule of a mall (or pseudo-mall, as the case may be).i mean, every once in a while, you run across a kid's shoe in the grocery store or wherever, and it's understandable. kid's lose shoes. but how does a grown man lose a shoe and not notice? ok, maybe it didn't fall right off his foot. but that begs the question: why was he carrying this shoe around with him at the mall in the first place? and why would he not notice that it had gone missing? when that vestibule is empty, it has quite the echo factor, so he'd surely hear it drop if he was alone in there. and if there were a lot of people around so that the noise was muffled, surely one of his fellow shoppers would have rushed to return the shoe to the guy. c'mon, this is seattle.

i've been baffled by this lone stray shoe phenomenon for as long as i can remember. i most often see them abandoned on roads. however, i finally did get an explanation for those that sort of makes sense. or amuses me, at least.

years ago, my ex-boyfriend was involved in a road rage situation. i forget what started it or how it escalated. anyhow, the then-boyfriend does some final-straw move like flip the other driver off or something and a representative from the other car THROWS A BOOT AT HIM! A BOOT! i thought it was hi-larious! of course, i wasn't in the car when it happened. if i had been, i would've been mortified and would've long before been telling him not to act like such a moron that it got to that point, but since he did, i thought it was a hoot that somebody actually launched a boot at him. they missed his car, thankfully. i don't think i would have been laughing so much if they'd caused damage. anyhow, i told him, i always wondered where those lone shoes on the road come from. now i know.

so if you see a proliferation of abandoned shoes on the road, blame it on road rage.

i am still not quite certain about all the socks that make it onto the roads and sidewalks. however, my theory is that these are the socks that have escaped from the dryers and are heading to florida to retire. that is how far they make it until they just give up. i have to say, some of them go a respectable distance.

long lost cousin

so a couple of years ago, my mom tells me that i have a cousin who's going to be on some show called "lost." i say, there's no such show as "lost." (my first reaction is always to tell my mother she has no idea what she's talking about. often, i am right, but just as often, i am wrong.) she's adamant that she's got the correct name of the show, so i google it and sure enough i find said cousin's name listed among the cast members. so then i google him: josh holloway. and he is HOT. well, i reckon, most people know this by now, but i was just finding it out.

so my mom says that my cousin used to be a model and was on the cover of esquire and had now landed this gig on this new tv show. and then it dawned on me: this was the model/actor/wannabe cousin my dad had told me about when i lived in LA. the one he was always trying to get me to call and hook up with because we are related and were both living in the same sprawling metropolis. (parent logic, you know.). i always thought, a. why do i want to hang out with some stupid cousin? and b. right, like somebody in OUR family was actually on the cover of esquire (this is still unconfirmed). needless to say, i never called.

well, the as the months went by, even someone as out of touch with the entertainment world as i am knew that "lost" had become a hit tv show. so then i figured that if i'd called my cousin back when i was living in la, maybe i'd be two degrees from george clooney by now or something. but, of course, the time has passed. i can't call him up now on the premise that we should hang out because i'm his cousin. a. because neither one of us lives in LA anymore and b. because how lame is that? so basically, i've got this cousin who's semi-famous, but i've never met him. to tell the truth, i've never actually watched the show either. and i haven't given him more than a passing thought other than to tell this story a few times.

my sister, on the other hand, is unnaturally obsessed with the idea that josh holloway is our cousin. it's weird. first off, she watches the show religiously. not that that is any tip-off. plenty of people do that. heck, even my parents do, although my mom threatened to stop watching it when she thought josh's character was going to get killed off. i think he lived because she is still watching it.

but one of the reasons i think she's unduly obsessed is that she tells EVERYBODY she runs across that josh holloway is her cousin. (i suppose she might be lamenting that she took her husband's name as she now doesn't have quite so obvious a connection.) i think she neglects to mention that she's never actually met her cousin. that he doesn't know her from adam. and that he's her second cousin. (but at least he's not the once-removed kind.)

she seriously would like to get my dad to ask his brother for a signed photo for her. i think she would also like to get his phone number, but that might be asking too much. she and and one of her friends are thinking they should go out to california and meet him. i'm not sure how serious she is about this. i hope not too much. especially since she hasn't yet made it out to seattle to see me. (which is a whole other can of worms i'm not going to open right now.) and also because, as i have recently learned from an astute blog reader (my boyfriend), j.h. actually lives in hawaii where his show is filmed. anyhow, her husband and i both agree that her level of interest in this particular cousin is unnatural. but at least she's not trying to date him or something, even though we are from mississippi.

nice people give me road rage

well, i guess i am finally turning into a seattleite. tonight, i actually stopped in the street and let a pedestrian cross. ack! i sort of felt obligated since he was already halfway across the street when i showed up. i figured it was best not to let him stand out there and get hit. so i let him cross. normally, i wouldn't do this. unless, of course, it was an actual intersection. or one of those annoying marked crosswalks. it's not that i mind stopping to let pedestrians pass (except when i'm in a hurry, which is actually most of the time), it's that here in seattle pedestrians EXPECT you to stop and let them pass because EVERYBODY ELSE DOES. so you get pedestrians darting out into traffic all the time, figuring people will naturally stop, and i'll admit, i'm not the most observant of drivers, so i don't always notice when stray people wander into the street. I'm sometimes on autopilot, and because i'm not expecting people to be in the road, i'm not conscious of them. until they're RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. and then i'm screeching on my brakes. and do they scurry? no, they continue in a leisurely pace as if they haven't just narrowly escaped death. it's unfathomable.

alternately, it bugs me as a pedestrian, as well, that people stop in the middle of the road for you. i am perfectly content to wait for a break in traffic to make a dash across the street. but no, a person stops for you and you're obliged to step out into traffic, but then there may be a car coming from the other direction that won't stop, so you're stuck there holding things up. it's much better if drivers just leave pedestrians to fend for themselves. but, no, in seattle everyone wants to be "nice." heck, i've had cars stop for me when i was just standing on the sidewalk with no intention of crossing the street. it's that crazy! oh, but the flipside of the "nice" drivers, is how rude pedestrians get if you don't stop for them. they're so used to people stopping, that i reckon they think that's the law or something. that drivers are required to stop anytime they feel the need to jaywalk. um, no. as far as i know, i'm not allowed to actually run over them, but i don't have to stop and let them walk out in front of me just because they feel like it either. even if i do have a seattle driver's license.

the weird thing is that while i'm driving, i encounter a lot of people who jaywalk, even though seattle has this reputation for being a city that's tough on jaywalkers. i do think there are a lot of people who are paranoid about this, however. When you're waiting for the walk signal at an intersection downtown, there are always a couple of people who are checking to see if the street is clear and crossing against the light. the rest wait on the corner till they get the go ahead to "walk." i am always among the band of evil jaywalkers. i can't help it. i have no patience for standing around and waiting to do what i'm told. never have, never will.

as a total tangent, i tried to preserve the straight hair one day too long. today, i do not feel cosmopolitan. i feel kind of grungy. can't wait to wash my hair in the morning.

playing it straight

i am not myself today. today, i am that cosmopolitan girl who shows up for a couple of days once every three months or so–right after i leave the gene juarez salon. yes, when I walk in there, i am a somewhat scattered, curly-haired girl, but when i leave the place, i’m as sophisticated as a girl can be with my silky smooth straight hair. ok, maybe it’s not so eliza dolittle, but it is a transformation. ask anyone who knows me.

once, i had an off day creatively when i had straight hair and the client i was working for at the time blamed it on the hair. after that, any time i showed up at the office with straight hair, he called me “the evil kim” and told me to go home and get my curly-haired sister and send her to work.

i can, of course, still work when i have straight hair. But i do get distracted by my hair. i can’t stop touching it. it’s so soft. i love to run my fingers through it. and, no, I am not some kind of freak or fetishist. you’ve got to understand: when I was young, i desperately wanted silky, straight hair. like my sister had. hers was blonde, to boot. mine was brown and usually frizzy. can you see why I’d want to trade? so one day a few years back, a hairdresser asked if i wanted my hair blown out straight. i had no idea this was an option. so i said, sure. and when she did, it was unbelievable. i mean, i figured they could get it straight, but i had NO IDEA my hair would be silky. wow! (i am touching it again just to make sure. still silky.)

now don’t get me wrong, i love my curly hair. i wouldn’t trade it for anything. now that i’ve come to terms with it, that is. we’ve gone through a lot of rough spots, my hair and i. i can remember trying to “feather” it. word to the wise: curls don’t feather. then there was the unfortunate close-cropped style which elicited refrains of the monchhichi song whenever I came near my friends. delightful. and i probably shouldn’t mention the time i highlighted it with stripes. yeah, I didn’t think so.

now that I’ve decided to leave my hair alone and pretty much let it do what it wants to do, we get along fine. even better now that i got one of those ionic hair dryers. i may be one of the last people in america to jump on this bandwagon. i mean, i called my sister to tell her about it and she said she’d had one for three years. anyhow, if there’s anyone out there with curly hair who hasn’t tried the ionic hair dryer, i highly recommend it. i’m not sure what the science is on the thing, and my boyfriend is dubious, but he does agree that it makes my hair much less frizzy and more curly. but what he noted about it was that it shortened the drying time. which is sometimes important when you live in a house with only one bathroom.

no, your other left...

ok, it has long been established that i have no sense of direction. one of my boyfriend's favorite things to do is ask me, which way is east? and take in my extremely confused expression as i try to decide which direction to point. when we are in the house, i can usually point the right way (now that he's told me which direction is which), but once we leave home, all bets are off.

I also know whether i'm headed toward vancouver or portland when i'm on the 5 or 99, but take me off the road and spin me around a few times and i couldn't tell you anything.

of course, my boyfriend has all these complicated methods involving putting a stick in the ground and observing the shadows and whatnot. or watching the sun at a certain point in the day and all such as that. not really very helpful when someone's directions tell you to go "east" and you have no idea which way east is and have no time for a scientific experiment.

why on earth do people who are giving directions tell you to go east or west? what is wrong with right or left? not that i am any better at those either, but still. oh, yes, i'm one of those people. i will tell my boyfriend to turn right when i mean to turn left. or i will turn left when he tells me to turn right. drives him crazy. (can't imagine why!)

so anyhow, my sister and i are in new york a couple of weeks ago and we go out to dinner at this restaurant that I thought was pretty close to the hotel. we're at the marriott marquis so we're at 6th and 45th. we start walking and we're looking for a place that's between 8th and 9th. so i get my sister to ask the cops which direction we should be going. she does and we start going that way. but one extremely long block later (what's the deal with the long blocks in new york?) i see that we've hit 5th. I say, we're going the wrong way! she says, you said it's between 4th and 5th! i said, no i didn't; i said it was between 8th and 9th! this goes back and forth more than i care to say as we make our way back down the extremely long block. peppered with, we're taking a cab back! from my sister. and me saying, it's only a few blocks! and further commentary from both of us about how the blocks are really long. (i should probably interject that by this point i had walked all over the natural history museum, the metropolitian musuem of art, and many other long new york blocks and had developed some nasty blisters. i wasn't just cranky; my feet hurt!)

so we finally get to "between 8th and 9th," and we're looking for the address where the restaurant is supposed to be, but...no restaurant. what the hell? my sister asks to see the listing that i have thoughtfully pulled out of the zagat's guide and brought along. she says, this is on 46th street!!! oops. so we walk another three blocks and finally get to the restaurant. i want to look at the menu before we go in, but jenna won't let me. if she's walked this far, she's eating at this restaurant. period. well, when she sees the menu, she wishes she'd let me look. i know she does, but she doesn't let on. it's an italian place, but there's not a pasta dish in sight. I've since learned that northern italian basically means "meat only. oh and the waiter asks would we like sparkling or still bottled water and jenna says "still" before i can say "neither." Apparently, she didn't understand that "neither" was one of the choices and that by not answering that, we got to share a $7 bottle of water. yum! well, it all worked out though. turns out the special was some three kinds of pasta deal which was ok. so after dinner we walk back to the hotel, which in case you haven't been plotting this on a map, is only a block and a half away from the restaurant. my sister says, if we'd only had to walk this far to the restaurant, i would have let you look at the menu and we could've gone somewhere else...

so fast forward to this week when i am back home and hungry for some chow-dah. i decide to go to duke's in greenlake. i was swayed because the website said they had a parking lot. what it neglected to mention was that the lot only has room for about five cars. so i have to drive around and around looking for a spot. by the time i finally find one, i've lost track of where i am in relation to duke's. i know the general direction of the street duke's is on, so i head that way. I make it to that street and indeed, duke's is one block down. I figured, two and a half blocks...not great parking, but could've been worse... well, then i get to duke's and see that the street running alongside it is the street i'm parked on. i make a mental note to walk up that street when i leave. well, i get my take-out and walk up that street about half a block and, yep, there's my car. I should have known. I don't want to jinx myself, but i have really good parking karma. i was thinking two and a half blocks seemed a little off for me...the worst part was, when i got back in the car, i thought to myself, i can SEE duke's from here! only i thought it was some other restaurant....well, i'd never been there before and there wasn't a sign in the BACK. still, i felt like a moron. such a stupid navigational faux pas in my own town.

and i can't even talk about how bad it is in when i go back to la. after living there 8 years, somehow i still manage to get on 10 east when i want to go west...

caught with pants down...

ok, here's the latest from the "my mother is driving me crazy" files:

she calls me yesterday to tell me she was driving to her physical therapy appointment when she had a sudden, uncontrollable need to pee. she pulls over on the side of the highway, gets out and by this time is already peeing but goes around to the passenger side of the car and gets her pants down to finish the job. now i should mention here that my mother is 70 and has rhematoid arthritis, a bad back, and a bundle of other ailments besides the obvious incontinence issue.

well, once she's done, she can't for the life of her get back up again. her knees keep buckling under. the more she tries, the weaker she gets. then a truck pulls over and a man comes to help her up. he's having a struggle trying to get her up (not sure why, it's not like my mom is very heavy or anything...). meanwhile, she's trying to get her pants pulled up. finally they make it to the back seat on the passenger's side and the people in the truck are hollering "help is on the way!" the man asks, what were you doing down there? so my mom tells me, i wasn't going to say, well i just thought i'd sit around with my butt hanging out... so she says, i had to pee. next thing she knows, a fire truck shows up followed shortly by the police. a fireman takes her blood pressure and it was sky high. and he asks, what were you doing out here? and she says, i had to pee! and then she hears the cop ask the fireman, what was she doing out here? and the fireman says, she had to pee. the way word gets around, probably half of jackson, mississippi, knows my mother was peeing on the side of the road...

so she says, i don't know why this happened, i took my detrol this morning. and i say, maybe you need to increase your dosage. how many are you taking a day? she says, well, i take one whenever i'm going somewhere. i say, WHAT? they're not like aspirin. you can't just take them when you need them. you have to take them EVERY DAY. she says, well, they cost sixty dollars a month. i said, yeah, so. you have sixty dollars. but if you want to save sixty dollars, you can keep peeing in the street. well, i take them three or four days a week, she says. you have to take them EVERY DAY, i say. there's no point in taking them if you're not going to take them correctly. are you listening to me? i say. i hear you, she says. yes, but are you paying attention? i heard you, she says.

she heard me. and she has no intention of doing what i say. it drives me nuts because i know she will call again with another incontinence episode. and we'll have the same conversation over again. i don't know how to stop.

i guess i'm like a man in that i always want to solve her problems for her. maybe i need to distance myself and just give her sympathy when she calls. I mean, she's 70 years old. she's made it this far without my solving her problems. i guess she can manage well enough on her own.

love thy neighbor? um, no...

ok, i'll admit to being naive. i figured when i moved into a house, i'd stop having to deal with annoying neighbors. you homeowners can all stop laughing now. i said i was naive.

now when we started out it was all swell. we had ruth on one side and walter and nancy on the other and the endless parade of people in the apartment building named villa boitano–which we promptly renamed "boytowno"–across the street.

our favorite boytowno-ite was "bandana boy" who was in deep infatuation with his car and had to walk around it admiringly every time he got home. he was also known for his spectacular steering wheel drum solos. sadly, he moved away about six months ago and it all went to pot shortly after.

next thing we knew, walter and nancy had bought a house and were moving. for the record, they were perfect neighbors: never heard a peep from them. worst that ever happened was walter hit my car once, but that was all handled nice and neighborly like through insurance.

well, once they moved out, the owner of their house showed up, puttering around, getting the place ready for rental, you know. So my boyfriend, being the friendly sort, goes over to say hello and promptly gets an earful about how our retaining wall is falling down and needs to be fixed. so much for being neighborly.

ok, so we figure the guy is crochety and decide to keep our distance. but then i go out one morning and see that the curbs beside his driveway are painted a suspicious shade of yellow (a quick perusal of the street tells me no other curbs have been painted). the guy has PAINTED HIS OWN CURBS! who does this?

well, i'm all up in arms about it because we've got a crappy parking situation as it is and these painted curbs are only going to make it worse. i can't even go into the parking situation while i'm on this rant. it's a whole other rant entirely.

anyhow, next thing we know crochety man has chopped branches off our huge maple tree.

then the new neighbors moved in. for some reason, they think it's ok to hammer at 1:30 in the morning. why did walter and nancy move? why? why?

oh, and did i mention the new boytowno-ite whose car alarm goes off every time a loud car drives down our street (and you guessed it, this happens quite frequently).

so today the thing that happened that prompted this blog entry after a notably long hiatus is that apparently some neighbors in the townhouses behind us have taken issue with one of our bushes and whacked it mercilessly and left the mess in our driveway. lovely.

i should remind anyone who may have arrived late to the party that i live in seattle where all the people are “nice.” right. they will stop in the middle of the street if they sense that a pedestrian might be considering walking across the road, but they drive that very same car home and take up two parking spaces in front of your house. (oops, i said i wasn't getting into my parking rant. sorry...)

yes, it’s all maddening. but it’s an easy frustration. a shallow one. the kind i have so i don’t have to worry about my deeper frustrations. but then maybe i’m meant to let these go easily as practice for letting go of those frustrations I cling to more tightly. who knows?

all I know is, they’re not driving me out of this house because I love living here, despite all the frustrations. and besides, from the sound of this post, i've gotten way too old and crochety for apartment living anyhow.

stella!!!!

my mother is driving me crazy. i'm sure this is not news, but here is the latest in her campaign to send me to the nuthouse.
first, some background. years ago we rented this movie called stella starring bette midler. i honestly don't remember too much about it except that there was this one part where she was dressed in a brightly-colored flashy outfit and we said, she looks just like patsy (my sister-in-law's mother)! because she acted really flamboyant like patsy did, too. come to think of it, patsy would have fit in really well at a pride parade, if only she'd been a man. but i digress. anyhow, mom said she wanted to see that movie again, so i put it on their netflix queue.

well she calls me up saying she watched stella but it is not the same movie we watched before. i say, yes it is. it had bette midler in it, didn't it? she says, yes, but she only dressed up like patsy one time, and i remember when we watched it before she dressed that way all through the movie and she went swishing around on the boardwalk. (much emphasis on the word "swishing.") i say, i remember her being dressed up once, but i don't think she dressed like that all through the movie, and i don't recall anything about swishing around on a boardwalk. i think you have this mixed up in your mind with another movie.
she says, no! because the stella we watched last night was a movie i had never seen before. she says, maybe there are two movies named stella with bette midler and this was the wrong one. can you look it up?

i pull up imdb.com, all the while telling her that there are NOT two movies named stella starring bette midler. i get a list of all the movies named stella (suprisingly there are quite a few. popular name.) and go through eliminating them based on the years they were made (the ones before 1968: too early, the ones after 1999: too late, the one in 1982: east german). we were left with only one stella starring bette midler.

so my mom says, the name of the movie we watched must not have been stella. it must have been something else. i told her, when you think of whatever it is, let me know, and i will add it to netflix.

i am not holding my breath.

adventures in internet dating

my friend scott, having recently broken off a very long-term relationship, is now trying internet dating. he's had a go at several sites, one which he promptly dropped when he found his ex on it, but has settled, i think, on e-harmony. now i have personal issues with e-harmony which i won't go into, but i also have problems with its way of matching people. like i need a personals site to arrange a romance for me. just let me look at the damn profiles and pick for myself. i have a much better idea of what i want than some random computer program. e-harmony constantly hooked me up with lawyers and software engineers when all i want are writers and musicians. but maybe e-harmony knows i'm broke and was looking out for my best interest.

i ended up on yahoo personals where after countless bad dates i finally changed my profile to say exactly who i was looking for: creative types who could make me laugh. and if they didn't read, that was a deal breaker. there was more, but that was the gist of it.

so then i got more of what i was actually looking for. funny how that works. and the last boy who wrote to me is the one i'm living with now. so these things work out sometimes.

but when they don't...it can be anything from boring to excrutiating.

scott says, i'm surprised how often people lie on these sites. oh yeah, they lie. they almost always lie.

first off, you can count on men being two inches shorter than they claim to be. across the board. and the pictures? people will drag up the absolute best picture they can possibly find. always. sometimes it's from MANY years ago. and if you only see a guy in a hat in his pictures, you can bet he's bald.

oh, and here's one of the biggest lies. some of these people are already in relationships, and they're just looking for a little something extra to spice up their life. They have a "don't ask, don't tell" policy, so unless you're sure, you need to ask.

here's a tip for seattle women. if you're going on a date, bring money. for some reason, men here have a thing against picking up the tab. i don't know if they think we're liberated or if they're just totally cheap, but you can't expect a guy to buy you dinner or even coffee.

i mean, there were so many times i met a guy in a coffeehouse and showed up after he'd already gotten his coffee, and he didn't offer to pay for mine. if i'd asked somebody on a date, even a coffeehouse date, i'd have gotten their coffee. but that's not such a huge deal. then there was dutch treat bob.

first off, bob was one of those people whose photos did not match the bob of today. it didn't even look remotely like the same person. strike one.

we met to play pool and bob brought his own cue, except he didn't know how to play. seriously, he wasn't any better than me and i pretty much suck. BUT THEN he tries to give me pointers, probably so he can touch my hands. i'm highly annoyed by pointers, especially when they come from someone who doesn't know what they're doing. well we finally finish maybe two games of pool which takes FOREVER because we both play so badly. then bob wants me to go to dinner. i really don't know why i agreed. maybe i was hungry. who knows? but i say yes. so he suggests thai or pho and since i don't know what pho is, i go with thai. (as an aside, i am glad i like thai food because almost every guy i went out with wanted to go for thai.)

i didn't know any thai places in the area and, of course, bob didn't because he was from issaquah, so i suggested going to a place near my house that's good. said he could follow me over there. normally, i would park at my house and walk, but i didn't want bob to know where i lived, so i parked near the restaurant. bob can't find a spot, so i have to get in his car and help him look for parking. when i get in, i don't put the seatbelt on because we are going maybe a block, but bob says, i'm going to have to insist that you put the seatbelt on. what is he, my mother?

so we get parked and walk to the restaurant and he tries to HOLD MY HAND! i tell him he's being too presumptuous and take my hand back. so we get to the restaurant and over dinner he regales me with tales of how smart he is (he's in mensa) and how poor he was growing up. blah blah blah. so the bill comes and he says, can i ask you to pick up your half this time? And i'm thinking, WHAT? i've never been asked to pick up a tab for a date. never. (coffee thing notwithstanding.) so i go, ok. he tells me my half is about ten bucks, so i fork it over. i notice he also snags both andes mints from the tip tray. greedy bastard.

so then we head back to the car and he tries to hold my hand again. i don't remember how i got out of that one. but then when we get to my car, he TRIES TO KISS ME. so i turn and give him cheek. then get in my car and leave. quickly. and make sure i'm not followed.

the next day i get an email from him saying what a great time he had and how he'd like to see me again. i'm thinking, was he on the same date that i was on? so i wrote him back and said that i thought he was nice but i wasn't feeling a connection and thought we should "nip it in the bud." i actually used those words. but i thought it was much better than what guys do which is dissappear and never call you again. i thought it best to just tell the truth. well, actually, to be kind. he probably wouldn't have liked it if i'd told him what i really thought.

i guess if he reads this he'll know. but then what are the chances?

the pink ranter

so the fed ex man came today with my brand new pink razr phone. i was pretty excited. had to go through a bunch of voicemail hell to set the thing up. then i notice that verizon has me signed up for the wrong plan. so i have to call and get that changed. then i go to set up voice mail and i get a message that i'm being sent to the "roam plus network" and i need to get out my credit card because this call is gonna cost me. big time. i'm going, what the hell? i've used my old phone in my house plenty of times and have never been charged extra. i live well within the city limits of seattle. definitely not what you'd consider to be outside the verizon network. at least you wouldn't think so. so since i'm not about to pay to call my voice mail, i get my regular phone and call verizon customer service instead. turns out they haven't programmed my phone properly. so they get it fixed and i call my voice mail. course when i hear my voice on the voice mail, i figure out that i don't need to set up voice mail after all. what a relief because i hate trying to get "the perfect message." mine always sound lame, but i will record them over and over and over until i get one that sounds at least a little less lame than the ones before. tell me i'm not the only one with this problem.

anyway, downloading ringtones was another debaucle i don't even want to get into. finally got some i like even if they aren't the ones i really wanted.

have to wait till tomorrow to deal with my "hold music." there's only so much cell phone setup i can handle in one day.

all in all, i think the phone's pretty cool, although it lacks some of the features my last phone had which is kind of a letdown. i have to say that i think the best thing about it is its pinkness.

oh, and it's a good thing i didn't sign up for that v cast plan where you get videos and music and crap on your phone. it only works with windows systems. have i mentioned how sick i am of seeing that message? why do so many companies decide to treat mac users like second-class citizens?

food fight

i will admit to certain eccentricities when it comes to food. first off, i'm one of those picky people. you know the kind who goes through picking out anything "weird" that they don't want to eat. like carrots, for instance. my boyfriend will catch me standing over the trash can tossing carrots from soup before i eat it. this disturbs him. not only is it wasting food with which he has a huge problem, but i'm pretty much losing whatever nutrition i might have gotten out of said soup.

see, also i kind of have a thing against vegetables. which is quite difficult to maintain when you live with a vegetarian. i sort of figured if i didn't try and make him eat meat, he wouldn't bother me about eating vegetables, but it doesn't work that way. he doesn't try and get me to eat ONLY vegetables, mind you. he just wants me to eat some. like every day.

also, he says things like green beans and mushrooms aren't vegetables, but i say that i consider them to be. they are vegetable-like.

well, anyhow, he's always made fun of what he calls my "food arranging." how i like to mix my pasta with the sauce or get my salad evenly coated with dressing. how i have to have an even distribution of butter or jam. and especially what he calls my "perfect bite" wherin i pick up little pieces of different foods (for instance, with Thai food: chicken, baby corn, and rice) and eat them at once.

ok, admittedly, when you write it down, it does seem kind of crazy.

but the other day topped everything. he comes into the kitchen after i had eaten lunch. i'd told him i'd had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. so he goes, what's that bowl in the sink? i say, i used that to mix the peanut butter and jelly together. he FREAKS out. like this is sacrilegious. he backs against the door. no! he says. you can't DO that. that's wrong. you put the peanut butter on one side and the jelly on the other. i say, NO! that's wrong. then the peanut butter is all blicky. it's better my way. well, we go on like this for about five minutes.

then then next morning he comes downstairs and there is milk on a bowl on the counter. he says, what's this? i say, i'm making cereal. he says, WHAT? i say, yeah, i pour the milk in first so the cereal stays crispy. he goes on about how that can't possibly be the case and how wrong it is to do it this way, but i've done it both ways and i know i'm right.

well, he took a poll among people he works with and they agreed with him. but they are musicians and can't be trusted.

i will admit that how i do things may not be normal. but i'd be hard pressed to find anything normal about him either. that's why we belong together. it takes one to know one.

netflops

ok, this is what you don't do. you don't let your parents get on the internet.

scratch that. you don't let your parents get on the computer. at all. ever. except maybe to play hearts. my dad seems to be able to handle that task.

but you can't sign your parents up for something like netflix and expect them to manage it themselves. this would be a fatal error.

see, my sister and i had this brilliant idea to sign my folks up on netflix for father's day last year. we'd foot the bill for six months and then after that they were on their own. we figured they'd be hooked by then. and they are. my dad loves not having to deal with going to the video (pronounced VEE-DEE-O for some unknown reason) store. he likes getting the handy little dvds in the mail and then sending them back, no muss, no fuss. (however, for some bizzare reason, he refuses to send back any dvds until all of them are watched so he can put them all in the mail at once. this sort of defeats the purpose of the three at a time deal, but he's pretty hard to reason with on some things. we have since switched to the one dvd at a time plan.)

well, the one caveat of the whole endeavor was that i had to be in charge of adding movies to their queue so they'd have a constant supply because, as i mentioned, they cannot be trusted on the internet.

well, today i was awakened with a frantic phone call from my mom telling me that i'd fallen down on my job because dad had gotten an email that there were no more movies in the queue (qway as he pronounced it. did i mention that my father has a doctorate in education? but he is from mississippi.). anyhow, he gets on the phone and tells me he's tried to go on the internet (NO!) but he can't get on the netflix site with his password because they want him to have one with more than four letters. makes no sense because his password only has four letters so i instruct him how to get to the netflix site. (takes about five minutes) then get him to the member sign in area (another five minutes). finally we get to the point where he can browse movies.

oh, by the way, i have to add that he wanted to know if he could print out a list of the thousands of movies netflix offers. i said, uh, no. why do you want to? he says so he can take it to my mom and read it to her and they can decide what they want to see. i say, wouldn't it just be easier to have mom in the room when you are on netflix deciding what you want to watch? he says, yeah, well, sometimes she's taking a nap when i want to do this. i say, i guess you need to schedule a time when she's available.

well anyhow, we get to browsing the netflix top 100 and i'm telling my dad if he wants to add a movie to his queue, he needs to click the little "add" icon. well he does it and it takes him to another screen where they're trying to push other movies because this is how netflix operates. he freaks out. but then figures out how to get back to the list. adds another movie, gets sent to the other movie promo page again, and, yep, freaks out again. he repeats this process about five times before he's ready to blow a gasket. he says, excuse me while i cuss. but he doesn't actually cuss. which i thought was kind of funny.

anyhow, i asked if he wanted me to pick the movies for him, and he said he'd appreciate it if i would. so now i'm stuck picking movies again. i ought to tell my sister it's her turn, but she'd play the baby card on me and tell me she doesn't have time.

it's really kind of difficult to pick out movies for your parents. at least it is for my parents. i'm thinking, no, that one has a lot of sex, they shouldn't see that. or that one is about drugs, they shouldn't watch it. it's like i'm trying to censor what they watch. but really, it boils down to the fact that these movies are selected by me, and and i don't want them watching certain scenes knowing that i've seen them and endorsed them.

so i have a really hard time selecting movies. i mean, i'm not going to send them 9 1/2 weeks no matter how great i thought it was. but i am running out of films along the lines of good will hunting.

i welcome any suggestions.

brush with fame

tonight i'm heading out to a guide to visitors over at the uw bookstore. not telling a story this time though, so i can relax and just enjoy the show. although truth be told, i prefer the nights when i'm telling a story. i am kind of all about having an audience.

so the deal with a.g.t.v. is that people tell true stories on a given theme. they run about 15 minutes each and you don't use any notes. it's meant to be like telling a story to a friend, except that there's usually a paying audience. usually it's at the jewel box theatre in the rendezvous, but tonight at the uw bookstore it's free. whee! anyhow, the stories are usually pretty entertaining because it's a curated show, not an open mic deal.

tonight's theme is "brush with fame." i figured i could probably come up with a cobbled together story featuring exploits from my time in la, but i've done stories at the last two shows and figured maybe it was time for a break.

but i do have a very good brush with fame story that i do sort of wish i was telling tonight, so i thought i'd tell it here anyhow. it's known in certain circles as "the gary busey incident."

so this was probably a good six years ago when i was living in la and still speaking to my ex-friend tricia. tricia, robin (a former work friend), and i were hanging out in this supper club owned by some hollywood a-listers. i think sean penn was one. i don't remember who-all else the place belonged to. anyhow, it was the new cool place at the time. and it had a cigar room. this was back when cigars were all the rage.

for some ungodly reason, we were hanging out in the cigar room. we'd met some guys who were plying us with drinks and i was happy to imbibe. well, after a while, somebody points out gary busey a couple tables over from us. i kept saying that i was going to go over and talk to him, but somehow, the group managed to keep me in my seat. with the promise of more cocktails, i suspect.

eventually, we decide to leave and go somewhere else, and me being me, i have to go to the bathroom. as i'm leaving the bathroom, who is waiting in the vestibule but GARY BUSEY. well, none of my friends are around so i figure this is my shot. so i walk up to him and i go (loudly, of course) GARY! I LOVED YOU IN CARNY! and he goes, oh, thank you. (i think. i really can't remember his end of the conversation too clearly...) and this part of the story gets a little fuzzy. i just remember that my friends spotted me and rushed over to yank me away from g.b. and he was also trying to extricate himself from the situation. but i was determined to get in a last word so i said, HEY, GARY, STAY OFF THE MOTORCYCLES! before i was whisked away.

it was not one of my finest moments.

and it is not the reason why i don't drink anymore. but remembering things like that make me glad that i don't. oh sure, i'm still liable to say something stupid to somebody like gary busey. but at least i'll be able to reconstruct the conversation.

then again, my memory isn't what it used to be, so maybe not.

i am curious, pink

so i'm caught up in the hype. i just ordered a pink razr to replace my falling apart cell phone. i really don't know much about it other than a. it looks super high tech and b. it's PINK! i was just thrilled to find out that i could get one for only thirty bucks from verizon because of their deal where they give you $100 towards a new phone every two years provided you sell your soul to them again for another couple years. there's no way to get a cheap cell phone without brokering a deal with the devil. but what the hell. i need cell phone service, and i want a supercool pink phone. so i signed up.

i think this thing is supposed to have a better quality camera in it. like anyone is taking high-quality photos with their telephone. but i will say that the camera phone was a great invention and i was thrilled when i got my first one a couple years back. i was wantonly taking pictures of whatever till i got over the novelty. now i only use it occasionally for what i believe is the camera phone's true purpose: the moments in life when you wish you had a camera. like when you see a trash can at the fair marked "doo doo only." or when you see a restaurant called "louie's cuisine of china."i am still cursing the fact that the peepsmoblie came through town back in the days before i had a camera phone. i sure would like to have a photo of that bus with the giant peep on top. just to send to my sister. we share a disdain for peeps that goes back to childhood, which is why i do things like send her peeps for random occasions and signed her up for the peeps fan club. don't worry, she has her own ways of torturing me.



anyhow, i can't wait for my fancy newfangled phone to arrive. it may take upwards of five business days. i'd say that means next friday. i hope my current phone can keep hanging on by its one hinge till then.

oh and i didn't sign on for the cell phone insurance plan because i figured out it would cost me $170 over two years. so i hope this thing holds up better than the last one.

i'm a loser, baby

so i went to the salon of shame instead of gloria steinem. i knew i would. i just liked to think that i might decide otherwise. unfortunately, it was a bust. it's usually standing room only and packed with people itching to read. i distinctly recall someone had to be booted off stage last time for going on too long and not giving other people a shot. this time it was the opposite problem. there were exactly two readers, one of whom was yours truly. of course, i am always thrilled to get a shot at the limelight, but would've liked to have more of an actual show.

they were nice enough to give everybody their money back though, so that was cool. i felt bad though because my friend karen had wanted to hear this talk on parallel universes next door at town hall if the g.s. thing didn't pan out. i felt like i led her astray. but at least we had a few laughs, and i had a shirley temple and a little of karen's husband josh's calamari. and i figure if i hadn't been there, they'd have only had one reader and that really would have been sad.

last night i read from my journal about misadventures with various radio djs when i was in high school. so the weirdest thing that happened was this dude came up to me after the show and said, 'tyx' was that 94 tyx? and i'm stunned that someone recognized the radio station, so i say, how did you know? and he says, i'm from mississippi. you must be from jackson, right? and i say, around there, yeah. he says he's from choctaw county somewhere (i've no clue where that is). but he assures me that he doesn't know any of the people i wrote about. of course, i imagine he would have recognized one of the dj's names if i hadn't used initials in my journal, so i'm glad i did.

i figured i'd be anonymous all the way up here in seattle, but lo and behold, who'd have thunk a home boy would be in the audience? made me feel a little paranoid about being so open with my humiliating stories. not enough to stop, mind you, but a little paranoid nonetheless.

conflict of interest

the trouble with seattle is that sometimes there is too much to do here. it will often happen that two events you really want to attend are happening at the same time in different places. what to do? it comes down to a question of preference. which writer do you REALLY want to see? which band do you REALLY want to hear? tonight is a case in point. gloria steinem is speaking at town hall, but just down the road there's a salon of shame going on. now here are the variables: gloria steinem is sold out and my friend karen and i don't have tickets. however, that has never deterred me from going to a show in the past. in seattle, you can usually depend on the kindness of strangers in a sold out situation. people inevitably have extra tickets and they will generally give them to you free if they find out you need one. there's a reason seattle has a reputation for being nice. so anyhow, i figure there's a decent chance we can get in, especially since the tickets were free and there are bound to be no shows. however, there's no telling how many people will have my idea.

but then there's the salon of shame. people read their teenage journal entries, unsent letters, bad poetry, and other embarrasing writing from their youth. it makes for some of the most hilarious entertainment money can buy. and it only costs a buck if you're willing to humilate yourself by sharing your own childhood stupidity, which, of course, i am. (anything to save a few bucks.)

so the perhaps once-in-a-lifetime chance to see the feminist icon gloria steinem or the opportunity to laugh and be laughed at that happens only every couple of months and is so freaking hilarious that i hate to miss a single show.

gloria steinem. salon of shame. am i a feminist? am i a loser who likes to laugh at other losers?

tough choice.

maybe i'll toss a coin.