The stars at night are big and bright.

I'm not sure exactly what's wrong with me, but I did not realize until this morning that we were not ticketed to Corpus Christi, but to San Antonio, which is 150 miles away. It turns out that somebody never sent me the itinerary, but we are spending a couple days here before heading to CC for the rest of the week.

The Alamo is slated for tomorrow morning and we're heading to Fredericksburg for a brewery the afternoon afterwards. And there was some mention of sausages or something. There's a lot more German influence around here than I ever would have guessed.

We got in an hour late (thanks for the misbalance, Denver Ramp!) and then immediately headed out to do stuff.

We walked along the entire Riverwalk. And then we took the boat tour around the river walk, realized we'd missed a msll portion of it, and walked around there too. We also had the smallest and most disgusting cup of guacamole ever.

I managed to have two kinds of Texas beer today: Alamo (remember!) and Lone Star. I am hoping to discover more soon.

Pictures to follow one day.

If you're already there then there's nowhere to go

You know and I know that travel is good. It broadens your horizons, yadda, blah blah blah.

Day trips and simple overnight trips are wonderful. You throw your shit together and make sure you have clean underwear and off you go. Two weeks ago when I went to Portland, I only took my satchel and last week when I went to Vegas, it was just what my pockets would bear. That's all you need.

But when you're taking longer trips, you have to do some actual honest planning and trade things off. Do you want to take just a carry-on's worth of personal belongings (as I managed to at MWSF), or are you planning on bringing more things back with you than you left with and need to pack a suitcase of belongings into a larger empty suitcase (as is usually the case when we go to Hawaii)?

OK, probably nobody else does that last thing, but anyway.

When I go on longer trips, there's somewhat of a ritual that goes along with the packing. I didn't mean for it to happen that way, it's just the way it's evolved over time. And it goes something like this:

1) Put on pajamas — they're nice and loungy and this way you can nap in the middle of the process if the urge strikes. It also helps along step 2.

2) Wash everything — All clothes, underwear (I often overpack on underwear, and underpack on shirts), bedding, etc. As things come out clean, I'll fold it all up and put it away or pack it, and set aside a travel outfit. This way, when I get home after a long trip (often the most tiring kind of travel), everything is neat and there's a ncie clean bed ready to sleep in. Yay!

3) Choose a single purse/satchel for the trip and redistribute wallet, keys, etc.

4) Salt all pockets and each piece of baggage liberally with chapstick. This way if I lose something, I will at least not have horrible dry lips. Remember: deliciously soft lips are a gift you give yourself.

5) Drink a lot of coffee. Actually, I do that anywhere and everywhere throughout the process.

Actually, I do that anywhere and everywhere throughout my entire life. Who am I kidding?

6) Avoid finishing up by whatever means necessary.

7) Feed the cats.

8) Shower.

9) Get dressed. That's what the set-aside outfit is for. Damned if I can actually get an actual ensemble together at 3 a.m.

10) More coffee.

11) Leave.

Eep!

I feel slightly tired this morning. I do believe I am running what is known as a "sleep deficit" and I have plans to catch up on that this afternoon if I can. You know, between packing and laundry and other assorted odds and ends.

Because tomorrow morning is the kickoff of our Big Texas Adventure — it would just be a Texas Adventure, but everything is bigger in Texas, donchano?

. . .

El Jefe is back and his cats are not dead nor is his house burned down. I believe I will call that a success.

. . .

After today, I think I don't work "scheduled work" for like . . . two weeks. I will take that opportunity to get some other things finished and under control. For example, the project whereby I get the kitchen finished.

Woot.

It's obvious that I miss you so much

We went down South last night — all the way south, into Tacoma, where there was a going away party going on for Newly Navy Boy, who leaves on Tuesday for Florida — America's Wang (tm).

So, happily for me, I got to see a lot of my peeps and hang out. I actually hadn't felt very good after work yesterday, but I dragged myself out anyway, and I am so glad I did.

This is how life is.

Di and Sara sending NNB off in style:


PBG and Scott (not a Mike/Michael? what?) investigate the NNB's Navy Training Guidebook:


The training guidebook was effing awesome. The cover said "Courage!" on it and there was a picture of a serviceman crying. Not stoic with a lone tear running down his cheek, mind you, but blubbering with puffed up face. It also had little fill in the blanks inside like so:

Art. 124. Sodomy
(a) Any person who engages in UNNATURAL carnal copulation (taking a sexual organ into the mouth or anus) with another person of the same of opposite sex or with an animal is guilty of sodomy.
(b) Penetration, however so SLIGHT, is sufficient to complete the offense.
Art. 124. Arson
(a) Any person who intentionally and maliciously burns the property of another is guilty of arson.
(b) Aggravated arson endangers HUMAN life.

And so on.

I kind of wish I'd gotten to spend more time checking out this training manual/guidebook thing.

Also, there was the dancing, which I am not going to show you, and the bootylicious discussions, and the spanking (which I am definitely not going to show you), and so forth.

. . .

Because Sara has to drive both of their cars to Florida, I volunteered to go with on a road trip. It seems like it would be fun. We'll see!

I can't even think of anything clever to say.

I made a huge mistake yesterday.

Like a grown-up, I am willing to admit it. Oh, what did I do that was so dumb?

I went for a run.

I know, I know. And today, I am so full of pain and regret. But you gotta understand, it felt so good when I was doing it. So good. I want to do it again.

But ow.

The bad thing is that I have a few different discrete pains, but I can't tell if they're from the short run (I'm not crazy, and I do know to start shorter and then get longer) or from my quick trip down the stairs. Some pains are more obvious than others, of course.

Take, for instance, the series of three bruises on my left tricep area. They are obviously from sliding down the stairs. At first, I was puzzled as to why I had distinctly separate bruises in a row, but then realized that I had hit my arm on the top step three times on my slide down, so as I went from stair to stair, I went bump, bump, bump, resulting in a fairly unique injury.

I am so CSI.

Other things are not so obvious. Like, is my ankle sore because it twisted? Or because I run funny? And why does my thigh hurt like that there?

(I don't want to give the impression that I'm falling apart over here, because I'm not. Really, I am the world's biggest whiny little bitch, when it comes to certain kinds of pain.)

I think the bigger question is whether or not I"ll do it again in a timely manner, and I think the answer to that is yes.

But not today.

. . .

12.75 to goal.

Here comes the fear again

Back when I lived in the south end (and was a Southie), I used to go to the KCLS a lot. It was great and so hassle free. I am really kind of a sucker for any kind of self check-out system, truth be told. You could waltz in, grab your hot hot fiction action, scan your barcode, scan your book, and waltz back out again in less than five minutes flat.

Even after I moved up north (and became a Northie?) I still went to the KCLS for a while, because my work/commute took me down there several days a week. That eventually ceased when I transferred northwards, and I haven't been to the library in a couple months.

However, as mentioned yesterday, I did discover a SPL branch a block away and armed with my new mission, I traveled there this morning and got myself a fabulous shiny new library card.

I collected the books I wanted, put a hold on 8 more (which probably won't be back before the end of the month, sadly), and went up to check out. The set up looked strikingly similar to the one they have at the KCLS:



I scanned my card and then . . . there was no step two. The pad I'd set my books on had auto-detected the RFIDs within them and checked them out to me.

I actually freaked out at this.

You have to understand a couple things here:

• Although the power of the RFID might obvious to these people, when reading things like that, I always assumed they had very troublesome lives, because:

• The only experience I've had with RF tags is with the really crappy ones retail stores use to keep you from stealing (regardless of the fact that employee theft is 3x more prevalent than outside theft). Seriously. They suck. The ones we used to use at Giant Bookstore A only worked half the time.

• I inherited (slightly more than) a healthy does of paranoia from my dad.

So the real life revelation that RFIDs work and work well shocked me on a couple of levels and I'm finding myself having to re-work things through in my head about just how aware and worried about the possible level of future freaky tracking by private and government sectors I ought to be.

It's obvious that we can't go mincing through life freaking out about every little thing, but we can't be cavalierly oblivious to what's going on either. I mean, I'm not super crazy paranoid, but still.

Good start to a weekend, self. Go ahead and have a relaxing one.

. . .

Also, I fell down the stairs this morning. That really really sucked.

. . .

And no, I have not decided if it is ironic or fitting that I freaked out about this tracking thing while checking out a bunch of Philip K. Dick books.

I want the world on its knees

Bowling!

First night of the league and we totally kicked the other team's ass — for the second game. They still beat us the first game, but we did thoroughly annihilate them on the second one. SO, woot!

We have the same team name as we did last league around, because, uh, we just didn't come up with anything else. But I am working on shirts for the Six Pistols so we can be the most awesomely matching team ever.

Also, I bowled over 100 the second game, which is completely awesome. In fact, I had the second highest score for our team for the second game, which I am extremely proud of:



I'm Fuschia. We went with colors. V said that all the colors could be stripper names as well. I do not think Puce would be a particularly good stripper name, but okay.

We still need to be dictators one night. I still have dibs on Chairman Mao.

And now, I leave you with the image of Lucas enjoying a Choco Taco:

The only way she goes is through the black door

It's another dreary dreary day here in Seattle, in sharp contrast to the bracingly crisp ones I've come to expect over the last couple of weeks. I'm sure G-Love is loving the crap out of this, but I personally am not.

I suppose that one really superb thing about going to Texas next week is that it practically guarantees us some nicely warm moderate weather. Right now the forecast calls for a high of 77 and a low of 61 for Tuesday. I can definitely live with that.

. . .

I saw the trailer for A Scanner Darkly today and it's definitely on my to-see list this summer. That doesn't mean I'll actually see it though. It means I'll really really really mean to see it and then will probably miss it anyway.

And then I'll put it on my list of cultural failings.

There are a lot of things that I've been meaning to see and read over the years that I just haven't gotten around to. I seem to recall that a couple years ago I made myself a mission to read a good book per week. I also seem to recall that the mission went nowhere fast.

However, I think the time is nigh for a new mission, a more concrete and focused mission. Like, say, devoting one month to reading as much of an author's oeuvre as possible. It's not too difficult to do, and since the first third of next month will be spent largely travelling, with all the wait- and downtime that entails, I should be off to a good start.

It is also a help that I have discovered there is a library only one block away on the way to the Top Pot and the Grateful Bread. I should run by and pick up a few titles today or tomorrow.

. . .

Unexpectedly missing El Jefe since he went down to Monterey. His cats and dragon miss him too, and Shmop informs me that I am a poor substitute for the petting. I am afraid Murray will die out of sheer spite.

. . .

Have you ever gotten that feeling that the last X-amount of time in your life has been nothing but an elaborate ruse and you're just not seeing through the set-up, but you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop?

Yeah, me neither. I'm almost never that paranoid.

Let's just say there are those long days; there is this dumb luck

So I took a short trip down to the L.V. last night. I wouldn't say it was "fun" per se, but it was immensely relaxing and satisfying. I realized while having my lunch today that I'm really going to miss this in three years.

Without the FBs, there is no such thing as a trip to Vegas for under $30. That's right, I went to Vegas for under $30. Total. Sure, it helps that I didn't have any airfare/hotel cost, but that is the beauty of the FBs.

Here's the breakdown:

Seattle transportation to/from airport:$2.50
Las Vegas transportation to/from airport: $9.00
Gambling losses: $2.35 (the key was knowing to quit while ahead at the Bellagio)
Beer + Tip @ Mirage: $6.00
Hash Browns/Coffee + Tip @ Dennys: $6.14
------------
Total: $26.29

. . .

I noticed that when you travel by air, people look at you funny if you aren't carrying anything. I purposely didn't want to lose anything, so only brought what I really needed for 12 hours and would fit comfortably in my coat pockets. This list turned out to be short: wallet, chapstick, phone, pen, keys, music.

I got a couple weird looks passing through security. However, they seemed really uninterested in searching me today, unlike last week, when they patted me down more times than I think was strictly necessary.

. . .

Highlights:

5:35 p.m. I catch the bus to the airport. It does not occur to me until I am on the bus that I really should have left earlier to make a 7:30 flight.

6:50 p.m. I arrive at the airport. I curse the fact the the bus terminal is at the exact opposite end of the airport from the ticket counter. As I suspect, when I try to check in 15 minutes later, I am denied, as the flight is in final boarding. However, I am just in time to make the 8:40 and am issued an immediate boarding pass. Score!

8:40 p.m. Airborne! The relaxingness of flight is still strange to me, but I settle in nicely.

8:50 p.m. This time is reserved for napping.

10:48 p.m. Tarmac! Hello, Las Vegas!

10:58 p.m. I am having issues finding the shuttle stations.

11:08 p.m. I finally find an (open) transportation company. They want to know where I'm going.

"The strip."

"What hotel?"

"Uh..I guess it doesn't matter. Excalibur?"

The man gives me a funny look and tells me to wait. Thirty seconds later, a whole family (pregnant lady included!) shows up needing transportation to the Excalibur. A remarkable coincidence.

The family, myself, a businessman, and an old lady make the shuttle. The businessman and the old lady are not going to the Excalibur. I think to myself, "That looks like the kind of person who would stay at the Monte Carlo."

11:34 p.m. We reach the Excalibur. The family rolls out, and as I am exiting, I overhear the old Lady ask the businessman where he is staying. "The Monte Carlo," he says. Ha!

11:35 p.m. I read somewhere once that the slot machines in casinos are all keyed to a particular harmonic that's meant to induce a feeling of happiness and well-being. This hits me fully when I walk in to the Excalibur. It's late, but not too late, after all, and the gamblers are out in full force.

I am immediately, ridiculously, pleased.

12:04 a.m. I decide I have had enough of the faux-medieval times and head over to New York New York.

12:18 a.m. I don't like New York New York as much as I remember and commence with the walking around.

1:32 a.m. I realize I am invisible. This is good for not being bothered (I love that Las Vegas knows how to leave a girl alone), but bad for scoring drinks from the waitresses. I buy myself a Fat Tire, which gets rung up a dollar short due to a register software error. I decide to count this dollar as part of my "winnings".

2:05 a.m. A man tries to sell me Ecstasy outside the Mirage.

2:24 a.m. At this point in the evening the ratio of really drunk people:sober people has skyrocketed, of what people there are. There is a group of three girls just outside Treasure Island. One is puking in the trash as the other two hold her hair back on either side. It's a very touching scene, really.

3:00 a.m. I refuel with hash browns and coffee at Denny's. Tasty.

3:38 a.m. It's very quiet and a beautiful night. I never realized that Las Vegas does indeed sleep. In fact, there is not a single actual gambler I see as I walk through the Venetian's slots area. As the night has gone on, the happy blooping sounds have slowed and quieted. It's less like cicadas and more like a lone cricket hiding under your refrigerator.

3:50 a.m. I pass a middle aged couple making out on one of the skybridges.

4:00 a.m. While going down the bridge escalator, cross paths with a man going up the bridge escalator. When he reaches the top, he falls flat on his face. I'm pretty sure he made a splat sound. Before I can say, "Are you . . . ," he jumps up and runs across the bridge.

I decide to take this as a sign that it is time to leave town.

4:30 a.m. I catch the airport shuttle at Paris. There is a couple arguing over whether the husband drank $40 of mini-liquor out of the mini-bar, for which they have been billed. He insists he only opened it to look at what was in there and didn't drink anything. She keeps saying, "Well, I believe you, but the front desk doesn't," in a way that implies she totally doesn't believe him.

I am the 13th person on the shuttle.

5:00 a.m. There is a line at the ticket counter, but no agents yet because of the early hour. Everyone in line needs an agent, because they all have bags to check. I awkwardly ask the group as a whole whether it would be OK to cut in front, since I just need to check in, no bags. They individually give me slightly strange looks and murmur assent, which as a whole amounts to a glare and a "whatever".

I check in and am assigned a seat. I have no idea how lucky this is until later.

5:05 a.m. They have the awesomest videos to watch while going through security at LAS. Carrot Top? Whoo! Rita Rudner? Um, yes! Elvis impersonator? Hells yeah! A transvestite Marilyn Monroe? Uh...ok?

I start to feel self-concious about not carrying anything when everyone else is loaded down, so I take off my coat to carry it, even though I'm a little cold.

5:20 a.m. This time is reserved for napping.

6:10 a.m. Pre-boarding starts.

6:20 a.m. I board. I am sitting in the bitch seat. I was so elated at getting ticketed right away that I figured it was a pretty empty flight and so would not need to change seats, since I could move after boarding.

This is not so.

The flight is completely full.

The flight is so full that they allow three standbys on to "check for an empty seat" but then kick them off for lack thereof.

7:00 a.m. Departure.

7:10 a.m. This time is reserved for napping.

9:41 a.m. Tarmac. Hello, Seattle! I make my bus connections just right and arrive home before noon. Huzzah!

This is love:

Butter mochi, baby!

Don't forget to play a song for me

Things that I or someone else said today this weekend at work:

• "Oh, you love my filthy sausa . . . uh . . . nevermind."
• "We should take a picture of that and put it on the internet labeled 'Barely Legal.'"
• "That's some hot hot action."

Also, went to dinner tonight at Cafe Juanita with some peeps. I only said 2 mean mean things all night. I think this is a good record. El Jefe says, "Why you gotta be so mean?"

The answer is: Because of my black black heart and charcoal soul.

Hey, sleepy monster in the sand

Today it was so cold that my hair froze on the way to work.

Seriously. It was stuck together with the power of ice.

I'm either getting used to the cold or the nerves in my skin are dying from exposure. It might be one and the same thing, really, which is kind of awful to think about.

. . .

I've been feeling restless lately. I know I've mentioned it before. Going on the day trip to Portland ameliorated the situation, but still. I feel like I have to get out of town or I'll go crazy.

So I came up with the perfect plan. Work through Monday, take a power nap, and hit Vegas on Monday night, staying up through Tuesday morning and coming home then. Power nap, then nacho night. Unfortunately, my plan is being met with resistance from various puny humans.

Erk.

. . .

13.75 to plan.

. . .

I almost forgot to mention. I ordered my awesome bag and it will be in my velvety paws in a matter of just a couple weeks.

Patience.

This is fact, not fiction

I really shouldn't be allowed so much caffeine in one day. I was pretty tired when I got up, so I had three cups of tea before work, a large coffee in the morning, and another coffee with my lunch. Around four p.m., I said, "I either need a lot more or a lot less coffee."

Around 4:05 it became clear that the answer was that I'd had entirely too much pep poured into me.

When some people get too much coffee, they become jittery or irritable. I become manic and kind of mean and should not be allowed to interact with decent human beings.



You see the nonsense I spout? Ridiculous.

Poor Lucas.


. . .

So I went to the doctor yesterday and got all the great stuff that a doctor's visit entails. Because it was a new doctor, I of course got to fill out the interminably long questionnaire so they know what's (not) wrong with you right off the bat. I always feel like such a boring person filling them out.

Do you have unusual pain? no. How about a goiter? no. Any crazy bitches in your family? no. Weird lumps? no. How about a cough? no. A sniffle? no. Anything? no.

Of course, the fun part is when you get down to the coochie questions, which included:

• Do you think you have a vaginal infection?
• Do you think you have a vaginal odor?
• Do you have excessive vaginal discharge?

Emphasis is mine. Because you know, the question itself implies that you are just being ridiculous if you say yes. Excessive vaginal discharge, on the other hand, is a strictly yes/no question, no think about it.

• If YES what color is the discharge?

For the record (not that it's any of your business), my answers were all no.

Then there comes the section entitled SAFETY. See if you can figure out what the latter two questions have to do with the first two:

• Do you feel safe in your current living situation?
• Have you ever been physically, sexually, or verbally abused?
• Is there a smoke detector in your home?
• Do you wear a bicycle helmet while riding?

I finally had some questions to answer yes to. When the doctor came in, she additionally asked me questions about if there were guns in the house, if children visited me, and if I loved my parents. It was a slight departure from the usual.

In other oddness, based upon all the information I gave her, my doctor announced that clinically, I was really, truly, not now nor have ever been a slut. In fact, I'm pretty sure she was about to shove me out the door and tell me to come back when I had a few strange men under my belt.

It was like I was wasting her time with my boring medical and pedestrian sexual history.

Get bent. Like a bottle cap.

Last night's drunken bowl-o-rama kicked off another long weekend of partying and working for me.

Our team wore skirts and we totally kicked the other team's ass thanks to the power of the special nine-ten strike rule in effect. We also drank $60 worth of PBR. I know.

A couple of funny things:

• One of the guys asked Vanessa how long we'd been together — he thought we were lovers.

• A guy from another team tried to hit on me by asking if he could borrow my skirt. (Note to guys everywhere: This is the lamest pick-up ever. Do not attempt this shit.) I told him he was clearly the wrong size for that and redirected him to hit on Vanessa.

Which he did.

Incessantly.

All night.

Sorry V. My bad.

Also of note: Two peeps on our team got free pints for three strikes in a row and they gave them to me. Unsurprisingly, I bowled the two worst games of my life.

Coming up, this weekend includes not one, not two, but three birthday shindigs to attend. I may need to work a nap in here somewhere.

The City of Roses.

Pictures here.

A few points:

• Got to the airport at 5:15 a.m.
• Got on a flight out at 11 a.m.
• Missed chance to go to V.D.D. because they were now closed.
• Noted that Guillermos' favorite record store (Ozone) has now moved to E. Burnside.
• Went to Saint Cupcake, but they were closed! (thanks anyway, Aaron!).
• Drank chocolate stout.
• Sat in a park and felt depressed and disappointed for two hours while sipping coffee.
• Came home the long way, through Central Oregon.

Sad.

Heart-shaped, like a question mark.

So, it, uh, snowed last night?



. . .

14.25 to goal.

. . .

It's my favorite part of Valentine's Day: Pamie has VD poems again and all is right with the world.

. . .

Speaking of . . . Happy Valentine's Day to the boo-iest boo ever!



My love for you is like guacamole. It's green, squishy, and I made it just for you. Also, if you put lime juice in it, it keeps it from turning brown. And don't the onions add a most delightful flavor and texture kick?

I thought so.

There is comfort in the sound

It just finished hailing here. That was a bit of a freak storm, if I say so myself — and I do. First there was lighting, as though it was all around. Then it rained the biggest slowest drops of rain I've ever seen. Then the hail — smaller, then getting bigger — and a couple more giant rolls of thunder (one made the house rumble under my feet) and then . . . nothing.

I was going to say that it was my first hail, but that's not true. It hailed at the first apartment up on Military Road. I remember discussing it with John Roberts.

. . .

Yesterday, Guillermo came up North with his mom in tow and we hung around the Village for a bit. While we were talking, he asked if I'd ever found a good soup and half-sandwich combo and I let on that I'd pretty much given up after that.

But.

Today, I'm at work, and Jason "F.F.T." Wakefield brings in what can only be described as the most delicious looking and smelling bites of heaven I've ever seen.

It was bagel tuna melty goodness.

And it was my destiny.

As soon as my lunch rolled around, I rolled up (okay, walked over) to Noah's Bagels and had them make me a half of one of those babies and some matzo ball soup to boot. It was every bit as wonderful as I'd hoped. I have found heaven, and it is kosher.



The only small downside to Noah's is that their coffee is quite bad. However, there are at least 5 other places I can grab a cuppa within 100 feet (that I can think of off the top of my head), so it's really not a concern of mine.

Woot.

. . .

It seems that today is the day of correcting past posts, because I spoke too soon yesterday when I said there was nothing "Free" or FREE FREE" around anymore. Later that very same day as I was walking to work, I came across this:



The sign says: "FREE. PLEASE TAKE"

And seriously. How can you resist?

. . .

Finally, the title of the previous post was misleading. I'm not really overwhelmed. That song was just stuck in my head, and this week seems like it's about my speed.

That is all.

I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed.

Today: Work, possibly zoo?
Tomorrow: Possibly zoo, crepes!, no nachos (sadness)
Wednesday: PDX
Thursday: Doctor, work, bowling
Friday: Massive work day + Russ' birthday
Saturday: Am I supposed to think that far in advance?

In between these things, I really need to get done the things I need to get done.

. . .

13.75 to goal.

. . .

We're looking for suggestions for a bowling team name. We want something fun and flirty that also says we are going to kick your frakkin' ass (or, you know, we would if we knew how to actually bowl). I would prefer something smart that is not a pun.

We're still looking for two more girls and a guy, too.

It doesn't mean my monkey doesn't love you.

I haven't spotted anything else Free or FREE FREE on the walks to and from work lately.

However, I did come across a fine example of lawn decor. You know how some people have those reflecting balls in their yards? They're pretty cool, if tacky.

This person decided they didn't want to outlay for the reflecting and decided to be earth-friendly by using what they had — bowling balls and free weights:





Feel the magic.

. . .

Learned about this awesomeness yesterday. Please do check out "Baby Got Back" and "My Monkey".

You can't take that all at one time, ya gotta breathe.

Last night was bowling night, which means that I had a few drinky-drinks and my voice was incredibly hoarse at the end of the night.

Our team thoroughly scandalized the team we were playing against with our silly silly antics. First there was all the yelling. And ordering PBR by the six-pack from the bar. And the high-kicks. And the "WHOOAOAOOAOOO!" And then, there was this:



There was also the fact that we used stripper names to keep score instead of our own. Randy got to be Nomi Malone, which was totally awesome, since when he would gutterball we could yell things like, "It's okay, Nomi, you're still a dancer!"

Vanessa was Lacey, because Busto said she looked like a Lacey, and I was Ginger, which means for one night I got to be Ginger and Mary Ann — fully 28.57% of Gilligan's Island.

I also bowled the worst two games of my entire life.



Next week is the last week of the league and we're going to dress up in big poufy skirts and be dictators. I've already called dibs on The Chairman.

. . .

There's going to be one more league before Leilani Lanes closes for good (condos! woo!) and Vanessa and I are definitely down for that. So we're going to try to organize a team in the next week (sign-ups are going to be this Thursday night). If you are down with getting together Thursday nights for the next 6 weeks for hot hot bowling action, give me a holler, and we'll get that shizzle straightened out.

Quick Info:

We're doing the Thursday Night 7 p.m. at Leilani Lanes. The cost is $395 per six-person team, which breaks down to $65/person. It covers the price of 2 games/night and shoes as well as a coupon for 3 more free games later in the week.

In other words, if you are looking for a $10/night way to spend 6 weeks with your friends and jeer at the unlucky non-leaguers who wander in on league nights, this is your ticket.

There's a bunch more info at the Underdog Sports League website.

. . .

As of this morning, we are 13.75 to goal.

Punk ass trippin' but its alright

You ever have a day that's full of stuff you are absolutely going to do, but you are blocked or stymied at every turn? Yesterday was one of those days. In fact, I think I would refer to Wednesday as the Anti-Tuesday.

For example, on Tuesday we got the good news that the transmission repair would be covered and the car would be done by the end of Wednesday. On Wednesday, we got the bad news that the car also needed new brakes (not cheap, my friends, and not covered), and it would be ready possibly Thursday.

It was just this huge day of minor backslides all over the place.

Also, I broke a chair by doing some dumb-ass thing. Luckily, the repair was (relatively) easy to make and isn't actually noticeable. I'm pretty proud of the good job I did, but the net gain for the day on that was zero. Y'know?

However, I did get some good stuff done, and have a plan for the next few days.

. . .

Tonight is bowling night, which actually sounds really really good right now. Like it sounds good in the way that it sounded good in the middle of the day at MacWorld good.

It's physical, you get to throw things, knock stuff over, and get that destructive urge out, but at the same time, you're striving to get a good score out of it, and honing your technique. From within the chaos, you're creating your own order. There's something very awesomely black/white about bowling.

I find the sound of a bowling alley to be very soothing deep down in my soul.

I'm not sure what that says about me.

. . .

In other good news, we finally took delivery of The Scale That Was Shipped All Over The West Coast! It's alright, and a good thing to have, but I don't think it was necessarily worth the hassle. We'll see.

. . .

14.75 to goal.

. . .

Been looking for a laptop bag for when I get the 17-inch back from Dragons — that is to say, if it isn't destroyed n the meantime somehow. Because I want something that doesn't scream "Steal me!" and I can use when riding my bike, there are several criteria I've been using:

• Messenger-style
• Must have third stabilizing strap
• Want something with color and style and (dare I say it?) panache
• Needs to fit a 17-inch and the iP-90, but can't be gargantuan
• Must be fairly sturdy and padded as all hell.

There is a decided dearth of bags like this available. I've only found four, and only two of them truly fit the critera. The two that don't are The Clyde — which is only on my list because I am in love with AcmeMade, but shouldn't be because it lacks the stabilizing strap— and the large convertible from STM — which is really kind of ugly and has something truly horrific going on with the straps, so um . . . *toss*

Anyway, the other two I am looking at are The Metropolis from Chrome or The Horseman from Crumpler.

What the Crumpler has going for it is that they (the company) are really fucking crazy. I met the president of the company in San Francisco and he was talking about maybe changing their website because all the flash really messes with people's heads. And I was all, "Don't you even dare! I love that shit!" (Anyone who was there may want to compare and contrast this interaction with the one I had with Paul Griffin that same day) I do believe at the time he was wearing a light yellow blazer and a crazy bow-tie and went on to go on about the gears on this weird bike that was just chilling next to us.

That said, they make fine quality products, and if the Metropolis ends up being a disappointment when I finally get to see one, I'll most likely end up getting the Horseman in a red.

You have probably already guessed that I have my eye on the Metropolis. It's hip, it's cool, the buckle looks like it'll be a breeze to put on and take off, and I love the styling. I found a couple bike shops and scooter dealerships up here that carry them, and I'll have to make time to check them out shortly.

In the meantime, I'll be keeping my eye out for further candidates.

I'll make the most of it

Last night we ate nachos and got drunk. Surprised much?

But last night was Laurel's birthday as well and Wil was determined for her to have an awesome time. Also, Aaron was coming up to drop off stuff and partake in nacho night, there was a running gag to be had there. So I spent many hours yesterday preparing for nacho night when I wasn't working on G/B stuff.

The Laurel things were pretty straightforward. Wrap the presents and make her a shirt to be part of our gang. Hehe.

The BuyOlympia stuff was a different story:

Last month we're all getting ready for MacWorld, and I stencil out these "LL Wil S" shirts (that's another story) for the girlies. Lucas is like, "Hey, that's cool, did you screen those?" and I'm like, "Well, no, I don't know how to do that, isn't it complicated?" and he's like, "No, it's actually really easy, I'll show you sometime." and I'm like, "Cool."

Last week Tuesday Lucas brought over all the stuff to screen. But. We needed a design, duh. So for inspiration, we (well, really, it was his idea) turned to the BuyOlympia.com holiday card. The guys down there sent us a card full of failed holiday card ideas with accompanying clip art (indicated in parentheses) such as:

• (Toilet) Don't flush away the opportunity to have a happy new year
• (T-Rex) Hope your holidays are killer!
• (Computer) You turn me on this holiday season
• (Robot) May you absolutely dominate the new year.

and of course:
• (Harp) Don't harp on the past. Look forward to an exciting new year.


But. Before we can complete the screenmaking process, he goes to the cafe with the rest of the guys, leaving the rest of the process in my novice hands. Of course, it ends up not being exposed for long enough, and more emulsion washes out than really should, almost completely obliterating some of the wording. I forge ahead, using creative masking techniques to create a vaguely acceptable — but puzzling — screen that reads "Harp the Past. Look forward to an exciting new year."

I go ahead and screen the shirts, and we wear them to nacho night. If you recall, we all had a good time. Also, Pat and Aaron thought the shirts were super funny. (note to self: remember to screen out 2 more for those guys — Oly-style!)

Because they're nice boys, they actually sent us a thank you note for showing them a nice night:



* The blurry black text at the bottom reads: "because with friends like you, who needs enemas?"

And we decided (OK, it was Wil's idea, who am I kidding?) to retaliate by making more shirts, since they were coming up again for business/pleasure last night. This time I made two for them as well (and one for Laurel!).



That's right, they say, "we're na'cho friends!" Ha ha!

Ha.

Ha.

Ahem. Anyway, we all went out and had a good time and Laurel had a fabulous birthday, as evidenced here:








And when we got home, we totally partied until, uh. . . actually I think I went to sleep at 11. Some of the other guys stayed up and although it's only 8 a.m. here and everyone but me is still hung over in bed, Dragons and Guillermo have both said the exact same things about the hijinx after I went to bed: "Lucas got so wasted" and "He kept trying to throw up in the sink".

Ha ha!

I mean, uh. . . poor Lucas.

. . .

I passed these chairs on the way home from work on Monday:



The signs on them say "Free" and "Free".

Wowie, wow wow

Number 1) I admit I was a little upset last night about the Super Bowl. Jake is absolutely right about the referees. I think one of the things about watching your local sports team is that you don't have control over it, but you think, goddamn it, someone does and someone is going to be blamed when it goes awry.

So, cerebrally, yes, the Hawks needed to pull it up just one more notch.

That doesn't mean that the little man in the back of my head isn't kicking a can while walking down the street, mumbling, "Stupid refs. . ., " to himself.

Number 2) I am way more sorry than ever that I missed out on the big festivities at Rich and Julie's! Apparently it was revealed at Angie and Tyler are having a baby?! Geez, guys! Congratulations! Can't wait to get together with you and give you our love.

I feel like, I'm going to use up my yearly allotment of exclamation marks right here if I don't stop! So I better get to work!!

So, yay!

Screw you, ref!

The first half was totally stolen. I am officially pissed. This is exactly the kind of awful officiating that causes riots, you know.

I wanted us all to go down and destroy Pittsburgh, and possibly Detroit, but Russ (of Russ and Morgan) insists a better punishment is to let them live in the filthy pit they call a city.

Stupid East Coast bias.

The finer points

• Didn't sleep well again, hope this is not a trend rearing its ugly head.

• The guac was ever more delicious this morning (though, sadly, slightly browner).

• Just this:



The sign on top says "Free Free"

• We got our "media center" set up last night and it is freaking sweet!

• Embarrassingly and injuriously for me, it is in fact possible for someone to forget how to ride a bike. Curses and bruises abound.

• Plus, I am almost out of tea again.

• A highlight of yesterday was the randomness of a man with a delightful French accent talking about liquid nitrogen at the bike shop.

• Threw someone at work the Su-Fi yesterday and got it right back in "feel the love" mode.

• Last night El Jefe said to me, "I figured out what you should do with your life." It was the most awesome thing ever.

• Go Seahawks!

There's always a new addiction

Today I made magic. I took this:



and turned it into this:



That, my friends, is what is known in the industry as a fuck-ton of guacamole. It is, in fact, our very largest mixing bowl that takes up half the refrigerator.

. . .

I have also decided that I really really really need to get out of town and have decided that I will make my escape next week Wednesday. The dreary weather and horrible . . . well, the weather is really the 99.5% of it. Portland looks much nicer.

Doughnuts and books, here I come.

And yes, I will bring back bacon topped maple bars for everyone!

Food: Kingfish Cafe

I was so absorbed in the car saga that I almost forgot to mention that we went out to dinner last night with Russ and Morgan, who I really do adore.

They brought us to the Kingfish Cafe, where we had incredible soul food (the pork chop is to die for and has a flavor reminiscent of pork laulau somehow) and the world's most wonderful cake.

They'd talked up the cake before—about how the coconut cream cake is the best thing in the entire world— and we even pre-ordered it to make sure we would have a slice. Sadly, the waitress did not hide our slice of cake from the other servers well enough, and when it came to dessert time, it was gone. True true sadness.

We instead got red velvet cake and german chocolate cake. The red velvet cake was so incredible, words cannot describe how it was heavy with promise but light on my tongue. Or how the frosting melted into the taste of memories past. Or how they have done something amazing to their whipped cream that makes it not of this world. Morgan thinks they may add caramel to it. I think it's a possibility.

The german chocolate cake was good too, but clearly no match for the taste extravaganza that the red velvet was.

Possibly Seattle's best soul food restaurant, but I'm certainly no expert on that particular cuisine. And, since the restaurant is around Capitol Hill, it has the distinction of ironically being Seattle's hippest and possibly most spendy soul food restaurant as well.

And if we keep eating such festively flavored food, I will need twelve new thesauri to adequately chronicle the experience.

Bad, bad, and worse timing

So on Thursday we went down to the condo, and I believe I mentioned that we had some car troubles. It does indeed look like the transmission is out of commission. Luckily, the car's under warranty. Unluckily, the dealership looks like it's going to be a big pain about the technicalities. Just for a better idea, here is a timeline of the day:

• Driving down to Federal Way
• I say, "Hey, the car's at 60,012 miles. We should get that oil changed and the service done."
• Mike sez, "OK, I'll check out the service place by our house when we get home today."*
• We do the condo thing.
• We start driving back.
• Transmission starts to slip.
• Get towed to the dealer.
• The odometer reads 60,074.

Here's the crappy thing. The transmission is supposed to be serviced every 30,000 miles. The dealership sez, "Since the car is at 60,000 miles, you need to show a record of TWO transmission services for the warranty to cover it." As noted earlier, we were making plans on that day to get that second service done.

Now, I want to make something perfectly clear. We may not be the world's most perfect and responsible people, but we have always always taken that car in for it's routine service. We have the little sticker on the windshield and when the odometer rolls over, we roll it in to Grease Monkey and get it done. Whenever Grease Monkey says, "Hey, it's optional to do this thing, but blah, blah, blah," we say, "Go ahead and do it."

We might not love the car (Mike outright hates it for some reason unfathomable to myself), but we've taken care of all the components that make it go. As for being clean, that's another story, and one that's not germane to the discussion at hand.

And if you know anyone who gets their service done before or at the very second the tenth-of-a-mile indicator shows the big 0, I will stab myself in the jaw. Seriously.

. . .

So I'm pretty worried about it, yeah. Number 1) if it's not covered, we're screwed. We don't have the liquidity to get another car nor enough employment between the two of us to secure a loan, I don't think. And B) while we're floating around, waiting for the executioner to either swing or announce a stay, we don't have a car.

So I will be walking and/or biking to work this week. I'm very very glad we live only a mile away.

However, it still means we can't do a lot of things. Between the people that frequent this house the most (myself, Mike, Wil, and Lucas) we have a coupe. A two-seater. There are groceries to be bought (don't forget the nihilist!), and things to be transported, and we just can't do that.

We can't even drive up to the Super Bowl party on Sunday at Rich and Julie's place! Argh!

Sigh.

I'm sure that by this time next week, things will be all resolved (I hope so, anyway), but I'm worried right now.

. . .

Last night I slept the sleep of the dead. It was deep, mostly dreamless (and what dreams I do remember were fairly innocuous), and pretty much exactly what the doctor ordered. I haven't had one of those nights all week and I remember worrying that I wouldn't sleep well (because of the other worries, you see) but sometimes what the body needs is exactly what the body takes.

. . .
* We needed to check out and find a new place to get service because we moved in October. You might say that's pushing the three months/3,000 miles, but we were still regularly running down to Federal Way in November, and I do believe we had an oil change/etc. done down there that month. Also, for some bizarre reason, the owner's manual claims you only need to change the oil every 5,000 miles. We still do it every 3k.

It’s late but it’s not the last call

Stayed up late last night hanging out with Vanessa. Despite this, I am up very early this morning as I have given up trying to sleep. It is a fool's errand.

Yesterday was a boring condo cleaning day that turned into a debacle when the car's transmission headed south. As a result, we spent several hours dealing with towing and all the assorted crappiness that goes with that. Rob was nice enough to rescue us from Renton (thanks, Rob!) and I made it up here in time to go bowling.

Yes, for once in my life I was not to be denied access to a bowling alley because it was "league night". Instead, I would be partaking in the league of bowlers and shutting out the losers who were not as cool as I am. I met some of the other people on our team (The Six Pistols), and drank more PBR than I think I ever have in one night.



The team we were paired against (Team Zissou) totally kicked out asses by over 200 pins per game, but you know, we were having a good time. I even acquitted myself fairly well during the first game — a strike and two spares before rolling three (count em!) gutterballs in a row and breaking the ball returning thing.

Well, okay, I didn't break it. Technically, whoever was using the pink 8 lb. ball broke the machine, but I was the last person to bowl before we noticed it was broken down. We actually had to stop bowling for quite a bite while they pulled apart all the machinery on our lane.



That was pretty cool.

Due to the crazy strike-spare-spare action I had going on, I broke 100 for the very first time ever. It was sweet, and my score of 106 was right in the middle of our team's scores.



This did not really set up The Six Pistols to expect my "normal" bowling or "drunk" bowling, which was the road we were headed down. And I ended that game with the low low score of 80.



Later, there was DDR Extreme, of which I did not partake. I believe I may have been almost too drunk to walk, let alone coordinate with little flashing arrows of dance.



And then we decided we were too tired to go clubbing and retired home for a rousing night of stay up late and look at pictures of kittens on the internet. That wasn't the plan per se, but whatcha gonna do?

My heart is crammed in my cranium and it still knows how to pound

We went out to a tiny tiny restaurant last night called Elemental where I had one of the most amazing dinners of my life. And the guys totally kicked my ass at chinese checkers.



There are a few things I remember, but not too much, because, frankly, I amhung over this morning (but just a little!):

• I kept insisting my little brother Cyrus was 4 or 6 (can't remember which) when he is in fact 11 or 12. I'm terrible with ages, but not that terrible.

• The bacon covered truffles were every bit as good as advertised. If my tongue could have had an orgasm, it would've.

• Taking a cab to and from the restaurant was the world's best idea.

• I learned that I should stop being mean to girls I don't like. Because it's not nice.

• But what is awesome and fun is making fun of someone who was at some point the Chief Architect at NVidia. Especially if they're sitting two tables down and talking very very loudly.

• That restaurant was furnished entirely in IKEA. Wil asked "So you think the floor came from IKEA?" which it probably did not, but now that I think about it, I really don't consider the floor to be furniture. Usually.

I am far too old to get drunk two nights in a row.

. . .

On a probably unrelated note, I was adding things to my must-buy-soon list and apparently I decided I needed to pick up some weird things, because it reads: Baking soda, bath scrubby, nihilist, razors, emulsion solvent.

Nihilist?

There is, in fact, something very probably wrong with me.

. . .

I just remembered I am going out tonight for bowling, DDR Extreme, and gay nightclubbing. I am way way too old for three nights in a row. I'm going to have to start taking lessons from Tara Reid or some shit, yo.

. . .

Just just remembered that we already have going out plans for tomorrow night too with Russ and Morgan. Their lips said "dessert" but I swear I heard "drinking". Four nights? Crazy much? Good thing I can sleep in on Saturday.

Take me home to your religion for the night

We went bowling last night after nacho nite again. Pat and Aaron from BuyOlympia came as well, and it turns out those git-dang mofos actually know how to bowl! Pat (the vegetarian, no curly hair) even has his own shoes and ball, which he didn't bring because he didn't know we were badass bowlers up here in Seattle.

They also didn't know that when you bowl at Leilani Lanes, you have to do it in front of murals of giant bowling sperm:



It really will be such a shame when this place closes in a couple months and is torn down to make way for condos. I'm paraphrasing here, but like Laurie sez: "Condos everywhere! I love condos! Just like Chicago! Woo, condos!"

I'm way too tired, (and verging on — but not quite! — hung over) to be coherent, so I will let the pictures do the talking:









. . .

I was talking to my friend Guillermo this morning about Douglas Coupland over tea. Rather, just I was having tea, he was having Coke, but nevertheless, we were still discussing Douglas Coupland. In any case, he was telling me about JPod, the new book coming out in May. It sounds interesting, as I quite enjoyed Microserfs, but I haven't read any of his other books.

Contrast this with Guillermo, who is semi-obsessed with Mr. Coupland and has read all of his books except Microserfs. I was asking him which Coupland book I should read next, and he said, "The first one I read, was Hey, Nostradamus I think."

And I was astounded. I thought he was into Coupland for years, seriously, not a year and a half. The funny thing is, I kept insisting that he was lying and in fact had loved Douglas Coupland for years and years.

Me: I'm not crazy!
Him: You're not crazy. But a year, maybe year and a half, tops.
Me: No way!
Him: No, really.

And so forth and so on.

. . .

We briefly considered busting out the DV camera and iMovie action to slap together something for entry in the SIFF (deadline: today!), but 30 seconds of actual thought kind of put that out.