Looking for me?

I’ll be over here. See you there!

kthanx.

Dirty mouth?

I just caught Pippin chewing on my toothbrush. And now I’m wondering just how long that has been going on for. I guess when you lick your own butt, it’s nice to brush up a bit now and then.

Of course, now I need a new toothbrush…but Pippin will probably just chew on that one too.

En Vogue?

I’m a pretty simple gal. I don’t need to have a million pairs of shoes, or be sporting the latest trends regardless of cost. No, a fashonista I’m definitely not. In fact, when it comes to clothes, there is a very short list of qualifications that will determine if something is “wearable” for me: if I can find something long enough, that my boobs are not popping the buttons off of AND it happens to be appropriate for work,  I say that’s a home run. I don’t care where I bought it or who made it–you can’t see past my blinding whit and charm to examine the label on my jeans anyway. Don’t get me wrong–I like to look cute (who doesn’t?!). But I’m cute NOT because Calvin Klein made my suit… *sigh* I digress.

Regardless, I think I must be doing something wrong in the clothes department. You see I have this blouse that, in my opinion, is just ugly. It’s the shirt that I wear when I’m not “feelin” anything else in my closet, or when everything else is in the laundry or at the dry cleaners. I rarely wear it, but I put it on this morning because I was running late and couldn’t bring myself to put much thought into pulling together a “cuter” ensemble. Wouldn’t you know it–at least three separate people commented on it, telling me how much they liked it. Three! In fact, the more I thought about it over the course of my day, the more I realized that people compliment me EVERY TIME I wear the damn thing!

So what’s the deal?! Do I not look cute the other 99% of the time when I’m NOT wearing that shirt? What’s wrong with the rest of my wardrobe that people don’t compliment me on other things I wear–things that, in my opinion, are far CUTER than the ugly blouse?! Or is everyone complimenting me to my face and secretly laughing behind my back when I DO wear it? Have I accidentally hit the trendy nail on the proverbial head, or is ugly simply the new pretty?

I may never know, but for now I guess Ugly Blouse can keep its place in the closet. Who knows: I may even start to wear it more often…

TV Invasion

Dear Sarah McLachlan,

This has gone on long enough. Your commercial to raise funds for the ASPCA is now on every channel I watch. It used to be that the Bravo Channel was a place I could run to escape, where I could retreat and watch “The Real Housewives of Orange County” without fear. Now, between bouts of laughter at the rediculous antics of my favorite Housewives, I’m faced with the threat of hearing the first few bars of “Angel” as soon as this pops up on the screen:

And I can’t handle it. As a pet owner, my heart absolutely breaks for animals that are victims of abuse and neglect. I can’t for a moment imagine what I would do if anything were to happen to my own baby child…to Pippin. And trust me: if I thought I could make it through the first five minutes, I would be volunteering every weekend at my local Humane Society. But I know I can’t. Not only would I not be able to see through the constant stream of tears, but it would take everything I could muster to not adopt every single one of those animals and bring them home.

You can imagine my reaction every time your commercial comes on: my eyes immediately squeeze shut and I start blindly hunting for the television remote. Becasue if I didn’t, within seconds I would be a blubbering mess.

So for the sake of my emotional stability, could you do me this one favor? Can it with the commercial every five minutes! (This goes for you too, Noah Wile–you and your WWF commercial about the plight of the polar bears.)

Thanks…Essaytch

Oh, and look for my check in the mail…but for the love of God, please don’t send me the free picture of one of the animals my contribution will be helping. Because that would be counterproductive.

2009: Year of the…wait, WHAT?!

2009 is definitely off to an interesting start here at Fabulous Job. Headcount realignment (read: layoffs) is still in full swing, although not so much in our department. That isn’t to say people aren’t making a mass exodus…but their reasons for leaving are, well let’s just say they are unique.

Imagine getting this phone call:

YOU: Hello?
CALLER: Hello, is this (insert your name here)?
YOU: Yes. Who is this?
CALLER: My name is Mr. Estate Lawyer. I’m calling about your long lost Uncle Moneybags. I’m sorry to say, he’s no longer with us.
YOU: Uncle who?
CALLER: Your Uncle Moneybags, your father’s step brother from a previous marriage. He recently succumbed to (insert name of debilitating disease here) and seeing as how you’re his only surviving relative, that makes you his sole heir and recipient of his entire fortune.
YOU: Excuse me? Did you say fortune?!
CALLER: That’s correct. His entire fortune…
YOU: How much are we talking about here?
CALLER: $ (insert any number between 10 and 50 here) MILLION dollars.

*sound of the phone hitting the floor, followed by a thud*

CALLER: Um, hello? Ma’am? Hello? Shall I bring by the papers then? Ma’am? Hellooo….?

“Who does that happen to?” you might be asking. “Sounds like something out of a Hollywood film script…” Those were my thoughts exactly. But, apparently some people are that…I don’t know, lucky? It happened to a co-worker of mine, and now she’s put in her two weeks notice. Not that I blame her–I’d probably do the same thing. But seriously?! A long-lost relative? With a FORTUNE?! Some people catch all the breaks.

And some people just DON’T.

Take co-worker #2, for example. He’s been dealt what I can only describe as a gigantic pile of horseshit and not only do I not envy him, but I genuinely wish the story wasn’t true…for HIS sake. This particular co-worker hails from a small village in Africa, and made his way to the US to go to school, live the American Dream. And he was! Until that aforementioned horse left a steamy pile all over that dream.

Imagine receiving this telegram:

BAD NEWS stop LEADER HAS DIED stop PLEASE RETURN TO VILLAGE stop YOU ARE NEW LEADER stop MUST ASSUME RESPONSIBILITIES stop

Yes, that’s right. He was contacted recently by his relatives back in Africa. Someone has died and left him an inheritance of his own. Only this inheritance doesn’t involve money. No, this inheritance comes in the form of a great responsibility: to head back to Africa and (wait for it)
*
*
*
*
RUN THE VILLAGE.

Because I’m insensitive (and can’t believe my ears), I immediately picture him leaving behind his Brooks Brothers suits and donning stereotypical aboriginal garb: nothing but some body paint on top, and a teeny tiny piece of grass on a string to cover his–well, you know.

But that isn’t the WORST part of this story. From what I hear, this isn’t a peaceful little village we’re talking about. Yes, body paint and grass thongs are likely on the menu…but so are half a dozen other atrocities I’d rather not mention here.

So what’s the “moral” of this little story? I’m not exactly sure. But I can say with absolute sureity that all those times I wished and prayed for some amazing thing to happen to me, taking my life out of the “ordinary” and into the “extraordinary”–I take it all back. I am perfectly content with my ordinary life, at an ordinary job, in an ordinary city, living with my ordinary cat and hanging with my ordinary friends. Because while “extraordinary” might serve up a long-lost relative with a shit-pile of money to give me, its just as likely that I could be shipped off to a foreign land and made to eat bugs.

Back In The City Again!

Moving is an emotional experience. I’ve done it pretty much every year since I moved out of my parent’s house at 18, and it never gets any easier. From going through all your old stuff and trying to weed out the crap (read: hoarded towels and books about Jesus), to the sheer enormity of individually wrapping each and every glass, plate, and dish in your kitchen–the entire process of moving takes it out of a girl. And THEN to try and enlist the help of friends and family to physically move all the stuff you just painstakingly wrapped and packed and threw in boxes…well, that is a challenge in itself.

This move, while still difficult, was emotional for another reason entirely: I was leaving my roommates behind. Don’t get me wrong, it was MY decision to move and was something that I desperately needed for my own sanity (and for the sake of my yet-to-be-determined new social life). The difficult part was knowing that while part of the move was to be closer to work, the main reason was because of a friendship that ended badly after almost 10 years. And when I say it ended “badly”, I mean BADLY…as in bridges burned, wreckage smouldering, ashes blowing in the wind. But I wasn’t about to endure another 7 months of walking around on eggshells or side-stepping rabbit poop (yes, you heard me right–don’t ask), so I took the initiative and left. Like a thief in the night.

Ok, not really–my former roommates had PLENTY of notice, and trust me when I say, I am not leaving them in the lurch financially. But I DID feel a bit like the Grinch who stole Christmas. Remember how he took EVERYTHING from the Whoo’s houses, leaving nothing but hooks and wire on the walls? Well, that was me…except I took the hooks too!  Sadly, the majority of what we were using in the house–as far as furniture, kitchen stuff, and general decor was concerned–was mine, after all. And it isn’t like I was going to leave behind my couch and television just because I was worried they wouldn’t have their own. Nevertheless, I felt guilty about “cleaning them out”. But only for about a minute.

That minute ended when, on my first night in Wallingford (my new ‘hood), I was driving down 45th towards the UW and I passed the following:

• A handful of what I can only assume were very stinky bums
• An arthouse movie theatre
• Dicks Drive-In
• One dude waiting for the bus wearing a hoop skirt–the kind that Scarlet O’Hara would have worn underneath her dress made out of drapes
• The Erotic Bakery (where one can special order penis cakes w/ extra jizz)
• And a handful of artsy crunchy dudes in hoodies and skinny jeans riding bikes too small for their bodies

In that moment, I let out a contented sigh of relief: “Back In The City Again!”

New Start to a New Year…

2008 packed quite a few punches for me…and not just sucker punches. There were a lot of really great things that happened last year, and I’m hoping that 2009 will continue to build on that. So where to start to make 2009 a year to remember? With a big move, of course!!

For the past 3 years, I’ve been living in a suburb of Seattle on the east side of the city–closer, in fact, to Bellevue (Seattle’s twin city across the lake) than to Seattle proper. The commute is horrific. Not to mention being a single, almost-30 year old gal living in the ‘burbs while all your friends are living in the city! Not fun. In addition to the location, a year and a half ago I decided that living alone was too expensive, so I moved back in with two roommates and their zoo of animals. And while it was a good idea at first (because my rent has been unbelievably low), the *ahem* DRAMA that has ensued…well, I’m just over it. For reals.

So for the past 3 weeks, I’ve been packing up all my stuff and on Thursday, I’m moving back into the city! I’ve hired some muscles to help me out, and I’m getting back out on my own. The location is PRIME, just a 20 minute bus ride downtown (hallelujah!), and only blocks away from Greenlake–one of Seattle’s best urban lakes w/ a 3 mile running trail around it. Perfect for my one and only 2009 New Year’s Resolution (more on that some other time).

Even the process of packing has been revealing, brining to light something about myself that I never realized before: I am a hoarder. Not a universal hoarder mind you– I’m not one of those people that will die, crushed under the weight of a giant pile of newspapers and coffee cans that have been piling up to the ceilings of my home. No, my hoarding is reserved for very specific items:

1. Towels: I don’t know what it is that makes me hang on to towels that I’ve had since the dawn of man, but I do. That’s not to say that I don’t buy new towels–but for whatever reason, I don’t get rid of the old ones when the new ones arrive in the linen closet.
2. Lotion: Mini bottles that I’ve swiped from hotels; large Costco-sized bottles that no one on earth could possibly hope to use before it either went ‘bad’ or they got sick of the smell; horrific smelling, bright pink goo that was gifted at a birthday or Christmas who knows how many years ago. I have bottles of lotion just meant for your knees, your hands, your heels, your elbows, your face, your ears, your big toe…you name it. If there’s a lotion made for a specific body part, or concocted using a unique scent profile, I’ve got it.
3. Sylvester Stallone movies. I’m a HUGE Stallone fan, and I’m proud to admit that I own almost every movie he’s ever made on DVD. I even discovered a Rocky III poster hidden in the back of my closet.
4. Bibles (and books about the Bible). I think I have a copy of every translation of the Bible there is. From the NRSV, the NLV, the NKJ to The Message, if someone out there has figured out a new way to interpret the original Greek or Aramaic texts, then I’ve got a copy. In addition, if you ever wanted to know why bad things happen to good people, how and why to pray, or if there’s any Biblical truth behind Dan Brown’s bestseller The Da Vinci Code, chances are good there’s something in my library that can enlighten you on the subject.
5. Books of matches. I have an entire shoebox full of just matchbooks. If I go out to eat, and the hostess stand has a bowl of matchbooks on it, I’ll take more than one. I have matchbooks from locations as diverse as the 7-11 down the street, to a restaurant a friend and I ate at in Edinburgh.

Needless to say, I’m ready to usher in the New Year with a brand new start. So goodbye stinky lotions! Farewell, old towels–I have no need for thee! My new life back in the city starts on Thursday, and I don’t want all the old junk to be cluttering it up. As for the Stallone movies and the Bibles? They’re coming with me.

Oh, and the matches. Because who knows when I’ll decide to finally torch all the Jesus books…

A Retrospective…

I’m a horrible blog mother. I realized recently that November marked the one year anniversary of The Evolution of Me and I completely missed it (much in the same way that I missed my 100th post, my 30,000th visitor, etc…). That’s right: I’m out of diapers and well on my way to teenage angst, first loves, and sneaking out of the house to make out with my boyfriend in his car. It’s been quite a year, and it really hit me last night as I was watching the ball drop with my family (my mother and I both more than a little tipsy on the box wine) that a lot has gone down in the past 12 months! To say that I’ve learned a lot this past year would be a gross understatement.

So seeing as how it’s New Years day, I thought I would jump on the bandwagon and use the old blog to reflect back on everything 2008 had to teach me:

1. Being surrounded by hundreds of thousands of fellow freaks & geeks at Comic-Con for 5 days served as my baptism into the Covenant of Nerddom, and I am proud to be amongst its ranks. If any of you care to join, let me know and I’ll make sure your decoder ring gets in the mail asap.
2. For the level of education—and sheer fabulousness—that I’ve achieved, I had been selling my professional self short my entire adult life. I deserve to work someplace that values the contribution that I make…and pays me accordingly. Thus, Fabulous New Job was found.
3. While I value the experiences that I had doing high school theatre—they don’t define me. They weren’t the pinnacle of my success, and I no longer need approval from my high school drama teacher. *Note to said drama teacher: stop sending me nasty emails and get over yourself…I have.
4. There is a time in your life for living with roommates. Any time over the age of 25 is NOT THAT TIME.
5. Pippin looks HILARIOUS without fur. Nuff said.
6. I’m NOT fat (despite a lifetime of thinking I was).
7. 2008 taught me exactly how many glasses of wine, shots of tequila, and mixed drinks it takes to get me certifiably fucked up (and very very hung over the next day)…
8. …and that the VERBAL VOMIT that comes as a result of said hangover is one million times worse and more regretful than any literal vomit that a person could spew.
9. Getting to use the firm’s Mariners tickets whenever there’s extra is a pretty awesome perk…even if they were the worst team in baseball last year. Plus, it is super fun to call your dad from your seats in the Diamond Club behind home plate and then wave at the TV cameras.
10. Economic downturns suck and they do affect everyone. I will always freak out until the storm has passed, no matter how “secure” my job may be.

So to those of you who have stuck it out from the beginning–you know who you are: Kristiane, Will, Sco, Dead Charming–thanks for joining me on the ride. I hope it hasn’t made you barf.

Here’s to another year!!

Shark Attack!

CARD shark, that is. Yes folks, I’ve had my first official run-in with Texas Hold ‘Em…and it was a doozy. Let me set the scene:

SETTING: Dimly lit room above Crow Restaurant in lower Queen Anne, Seattle; bad renditions of songs that weren’t that great to begin with are being karaoke’d by the bar; beer and homemade wine freely flowing; ties are loosed, heels traded in for flats/sneaks; every ten minutes, blackberrys chirp with new emails and faces are illuminated, awash in blue from their screens.

ATTENDING: The entire department, including interns who look like they’re not old enough to be partaking in the festivities; P/P/Ds are tanked; staff are filled to the brim not only with Busch Beer, but also on the meatballs that keep coming in steady supply from the kitchen (the sauce for which was purchased from the 7-11 down the street 30 minutes before the party started).

THE GAME: Texas Hold ‘Em Poker; $30 gets you $2800 in chips; there are 25 players, only 5 of which are women; blinds go up every twenty minutes; 3 tables going simultaneously.

Two hours in, the game is down to just 6 players–myself included. I’m up $10k in chips, consistently winning every 3rd or 4th hand and I’ve managed to clean out not only my boss, but the 6 other Partners, a handful of mangers and staff, and the head of our department. It all came down to one hand…a hand I wish I could take back.

Everyone had folded except myself and an adroable Senior Manager named Marty. My hand was crap, but I had this GIGANTIC PILE of chips in front of me! I was invincible! A crowd had gathered around the table in anticipation, comments about my ability to take the hand filling the air. Still waiting on the river card, Marty surprised everyone: “All in.” It was back to me, $7500 to call.

I should have looked at my cards again and re-evaluated my position. Had I done so, I would have realized that, despite my pair of Queens, the likelyhood that the river would complete the rest of my hand was slim to none. I would have known that I couldn’t win. But I was convinced that such a bold move on Marty’s part meant that he was probably sitting on less than I was. So I did it:

I called his bluff.

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I lost.

It didn’t take long for the rest of my $2500 to slowly get picked away by Marty and the rest of the table. I had lost not only my money, but my confidence–my mojo–as well. In the end, I finished final four, winning back my $30 buy-in. But that fatefull hand is one I’ll never forget. And I’ll never look at a pair of Queens the same way again.

“It’s Christmas time in the city…”

Well, only one week until Christmas. The shopping district downtown Seattle is adorned with white lights and bustling with holiday shoppers, and the financial district has been twinkling with green since Thanksgiving. I’ll admit that, even with the snow over the weekend, I’ve not been in much of a holiday mood this year.

But all that changed when temps dropped to the mid-twenties this morning, and I was greeted with this view from my office:

The crystal clear air and view of the snow-topped Cascade Mountains* reminded me not only that Christmas has arrived, but how much I love life here in Seattle.

And with any luck, we’ll have another glorious sunset like this:

If this keeps up, looks like clear skies for Santa and his Raindeer!

For more reasons why winter in the Pacific Northwest is breathtaking, head on over here to see pics of the recent snowfall in Portland, where my Scomerican friend is spending her holidays.

*In my hurry to type this post *ahem* while at work, I had a brain fart. Those are the OLYMPIC MOUNTAINS, as pointed out by an old friend. Uh, how long have I lived here?!