Mumbling Madly

Seattle is a great place to get hit on. And not in a creepy way, like in Portland where everyone is like “nice ass!” out the window or obscenely gesturing all over the place. Nope, in Seattle, men still have an iota of common courtesy…just an iota. The bus driver says: “Where ya going? Oh…Pike Street? I’ll take you to Pike…in my car after work!” Guys let you go first when you enter the bus too and offer their seat to you so you don’t have to stand up.
Today I bought produce at the Pike Place Market. The produce guy immediately started up some playful banter with moi. He was impressed when I described the spinach feta dip I was going to make with the green onions I was buying. He said, “You’ll have to bring some of that by…” And than he noticed my wedding ring and it all went down hill. At least, I THINK he saw my ring…he was staring at my hand and than got all distant. Here’s the thing: Six years ago I would have brought him spinach feta dip. That’s the kind of girl I was: Determined. I was known to show up at all sorts of locations bearing trinkets, be it origami or a ham sandwich. But those days are over…
The thing is, I have found that a lot of guys don’t even notice the wedding ring…or maybe they just don’t care. I started noticing rings when I was working at Starbucks and looking at a lot of hands. (I saw some pretty impressive rocks, and I have to say: They made a statement). Now, I always check out the ring finger. Granted a lot of married men do not wear rings (my Dad is one of them, Josh is not). Maybe wedding rings are really just a chick thing. ALTHOUGH, I’ve noticed a trend amongst young women involving slapping any old thing on their ring finger be it plastic or cubic zirconium. COME ON, ladies…what the hell are you doing? One of the girls that hates me at work is wearing a diamond ring AND a diamond encrusted band on her wedding finger. I asked, “Hey, are you married?” And she says, “No…these are just promise rings.” PROMISE RINGS? Are you serious?! She’s 20 years old, isn’t a Promise Ring something kids threw around in 8th grade?

1 2
3 4
Admittedly this all started with Ryan chasing down a goth chick with a boob popping bustiere. While I tried to catch the magic, I ended up catching this special curbside couple. You can spot Ryan in the last shot, however, wearing the black shirt with a big ole’ white X on it.

Last Monday was packed…and it was allegedly my day off. I tried out yet another modern class…no dice. I’m not quite sure if I’m cut out for Seattle’s Modern Dance…too unstructured, too random, and so painful. This morning my butt bones were sore from throwing myself on the floor too many times. The class was taught by not one, but two lesbians–who are dating. (Actually, it was kind of hot). Again, I had fun but I felt really disconnected with the other people. OK, technical jargon: Every modern teacher has a different movement vocabulary and it’s hard to imprint their choreography in my brain when I feel like a big nerd. So, perhaps I’m destined to return to ballet…until I can find some cool modern girls to hang with.
Tuesday, I exercised my retail buyer’s chops at the apparel show in Seattle. After nearly being hit by a truck, the manager and I entered this decadent convention center filled with shimmery shops displaying their wholesale wares. We were there to check out a certain brand that I’m in love with, let’s call it C.L., and I’m hoping to introduce the line to The Beautiful Dance Store. This brand of clothing makes a li’l something called the ‘itty bitty tee’ and it’s fantastic…I have ten–count them–ten of these shirts. Of course at my last store I was allowed to buy them at the wholesale price, because the owner also had a mad love for the brand and identified my need for these tees. (Alas, my discount at the new store is a mere 30% but it’s still something). Most of the booths were selling very stylish, trendy, clothing aimed for high end boutiques. No dancewear in sight–you have to go to the Vegas expo for that…an event I’ve missed every year. We were lucky little C.L. was even there, but the rep was passionate about getting us in. Despite this, we showed up for our 1pm appointment and she was still busy with another client. We got the brush off, and ended up wasting time looking at sweaters with sparkly buttons, high-priced denim, and lingerie–all stuff we can’t sell at our store. I had hoped to mooch off a random sample sale, but had very little luck. We finally went back to the C.L. booth and literally hung around until the sales rep sort of threw us at the rack filled with C.L. stuff. I ended up doing the rep’s job and laying out the various styles for the manager to look over. The advantage the manager has is that she’s grown up around sewing and apparel and knows what to look for. She pointed out interesting flaws with the stitching as well as issues with the overall design. She pronounced the line overpriced for what you get, and considering our shoddy treatment, I agreed.
I left the apparel show and got my haircut at a trendy salon in Belltown. A friend of mine has had several art shows there and I have always assumed they would cut hair well. I ended up with a hip Asian girl with a heavy accent. Language barriers are never the best thing when you’re getting your hair cut. We ended up wallowing in a lot of silence as she attempted to make conversation and I responded hoping she could understand me. My haircut was (is) uninspiring. Not bad but nothing to write home about.
Yesterday I came down with something; today I’m still fighting it. The Beautiful Dance Store continues to be a hotbed of depression, contagion, and recently I’ve been introduced to the Panic Bride Syndrome. The owner also does wedding dresses, etc. and I’ve received numerous phone calls from stressed bridesmaids about when their dress will be ready…I admit I have little patience for them. I was criticized by the owner for not bending over backwards for a bridesmaid on the phone…how was I to know I was suppose to kiss her ass? If Home Girl scheduled her fitting the same day as her flight, how is that my fault? And if she didn’t pay the money to have her gown made in less time, well, how is that my deal? Good Lord…

Josh and Ryan went on a gigantic shopping spree yesterday…the tragedy was that I was not a part of it. I was too busy dealing with wretched teenage angst at work. Basically this 17 year old co-worker decided to hate me, and the rest is history. I forgot what it feels like to be hated by a disgruntled teen…it’s been at least ten years, really. It got so bad that I actually tried to make things difficult for her. For example: Teen passive-aggressively says, “Do you want me to take this customer?” I say, “Sure, if you don’t mind.” She literally expels a ‘huff’ and marches off as if her life is over, rewarding me with the silent treatment for three hours. Needless to say, it became a very long day…and I was actually kind of miffed. I’m used to people liking me, or at least being nice to my face. This huffy, snooty, angry teen thing is something I’m not familiar with. Suddenly I felt really bad, like, what’s wrong with me? And than I realized that I was being transported to a the distant past, the feelings welling up inside were similar to how I felt in the girl’s locker room in 8th grade: Lost, ugly, and unliked. It took a while to snap back from yesterday’s work day.
Josh and Ryan, however, were riding a high only two men can get when getting back from a successful shopping trip. Both of them have elevated their activity level and have been pursuing fitness by way of weekly basketball games. This means that they actually needed to invest in practical sport socks, sturdy shoes, and of course, sweatbands. Below is a picture of Ryan modeling his new sweatbands, PLUS a custom made skull bracelet I made for him for his birthday. This is my veiled attempt to promote a new ‘men’s line’ of glass jewelry…notice the masculine square gems, the black and white skulls, and the modest amount of flair the bracelet adds to the overall look:

One of my favorite childhood pictures of Josh is his Freshman Basketball picture, the one without his team, just him in his gear posed with the ball. This is Josh, wearing new basketball shoes, recreating the picture some 15 years later, (complete with adolescent sneer):

It should be further noted that we took this madcap energy to downtown Seattle where we continued the shopping buzz and went to Nordstrom. I made Ryan follow me up multiple floors to show him the illustrious Juicy Couture…only to have him be grossly disappointed by the line. I had hoped I was being helpful, what with Ryan having a new wife and all…turns out Ryan has no interest in his wife cavorting around in terry cloth tracksuits, something I found myself excusing away and yet secretly despising myself. The three of us ended up at the Mac counter looking at lip ‘glass.’ Ryan and Josh ended up embarrassing me in front of the hot sales girl and were eventually banished to the hat and accessory section while I continued to peruse the Mac line. Classic comment of the night came from the Mac girl herself: “Oh, it’s not a big deal, I have two younger brothers and they always goof off and make fun of stuff while I’m at work.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was actually married to one of the alleged ‘brothers’ I was hanging out with, although it did confirm my feelings that when Ryan, Josh, and I hang out it feels like being married to two siblings.

Bus observations:
1) It is apparently ok to bring dogs on the bus. Remember the book Henry Huggins? Remember how Henry tried to bring Ribsy on the bus and the driver said he had to be in a box? So Henry stuffed his dog into a cardboard box and various hijinx ensue. I guess I thought that the book was accurate and you can’t bring dogs on the bus unless they’re in a carrier. Nope, I’ve seen everything from Chihuahuas nestled in handbags to two beagles on the bus.
2) I had a Bus Buddy at one point…you know, someone you wordlessly sit next to. This was consistent every morning on the #8, I would sit in the same spot, and several stops later this nice young man with a leather briefcase would sit next to me. It was like a silent pact. Lately, the bus has been so crowded I can’t stake out my original seat, much less get one by myself. I admit: The first time my Bus Buddy was forced to sit somewhere else I felt betrayed.
3) Bus stops are a great place to write letters.
4) While waiting for the #5, a Mexican guy ask me (in Spanish) if I was “going to work.” (I had no idea what he said until after I boarded my bus and all my Spanish came back). At the time, I laughed and said, “You know, my Spanish just isn’t that good” and than resumed reading my book. He paused for a minute before asking me if I spoke Spanish in Spanish. I said, “Poquito.” He laughed and than he got up and started walking down the street. It wasn’t until after I got on the bus did I remember that “trobajo” means “to work.” I don’t really know what conversation we would have had, but I felt guilty and than relieved about the language barrier.
5) A crazy lady yelled at me about how I was “stealing her identity for airport security purposes.”
6) I watched this little kid talk openly about his new baby brother, his school, and his sleeping patterns with complete strangers on the bus. His parents completely ignored him.
7) Alternative schools apparently use metro bus frequently to transport loud packs of students. At least once a week I am joined by at least 12 kids accompanied by several teachers. Regardless of how full the bus is, the classmates always find a place to sit. It’s interesting to observe large amounts of children on metro transit, simply because they are usually very excited about the bus. The latest was a group of 3 year olds all jammed into the backseats of the #10. Several individuals on the bus were so thrilled they actually joined in while the kids sang a rendition of “Row Row Row Your Boat.” Needless to say, the additional singing sort of crashed the 3 year old party, and awkward silence followed.
8) I don’t remember this, but it is proper bus etiquette to thank the bus driver while departing the bus. Sometimes I do this, other times I can’t muster it.
9) A possible mildly retarded man walked up to the bus driver and started praising him. “You do a really good job, I know you don’t hear it enough…” The bus driver politely thanked him. The man continued, “I was on the bus that flew off the Aurora Bridge several years ago…” The bus driver was silent, before saying, “Well that was a very tragic incident.” Man said, “Yeah I wasn’t even injured…I felt terrible for Michael…well, that’s my stop. You’re doing just great. Bye now.” Call me a cynical bastard but I think he might have been lying…maybe.
10) I’ve decided to rule out the #3 when I can…it’s just not worth it. What with passing the jail, the various soup kitchens, AND Harborview Medical Center (read: Released mental patients), it’s just too much to handle. Last time I rode it, five guys were eating hotdogs and beans off of paper plates. The bus driver tried to prevent them from coming on, but they persisted. Finally the driver agreed but only they promised not to leave their paper plates on the bus floor.

Josh and I went to Nordstrom Rack again last night…I stress the word “again” because ever since Josh got a Big Boy Job, he’s suddenly been attacked by Wardrobe Anxiety. Suddenly he doesn’t seem to have enough pants, especially after the dumb drycleaner shrunk a pair of his wool slacks. Well, I’m always looking for an excuse to go to the Rack, so we headed out there. I abandoned Josh pretty quickly for the shoe floor and than the women’s clothing on the lower level. It was during this hunt that I made a new discovery: I love Juicy Couture. I KNOW, it’s part of that hideous line of pants that Britney Spears wears that read JUICY across the butt. Juicy also takes credit for introducing those tiny skirts with the drop waistline and flouncy flair. But here’s the thing: Juicy fits fabulously.
I’ve been having some body issues lately…most likely related to not being as active as I was in Fort Collins. I taught a lot of dance for many years, and there’s something about being actively moving and initiating the body that helped me lose some weight. Now I spend 1 to 2 hours on the bus, I stand and sit down all day at my job, but I’m trying to take a lot of walks and practice Yoga everyday. I’m also trying to take at least one class a week. Since shopping at Trader Joe’s has been reintroduced in my life, I THINK I’m eating better but maybe I’m actually just eating more. (At least I’m eating more organic). Anyway, the second my skinny jeans start fitting differently, I’m all paranoid. Plus, I’ve realized something: Low-Rise Jeans were never meant for a bod like mine. I’ve bought many different, fabulous, pairs…and they always fail in completely flattering me all around. They usually fall low enough they catch the spare tire, or hit the mid spot on the belly, or whatever–they’re great at making me feel lousy. Is it worth having my ass hang out or a cool breeze freeze my lower back every time I bend over? I’m still figuring it out.
So anyway, imagine my delight when every top from Juicy I put on, I felt great in. The styles were long enough, the cut was unique, and the prices…damn, I forgot about the prices. I made off with a black tank top at $16.99–down from $40! Even now I’m wistfully thinking about the black hoodie that I left behind: $50 down from $80. Of course my taste is expensive…and I couldn’t find Juicy on overstock.com, (unlike dolce & gabbana or baby phat which always pops up on there). Similar to my love of Gsus, I’ve got to resolve myself to the occasional purchases.

My brother and I tore it up this weekend. It seems we did everything: Went to every drum store in Fremont to find the perfect pair of high hat cymbals, quizzed the Coffee Specialists at Peet’s endlessly, got lost on the way to Ikea only to get swallowed by the record breaking number of people in the store, drank the notorious 2-drink minimum “The Predator” at St.Clouds, bought cheese at the Cheese Platter and ate it at Madrona Beach, hung out with an old Mt. Hood Community College chum of Sam’s who is newly married and moving to Provo for six months, ate huge breakfast burritos I made using everything but the kitchen sink, drank a lot of coffee, fought for Hobbes’ attention, shared a lemon cupcake topped with a lemon drop at Cafe Verite, walked several miles around town, enjoyed the three hours of total sunshine we received over the past two days, now, BOOM it’s almost Monday…what happened

Yesterday I was determined to accomplish my new goal: Attend a dance class once a week. “Ballet for Modern Dancers” looked promising, so I picked up a bus to Capitol Hill with trepidation. The teacher instantly recognized me (always a good sign), it turns out she was a grad student when I was an undergraduate dance minor. I took everything from Ballet to Anatomy for Dancers to the prolific Grant Writing For Artists class from this woman. And than something really awesome happened: Someone waved at me from across the room. Turns out it was this kid I took a bunch of classes with from U.W. He recognized me immediately and asked how I was doing and where I had been. It was really (I know, cheesy) heartwarming. The dance community, in my opinion, is notoriously snooty. It’s a tough nut to crack, and while people are polite, rarely are they outspoken and friendly. (This is a huge difference from the loud, ballsy, drama crowd I typically run with). I was thrilled that I had a buddy in this class–which came in handy when we had to do partner work. The class itself was challenging enough to keep me on my toes and help me break a serious sweat. As ballet trained dancers know, it’s like the Catholic church: Filled with repetitive movements, sermons, and ancient ritual. Ballet never really changes, so it’s easy to go back to. The French terms were familiar, the style was comfortable, overall I felt pretty good about the class and I have resolved to take it weekly.
I headed off to the University District to drop off my resume at an alternative elementary school that’s looking for Resident Teachers. I had a hard time finding it, and when I did, it was closed up for Spring Break. I was so defeated, that I took a break and sat down in their courtyard. Someone inside spotted me and kindly let me inside where I left my resume with the receptionist. Not really the personal delivery I was hoping for, but better than simply mailing the damn thing.
I went to the Starbucks on the Ave and found my friend, Sam. He slipped me a Chantico. Holy crap, have you tried it? It’s drinking chocolate! The tiniest amount is packed with a dark chocolate punch. I was mesmerized. Sam and I went to my house where we soaked up the weather in my backyard like sun-starved cats. We schemed and planned and eventually we’re going to resume our defunct production company.
Josh and I went to Ivar’s for Happy Hour, and it rated #1 in my book. Cheap drinks and seafood–can’t go wrong. We searched downtown for a cheap garment bag (we didn’t find one).