Mumbling Madly

I completed my three week dance intensive with a really excellent performance last night. Other than a cast mate ripping the seat of his jeans in the middle of the piece (which nobody noticed but him), the show went well. I even managed to sneak in and watch the second act with Josh and a few friends.

Afterward we went to Bill’s Off Broadway and ate gi-normous slices of pizza–we’re talking height not width. This pizza was covered with the fattest layer of cheese I’ve ever seen, it sort of smothered the toppings underneath and required a fork and a knife to consume.

I had hoped and expected to have some sort of body transformation…something akin to when I was in college and slowly shaping up enough for people to notice. I envisioned my clothes hanging off me, my rings feeling loose, and my stomach to no longer stick out after eating a big meal. None of this happened. I didn’t really notice anything different, or anything I could diferentiate from before. No six pack showed up and I realized that my bottom ribs have always sort of stuck out.
Granted, I was still eating the occasional slice of pizza and I think I ate a scoop of ice cream every day…so it’s not like I was starving myself during the process. I suppose if I had eaten nothing but salad and water for three weeks I would be smaller but I would definitely not had the energy. I craved protein like crazy–even breaking my cardinal “no fast food” rule and purchasing three KFC chicken strips before class. After the first week I burned out on Luna bars, so I bought all this trail mix because after two hours of class I needed to amp up for two more hours of rehearsal. In typical form I found myself nibbling on the good stuff–dried fruit, chocolate chips, M&M’s, almonds–and totally leaving the peanuts behind. Now I’m stuck with a few bags of nothing but peanuts and a few stray almonds and dried cranberries.

Due to the insufferable heat during the second week, I realized that there is something vaguely satisfying but extremely gross about sweating profusely. When I was in a ballet company as a teen we used to have “leotard sweat contests’ to see who had the most interesting sweat stain on their clothing–imagine the infamous ink blot test. I couldn’t even compete because I always prided myself on sweating minimally, (although looking back it could’ve been my lack of drive, hence the absence of any sort of professional career). Of course, this all changes when dancing in one hundred degree heat in a poorly ventilated studio with several dozen sweaty bodies. We hungrily stood in front of the two measly fans they placed near the tiny open windows. We made huge efforts not to pass out or vomit towards the end of four solid hours of cardiovascular hell. (Our choreographer’s one year old daughter actually threw up all over the studio floor when she came to visit on a particularly sweltering day). You can imagine our relief when the third and final week was met with cooling temperatures.

So, the financing stuff is terrifying….so much could go wrong. You’re relying on tons of people to fill out paperwork for you, appraise your house, and hopefully, HOPEFULLY, everything checks out and it’s officially yours. I won’t get into it, but man, this is pretty nerve wracking stuff.
I’ve been rehearsing every night in preperation for our big show…considering how much wear and tear I’ve been experiencing, my body has done fairly well. I’m especially proud of how well my feet have held up. Many of my castmates have layers of medical tape covering their toes, concealing blisters, rips, or other painful blemishes they’ve receieved from dancing barefoot. I contribute my feet’s longevity to taking a weekly ballet class without shoes all year. Sure, my feet are ugly and peeling right now, but they have a firm layer of callous that keeps the floor from hanging on a few seconds too long and taking skin with it.
After we performed, a few of my castmates and I sat outside the Broadway Performance Hall and enjoyed the cool night air. I inhaled second hand cigarrette smoke and we talked about what dance and theater meant to us. It was very meaningful. I realized if I went home before the show ended I would worry…worry about the house, about finding a new job, about the current political situtaion in the middle east, and recent tragic shooting at the Jewish Center that happened last night. So, I stayed and I’m glad I did because my friend CJ and her husband showed up to see me perform! She said, “You just looked really, really happy.” CJ was another resident teacher and she saw me at my worst most of the time: tired, burnt out, and exhausted. It was really neat having her come and see me in my element.
I don’t have a whole lot experience performing modern dance. As it was, I made mistakes, I blanked out once and forgot what came next…but I had a really, really, good time.

I’ve avoided writing about finally putting down a bid on a house and ‘winning’ it simply because it feels very unreal and scary. It kinda all went down last Sunday when we saw this really nice old craftsmen in Rainier Beach. We did the typical walk through: opened up a few cupboards, checked the ceilings upstairs, walked around the yard, and peeked into the only bathroom. Then we assessed the place as we drove away with our real estate agent: “Wow, great place…yeah…four bedrooms, how cool!” Other then the Mexican music blasting from across the street, the neighborhood seemed fairly quiet and the house actually had a bit of a lot so the neighbors weren’t resting squarely on top or just next to the house. There was a little parking space in the back, tons of built in shelves, and when Josh pulled one side of the carpet up he saw hardwood floors that had been painted green (score!). The only thing that concerned us was how incredibly south the place was…sure, we knew we would have to settle between location and the size of the property, but the reality of it was sobering.
It didn’t help that a week prior I had tried to make it down to Renton on the bus and ended up at this freightingly rowdy bus stop on Henderson Ave. where gangs of kids were yelling and blowing up stuff and talking about friends ‘getting jumped.’ I ended up seeking refuge at the nearby Rite Aid where I watched a woman with track marks stagger around the school supplies aisle and angry teenage moms yelled profanities at their stroller riding toddlers. It might be a necessary side note to mention that I was the only white person around for, what felt like, miles…and that includes the people in cars driving by. This house is six blocks away; I had a hard time wrapping my mind around it.
But then, I went through this thought process: OK, when we first moved from white bread Fort Collins, we were a little overwhelmed by the diversity in our neighborhood. We hadn’t seen much in the way of low-riders or head scarves in Colorado and we certainly didn’t live in Bloods territory like we do now in our current place. I would need to confront my oddly surfacing inner-racism. I did some research and found that the overall reported crime was lower in the south end then in the east where we live now…I also found that seemingly safe north Seattle has DOUBLE the amount of crime, (blame it on Aurora). It is further to Shoreline from downtown Seattle then Renton, and the cheapest place we saw in north Seattle was a two bedroom bungalow for 325,000. We could simply get more house for our money by moving south. I decided I would need a car to make myself feel more connected with everything…it was time, and the luxury of borrowing Kris’ car would be gone. Looking at used Suburus cheered me up, and on Sunday evening we were leaning towards taking the plunge. We learned that we only had until Tuesday afternoon to make an offer…yow!
I started chickening out on Monday night: What if we actually got the place, could I really live in Rainier Beach? Would my friends visit me? Could I really walk to the sketchy Safeway that backs the Rite Aid and buy food with ease and comfort? I was exhibiting a shocking level of cowardice…I had no bravery going into it and if it wasn’t for Josh pushing forward I’m fairly certain we would be renting until our golden anniversary. After my four hour dance class/rehearsal we got in the car and did the obligatory late night drive-by at 10:30pm. Rainier was hopping, lot’s of people wandering around, packs of kids hanging out at the same bus stop, and large groups of up-to-no-good boys were parading down the sidewalk near my suspect Rite-Aid. However, when we drove past all that and rounded the corner and up our street we found it to be absolutely quiet. We sat in front of the house in our car with the windows rolled down and realized how laid back it was. No more Mexican music, no bright lights or drug deals going down. Josh reminded me that six blocks away from our current place is the sketchy AMPM where I once had a lit crack pipe handed to me at the bus stop. We also realized how quiet it was not being next to a section eight apartment complex.
Tuesday morning we had arranged for a pre-inspection just to make sure the house wasn’t going to fall into itself or was on a flood plain (something we had observed in another property). I was working so I couldn’t go…which was probably good because my pessimistic attitude would have blanketed the entire inspection. Josh called me at work several times to assure me the place had “good bones” and was even cooler then when we first visited the place on Sunday. I think I was so frazzled I actually asked him if there was the distinct possibility the house could be haunted (hey, it’s an old structure! Lot’s of time for a few ghosts to put down roots). Built in the early part of the nineteen teens, we were looking at solid if not weathered construction. The biggest diagnostic was that the house was under priced for the condition it was in. This meant we were definitely looking at a multiple offer situation.
We sat down with our agent Tuesday morning, knowing our offer had to be solid and to the selling agent by two in the afternoon. We decided to bid twenty thousand over the asking price, something that was to be expected going into this house buying business. We also wrote a letter to the sellers explaining why we dug the property–well, Josh wrote the letter and I merely signed it. Turns out the sellers live next door; they bought the house several years ago, fixed it up, and rented it out to friends. This would work to our advantage because it meant the sellers had a personal interest in who would become their future neighbors. The selling agent mentioned that the couple liked animals so Josh made sure to include Hobbes in our letter, in addition to all the future dogs we hope to own.
The entire time, we were approaching this with the lowest amount of excitement possible. Our agent gently reminded us that there were already other offers coming in, and that our offer was on the low end…we thought about extra stuff we could do to sweeten the deal if they came back to us with more requests, but we honestly had very little other then secure financing and a little earnest money. Our agent assured us that we would have a clean offer, one that was well-written, well executed; no escalator clause or tricky financing requests…she said the sellers didn’t want to sit down with agents so she was going to put together a snappy cover sheet. Josh and I kept telling ourselves, “Well, this will be a good learning experience…the most we’ll be out is $125 for the pre-inspection.” But secretly, we were wildly entertaining the idea of actually getting the place. I had decided that morning that I just needed to suck it up and be brave, that this was an emotional process and me freaking out about the neighborhood wasn’t helping. Josh wistfully mentioned how great the backyard was, how he envisioned extending the fence around the back of the property and maybe adding a deck. Despite the fantasizing, we were very strict with ourselves, even laughing about how we just had to get through the necessary first offer rejection that so many people had reported experiencing during their home buying. After all, it had only been one month of searching and maybe the thirty-fifth property we’d looked at…surely it was much too soon to actually succeed in buying something.
I went home after we signed all the paperwork and Josh drove up to Everett for his new rotation. I tried to find stuff to do but I was very aware when two o’clock rolled around and I knew the sellers were looking over our offer. I tried eating something, but my stomach was all flippy floppy. I tried calling my Mom, but she wasn’t home. I thought about calling someone else but realized there was no reason to draw any hype because we were probably not getting the place. I felt like a pregnant woman waiting until after her first trimester to announce the big news.
When I got the phone call at five o’clock that we ‘got it’, I honestly regressed into my chicken shit self. “REALLY?” I exclaimed, “No way, I really thought we didn’t have a chance…seriously? This changes everything; I have to change my attitude about everything!” Our agent told me that there had been FIVE offers and that two were ‘useless,’ and two were over our bid but poorly written, executed, and made the sellers feel ‘uncomfortable.’ We were cheered that our meager bid had been accepted based on our personal merit–and our excellent agent of course. We close the second of week in August, putting us in the house by the first of September

Today on my daily metro commute I watched a man freak out and tell a random woman who was exiting the bus in a wheelchair to f**k off. I have no idea what started the altercation being that I was solidly plugged into my mp3 player. I just watched the man get really pissed, point his finger in the wheelchair lady’s face, scream obscenities and then storm off. This was in Capitol Hill, across the street from the Olive Way Starbucks, and a group of yuppies near the bus stop watched the spectacle with a mixture of awe and horror. The woman actually started chasing the guy up the hill in her motorized wheelchair, yelling stuff at him, while the rest of the bus looked on. The bus driver, a kindly older woman, hollered out the door, “Don’t chase him! He isn’t worth it!” The lady disappeared into a used book store, presumably to finish off the confrontation, we’ll never know…

I’ve spent the last week doing a couple of things. First of all, I dived right into a modern dance intensive: Monday through Friday, 6-10 for three weeks. I just completed my first week, and yes, the pain is there. Going from one leisurely ballet class a week (if that) to full on throwing your body down on the floor, rolling around, leaping and then landing on your knees every single night for five days straight has definitely taken its toll. However, it’s fantastic and engaging and challenging. I’m relearning all sorts of new things, incorporating old ideas, and meeting new people. The last two hours of each night are dedicated to solely working on choreography with a guest choreographer–a fellow I worshipped in college, actually. I was telling Josh how surreal it is to be taking class from this amazing teacher again, seven years later as an older, wiser, married individual. Even back then he was well out of my league, but I was such a spastic, fanatic, mess back in college…it’s nice to take my well established experience and apply it to his technique.
I also quit coffee. I did this for a variety of reasons, primarily for some personal health problems and the fact that I had gotten really addicted to caffeine as a result of my manic teaching schedule. I tried cheating a little with decaf, but it didn’t make me feel great, so out it went. (With the removal of alcohol eight months ago I haven’t been this straight edge since high school). Many of you know how much I love coffee and how truly and deeply difficult it has been to let it go. I was recently reading a comic book written by a woman trying to get over alcoholism and I kept noticing parallels. OK, so it’s not like I drank five cups a day, we’re talking about one measly latte in the morning. However, it got to the point where I didn’t even enjoy it anymore; I was just fueling the habit. Anyway, I did everything I could to avoid quitting, it wasn’t until my doctor asked in an incredulous voice, “Are you STILL drinking coffee?” that I finally buckled down. I had a headache for a week…and I felt really slow…and it’s everything I can do to avoid walking into a shop and ordering two shots of espresso over ice–my favorite summer drink!
I also don’t like my job. It’s for the usual reasons, I won’t go into it here, but let’s just say I went from teaching four classes to one. It doesn’t feel worth it, (certainly not financially), and I’m back to looking…which really saddens me to be back in this position again. Sometimes I feel so mad at myself for not having any sort of ‘career’ laid out, something I could just plug into whenever I needed to switch jobs. (Sigh). If anyone hears of something, let me know…

Josh and I ended up in Portland again this weekend. We mostly hung out in the Hawthorne and Belmont districts of town, eating, window shopping, and hanging out with friends and family. I received birthday presents from both siblings, ate Chinese food at the Fujin, noshed on Mochi at the Tao of Tea, and ate hotdogs at midnight at Zach’s Shack.
Josh found a magnificent wig at the Metro and was tempted to purchase it despite its forty dollar price tag. Josh’s wig collection has narrowed down to a select, expensive, few that he has stashed away for that special karoke night or halloween party. Needless to say, this lovely gem was not added to the collection:

Of course, we found ourselves at the Avalon, pestering Gina for nickles. Here I am assisting Sammy with honking the horn while he played Eighteen Wheeler!:

The Avalon is truly a weird and creepy place. Josh and Sam ended up plugging way too many nickles into this stupid gumball dispenser that never dispensed any gumballs. We goofed around for a while, and I snapped these disturbing figures:

We were able to talk Gina into taking her break outside. We sat on the curb in front of the arcade and Gina gave me my birthday present (it was a really terrific zine called I Just Want Everything To Be Okay):

In order to console myself I made lemon tarts. Why so sad? Well, let me state the obvious: No house yet…poor Josh, this has been exceptionally hard for him. Part of me really believes that if it weren’t for Josh we wouldn’t be out there as motivated and able as we’ve been. Maybe it’s the numbers…I don’t really get them. Buy downs? Rates? OK, I get a little of that here and there. And of course, I’ve been told time and time again how much money we’re wasting on rent. But, I really like where we live…I like our neighborhood. I feel cheated and hurt that we can’t remain in Madrona, that we will be forced to live out where people park trailors on their lawns and everyone has a ratty dog barking behind a chain link fence. The neighborhoods we’re looking at are so sporadic I don’t know if I have the patience for most of them to ‘turn.’ I don’t mind a weird neighborhood, but I require a somewhat decent street…you know, one where it looks like people care about where they live. OK, you can’t pick your neighbors, but you can try…right? One place we looked at had this run down house next door with a beat up, wheel-less, VW bug parked on the lawn with WHITE RAP SUCKS spray painted on the side. The place was great, but the neighbors scared us off. I know we must sound like the most wussy, whiny, set of white kids from the middle class upbringing we came from. So, do we really have to have that tough as nails attitude to live in a changing neighborhood? You know: “I grew up where people got killed in the playground down the street so nothing bothers me,” or “I grew up in Chicago, so nothing phases me.” (I’ve actually heard that from two people, which leads me to be thankful we’re not looking for houses in Chicago). So while that sort of upbringing might help us feel comfortable with a cheaper house in a sketchy part of town, it narrows our options. My childhood neighborhood remains largely white, middle class, and inactive. (My parents still LIVE in that neighborhood, for crying out loud, that’s twenty-five years!) I’m just not ready to look past Seattle limits because this means limiting my social and professional life…it just does. I don’t have a car…and I like that. And I don’t know if I can take the bus with some of the characters we see roaming the streets. So Josh and I have sort of gone with the train of thought: less house, better neighborhood.

It was a beautiful day for an outdoor event; despite our yucky, mossy, backyard we still had a great turn out. Josh’s idea of a keg was brilliant, largely because it kept people coming and going the whole afternoon and into the evening. The party lasted seven hours, beginning at three and ending around ten. From burgers to ice cream cups, we gorged and drank under the sun.
Here is Jill and I stretched out on Kris’ red, white, and blue blanket:

Josh and Ian:

Joey and I:

Best part of all: Accordian

The weekend was a little crazy. To start, I was run off the road and into a curb on Friday trying to avoid someone who lane-changed into me. I really thought, “Oh My God: My very first car accident” while I was narrowly missing the jack ass SUV who gunned it and took my place. I screeched the tires, ground them into the side of the curb, and ended up at a full stop in the middle of James St. (thank God there was no one behind me). Then, when I steadily drove the car up the hill I awkwardly sat behind the asshole that ran me off the road at the light on James and Broadway. I was fumbling and flailing around trying to find a pen to write down his license plate number. My hands were shaking like crazy and of course I didn’t find a pen in time. I called Josh on my cell phone and screamed something nonsensical about him needing to be prepared to write down a plate number while I tailed the guy, but Josh talked me into pulling over and checking the car first. When I pulled over I was fully prepared for a popped tire or something equally as damaging. Turns out my front passenger hubcap was scraped up, the wheel has an unattractive scratch down the side, and the weight popped out from the wheel…other then that I am very, very, very lucky. After realizing the car was fine, I burst into tears and spent ten minutes parked in a no-loading zone crying while Josh assured me I was OK.
Just to be on the safe side, on Saturday we dropped the car off at a Goodyear Tire on the way to a First Time Buyer’s class we are required to take in order to qualify for a special first time home loan. After waiting for the bus for fifteen minutes, and asking two individual crazy people for directions–one had platinum hearts imbedded in her front teeth–we surmised that we were waiting on the wrong side of the street. With no time left to wait, we hailed a cab. Our cab driver didn’t know where the West Seattle Public Library was and eventually pulled over to consult a map. Josh helped him figure out where we needed to go, the cabbie restarted the meter, but it still didn’t prevent him from dropping us off in front of West Seattle High School instead of the public library (?) So, we ended up asking someone on the street where to go and practically ran several big blocks to our class. We were ‘only’ fifteen minutes late, and if we had known how long and painful the class was going to be we might have squeezed in an extra fifteen (you could be thirty minutes tardy and still credit). We learned a little bit of new info, go our certificates, and peaced out of there.
Update: Of course, the marathon BBQ on Sunday made up for it all…stay tuned for pics!

I attended my first baseball game ever at Safeco field on Friday. We watched Seattle versus Denver, which was very appropriate considering a year and half ago we were deciding on which one of those cities to live in. Josh stressed how important the food part of the experience was, so we made short work of no less than two supersized hot dogs, beer, chili cheese nachos, dippin dots, and kettle corn. It was pretty awesome. Here I am, thirsty as hell, and yet I’m squeezing in another kernel of salty popcorn:

The weather was perfect and we had great seats right behind home plate. Other then a traffic jam on our way out, the evening was well spent.