Let It Not be the Worst

Even though they've faded, and in some cases even stopped altogether...I can still hear the voices that moved me out here. You think it's ridiculous that five little blogs can be the reason anyone picks it up, sells all their belongings for a whopping $700, and moves across the country to a city where they only know two souls. And vaguely at that. Ridiculous, but true.

Greek Tragedy
Manhattan Transfer
This Fish Needs a Bicycle
The Daily Dump
Jason Mulgrew

I loved the voice they gave New York. It was a New York I needed to experience for myself. Even more I loved the voice they inspired me to give myself. Although, I wish I could pretend it had been a voice that was a few shades happier.

I had every intention of moving out here and becoming the next Carrie Bradshaw. Only better. Writing 500 words a week and bounding across the city in my $800 hot pink and fringed stilettos to meet the Mr Right of Tonight. I knew every last detail of her was a massive lie. But I wanted to prove it could be true. So bad I thought maybe I actually could. At least for a year or two before I moved back to Seattle to find myself a man and settle down. The first step in realizing that dream would have been to keep writing.

My boyfriend. Yeah boyfriend. I know...it's still weird for me too. Would cringe. I'm not sure he ever realized how much I wanted to be her. But better. Cooler and more real. And without the horse face.

In the end I got a little more than I bargained for. Some seriously chronic knee pain. A new ACL, a permanent limp, and $15,000 in medical bills. I got some business casual flats, a few suits, and a corporate, such a corporate job. Let it not be the last, but please let it be the worst job I will ever have. I got a chinchilla. Vinny. He is my pet and I love him. I got a shitty ass apartment I can't afford in a hot ass part of the city that I can no longer imagine my life without. And I got a boyfriend. A 6'9" boyfriend, which is especially ironic because I now have hordes of high heels that I will probably never, ever wear again packed away under my bed. And under my desk. And in the living room closet.

And despite all this, somewhere along the line I ran out of things to write about. I'd like to think it's not because I ran out of things to complain about. Or laugh about. But it might be just that. It's pretty amazing how two knee surgeries, four months in a chair on your parents farm, a stack of bills, and a fifth floor walk up in the heart of the city can steal your sense of humor. And it's pretty amazing how some great friends and a boyfriend who surprises you with squishables, a new laptop, and no fear of committment will take away your will to complain.

Lately, I've been waiting and hoping and wishing I would find some other way to inspire myself and get this thing up and running again. But today, as I was walking home from Pizza Gruppo. (Ps..if you've never been, you need to go. now), the Red Hot Chili Peppers "Tell Me Baby" spelled it out for me. A

Tell Me Baby
What's Your Story
Where You Come From
And Where You Wanna Go This Time

My theme song, when I arrived in March of 2006, is no longer applicable. I was from somewhere and I was going somewhere.

But now.

There is no where else to go. I'm home. I'm grown up. I can't broadcast my drunken debacles to the world anymore. And really there aren't that many of them to broadcast these days. I don't get bloody noses when I make out with boys. I don't bum cigarettes from bums or burn my eyebrows off for that matter. No one has to pick me up from happy hour to make sure I get home in time for the OC..or Gossip Girl. Because I can just hop on the subway. Neither I, nor my friends, get kicked out of bars. I can't even remember the last time I showed up at work still drunk. Or even had the desire too.

I'm not going anywhere, you already know where I'm from. And my tragic love story has already been written, complete with happy ending.

You want the guts and glory of how two people ended up here. I've already given you my side and sadly, I don't know how to write anyone's else side. Unless things go drastically wrong in the next few months, I don't plan on being back. Just wanted to make it official.

What were they Thinking?

Clearly, they weren't. As if they ever had a fighting chance of competing against television's latest All Star.

And I have to admit that even I, a die-hard OC fan since the first episode, haven't been able to bring myself to choose the OC over Grey's these days. But I didn't realize the damage had gone this far.

From what I've seen when checking in on the OC during Grey's commercial breaks, so far this season has been smokin' hot! But blame the Seattle-ite in me; I just can't seem to quit Grey's even though I abhor Meredith's annoyingly neurotic, depressed, and whiny narrations. Or maybe I'm still just feeling hurt and betrayed after getting burned on the much anticipated but highly diaspointing first half of the OC's second season. I've always been a hard sell on the second chances.

But still, it makes me a little nostalgic for the good ole' days. The days when I would call up the roomie and beg her to pretty please (panic oozing out through my slurred words) come pick me up from Happy Hour ten minutes before the OC started so I wouldn't miss a single scene. Or the day I stalked Adam Brody through Barnes and Nobles feigning interest in the same boring autobiographies he was perusing, and blowing off both my good friend and an appointment to view what probably would have been my dream apartment. Or the time I spotted Adam Brody reading a book at a table outside Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, and forced my then-boyfriend to turn the car around and buy me a coffee so we could "sit outside in the sun and enjoy the lovely view on Sunset Boulevard for a few minutes". Or the glory of Thursday mornings, when confused OC viewers would come to me for clarification on last night's episodes. Or the hour long debriefings I would give my carpool buddy before I turned him into a die-hard fan as well. (Although, I've always had a sneaking suspicion he only started watching as an attempt to get me to shut the hell up).

I loved those Sunny So. Cal days. I even miss them a little. So starting today, I'll be making it a point to start checking in on a regular basis. Because it would be this year’s greatest trajesty if the OC were canceled. And I'm really not ready to say good-bye to a show that has brought so much joy into my life. So let's all Save the OC. Pretty please?

Life's A Shitshow

You're coming. You're going. You're laughing. You're crying. You're up and then down. Today work's great. Tomorrow it will suck. The moments of doubt get bigger and badder. Did you do the right thing? Did you buy the right shoes? Did you just make the biggest mistake of your life?

And you don't know. You never know if you're headed in the right direction. Until you find yourself standing in the middle of a bar holding your fourth glass of vin-o on what was supposed to be a "two drink maximum Tuesday night" and smiling at two of your best friends while they chat about something important and you pretend to listen because you can't hear over the music and kind of don't really care what they're saying right now anyways. You throw a cold shoulder to the dudes that try to intrude because you can...and because tonight it's not about them. It's about three girls who don't get together nearly as often as they should; enjoying each other's company. Laughing and cheering each other through another tough Tuesday. Trading stories, laughing about the mistakes they've made, and making plans for the future that will undoubtably make that list grow even larger.

For me, it was about the feeling of peace that comes with knowing that for today, for right now; I was in the right place at the right time. And that even though most of the time I feel like I'm walking blind, somehow I made it to the the next check point. I am where I need to be. And everything is as it should be. Even if most of the time my life just feels like one, big, giant shitshow.

You Didn't Hear it Here First

...and you rarely ever will. This blog owner is way too lazy to be scouring the city looking for cool bars. I would much prefer to let someone else do the work for me, so I can skip straight to the fun without wasting my precious time in crap-ass clubs. And so, this is where I'll be pretty much every Wednesday until my team refuses to let me play anymore. I've never had a problem with free pizza or jumping on bandwagons.

So far, I'm a disgraceful 0 for 48 as far as the triva goes. Being from Seattle and having actually lived through the era o' grunge that put Seattle on the map, one might think I would have known the answer to at least one of six questions falling into the Seattle music category. But nope. Not a single one. But really, just because the younger sister of one of Death Cab for Cutie's members lived two doors down from me Freshmen year of college doesn't mean I should know the names of all the band members...especially not her older brother. How could anyone hold that against me?

Ok, so I really, really suck at the trivia part. But I'm pretty sure that's why they have video games, too. If all else fails, I may just end up quitting trivia all together and focusing my energies on getting the highest Touch a Slut score instead. I've found that I'm much more talented in that arena anyways. Ya' know..cuz I'm such a "classy girl".

Oh. A Hunting We Will Go.

No. No rifles are involved. (I'm soo not the gun type.) But we will be at The Hunt. Tomorrow, I will be donning my wellies, braving the rainstorms, and getting up earlier than I do on any weekday morning so I can start in with the cocktails before I would normally have my first cup of coffee and stand around watching horses run in circles all day. I'm doing this because it has been the most talked about event in my circle of friends since I moved here last March. And I'm even getting kind of excited; despite my general dislike of all things horsey. But that's mostly due to a traumatic three months of living with a slightly crazed, very horse-obsessed girl my freshmen year of college, who adorned the room with horse figurines, posters, candles, plates, first place jumping ribbons, and even slightly resembled a horse herself. And I really try hard not to let that experience influence any of my decisions involving horse-related activities these days.

So far, it's been described to me as..."The Social Event of the Fall" and "Quite Possibly the Funnest Day of the Year." But I was sold when it was compared to a day of Bing-o at the Trop..."if not equal in levels of in-appropriateness then at least in terms of inconsequential fun and energy levels." Well, there was that, and I also found out we have to communicate via walky talkies because there's no cell phone service. Awesome!


And the Trop. A bar in a small beach town in Jersey where flocks of shore house patrons flood every Sunday between Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends to play Bing-o and listen to a 60+ year old man shouting out Bing-o numbers and dirty jokes about Dirty Vulcans. There are costumes, annoying props (i.e. whistles, helmets, feathers, boas, pom poms), applie pie shots, a line out the door at 10 in the morning, and no words that come even close to describing the glorious-ness of the Trop. For those of you that don’t know the story, this is where I spent my last day of summer. Without a doubt, the single best day of my summer, if not my entire life. I shared half a globe full of beer with strangers, and then watched a boy clear a runway space on the dance floor, make a slip 'n' slide with what was left of his pitcher of beer, and slide on his belly into the feet of the bouncer. And that was just what happened before noon.

So...A hunting I will go tomorrow. And if it's half as fun as the Trop, it will totally be worth the wind, rain, and early morning wake-up call. I have very high hopes.