This weekend started off innocently enough. I got up Saturday morning, cleaned my house, did some laundry, took a shower, and then walked down to the new light rail station so I could take the train downtown to get a haircut.
I was nervous. I try to minimize my time outside – insects, wildlife, roving youth -- you know. I had to walk five or six blocks downhill to get to the train station. It was exhausting.
Buying tickets was a little intimidating. I tried to use Mark’s Orca Card, but I think his company provided him with an empty card. All the machine did was ask me to add money to it. Thanks Amazon! Frugal Fuckers.
I used my debit card and got a $4 round trip ticket from Othello to Westlake and back….or so I though. I assumed a round trip ticket would be on one ticket. I think it kicked out a ticket for each direction but I was only expecting one ticket and didn’t wait around for the second one to come out.
The ride was fun. Fast, clean, easy. There were only two other people on the train with me. Both white upper middle class people who were also feeling all smug about being green and taking the train downtown.
I got my haircut then headed back to Westlake station. That is when I realized that my ticket was only a one way, so I got another one. For the life of me I can’t figure out how the trains turn around when they reach the end of the line at Westlake. There really is no big round-about under the Paramount Theatre or anything. Somehow a train magically appeared and I headed back home. At one point the train just stopped in the downtown transit tunnel for 30 seconds. It occurred to me that there could have been a significant nuclear explosion above ground, that I had been spared, and that I would need to eat the other people on the train in order to survive, but then we started moving again.
When we came out of the tunnel there was sunlight and no evidence of a mushroom cloud. Sound Transit security boys did stop the train and talk to the driver at the Stadium Station for a while. That was a little odd. The rest of the trip was fine.
Walking back home from Othello Station just about killed me though. I was going to go to the gym but fell asleep on the couch instead.
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I am a stauker. Or is that stocker? Stoker? Stalker? English is hard. Anyway, I am stalking my old friend Sandy by sending her email pictures of Worf.
Sandy stopped talking to me a long time ago. I don't know why, but I found some books of her's the other day and decided I missed her. She does not reply to email or Facebook pokes, so that is where Worf came in.
Here is a picture of Worf holding one of Sandy's books.
Here is a picture of Worf holding pictures of Sandy:
Here is a picture of Worf with coffee, which actually has nothing to do with Sandy or stalking. I have emailed these photos to Sandy. She still does not respond back. I am taking this as a challenge and will continue to photograph and email Worf until Sandy responds.
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OH MY GOD! Dyson just inhaled a steak knife! I was cleaning in the kitchen and had pulled Dyson's long sucky thing out of his top to get at some coffee grounds. There was this old steak knife that had fallen behind some cooking utensils. I tried to use the long sucky thing to just push the knife out of the way when I heard this big slurp and then the knife was gone. OH MY GOD! I cannot find it anywhere in Dyson. What if he is hurt? This is a house cleaning emergency!
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Emergency over! I had to take Dyson apart, which took 45 minutes, but I found the knife! It's clean, shiny, and sharpened! I encourage you all to run your knives through your own Dyson once every six months.
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But wait, there's more! Dyson sucks better than ever now! Talk about your win / win!
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I had started cleaning because there had been drama. I heard on NPR about this pizza recipe: Shrimp Artichoke Pizza With Cilantro Pesto. I got a pizza pan recently so I decided to try that for dinner.
Mark came over and brought the makings for Manhattans. We made cocktails and rolled out the pizza dough and made the pesto.
While the pizza was cooking we retired to the living room to imbibe and watch this hilarious TV show called Beautiful People. This show is one of those things that makes me laugh so hard I snort and cry, like Green Wing or Chelsea Handler's last book.
Anyway, we are sitting in the living room while Fred and Hyka are in the kitchen being bad. They are walking around the counter top where we rolled out the pizza, getting their feet covered in as much flour as possible. As some point Hyka decided to chase Fred. They ran across the counter, over the hot stove, knocking off a pan, through the wet sink, over the counter, into the living room, through Mark's Manhattan, over the couch, onto the coffee table, and through my Manhattan. Then Fred stopped, looked back at the trail of white paw prints he had just left, screamed, and threw up a giant hair ball on the carpet.
I wish I could say this was unusual or even unexpected, but no, this is the norm. This is why Dyson is a critical part of this family.
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Turns out the shrimp on the pizza made me sick. After Mark left I screamed and threw up all over he carpet.
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Now it’s Sunday. I am going to this Ice Cream Social Cause thing at the home of Matt and The Bread. They host this party every year to raise money for the GSBA. I don’t know if GSBA stands for Greater Seattle Business Association or Gayer Seattle Business Association, but let’s just say they embrace diversity.
The minute I walk in I immediately see this guy named Michael who I slept with several years ago. In shock all I can say is “Where is the bar!”, which is really stupid actually because there is a red wine section, a white whine section, a beer section with a keg, and a Cosmopolitan fountain. Yes, a Cosmopolitan fountain.
Michael was a really nice, smart, sophisticated man that I just did not want to have sex with. I really hurt him.
I decide I should just be a grown up and walk over to say hi. Everyone I know in the whole world is at this party so it not like someone won’t come to my rescue if he attacks me. I head in his general direction.
Instead of taking advantage of the situation and pointing out that I have gained 900 pounds since he last saw me he just gets this terrified look on his face, scurries the other direction…and leaves! Oh god! This makes me feel terrible.
Then to make matters even worse they had a best dressed door prize which they gave to some 'mo in a Hawaiian shirt instead of me with my fabulous Tippy Hendrin being attacked by birds t-shirt. How much is a boy supposed to take in one day?
I hung around for a few hours and got trashed. Mark drove me home. When I walked in I screamed and threw up all over the carpet.
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