On 2007...

I have to say that I am very excited that 2007 is nearly over. It's been a whirlwind year. A lot of joy. A lot of difficulties....

A month by month play by play:

January: huge snowstorm. Tried to drive to work. Went careening down a hill (sideways). Hit no one. Got out of the car and it got NAILED by a Subaru.

February: dated my neighbor. He initially appeared to be normal... and then I stopped dating my neighbor.

March: dated a lovely chap. He dumped me by email claiming that he had finally! figured out he was gay and oh, was also a cocaine addict. I kid you not.

April: decided I was never dating again. Went on a trip to Oregon. It rocked.

May: um, forgot

June: had a lovely month. Got in a car accident at the end. T-boned. Driver's side. Stupid woman.

July: bought a house. Moved. Friends from Michigan came to visit. Friends from Oregon came to visit. Dealt with car accident injuries.

August: A friend from Finland came to visit. Lost my contact. Light fixture crashed on my head. Dealt with car accident injuries.

September: worked. Dealt with car accident injuries.

October: dated a lovely chap. He dumped me because the relationship wasn't working for him. I was sad. My mother had emergency surgery. I took a trip to Iowa to see her. Dealt with car accident injuries.

November: had Thanksgiving at my house. It was awesome! Started dating again. Dealt with car accident injuries -- I'm getting, better!

December: holiday parties galore. Lovely holidays. Still dating. Still dealing with car accident injuries...

Looking forward to a happy and healthy 2008. I wish the same for you and your family!

A tale of a non-vacation vacation

So I went on "vacation."

Well, I tried to go on vacation. It turned into a non-vacation vacation.

Some highlights:

1. I drove through a blinding snowstorm on my way to the coast. I was not prepared for said snowstorm. I got nervous. I was scared. This is how Daisy coped.

2. I got to the hotel. They had lost my reservation, and they couldn't believe I was travelling alone. That's my favorite.

3. They upgraded my room because of #2, BUT... there was someone else's garbage all over the room.

OKAY, TANGENT

What is up with random spilled garbage all over my personal space? Vandals at home and then this? Metaphor?

UNTANGENT

4. The hot tub didn't work.

5. They didn't have any pet bags ready for Daisy. Allegedly they come with cool poop scooping gloves, bag, and treats. Daisy was denied the treats she so dutifully deserved. This is how she felt.

6. They gave me a DVD to watch to prevent me from getting too grumpy. The room had a DVD player, but it wasn't hooked up properly. Couldn't watch the DVD.

7. I stepped in non-Daisy dog poop.

Please note: this is not real dog poop. It is a candle. You can buy one at www.earthdoggy.com.

8. My car headlight went out which resulted in: a. getting pulled over by a cop; b. 4 trips to the mechanic; c. minus $50

9. I missed my planned holiday celebration with friends in Portland because half of the highways in Oregon were closed due to snow. Crushed.

10. I drove home in another snowstorm. This time I had taken a Benadryl (oh, yeah, I had an allergy attack of some kind early this morning) so, because of pal Benadryl, everything was much less intense. The snowstorm was not too scary this time. Daisy, however, didn't think so...

On my vacation, at least I got to see a really cool sunset and I bought a new coat.



I am happy to be home.

Happy Holidays!

Happy Holidays and best wishes for a happy and healthy 2008!

http://www.funnypostcard.com/dog/happy_holidays.jpg.

Please note: this is not Daisy. She would never wear a santa hat. Not her thing. Not mine either.

With love to you and your family,

The Single Gal

Vandals! Vandals! Vandals!

How's this for the holiday spirit?

I shuffled into the living room this morning, looked out the window, and what did my wondering eyes but appear? A lawn strewn with garbage and no eight tiny reindeer.

http://static.flickr.com/112/251645085_ee0761710c.jpg

VANDALS! VANDALS! VANDALS!

Some jackitudes thought it would be amusing to open my garbage can and dump it all over my lawn. Funny, huh?

Um.

No.

Where was the Plum Posse when I needed them? They could have picked up the garbage?

How did the hedge of protection let me down?

Daisy, why didn't you bark and freak out the vandals?

Oh. I see. Sniffing random crap on the ground is more important than protecting my yard from VANDALS!

GRUMBLE.

I'm happy to say the garbage is now back in its recepticle after I spent a half an hour tromping around in the sleet.

Fa la la la la la

And happy holidays to you, fucking VANDALS.

A mouse in the house

The rat man came: 6:49 a.m. on Wednesday, thank you very much.

The rat man saw: a decapitated mouse in one of the traps in my crawlspace.

The rat man conquered?: not yet, but he's coming back. Apparently, creatures have found a new entrance to my crawlspace. I was not crazy when I heard the scratchity and the squeakity. Ya dig?

In other news:

The Single Gal needs to find some serious cash to buy some new windows. It's freakin' cold in here, and my gas bill last month was COMPLETELY insanely out of control expensive.

Donations?

Anyone?

Maybe I need to start a foundation: it shall be calledth "the single gal's fund to live a life without being broke and wishing every second that some fabulous magical prince would decend from the heavens and rescue her from poverty".

And it was done.

www.joanndesigns.com

The sad thing is, I'm really not kidding...

There's a country / gospel song in there, somewhere...

The Ratman cometh

I called Myzzer (my rat company) today because I have had enough of my recent nightmares of rats coming and attacking me during the night. I am convinced they have returned to my crawlspace.

So.

I need a check up. Just to make sure.

The rat man cometh.

On Wednesday.

Rat-Man is a creation of Leo Ortolani and staff. Image courtesy of: http://www.arezzowave.com/comicswave/

The rat man's return to my house has the potential to be...interesting.

At the apex of the deratification of my house over the summer, I developed a crush on one of the rat men. He was nice, intelligent, and I hadn't been out on a date for awhile. Oh, and he was cute. That, too.

One morning, when he was coming over for the post super de-ratting 2 week check up, I arose early and began to beautify myself for the arrival of the rat man. At the time, I had friends visiting who were sleeping in the guest room, so I tried to remain quiet and keep my lovely border collie-ish roommate Daisy under control. My solution to curbing Daisy's insanity was to drag her into the bathroom where I was dutifully primping. She sat at my feet, by the sink.

I put in contact lens #1. I put in contact lens #2.

Um.

Something was not right. Contact #2 was amiss. Did I put both in one eye? No.... Did I --

NO!

I dropped it. I look down. I see, through my blurred vision, a glint of contacty plastic. I reach. Daisy reaches. Daisy eats it.

FUCK!

In desperation (I swear, I almost cried), I frantically looked on the floor, just to make sure she hadn't just sniffed the contact and let it be. I open Daisy's jaws. She got a bit upset with me.

I gave up.

I put on the industro-specs I call my glasses, and clambered out to open the garage door for the rat man and I hid. I couldn't let the rat man see me bespeckeled. They are just too big and too coke bottlish to make me feel attractive.

I hearted the rat man and I thought, sans contacts, the rat man couldn't heart me.

It was tragic.

I became a 12 year old in one second.

Shit.

So this time, when the rat man cometh, I plan to have both contacts in, looking glamtastic. Of course, the rat man may not be so appealing to me now. Maybe it's because I've been on a date or two since I've last seen him...

ahem.

On a somewhat disturbing side note: I looked up "rat man" on Google and found this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rat_Man. Apparently, Freud decided the chap he studied (who he dubbed Ratman) had "homosexual tendencies" because he was afraid of rats.

I wonder what Freud would do with me?

Yours,

The Single Gal

Dude, where's my car?

I think I'm losing my mind.

I drive a bright green car.

Many have said that I'm lucky to have such a unique mobile because it's easier to find. And see. And get speeding tickets.

Today after work I strolled to my car, parked some distance from my institution of employment only to find it was not where I parked it.

Dude, where's my car.

I strolled around a bit. I decided not to panic.

I was amazed at my calm when I called the tow truck place (at this point, I had assumed I had accidentally parked in an illegal parking space but was also doubtful of this). The tow truck man was very kind. He looked through volumes of paper, computer files, asked Bill in the next room if he had seen my car.

Nothing.

Dude. Where's my fucking car?

Um.

"Very Confused Mom" -- http://kazuya-akimoto.com

The tow truck man told me not to panic and that I should call the police. He said that because they didn't have it on their lot, the car was stolen.

I laughed.

You have GOT to be kidding me. I am a walking freakin' vat of bad karma.

Holy shit.

I got off the phone. I took a walk around the block to cool down before I called the cops.

Dude. There was my car.

Yeah. I'm that cool.

Photograph by David Benbennick.

Some thoughts on downness downity downering

Okay. She says with a big sigh.

I'll admit it.

I'm feeling a bit down.

Perhaps it is because I'm still (yes, that's right folks) dealing with the car accident injuries from June -- my arm really hurts today, FYI. If there was a machete around, I don't know what I would do...

Perhaps it's because several of my friends are quite ill. Like in the hospital ill...

Perhaps it's because I'm burned burned burned out and desperately need a vacation.

Perhaps because it's cold.

Could I go on? Why, yes.

I will spare you with my continual rant, gentle reader. Just insert moaning and complaining about the holidays and being single and wanting a diamond necklace and someone to help me pay my bills and walk my dog and clean the bathtub and do my laundry and deal with insurance.

I watched Tales of Mere Existence: "How to Deal With Depression." And now I feel better. Maybe I need a Ford Mustang. But maybe that won't work. I like dudes.

Viva holiday vivaness.

hearts and candy,

The Single Gal

single gal selling out?

rubbish, i say
RUBBISH

I heart baths

I have recently rediscovered the joys of bath-taking:

1. they are warm, my house is not -- anyone want to give me some new windows for free?

2. i like bubbles. they are fun.

Photo courtesy of: http://www.screensavers-tlc.com/thumbs2/bounce22.jpg

3. my back / shoulder / neck hurt less when i get out of a bath

4. daisy is afraid of water, so she doesn't bug me

5. the acoustics are good so i can sing until the water gets cold... i heart singing

6. i can't reach the phone from the tub

The big downfall of the bath is the preparation -- getting the temperature right, the percentage of bubbles to water, the height of the water. And, of course, the cleanliness of the bathtub.

I'm not getting into a gross dirty tub.

I loathe cleaning the tub.

Thus, before now, my bath-taking frequency was, well, infrequent.

Laziness = 5, bathtub = 0

BUT -- I no longer have to be afraid of my dirty tub. I can take baths once again, without fear.

drumroll...

I have discovered the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser!

My cousin Kim recommended it to me, and since I've tried it, I tell you, it's a sponge totally making the tub bathworthy. It's easy, fast, sickly fun to use, cleans the tub.

Try it. Kim, my dad, and I all heart the Magic Eraser. It seriously brought me back to baths.

Insert cheesy television commercial jingle.

Thank you Mr. Clean! You have brought me back to the wonderful world of baths! You are my tub cleaning hero!

Image courtesy of: http://thestream.tv/

Go here for some Mr. Clean coupons: http://www.startsampling.com/sm/24730/quickQuestion.iphtml?item=24730&source=MRCLEANME

i am woman hear me roar

this is what i'm having for dinner this evening...

yum yum

image courtesy of http://dclips.fundraw.com/

Snow snow go away...

Lookie here:

That's right, friends. It is snowing in Seattle again. What the...? I moved out of the midwest to get away from this crap.

It's making me very grumpy.

Especially because I feel trapped! Trapped I tell you! Trapped like this picture I drew while in CHURCH when I was three (what does that say about me?)

I feel trapped because when it snows I feel like I cannot leave my house. Well, I CAN, but I'm a little anxious about it. Perhaps it's paranoia, but crap, given my history with cars, car accidents, blah blah, one can never been too careful...

My house has a driveway that is dippy, short, and slippery. If I move the car out when it's icy, there is a large chance that I might hit the hedge.

Which, actually, may not be entirely too terrible. .. it needs to be put out of its misery, and may prevent me from having to chop that sucker down...

Historically, I've had some problems with Christmas lights...

I called my parents the other day to see how they were faring after a winter storm that blew through Iowa.

They were fine.

My dad inquired about the status of my Christmas lights.

Are they up yet? Where did you put them?

I laughed.

No, Dad, I don't have lights up.

You don't? When are you going to do them?

Dad.

You're not going to put lights up? Didn't you learn anything from your father?

Yep. I learned not to do it.


When I was a child, our house was one of the few in the neighborhood that didn't have Christmas lights hanging from its bushes. Every year my brothers and I would beg our parents to decorate the outside of the house.

They always said no.

After my brothers and I grew up and moved away, my dad started putting Christmas lights on the house. The day after Thanksgiving. Every year.

I found this perplexing. Why was he doing it now? A replica of the Christmas star, guiding we three wise(wo)men home?

I have to admit, after we all pray my father doesn't wipe out while standing on a horrible rickety wood ladder, the lights look nice most years. He's got all of the gear - white icicles hanging from the roof, white lights on the bushes. Stars hanging from other things... it's a winter wonderland.

I have no problem with my father's Christmas light decor. It's the other houses I've historically had a problem with.

Okay.

Before I tell this story, I have to file a disclaimer (well, multiple disclaimers):

1. The information confessed in this blog post is in no way a current reflection of the mature, 30 something single gal I am now.

2. High school, remember, I was in high school

3. I grew up in Iowa. There's nothing to do in Iowa for high schoolers. Except scoop the loop, and we will not go there.

4. I have grown to appreciate, accept, and not be (so) judgemental of those who have less taste than I do.

5. I care less in general, especially about how other people celebrate the holidays. Make merry, I say! I've mostly boycotted the holidays completely any way.

And....
scene.

Let's go back in time, shall we? To the mid-eighties. A time of Duran Duran, The Safety Dance, rollerskating, Mr. Roboto. There? Fab.

A group of friends from different high schools around the metropolitan Des Moines area gathered most weekend evenings during the middle / latter part of the decade, going out to dinner, singing together, you know, the usual nerdy things to do.

One evening, as I was taking my friends home (at that time I was the only one who had a driver's license and the only one who had access to a sparkling blue DODGE CARAVAN) from a night of rolicking laughter at Noah's Restaurant (go there, it's still super tasty), we started talking about tacky Christmas light displays.

Look at that one!

It's horrible!

I just want to turn them off.

Put us out of misery.

Let's do it.

What?

Unplug ugly Christmas lights...

Thus began a two year rampage of unplugging Christmas lights. We didn't steal them. We didn't break them. We didn't dismantle them. We merely unplugged them. Our intent, we thought, was a noble one -- to end the misery of those who went by and were blinded by the multiple colors, blown up reindeer, and multiple incarnations of Santa.

All was happy and joyous and merry, until one night... that fateful night... December something 1988. The crew fanned out on a cul de sac in West Des Moines. The lights were awful there. They were begging to be unplugged.

A friend of mine was driving, giving me a chance to jump out and unplug. It was a special treat. I was often in charge of the getaway. I was having a great time. Two houses down, one to go.

And then he started to honk.

What?

And then he started screaming my name.

SHIT!

We looked around and saw multiple homeowners, in various states of dress, running out of their homes on this cold winter night, chasing after us. We ran, hopped into the van, and drove away.

The next day, the police arrived at my house.

Busted. They wrote down the license plate. Heard my name being called.

They'd drop the charges if I gave them the other people's names. I wouldn't give them up.

There were $5,000 in fines levied against me.

Busted.

I'm not sure how it happened (maybe I blocked it out?), but somehow, all was reduced to me going to the homes I had violated and apologizing to the owners. I also seem to remember offering them free tickets to a show I was in.

Wait, is that bribery?

So, my teenage delinquency has lead me to Christmas light abstinence. I won't put them on my new house.

And, besides, I'm just too fucking lazy.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night...

On elevators, power outages, and holiday music

I think I died and went to hell this afternoon. Today was a karmic payback for I'm not sure what. Seems to be a continuing theme in my life. I must have really sucked in my past lives -- did some baaaad shit...

I thought about calling in sick today. My sinus infection is still raging (although I am getting better, thanks), and I needed a good ole watch really bad television / sleep and drink tea sort of day.

I decided to go in anyway, but begged out of a meeting later in the afternoon so I could go home early and sleep.

This was the theory...

The reality, however, became its own story...

Dig this:

I went to physical therapy.

Arm, leg, nerve, back stretches, exercises, pain, car accident blah blah and that blah.

I leave.

I get in the elevator with two other women. They get out on P2. I needed L. The door closed. The elevator made like it was moving. The elevator stopped.

The door did not open.

I laughed.

I pushed the appropriate buttons. I waited a minute or two. I pushed the appropriate buttons again, this time harder. I waited another minute. I heard people talking above me: "are you waiting for the elevator?"

I yelled, "I'm in the elevator!"

"When do you think it's going to be there?"

"Hello?"

I picked up the emergency phone. I called the lady. I told her I was stuck. She was nice. She was calm.

The elevator started to shake. Convinced I was going to die in an elevator in the middle of an earthquake, I hit the deck, still talking to the woman. I thought about making some dying confessions to this anonymous elevator panic woman -- although I wasn't sure what they should be -- the shaking stopped, and then I heard hammering above me.

I yelled, partially in the phone (my apologies to the kind elevator rescuer lady): "Hello! There's someone in here."

"Oh."

OH?! What the fuck?!

"I didn't think anyone was in there. I waited until everyone got out."

"But I'm in here!"

"Oh."

A long pause.

"Can I get out?"

"Yeah. Just push the button now. It'll work."

I explained to the lady on the phone the deal. She laughed. I was pissed. I pushed the button. I made it to L unscathed. Life was grand. I stepped out of the elevator, but not without a parting shot.

"You should have made sure everyone was gone."

"Yeah. I thought they were gone."

"They weren't"

"Oh."

"Learn how to do your job."

Yep, that's what I said: "learn how to do your job." Classic. Totally lame. But absolutely perfect for the setting and situation, I believe.

So I leave PT. I go to Target. I buy an air filter (as recommended by Brian, the furnace man). I enjoy my time shopping. And then I was tired and I wanted to go home. Immediately.

I get home.

The POWER IS OUT.

Ok, this is night #2 with no heat. I have a sinus infection. I am mad. The whole suburb is toast.

I leave. I go to TJ Maxx, I go to Alderwood Mall, I call my friends and bitch about the situation. I try to relax. I go to Borders Book Store.

I have to leave Borders Book Store.

It's the holiday music. I couldn't take it.

I drove home. The lights are on.

It's a Hanukah miracle.

Joy to the world.

Happy Hanukah!

You learn something new every day

Ok, so Brian Hoskins from Beacon is my current knight in shining armor. He came, he slew the furnace problem, he didn't charge me, he showed me how to slap it around if it happens again.

He's a freakin' rock star.


And, he donned me queen of the furnace -- he said he has never seen a furnace so bizarre -- the engineering sucks, apparently. Faulty fucking inducer valve or some shit.

What to the ever...

I'll just put on my crown (which, apparently was a requirement when I was being potty trained -- of course, duh)

and sit in my warm house. Until the freakin' power goes out from a wind storm.

Until then, you may call me Qu-a-FF... queen of the fucking furnace... thank you very much.

tra la la la

Hope you are surviving the winter, wherever you are...

Why I desire a machete...

I wish Santa would bring me a machete for Christmas.

Yes, I know this is ridiculous:

1. I don't celebrate Christmas.

2. It wouldn't fit in a stocking

3. Santa is not real (oh, crap -- did I say that outloud?)

4. Even if Santa were real, he doesn't visit single people -- don't believe me? bring it.

5. Machetes don't promote the sugar and spice and everything nice adage. I am a girl, you know.

6. Where would I put it?

7. Do I need a license for that?

8. I am no longer a child of the corn.

I don't care.

I want a machete.

I want to chop down my furnace.

That's right folks. This is the THIRD time this year that my furnace has broken down.

Thus:

Do not try this at home. Trained machete user. (It's not me.) Image from www.jupiterimages.com

Imagine a furnace where the leaves are. See, you get it...

Maybe it would be more practical to ask Santa for a freakin' furnace.

Why I am going to hell, part 950

It snowed in Seattle today. The kind of super awesome big ass flakes kind of snow which stuck to the ground and is all wintery goodness. The view from my kitchen window...

As I was frolicking around the backyard taking pictures, Daisy stood watching me in utter horror and disbelief.

She said: Snow sucks. We moved out of Michigan to get away from this shit. I'm so fucking sure.

Don't be fooled by her angelic demeanor. Daisy's got a swearing streak; that crazy little dog's got the devil in 'er.

Screw Daisy. I love snow.

However, I don't love driving in snow...

As some of you may know, I was in a car accident over the summer. And, oh, last winter my car was NAILED by a dude coming down the hill. Thankfully, I wasn't in it when it was NAILED, I just got to watch it ping pong against the curbs while safely screaming from a nearby hill.

This morning we had a department meeting at Elliot Bay Book Company (a good place, you should go there) and then I planned to go with a colleague back to the office to sort out some crap. I gave her a ride there, I went to buy her a candy bar (for good measure), and then it started to snow. I freaked!

FREAKED!

because of the earlier in the year NAILING, you know, and my ultra-sensitivity to being IN the car when it gets NAILED (as per my june experience). So, I decided to jump on the road and head back north. I told her. She had taken the bus. I could have given her a ride home. I didn't. She usually asks me for a ride and this time she didn't.

Of course, I got all paranoid and worried, and convinced she was going to fall and break her leg or drown in a snow puddle. I worried all day. I called her.

Finally, she called me back. She was planning to stay all along and knew her husband would be able to get her home. Regardless.

I really hate the Catholic guilt complex. Ruined a damn (yep, I said damn) good snow day...