I see, you see, we see, they see...

Look at the pretty picture.

-- The Single Gal

I have really bad car-ma

It snowed in Seattle again today. Well, north and / or east of Seattle proper. I had a few inches of snow at my house before I left for work today, so I decided to take the bus.

I thought I was being smart.

Well...

On the way there, my bus got stuck after the driver said, "the freeway is frozen, so we're going my way today." After several minutes of sanding and doing other bus driver tricks, everyone got off the bus, walked back to the transit center and waited for another bus.

Got to work 20 minutes late. Not too bad considering the snow.

On the way home, I begged out of a meeting in order to get home before the icy nightmare that is predicted for this evening.

I thought I was being smart.

I'm about 2/3 of the way home and the bus gets rear-ended (HARD) by some jackass older gentleman. His car is totalled. We have to write incident reports. My arm hurts. A lot. It was getting better.

Sigh.

I wonder if I should just call myself the cat lady, lock myself in my house and never leave?

Then, I will forever be...
The Single Gal

The Lonelies

I stayed in last night, feeling I needed some time to myself after a really busy few weeks. I puttered around. I read a book.

The Namesake. Have you read it?

I cried.

I can't remember the last time a book has moved me to tears. I wasn't crying about the characters or for the story, though. The book opened the gate to the Lonelies.

You know the place, right?

The Lonelies...

where you bring your single gal shield down, you look around, and all you see is nothing -- no one around, no sense of time, no goals, no family, no joy. Just emptiness.


The Lonelies reminds you how tired you are of being single and an orphan in a city of millions -- of the endless series of first dates, of your immediate family living thousands of miles away, of invitations to other people's weddings (I got three in one day last week), of baby announcements, of forking out cash for other people's knives and tablecloths, of finding something to do with yourself in the evenings and on the weekends, of the mounds of chores that you have to do or they don't get done.


The Lonelies inspires tears, inspires the gnashing of teeth, inspires frustration and anger.


But then, somehow, as you get older, your walk through The Lonelies changes. It inspires you. You realize you have single gal super powers -- bad ass single gal biceps and a spirit of independence and power -- and you shed a tear, leave the tears, and easily walk out of the Lonelies without weeks of eating Ben and Jerry's or Totino's Pizza Rolls. You know another relationship is around the corner. You know you can call your family or your friends. You know there are people who care about you. You know this is a between time, a time to work on yourself, a time to read the books you've wanted to read for a long time.



Like The Namesake.

Tree of Hope (c) Marisa Haedicke, 2006

http://www.creativethursday.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2006/09/fall%20tree%20of%20hope.jpg

Um...

I'm not really sure how this happened...

but

um

I sat on the curtains in my office

(as I said, I'm not really sure how this happened...)

and

(without making any sort of movement to stop an impending catastrophe)

I sat there

listening to ripping

and

clinking

and a thud

or two

and the curtains

rod

and the thing that attaches the curtain to the wall

fell

on

my head

um.

at least I didn't lose an eye

Happy Friday.

Look into my eyes... you're sleepy, sleepy

Lately, I'm feeling that my work life has been draining any ounce of creativity / energy / life force I have... I'm still trying to find a balance.

I have nothing to say.

That scares the crap out of me.

Perhaps what I need is a new name. A colleague at work changed his name recently. Maybe that's what I need. A change of name. A change of identity.

What would my name be?

What would yours be?

And here's a photo. Ponder, if you will, on your identity.

(c) This Single Gal. This is my photo, and if you steal it, I will be mad.

Little umbrella

It was a beautiful day in Seattle.

Sunny.

Cold.

Awesome.

I didn't need an umbrella today.

I took this photo in Seattle. We've got the beach, all we need are some palm trees, 40 more degrees, a cabana boy, and a margarita

with little umbrella

THEN

life would be perfect...

well, almost -- we still need an end to global warming, getting George Bush out of office, achieving MLK jr's dream, avoiding a recession, getting out of Iraq, avoiding a war with Iran and North Korea and Syria and...

having millions of dollars

and

so

on

A perfectly placed piece of poop

I woke up this morning and began my daily ritual:

1. Did my morning pages (see Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way)

2. Fed the dog

3. While the dog was eating, opened the blinds, blah blah

STOP

As I was opening the front blinds, I spied with my wandering eye a perfectly placed piece of dog poop. Smack dab in the center of Daisy's bed, seemingly gently placed, the pillow fluffed beneath its resting pile.

So, um, I think -- what the...

well, actually, initially, I thought it was a slain rat Daisy was proudly displaying , but:

1. after gagging and screaming "ew, ew, ew" and hopping around the living room in a grossed out stance

and

2. the eventual realization no one was here to clean this up except me

and

3. acknowledging it was necessary to clean it up

and

4. my eventual careful plastic bag grabbing of said brown blob

I determined it was poop -- through and through.

And then I think -- what the...

Why was there only one small piece of dog poop?

The crap was cold.

Daisy hadn't been begging me to go out.

It wasn't there last evening.

What the...

It is a poop mystery.

Worthy of a blog entry, apparently.

The pillow upon which the poop was perfectly placed. Please note: the poop has been removed.

My first house

I do not miss living in Michigan, but I miss my house in Michigan.


Isn't it cute? It looks small, but it was actually HUGE on the inside -- over 2000 square feet. Three floors.

This is the backyard. I put in the perennial garden by the garage and a vegetable garden (which you can't see but was to the left behind the garage. Also not seen: two other big ass trees and tons of dog poop.


When I bought my first house I was filled with glee -- I ran through the house touching every door, exploring every nook and cranny. I was so excited.

It took my 8 months to sell it. I was mad.

When I bought my current house, I signed the papers, and there was truly no glee. Was it the post-car accident painkillers? The rats? The amazement that I was entering into buying a house three times (3 times?!) the price of my Michigan house? The fear?

We closed -- I walked into the house for the first time and there was no skipping, no laughing, no joy. I thought -- how am I going to get rid of the rats?

I don't feel as emotionally attached to this house as I did to my first one. Maybe it's because I've only lived here a few months. Maybe it's because I haven't been able to work on my house / yard as much as I'd like because my arm don't work right. Maybe it's because it's freaking cold and all I want to do is sit on the couch?

I don't know. I love my house, but something's off -- I still don't feel like I live here. You know what I mean?

I think I may have loved my first house more (shh, don't tell it, and do NOT let the furnace know. It's been on strike too many times this winter already).

Hope you are well on this lovely (and rainy and cold) Saturday afternoon.

Tra la la.
the single gal

Really and for true?

I think I've crossed the line into the land of the most boring human beings alive. For years, I thought myself of having a unique (some may say kicky) view of life. Sometimes cynical, sometimes hilarious and / or bitter and / or jaded, but always genuine. I have been able to hold a conversation.

I feel like I've turned the corner, fair reader.

No longer are my conversations stimulating. No longer am I kicky. I've moved into whiny land.

I can find no other explanation other than: I have moved to the suburbs.

It does something to you. Suburban living. Sure, it's lovely to be around trees, sometimes nice neighbors, the Plum Posse, Office Depot and Target, but as a single woman, the affect of suburban living is seemingly moving me closer to becoming (shall we all say it together, gals?): the cat lady.

Let me begin by saying, I have nothing against cats. I am allergic to them, and therefore generally do not find them amusing, but I have nothing against cats, nor do I have anything again those who own cats.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with "cat lady syndrome," let me explain. The cat lady moniker is the spinster stereotype exceptionelle. Imagine, if you will, an old woman (with cane) sitting in her front room with nothing to do. She wiles away the hours doing the crossword puzzle, and watching for random passersby to walk on her lawn. When such crime is committed, even by the beloved neighborhood paperboy, she bangs on her windows -- GET OFF THE LAWN. Maybe yells. Maybe meows. Her lawn-erasing technique, as I am sure you can understand, depends on the cat lady.

Of course, the cat lady has cats. At least 3, most likely more. She talks more about them more than she does anything else. They are the only living thing in her life (aside from a drooping ficus) She has no friends. She knits afghans and eats canned soup.

True? Yes? You know anyone like this? There were three in my childhood neighborhood -- Helen and Julia and MEAN Mrs. Green. They live on in infamy.

Reflecting on the cat ladies I have known and on my life currently, now in the burbs, I have determined I may be edging towards cat lady-dom. It scares the kitty litter out of me.

This is how I'm like the cat lady:

1. I talk a lot not about my cats but about my commute. MY FREAKIN' COMMUTE. Worst topic of conversation ever. And how long did it take you today? And you? It took me 40 minutes. Not too bad. Sayyy....

2. I sit in my front room. I get mad when people climb my trees without letting me know. I hate the pop-in.

3. Shhh.... I knit afghans.

4. I have eaten canned soup in the past year. I don't like canned soup, but I sure as hell like microwave dinner. LOOOOVE me the Amy's frozen meals. Them are tasty.

5. I like crossword puzzles.

6. I listen to jazz.

7. I put aluminum foil on my couch so my dog wouldn't sit there. Plastic cover, anyone?

am I on the way to becoming the dreaded cat lady?

It is a fear that haunts me...

And with that, I say good-bye in order to work on my afghan.

Tra la.

The Single Gal

Furnace update...

Brian Hoskins.
Beacon Plumbing and Heating.
Freaking AWESOME rockstar.
Came.
Fixed.
Drilling, chopping.
Big operation.
Full meal deal.
NO CHARGE.
Can you believe it?
He is amazing.
My hero.
Rock on.
Brian Hoskins.

Why is it...

I seem to have more crappy days than spectacular rainbows and candy and unicorn days?

I don't get it.

One of my friends suggested I rename my blog to: "Cursed: stories from hell."

Um.

Well, today has been another in the annals of The Single Gal's crappy days. Shall I break it down? Thought so.

1. It snowed like the bejeezus last night. But only in certain parts of town. My part was a part of town which got the snow.

2. It was icy as fuck this morning, so I decided to take the bus.

3. I waited for almost 40 minutes for a bus. It came. I got on. I was happy.

4. The bus driver had a panic attack while driving the bus. Apparently, hills and snow are not her forte. She freaked and screamed and then refused to go up the hill. She had to wait until another bus driver came by to give her a pep talk before we could go on our merry way.

5. Did I mention the woman maybe forgot to put the heat on in the bus? It was a freaking freezing nightmare.

6. It took me 2 hours to get to work. Usually takes 20 minutes. Great.

7. I missed lunch.

8. And the pinacle of my day. MY FUCKING FURNACE IS BROKEN AGAIN. I called Beacon. I am freakin'. Hopefully someone will be here in the next 2 hours to fix it. The cool tool Brian (the last dude who looked at the furnace) gave me didn't work this time.

GOOD TIMES.

Holy crap and this blows and all that shit.

At least the sun is shining. That is a good thing.

It's literally 49 degrees in here. I'm glad I bought a portable heater. I'm going to make some soup, sit in front of the heater and watch bad judge shows. You can't stop me.

Oh, and that'll be me, wearing my coat indoors.

Love it.

shakin' in my boots

The weather sucks at the mo. I nearly died of fright as I was driving home in a blinding snowstorm.

It's ridiculous, you see -- I grew up in Iowa so I know how to drive in this crap. For some reason, driving in Seattle in the winter is absolutely horrifying.

Horrifying, I tell you.

By the time I got home (I had to release stress by screaming at the top of my lungs several times while making the drive, thank you very much), I was shaking so badly I had to sit down for a few minutes before I could feed the dog and go about my relaxing being home business.

That's wack.

I am a nervous basket case driving a car these days.

PTSD, anyone?

Tra la
tra la

I'm praying for a snow day tomorrow...

Hope all is well in your world.

A baptism...

This morning I went to a baptism.

I grew up Catholic, but I hadn't been to a mass in years.

As I sat there, mildly terrified of the looming audience participation (the part I always loathed in any mass), my mind wandered back to the seemingly endless Sundays I sat in the pews at St. Augustin's Church in lovely Des Moines, Iowa... and I reflected on my family church going coping mechanisms... which, embarrassingly, often focused on the boy-crush of the moment.

However...

my childhood meditation was interrupted by the stirring BIG DRAMA on the other side of the church.

There was a man standing in the doorway. The sun was at his back, and he was illuminated by the sun -- he looked like Jesus. Well, at least the depiction of Jesus on black velvet air brushed paintings. And I should know what Jesus looks like -- when I was 3, I identified a tall bearded random man (very loudly, as I recall) as Jesus as he walked down the aisle of my family's church. The parishoners thought that was hilarious... I didn't get it.

This dude, the sun-illuminated dude in the church, did not have the requisite beard. But he glowed. Like Jesus in all those paintings. Transfixed, I watched him. He did nothing but stand there. But, still, I stared.

AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION

Because I was a little distracted, I missed the priest's audience participation instructions. There was something about telling your neighbor they were beloved?

Oh, crap.

The woman next to me turned to me, took my hand, and with tears in her eyes, recited the line the priest had asked us to tell our neighbors.

I had a little panic attack.

My A.D.D. did not let me listen to the woman. I wanted to give her the same blessing she gave to me, but I had no idea what she said. I stalled. I thanked her. I held her hand. And then I said, "and the same to you."

Good one.

I feel like I denied this lovely woman a holy moment.

Oops.

I glanced at the Jesus man on the other side of the church. A woman standing next to him, post "you are the beloved" business, had put her arm around his and was leaning against him. About five seconds later, he brazenly pulled his arm away from her, turned, and walked out the door.

Gone.

Out of the church.

What the...

But then, yes, I'm paying attention, back to dunking and Jesus and all that. And then they dunk the children. Full on dunking. None of the baptismal sprinkle they did in Iowa. Full on naked baby in a fountain dunking. It was amazing. My friends' child was the most beautiful and holy of them all.

It was a beautiful thing.

Truly beautiful.

As my friends' child was being baptized, I suddenly understood something, despite my ADD, despite my questioning of Catholicism and organized religion.

I understood the power of tradition, and family, and of rituals. It was a beautiful discovery.

I feel truly honored to have been there.

Congratulations, my friends.

And thank you.

The nudism of my stuff...

I am convinced that my house / car / belongings are nudists. Not me, mind you, but my stuff.

An example of why this is true:

I cannot keep a hubcap on my car.

I bought the car in 2001. It had 4 hubcaps. Slowly, it shed them as it hugged curbs, McDonald's drive thrus, you know... until the car clung to one hubcap. My mechanic made fun of it, it was mildly embarrasing / hilarious and I just let it be.

After some convincing, my brother made me buy new hubcaps at Target. I put them on (he helped). I was happy.

And then...

One by one, the hubcaps came flying off.

I bought more.

They flew off.

I let it be.

Before I moved back to Seattle, I decided I needed to spiff up the mobile. Afterall, it was rollin' back into the big city.

At that time, the car had one hubcap. I bought more. I put them on. I drove to Chicago to collect my brother. He graciously offered to drive with me out to Seattle with Daisy.

Props to The Fruits.

By the time I got to Chicago, I had one hubcap.

Great.

I tried to get the other hubcap off. It wouldn't come off.

A year later, I hit a curb. It fell off.

I let it be.

I think the hubcaps went to hubcap heaven... The Hubcap Capital of the World in Pearsonville, California. I think a roadtrip is in order...

This is Lucy, queen of The Hubcap Capital of the World. http://www1.iwvisp.com/hubcaps2/momhubcapgarden.JPG

I'm not sure what to title this

This is how I feel today.

You steal my photo -- I will get mad. (c) This Single Gal, 2008

And I'm not sure what to write.

It's been a strange week. Illuminating, random, exhausting, fun, and strange. Apparently, Daisy thought so too.




I couldn't find my car again today. I think I'm losing my cookies.

Since I can't eat gluten, I don't care if the cookies go away. I'd like to lose my arm.

I've had a really painful week. The arm is hurting in ways that I never could image it could hurt.

When I went in to physical therapy on Tuesday (at Pacific Balance - props to my PT Chris Morrow. He's a rockstar.) I proposed amputation. And I was completely serious.

Well.

Not totally serious. But in a thishurtslikeamofotakethepainawaycutitoff serious.

Ya dig?

So Chris tells me -- amputation won't help. Apparently I have two different arm injuries -- one nerve, one joint. Oh, the splendor continues.

Amputation is not the answer.

It kind of feels like this:

You steal my photo -- I will get mad. (c) This Single Gal, 2008

I think I'm going to get a personal injury lawyer to help me deal with the bullshit car accident aftermath. I've had enough of the pain, and the last thing I need to deal with is crazy insurance people and claim denials.

I got one in the mail yesterday. Claim denial, that is.

Wouldn't it be something if a claim adjuster arrived in the mailbox; when you open it, it's like a pop-up book, complete with insurance agent in beautiful
red
coat.

See this foot -- I want to put it in my insurance company's face.

Take that!

There's got to be a superhero to help me in times like this. Maybe most Fruitful Yuki?

Tin blobs, Iowa caucuses, Presidential election

My faith in the universe has been restored. I found the Finnish tin blob! I see this as a good sign - a sign of a happy, productive, and seek-and-ye-shall-find year.

Bring it.

I'm hungry as the dickin's (?) (dicken's).

(Where the hell did that saying come from?)

Here is a photo I took of Daisy in Oregon. Why? Because I like it:

In other random news:

My parents were ROCKSTARS! on CSPAN on Tuesday night. Perhaps you saw my dad in all of his Iowa caucus splendor? This is a photo of him in his office to jog your memory. Yes, there is train paraphernalia (this is what the spell checker told me, but I don't believe it) everywhere.

I watched the Presidential debates last night. I love this shit. At one time I was a political science major because I love this shit.

The debates did nothing to sway me. If anything, I'm less enthused by some of the candidates I thought I might support.

It has been confirmed, however, that Mitt Romney is Satan.

I will definitely not vote for a Republican. Take that, GOP, and don't you dare send anyone to my house to try to convince me otherwise. Daisy will not let you in the front door.

So there.

1-20-09 is George W. Bush's last day in office.

I can't wait.

And,

scene.

It's Jan 5!

Look at my new tablecloth:

I like it. It's stripe-y and it makes my dining room look less sterile. One of these days I'm going to paint them walls blue...

As I was playing with my new tablecloth, I found the paper on which I once set the now-AWOL blob of tin. According to Finnish tradition, you can forecast your future based a tin horseshoe that you melt on New Year's Eve.

I still cannot find it, but... here are some crappy photos I took of it on New Year's Day. The details are the important part, but these will give you a sense of its shape. I'd love to hear your predictions...

Hope you are well on this fine Saturday.

-- The Single Gal

Yuck

I'm having a bad day.

Woke up early.

Went to physical therapy. My therapist was grumpy. My arm hurts like a mofo today, so the exercises were horrible and the entire enterprise was unpleasant.

I want my arm to be back to normal.

I think I've kept it (my sanity, that is) together fairly well over the past 6 months as I've tended to my car accident injuries, but I tell you... I'm getting really frustrated. I want to go out and ride my bike, go for a run, do SOMETHING without pain. When I have a pain day (which I'm having today) it's difficult for me to remain chipper.

I want it all to go away.

And speaking of it going away...

CRAP

I can't find my Finnish fortune New Year's Eve tin blob. What does that mean for my 2008?

It better be a good year...

Sigh.

Ok, the Single Gal is officially in a bad mood.

And with that, I go skipping off to the movies.

A fortunate 2008?

So, okay... I admit it...

I've blown my New Year's resolutions already and the first day of the year isn't even over. I'm not even going to share what they were -- the shame, the shame.

There's always tomorrow, right?

New Year's Eve was fun this year...

When visiting Finland over the New Year holiday in 2000/1, my friends introduced me to a really cool Finnish New Year tradition. I hosted a little New Year's dinner at my house last evening and we followed the tradition... On New Year's eve in Finland, each person melts a small tin horseshoe in a ladle.

Please note: we melted ours over the fire. But, this is the ladle and the tin a' meltin'. Image courtesy of: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/150/341316440_29ab6c8d45.jpg

After the tin is melted, you dump the melted tin into a pail of cold water. When it congeals, you take out the tin and look at it. You read the tin as a symbol of your fortune for the next year. First we looked at them in full light. then went into a dark room and looked at their shadow against the wall, using a candle.

Please note: this is not my fortune (nor anyone else's who came to my house last evening), but this is what we did. Image courtesy of: http://charnel-doze.blogspot.com/2007/01/tin-magic.html

Tomorrow I'll post a photo or 2 of my tin blob for your fortune telling pleasure... (the ones I took today didn't work so well and I'm too tired to try again. I do have to work tomorrow... sigh)

Hoping 2008 is rockin big time for you.

Peace, joy and happiness to you in the new year. Yippee!

-- The Single Gal

Happy New Year!

Image (c) David Lindes, 2004. http://www.daveltd.com/photo/rolls/1029/1029-34-space-needle-fireworks-edit.jpg

Wishing you and your family a happy, healthy, and joyous 2008!

-- From The Single Gal and her faithful pooch, Daisy