Code of the Girls

This was today’s FOUND Magazine post. It was discovered between the pages of a fantasy art book at The Goodwill in Connecticut:

I’m sure you saw this one coming, but it inspired me to create my own Code of the Girls. Dear faithful, faithful lady friends, please abide:

Currently Feeling: Really effing frustrated.
Currently Anticipating: Get the eff out of Bumbershoot hell this weekend and into glorious 80-degree weather.
Currently Wanting: Nothing more than a Dick’s cheeseburger and a strawberry shake. Mmmm.

I saw you, you saw me, we made love under the coconut tree

This might be devastatingly cliché Seattle, but I long to see my description within the entries of The Stranger’s I Saw U ads.

I check it every week. Half reading them for the romanticism missing in my life, quarter reading them for the entertainment value, quarter reading them in hopes that I’ll notice a location I was at, or a description that could quite possibly, maybe just a little, be me…

Hottie in the red VW!
I was in the black VW & our little rally down I-405 Saturday gave me a freakin’ chubby! I wish you’d have taken my exit …wish I’d have followed you to yours. Wanna do it again, but with a better ending?
When: Saturday, August 25, 2007
Where: I-405 South, Bothell to Bellevue
I saw a: Woman
I am a: Man

Ok. So, I drive a red VW, but I wasn’t racing anyone on I-405 last Saturday. And that giving a guy a chubby part is a little freaky, but still…. It’d be fun and saucy to read an I Saw U about yourself, huh? I think I’d cut it out and hang it on my fridge.

I know, how embarrassingly narcissistic of me. But, to me, it’s oddly romantic, reassuring, flattering… Just once, I want to know someone noticed me like I noticed them. I want to stand out in a crowd. I want someone to admire me. I want to have proof that I’m not floating through this city, retreating into the crowds of people who perhaps look all the same, dress all the same, think all the same…

I want someone to recognize that I’m an individual. I’m different.

And I knocked them off their feet.

Currently Feeling: Incredible, incredible shopping remorse.
Currently Anticipating: Labor Day weekend. I need a mini sun vaca.
Currently Watching: Season one of Beverly Hills 90210.

i’m so glad we got this cleared up

Thanks, Miss Carolina, for your insight into the state of America’s education system. Clearly she’s brainwashed by the “right” side of her state. Oh bejesus.

Can anyone find me a map?! I haven’t seen one in years! If it isn’t obvious already, Miss Carolina did not win the crown. (I missed this little tid-bit Friday night when I was watching the Miss Teen U.S.A. pageant. Perhaps that was toward the end of my bottle of champagne.)

Currently Feeling: Warm and fuzzy.
Currently Anticipating: Finishing some housekeeping tonight and watching 90210.
Currently Listening To: Mickey Avalon. Seriously. Love him.

Dubliner Man Crush gets his haircut: love blossoms

When I lived in Fremont with Amanda, the two of us would frequent The Dubliner every Wednesday for $1 well drink night. It was incredibly, incredibly hard to pass up a chance to get wasted off $6 and then walk two blocks home. So, we made sure to never miss out. Let’s just say we were thrifty. One night, an incredibly good-looking man immediately caught my eye. Oh boy. I couldn’t stop staring. I was smitten—he was gorgeous. After a lot of coaxing by Amanda—the perpetual flirt—I finally went over to him, and we had a short butterfly-ridden conversation. This was before my “all you gotta do is put it out there and they’ll bite” days. Oh. To be naive and innocent again.

I went back, week after week, hoping to catch a glimpse of my Dubliner Man Crush. One night, he walked in the doors on the arms of a former high school nemesis (that snatch licker!) and my hopes and dreams were crushed forever. Until, a year or so later, I ran into him again at Peso’s with a mutual friend. Of course, he didn’t know who I was, but I immediately recognized him and couldn’t believe my good luck—if he’s friends with this friend, and I’m friends with this friend, then I most surely have more of a chance than before. Right?! Well, occasionally, I’ll run into him with her. But, I can’t really bring myself to say hi, or flirt, or do anything else besides stalk him on MySpace. (Where I learned he has a great job, owns a house, and likes to snowboard and wakeboard. He also has a comment list full of beautiful, cute and gorgeous women.) You don’t have to tell me that it’s creepy I SpySpaced him; I already know.

So, a couple months ago I stopped into Lucky Seven on the LQA for a haircut. Immediately my stomach did a flip-flop—there was my Dubliner Man Crush, seated in the salon chair, one away from mine. It was only the two of us in the salon with our hairstylists. The four of us had a couple brief conversations and interactions where I tried to be my ridiculously, ridiculously clever, witty and funny self. But before long, he paid and walked out. As soon as he left, I let out a big sigh, “I’ve always thought he was so good looking and have had a little crush on him for years,” I said.

“Joey?!” his hairstylist exclaimed. “He comes in all the time. He’s a really good guy and has a great job and all that. You should ask him out! I’m pretty sure he’s single!”

“Oh, I’m too shy,” I replied, soon after which I paid for my haircut and walked out.
I immediately called Amanda and had a conversation with her somewhere along the lines of, “Fate, fate, fate and more fate, don’t you think it’s fate? I’m pretty sure it’s fate. What are you up to, did I tell you it was fate?”

Last week, I returned for another haircut. About ten minutes into it, my hairstylist looks over and says, “Oh yeah. The next time Joey came in, we asked him if he remembered you, and he said he totally thought you were cute and was checking you out. He said to give you his phone number, but I don’t know where we’d find it… you should give us yours, we could play match maker and set you guys up! We have to figure something out!”

“Ha! A little salon love,” I said, mostly joking because the thought of actually putting myself out there and calling him after all these years made me instantly feel queasy. “I can tell everyone that I met my husband in the salon chairs.” (No, he’s totally not gay! What made you think that?!)

So today I received a phone call from an anonymous 206 number. Naturally, I screened the call. When I listened to the voicemail it said:

“Hi Jeanna, it’s Shane down here at Lucky Seven. Um, give us a call when you get a chance. We have something for you,” to which I heard a very manly, hearty laugh in the background. Possible Dubliner Man Crush laugh?!

I eventually worked up enough nerve to call Shane back, waiting for enough time to pass so he wouldn’t be around still. (See, I can’t even bring myself to call the same building he’s in and talk to someone standing in the room with him. How would I ever go on a date with him?!)

Sho enough. Joey left his number to give me. And he said that if I want to text him my number, he’ll call me cause he wants to take me out. Oh jesus. Can I do it? Am I too shy? Will I be able to get through a date with him without wanting to pass out from nerves?!

I don’t know. But something tells me, after three years of Dubliner man crushing from afar, I just might have to take the chance.

Currently Feeling: Giddy and nervous.
Currently Anticipating: Brewery bike ride with the Dolphin Sisters this weekend.
Currently Wondering: Who would ever put black olives in spaghetti?!

Oh, to be young again!

Yesterday morning I ran down to the laundry room in my building to switch over a load before heading off to work. Although Sarah and I rent in a condo building, you still have to pay $1 per washer and dryer load. I’ll never understand this concept. If you were to drop $360,000+ on a condo, wouldn’t you want to be sure it included free laundry?!

Nevertheless, we have to pay per load, and we’re required to do laundry between the hours of 8 a.m. and 9 p.m.—virtually impossible if you ask me. Of course, this requires me to squeeze in a little laundrying whenever I get a chance. Yesterday, it was before work, despite running late. I was rushing to sort the items that needed to be hung up and throw the others in the dryer. A little old lady in black stretch pants was sitting in a chair, reading a book, presumably waiting for her load to finish. For reasons unbeknownst to me, our building is swarming with blue hairs. I usually politely smile at them but quickly move on because I get the feeling that most of them don’t like us young “rental types.” So, I said, “hello,” but then went about my business.

“I found the best wrinkle releaser stuff in the grocery store. It’s by Niagra, and it’s sort of in this spray bottle thing. I used to have the worst time ironing my husband’s shirts. I first tried to get those cotton shirts wrinkle free and it was damn near impossible,” she suddenly offered to me.

“Oh really? Wrinkle releaser? Hmm…” as I continued to throw my clothes in the dryer.

“Yeah. I used have a hell of a time. If you didn’t use starch, the wrinkles wouldn’t come out. And if you didn’t iron them right away, the damn things would mold. So, I used to throw them in the freezer until I could get a chance to iron them.”

At this, I could only laugh. I didn’t know what was funnier, the fact that she threw two or three swear words in her story (my kind of gal!) or the idea of freezing dress shirts so they wouldn’t go moldy.

“You girls have it so easy these days,” she finished off, shaking her head back and forth.

You’re right. Us girls have it so easy these days— but easy because we have wrinkle releaser, or easy because I don’t have a pile of dirty dress shirts from some slacker misogynist who thinks I should do all his cooking and cleaning?!

Currently Feeling: Like I need to kiss Seattle goodbye and move to Cali for one to three years.
Currently Anticipating: Happy hour tonight with Bri and kickball tomorrow.
Currently Loving: My Dolphin Sisters promise ring.

If it isn’t obvious already…

I’ve VA-VA-VA-VOOMED my blog. It needed a new look. Everything you see here, I designed myself. I’m pretty proud, since I’m completely self-taught. Hope you enjoy! I’ll appreciate any reader-friendly suggestions in the comment section, if there’s something you don’t like or would like to see.

Thanks for reading!

I get by with a little help from my friends

Sometimes, when life seems a little mundane (weather or need for a change, not sure), I stop and remind myself that it could be a lot worse. At least I have a great job, and both my legs, and a family that loves me, and a roof over my head, and all those other quintessential things that your mom likes to remind you about. But what really makes my world go round, what really makes me who I am and breaths life force into my lungs everyday are my friends. The plans. The inside jokes. The trips. The love. The laughs.

I spent a particularly friend-packed last four or five days that make me look back and reflect, why me? Why do I feel like my life is overflowing with people who care about me? (Well, besides the fact that I’m ridiculously, ridiculously funny and good-looking.) Other than that, sometimes I feel like I’m too lucky.

Lucky to know all my Queen Anne friends—just because I stumbled across them in a bar one night a couple years ago and haven’t lost touch since. So lucky to know all their beautiful girlfriends. So lucky to be able to call them anytime and meet up somewhere in the neighborhood. I spent last Thursday with all of them for Caitlin’s going away party. We enjoyed a great dinner at The Pink Door where I sipped wine, devoured halibut and stared out onto Elliot Bay. We then traveled over to Kell’s and ended the night with a silly dance party.

I’m so lucky to know all of you.

I’m so lucky to have solid friends from college. I’ll never forget all our memories—before and after the shit show of Western. I love that we’ve worked hard to cultivate friendships even though life after Western has taken each of us in different directions. Friday night, Sarah and I stuck around town to attempt to catch Pearl Jam at Pike Place Market’s Centennial Celebration. (Didn’t happen. Too disappointed to function.) Adam met up at my place where we took the bus (oh the agony! the pain!) to meet Stewart and Sarah for happy hour at Tia Lou’s. A couple double margaritas and some chicken tacos later and I was ready to PAARTÉ! After a couple more drinks at Kell’s, we went to stake out spots to watch the show. The concert venue set up for The Market celebration was fantastic. The stage was facing up the street, with the water as a backdrop, and everyone was standing in the streets and sitting on the hill. It was like a mini Gorge. Unfortunately, Pearl Jam didn’t show up, but we did get to hear a little Heart, Jimi Hendrix and two major Pearl Jam players—uncensored! For the rest of the night, Adam and I bebopped around town—The Frontier Room, See Sound Lounge, Peso’s. It was a fantastic, liquor-filled night, which of course ended up in me having a hard time walking home in those damn heels! They’re so tricky when you add a little bit of vodka!

I’m so lucky to know all of you.

Lucky to have a core group of girlfriends from high school. To know that I can call and count on most of you, and I’ll always be part of our traditions—Christmas parties, cabin trips, Bunko parties, weddings, etc. Saturday morning, Sarah and I left town for Vanessa’s cabin for a weekend getaway with my closest high school girlfriends plus a few college and boyfriend additions. We arrived at the cabin and spent a hilarious evening with Shannon and her husband Phil, Vanessa and her boyfriend Mike, Larisa and her boyfriend Dave, Abe, Sarah, Erin and her boyfriend Adam, Tara and Kendra. We enjoyed fantastic meals together, went through two bottles of vodka, and 2.5 half-gallons of Crown Royal, plus a Pyramid keg. Sarah and I spent a combined four hours in the hot tub, where we watched Adam fall from the hot tub to the cement, and Tara attempt to get out of the hot tub at least four times. Larisa and Adam tried to jump in the lake, but it was too shallow and Larisa—accident-prone central—was left with a scabbed over leg. Vanessa was babbling and Mike passed out on his computer in the middle of his online Poker tournament. Adam and Tara were wrestling on the ground. Larisa and Vanessa were tried to carry 250-pound Phil in their arms, but dropped him on the floor. And Erin passed out on the couch in her dress, only to have everyone stick cigarettes in her mouth among other random items, and take her picture. It was a crazy silly night, which just confirmed my love for my Dolphin Sisters even more (I got a new promise ring.)

I’m so lucky to know all of you.

It’s moments and friends like these that will always be the memories of my 20s. Things happen, friends come and go, but I will always look back at this time in my life and have years, days and months of love for those who’ve touched my life during my crazy, single, unruly and undetermined 20s!

I’m so lucky to know all of you!

Currently Feeling: Slightly annoyed. Slightly confused. Slightly nervous. Slightly silly.
Currently Anticipating: The effin weather to stop pouring!!
Currently Freaked Out About: The World Clock.

Like, me and my man are totally in a showmance

Anybody been watching Big Brother?

I haven’t caught a season before the current one. And, of course, it took me nothing flat to be totally addicted to the drama.

These people are crazy!

Two girls can’t stop talking about Baby Jesus and how the game is already predetermined and they’re just “acting out God’s plan.” One even thought God was telling her which tokens were winning tokens in a game. Crazy bitches. Sometimes I feel like I’m watching Tammy Fay Baker rise up from the dead.

And one girl cries every single damn time anyone asks her anything and a camera is in front of her face. Talk about cracking under pressure—who gets that emotional on a reality TV show?

But the icing on the cake was when last week the voice over dude used the term showmance when talking about two of the players who started have feelings for each other.

Showmance! Genius!

Currently Feeling: Like I’m in limbo.
Currently Anticipating: PEARL JAM. PEARL JAM. PEARL JAM. *fingers crossed*
Currently Hating: Working while hung over.

Thoughts on three of them

I read a fellow blogger’s thoughts on three men in her past. And it seemed cleansing and like reckless heart abandonment. So, I figured, Jeanna could always use a little cleansing. It helps me get a little closer to exactly what I want and need in life, eh? One more step in solving the puzzle…

Here’s my take on her ex-orcism:

_________________________________________________________

I don’t miss how my family didn’t like you and would never have shared my love for you. I don’t miss your constant need for reassuring in everything in life: yourself, your job, your personality, my love. I don’t miss standing on a curb, waiting to see your car come pick me back up, feeling like the world was falling out from beneath my feet. I don’t miss never explaining or justifying myself enough to others when they wondered what I saw in you.

I miss that out-of-control love that I’ll never feel twice. Cause I’ll never be un-jaded like that again.

_________________________________________________________

I don’t miss knowing that I could never convince you that we were perfect together and would have been happy, well, forever. I don’t miss feeling like the smallest flaw in myself meant that I was not the perfect person you imagined spending your life with. I don’t miss feeling like I’d rather die than live life without you.

I miss eenks and wobbles. I miss feeling like I was the luckiest person in the world. I miss our after-softball-game ritual. I miss that plate of lemon bars you’d leave for me in the fridge. I miss your silly love poems and that goofy face you make when you play the guitar. I miss looking at you when we were sleeping and feeling like you were perfect and there was no way I could ever love someone so purely, completely, wildly again. I miss loving someone purely, completely, wildly. You are the only man to truly capture my heart.

_________________________________________________________

I don’t miss how your actions never matched up with your words. I don’t miss the constant letdowns and disappointments. I don’t miss feeling like everything was left unsaid, but if I would have said it, it wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t miss knowing that I was never going to be the woman to snag you, that being crazy about you was always to remain unrequited.

I miss our naughty text messages. I miss setting the alarm an hour early before you went to work. I miss feeling like I couldn’t get to your house fast enough and the butterflies in my stomach might cause me to float up and fly away. I miss that crazy, crazy chemistry. You made me feel sexier than any man ever has.

_________________________________________________________

Awww. Phew. That felt great. Now, here’s the real challenge for those of you who feel like you know the ins and outs of me… name the three.

Currently Feeling: Impatient. Just let it all out.
Currently Anticipating: Caitlin’s going away at Kell’s tonight.
Currently Reading: The Things They Carried.

These ex boyfriends, they’re silly sometimes

In an email exchange with the ole ex today, these two comments were made:

I get a psychic sense that it’s going to take a major life change for you to meet the man of your dreams.

My bet’s on you and your mind making a new start and going to California with an achin’ in your heart.

Psychic premonition, happenstance, really good guess, gut feeling, silly comment, a way to quote my all-time favorite Zeppelin song? Who knows. But, it’s interesting just the same.

My response?

Meh.