I don’t have a future career as a cat groomer

Last night I attempted to shave my white fluffy kitty into a matte-free beauty.

Can I please preface this by saying that I already feel like the most horriblist, terriblist, no-good pet owner in the Whole. Wide. World., so no use to ridicule me in the comments. Yes, I should take the time to brush her out once a week to make sure her coat doesn’t tangle. But, it’s harder than you think. I can barely bring myself to have the time to shave my own legs once a week. (Kidding. Mostly.) I swear she grows a matte before I even have time to bat an eyelash.

Well, I’ve learned my lesson. Last night was horrible.

I don’t think Baby Daddy and I had any idea how much work it would be. I just thought I’d pick up a $19.99 hair clipping kit from Target, come home and make a few swipes here and there and voila! She’d be smooth and silky and not the mangy cat I’ve managed to let her become.

Oh no.

The night went something like Baby Daddy and I in a cloud of white fur, buzzers going, claws scraping, mournful meows, and chunks of hair slowly, slowly shaved off and floating all over the apartment and sticking to both our sweats until we were covered in white fur. We spent a good 45 minutes trying to make progress, and all I have this morning is a pissed-off Persian with two bald spots on the left side of her body.

“Shave her into a lion!” Sarah keeps pushing.

At this point, I’m just trying to keep her from looking like a cat with eczema and cancer.

Currently Feeling: Slowly used to having a boyfriend around again.
Currently Anticipating: VEGAS and 80-degree bathing suit weather this weekend!
Currently Wanting: This anxious job-transition time period to end.

Remains of My Day

I’ve been quite obsessed with this logo and philosophy since seeing it on quite a few bumperstickers around town:

I think I’ll start telling people my religion is Coexistian.

How does someone get this stupid? Paris Hilton should never really open her mouth:

“I love Africa in general—South Africa and West Africa, they are both great countries,” Hilton answered when press asked her what she thought of South Africa on a recent visit.

I am, and always will be, a fan of Milli Vanilli, even if they never really were a band. I still know all the words to their CD. And this video rocks:

We’re gonna blade like it’s 1996

For years, I have said to my friends:

“I will marry the first man who will rollerblade with me.”

For the most part, I’m joking. It’s just been my way to express how much I love rollerblading, and it’s “Perfect Man” criteria I’ve kidded about.

I have been an avid rollerblader since 9th grade. (Yes, I know. Feel free to laugh out loud.) I would “sneak” on my Dolphin Sister, Larisa’s, bus home from school. Remember the days where you couldn’t take another bus home unless you had a written permission slip? There actually is a story of me running and hiding in bushes from the bus driver who was questioning my stop at Larisa’s house instead of my own. I was that determined to rollerblade with her after school. The two of us would spend nearly every sunny day, rollerblading the Burke Gilman trail. On super hot days, we’d skate to docks on Lake Washington, take off our blades, and swim and sunbathe before skating back home. Since then, I’ve spent numerous days rollerblading during springs and summers in Seattle. I wore down those original rollerblades until the wheels were lopsided from wear and tear, and the brake had been missing for years. I finally replaced them last year—eight years later—with a brand new pair I found on Craigslist for $25. Now, I often rollerblade by myself around Greenlake or Larisa and I still go off on two- to three-hour rollerblade excursions. Rollerblading has become a lifeline for me.

In somewhat of a scheme between Larisa and myself, we convinced Baby Daddy that he needs to purchase rollerblades so the two of us could go with Larisa and her boyfriend. (I’ve been insanely jealous that she found a man who will blade with her.) He agreed, (!!) and yesterday we scowered Seattle, up and down, for a place that would sell men’s rollerblades. (They’re a bit obsolete. Strange.) After approximately six phone calls and four destinations, we found a pair he liked. As the cashier rang them up and the $175.79 price popped up on the screen, I saw Baby Daddy’s face reflect slight buyer’s remorse.

“This just means that I owe you $175 in rock climbing equipment for myself, right?”

After all, dating is about learning new things and trying hobbies that your significant other enjoys, right?

As for the marriage stuff, meh. But he had no idea how many points he scored by just being willing to buy blades and go with me because I love it.

I can’t wait for our first rotation around Greenlake tonight.

Currently Feeling: Up and down.
Currently Anticipating: Getting everything squared away at work.
Currently Listening To: Pandora.com; it’s genius!

Say No to Hippies

Saturday morning Baby Daddy and I went to breakfast at the The Hi-Life in Ballard and then decided to take a mini walking and shopping trip through Ballard and Fremont. My goal—a tea strainer and some teas for my mom’s birthday gift. His goal—new sneakers. But not running shoes, and they can’t be black, brown or tan. They have to be GREY. (I’m dating a bit of a metrosexual. But tits okay. I enjoy a man with style.)

Ballard has a well-known teashop that we stopped into. Teashops are quite overwhelming. I had NO idea there was such a subculture in tea. You could buy all sorts of imported teas from Asian with names like “Oriental Beauty” and “Green Goddess.” Now really. I have no idea what “Oriental Beauty” tastes like and prefer tea canisters that give it to you straight. “Peppermint,” “Orange Blossom,” or “Vanilla.” Those I can handle. But there wasn’t just tea, the shop was filled with fancy tea sets, even sets to-go with zippable cases and handles, antique tea tables, and all sorts of contraptions and devices for drinking, preparing and serving tea that I never knew even existed. I didn’t find a basic tea strainer, which is what my mom was wanting. So, the owners kindly directed us to a “natural and herbal” store on the opposite side of the building.

When we pushed open the shop’s door with a tingle from the hanging bell, an overwhelming smell rushed out of incense and Patchouli oil. “Uh Oh…. HIPPIES!” I whispered to Baby Daddy. But, the first table I saw was covered in teapots and mugs, which included strainers for loose teas. Perfect. I picked one up in cornflower blue (my mom’s favorite) and walked through the store to check out their other items and perhaps find a tea to accompany the mug. There were small bags of loose tea, but each looked like a bag of dried weeds and listed ingredients like honeysuckle and catnip. “CATNIP?!” I exclaimed out loud.

“I hope you don’t have a furry friend to compete with at home,” the shop owner said.

Yes. I do. And so does my mom. I’m most certainly not gifting my mom tea with weeds and catnip, or other weird, natural hippie ingredients. “Here mom! I picked up a handful of lawn clippings and mulch from the yard recycle bin, you can drink them as tea, and you can even smoke them!”

I decided against buying tea and wandered over to where Baby Daddy was looking at some incense and soaps. In a display shelf next to where he was standing, there was a sign and a basket of little colorful cloth squares with snaps, in all sorts of fun fabrics. “Hmm. What are these?” I thought, and picked one up, turning it over in my hand. I slowly leaned over to read the description hanging on the shelf.

“All Natural, Re-Usable and Washable Menstrual Pads”

HUHHHHHHHH.

In case that doesn’t translate, it’s supposed to be a sucking in of the breath, shocked and disgusted sort of a sound.

Hippies are dirtier than I ever thought.

Currently Feeling: Slightly better, but still pretty anxious.
Currently Anticipating: My day off for Good Friday tomorrow.
Currently Loving: The patience and understanding that resides in my boyfriend.

Big News…buh buh buh BIG NEWS

I finally got a new job.

Those of you on a regular talking basis with me know that job searching has been a source of strife, exhaustion and heartache for me lately. I’ve been discouraged, in tears over my current job and just plain fed-up. Finding a new job—and sending out three resumes a week to do so—was my New Year’s Resolution for 2008. It’s all I’ve been able to think about, obsess about and talk about. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to keep it separate from the blog for so long.

But, I finally did it. Whew.

Slightly steering one’s self into a different career path is extremely hard. Everyone is always more qualified and a better fit for the job, and the competition out there is tough. I knew changing my career path was something I had to do, however, before I found myself 10 years down the road and still working in the nonprofit sector. No thanks. I have been hunting for a way out of the Jesus Factory off and on now for nine months. I’ve sent out more than 40 resume and cover letters, 14 in February alone. I’ve interviewed in-person and over the phone approximately 10 times. I’ve been one of 60 applicants chosen and one in 100. I’ve been down to the bottom two twice, but wasn’t the one who got the job. I’ve researched, created flashcards, practiced and repeated answers to the top 100 interview questions. I’ve rearranged my schedule, feigned doctors and dentist appointments and sat in rush hour traffic to the eastside in order to make it to interviews. I’ve fantasized for months about what it would be like to have a job downtown, vacation days, sick pay, bonuses, regular raises and awesome benefits. (All that I’ve been lacking while in a contract position.)

And it’s finally come together for me. I feel like I should pinch myself.

Starting April 7th, I will be a Marketing Project Liaison in the Marketing and Communications Department at one of the top three global commercial real estate firms. Commercial real estate? Meh. But marketing. Yessss. I’ve wanted to steer my career into either marketing or advertising. It’s where I envision myself being successful and happy, and where I can combine my two passions—writing and design. What I love most about the position I accepted is the ability to dip my hands in a bunch of different buckets. My department houses the company’s magazine, which I will be able to work on. (Still keeping editorial work in focus, just in case.) I will also be working on inside and outside communication pieces, marketing collateral such as brochures and ads, event planning, etc. I will be on a team of five women, and me—the sixth—who are in charge of all marketing and communication for the U.S., Canada and our global offices. It’s a big job. And I can’t wait to finally work somewhere that I can stay busy, busy, busy, throw myself in with all I have, feel challenged and renewed. I’ve seriously been lacking the aforementioned list at my current job.

Even better—it’s downtown! No more commuting a half an hour each way to work, and just in time for the gas increase to $3.70. I will soon be a bus rider, which from what I heard, will only add to the great stories I can share here for you. Oh, and I am receiving a 10-percent raise and awesome benefit package. That didn’t hurt either.

My mom says, “You better keep your feet on the ground cause you’re likely to float away.”

Floating, yes I am.

Currently Feeling: Slightly embarrassed and concerned.
Currently Anticipating: Everything getting back to normal with Mike now that he’s home.
Currently Loving: 2008. This is my year.

Third Year’s a Charm

Lately I’ve been overwhelmingly busy with a bunch of tricks up my sleeve. Hopefully I can share with the crowd soon. But, in the madness as of late, I missed my second Jeanniversary. This blog—my baby, my journal, my release and the keeper of all my memories—started two years ago, on March 1st, 2006. My posts have changed a bit, but I feel that I’m still the same ole’ me. Maybe just a little less crazy now that I don’t go out six days a week, but we all have to mature sometime, eh?

The site has grown somewhat. The numbers are still quite small, but I’ve managed to nearly triple my readership since the beginning. I really appreciate all of you who have read since the start, and a big welcome to all the new readers. I’ve noticed visitors from all over the worldwide Internet and nation, so please feel free to comment once in awhile. Don’t be skerred. That means you—Colorado, San Diego, San Francisco, New York, some Army base in Florida, Maryland, Illinois, Oregon—Bend, Portland, Hubbard and St. Paul—Bothell, Whidbey Island and all Seattle locations: The Zip Connection, Covad Communications, The Seattle Times, Eschelon Telecommunications, Seanet Corporation, Children’s Hospital, Microsoft, Washington Mutual—and even you, Austria, Peru and South Africa (strange).

Amazing what site stats can provide, eh? The purpose of listing all these is not to scare anyone away, but maybe to get you to introduce yourselves. How did you stumble here? What blog did you link from? What keeps you coming back?

In the meantime, here are my favorite posts from the last year:

March 6, 2007: Accident-Prone, or Unlucky in Life? (20-Something finds herself in yet another drunken, household predicament)

April 27, 2007: When I Grow Up (Little old ladies are the best)

May 4, 2007: Yet Another Reason Not to Pick Someone Up in a Bar (Fun with boys and Peso’s)

May 18, 2007: Lock This Single Up Tight and Throw Away the Key! (One of the crazy dating adventures 20-Something embarked on in 2007)

May 31, 2007: MIA Roommate Drama (Bad habits that are oh-so-nice when the roommate is gone)

July 9, 2007: Neighborhood Battle (20-Something challenges her neighbors to an F-Off)

July 26, 2007: But this. I remember this. I want this. (Squishy, romantic thoughts that get ya)

August 16, 2007: Thoughts on the Three of Them (Reminiscing about three relationships)

August 23, 2007: Dubliner Man Crush gets his haircut: Love blossoms (The oh-so-famous Dubliner Man Crush story)

October 5, 2007: The Body of a 25-Year-Old with a 15-Year-Old’s Crush (20-Something snags the Incredibly Sexy Man in Great Jeans)

October 10, 2007: Bring on the Men! (Dating kicks up speed for Sextober)

October 11, 2007: From Leavenworth to an Impromptu Date (Oktoberfest in Leavenworth leads to a new date for 20-Something)

November 12, 2007: It Doesn’t Get Much Better Than This (Best date ever with Interested Reader)

November 18, 2007: 26 x 365: Mike (Now) (Along comes Baby Daddy)

November 26, 2007: Conundrum, Conundrum, CONUNDRUM (20-Something finds herself juggling two guys)

December 5, 2007: Invasion of the Baby Screamers (Oh joy! Oh fun! Screaming baby moves in)

December 12, 2007: Obstructing the Law in the Name of Christmas (20-Something changes her luck around)

January 2, 2008: I did it…2007 was a Year of Me (How 20-Something declared 2007 a Year of Me)

January 7, 2008: Breaking down my barrier, letting someone in (Letting a super single lifestyle go)

January 10, 2008: Baby Daddy Girlfriend (20-Something gets an official boyfriend for the first time in four years)

January 17, 2008: Late Afternoon, At the Coffee Counter (Boys. Ewww. Gross.)

January 28, 2008: An Open-Ended Letter to Cigarettes (20-Something quits smoking)

February 11, 2008: A Slow but Steady Decline (20-Something finds a dimple in her butt cheek)

Here’s to another year of laughter, love, friends and spilling my life stories on the Internet!

Currently Feeling: Thrilled and anxious.
Currently Anticipating: My first meeting with my Taproot team tomorrow night.
Currently Hating: Now I might have to decide between two?! How’d that happen?

The happiest time on Earth

Did you know that happy hour could be considered an American tradition?

Apparently the term originated in the United States Navy during the 1920s and referred to certain hours on ships were everyone was “happy”—slightly drunk during on-ship performances. Good ole’, accurate and always reliable Wikipedia says that happy hours caught-on during Prohibition, when speakeasies would hold a cocktail hour or “happy hour” before dinner because alcohol could only be legally sold in restaurants at dinnertime. [#]

In fact, all of us Americans should consider ourselves lucky to have happy hours. I was shocked when best girl friend Amanda, who recently moved to Canada with her boyfriend, told me that there’s not a happy hour to be found in her new location outside of Toronto cause they’re not allowed. Happy hour is also banned in Ireland and Britain in an attempt to crackdown on binge drinking. Pffff. I say binge drinking is good for the body and the environment!

To me, there is nothing more exciting than trying to choose which happy hour I want to attend after work—and even better when it’s sunny in Seattle and the patios are wide-open, sunbathing spaces for cheap drinks and eats. I could live in Seattle for the rest of my life and probably never make it to all the happy hours available. How’s that for a reason to keep on living? If the United States ever bans happy hour, that will be my last and final straw to vacate this country for my own happy-hour-loving (and Republican-free) island.

Sarah and I are heading to happy hour tonight, which of course has meant many emails back and forth, and a little research on the best happy hour site ever. It’s between $4 martins and small plates at Tini Bigs, Tom Douglas’ Lola with $3 appetizers and a $5 Greek martini, or $1.95 sushi and $3.95 cocktails at DragonFish…

Really, what’s a girl to do?!

Currently Feeling: Jazzed, impatient and serially excited.
Currently Anticipating: Our sexual chocolate girl party this weekend!
Currently Hoping: That I’ll know the verdict by Monday.

For love of the job

Two questions I was asked in my interview this morning:

1. If you were in a boat with four people, and it started to sink, what would you do?

2. If you could be any appliance, which would you be and why?

And I thought I was only in competition with other candidates over my professional skills and experiences…now I have appliances dictating my hiring capabilities. Awesome.

How would you have answered?

For the record, I said I’d take off an article of clothing and stop up the hole. And that I’d want to be a refrigerator so I’d always have people around me and never be bored… Why, Hello Mr. Pickles. How do you like my shirtless boobies? …

This is just getting weird.

Currently Feeling: Hopeful and antsy.
Currently Anticipating: Oh glorious weekend, why are you still a day away?
Currently Loving: Feeling on top of my bills right now.

The One After You

In bed, Neil asked me if I’d ever been close to getting married.
I told him a little about Chris: He’d grow up in Manhattan, gone to Brown, and worked as an advocate for homeless people. I said that we’d been engaged for three weeks when I decided not to go through with it.
“Why?”
“I saw that getting married wasn’t going to change anything,” I said. “It would just be more of the same.”
“Which was…?”
I said, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”
He said, “So, you don’t regret it?”
“He died,” I said. “In a car wreck.”
“Jesus,” he said. “When?”
“About a year later.”
“That’s so sad,” Neil said, holding on to me.
He fell asleep, and for a long time I lay there. Then I got dressed and went downstairs. I poured myself a glass of wine and took it outside to the little porch.
There was a nice moon, not full but fat, and it lit up the apple trees and the petals underneath.
I smoked a cigarette.
What I didn’t tell Neil was that I always thought I’d wind up with Chris, even after we’d broken up, even after he’d died.

Adam had gone with me to the funeral. It was crowded, as a young person’s funeral almost always is. We sat in the back, where it was hard to see and hard to hear.
I was looking at all the women. I could only see them from behind, but I studied each one, their hair and backs. Their necks and shoulders. Their arms. I found myself thinking, You? Did he sleep with you? Here I was at his funeral, overwhelmed not by grief but jealousy.
Reading my mind, Adam told me that whoever these women were they hadn’t meant anything to Chris. “They were just keeping your seat warm,” he said.
As a procession, we walked to Central Park, past the carousel to the field where Chris had played softball on Sundays. There was a metal can of his ashes, and Adam and I each took some and scattered them on the mound. As a joke, I said, as I had a thousand times, “Tell me the truth: You don’t think Chris and I will ever get back together, do you?”
Adam laughed, and so did I; he hugged me, and then I think he knew I was about to cry because he said, “Oh shoot, I think I got Chris on you,” and dusted off my coat.
Adam and I were walking to the Boathouse when a woman stopped us. “You don’t know me,” she said. “I’m Myla. I was the one after you.”
Once she’d gone, Adam said, “See?”
It didn’t make any difference.
The part of my brain that made no sense at all didn’t believe Chris was dead. He’d switched hospital ID bracelets or charts with another patient. He’d tied sheets together and lowered himself out the window. I looked for him, like he was a fugitive in hiding. A hank of blond hair, a jean jacket, and I’d think, Chris.

I’d always thought of him as the one who got away, but right then it stopped being true. I knew that if Chris walked across the moony grass and up to this porch and proposed again I would say no again.
I wondered if he was here—that is, everywhere. I imagined that he was. I imagined him saying, Who’s the guy inside?
As though he had, I made my voice as kind as I could: “He’s the one after you.”

Pg. 275-276, “The Wonder Spot,” Melissa Banks.

How a Fashionista Keeps Her Books

Oh yeah baby. I finally did it:

In last Friday’s aftermath of one of the most stressful and crappy days in my professional career to date, (will explain when it’s safe to talk about the enemy), I decided to come home, turn off my phone, put on a little bit of “Burn One Down” by Ben Harper and color-coordinate my bookshelf. [Yes. Sometimes I'm a little bit crazy. Hence the whole label reserved for this.] There’s nothing that says calm like a little bit of order and semblance to my life when other parts seem to be falling apart.

And there’s something about these lyrics that have always spoken volumes to me. Since I was a 19-year-old college freshman, unsure about my path in life and how people view me, till now—a 26-year-old, sometimes still unsure about my path in life and how people view me:

“My choice is what I choose to do;
And if I’m causin’ no harm,
It shouldn’t bother you.
Your choice is who you choose to be;
And if you’re causin’ no harm,
Then you’re alright with me.”

If only I had something I could turn into a rainbow every time there was a bad moment…life would be a little bit easier. And brighter.

Currently Feeling: Rejuvenated.
Currently Anticipating: 10 days from today.
Currently Hating: 250-foot Jesus. I’ll stick with the 8-pound baby, thanks.