How does the word flaky make you feel

Do you think to yourself, “Eww…I’m kinda flaky” or “Gawd I hate flaky people”?

Because I think there are two types of people in this world – flaky and non-flaky. However, I’m unsure how this comes about, and I wonder if flaky people, deep down, know they’re flaky. Or does everyone say they hate flaky people, but we’re all, in our own little ways, flaky at one point or the other? Conversely, what makes someone flaky – a selfishness and lack of others’ time, overall listlessness, or a general uncaring attitude? Perhaps it’s larger, more private issues – like social anxiety or depression – maladies that cause people to want to stay in, alone, instead of being where they said they’d be. Or perhaps we’re all just overbooked, overworked, overcommitted, oversocialized…

I thought about this today during a conversation I had with someone about how hard it is to throw events these days because everyone RSVPs “Yes”, but shows up to less than 50 percent of what they RSVP to.

The conversation made me awfully grumbly – if there’s one thing I abhor in life, it’s flaky people. I work very hard to only commit to events I can actually make it to, and will run myself into the ground to show up to where I promised I’d be, even if it’s the last thing I want to do. (Which, on the flip side, probably isn’t that healthy).

But, my word is strong – if I tell you I’ll be there, unless something like throwing up, car troubles, lost keys or other life altering events happen that prevent my presence, I’ll be there.

I realized, it is very important in this life of mine to be reliable.

Because I put such weight on being reliable, it’s really hard for me to be patient with any and all of the following:

• Someone who is afraid to call and tell you they don’t want to go anymore, so they don’t answer texts and emails and kinda fall off the face of the Earth until magically, after wherever they were supposed to be is over, they “Find their phone.”
• Someone who commits to something that requires a head count, and splitting of costs, then bails out at the last minute – stiffing everyone else with their portion of the bill that they committed to.
• Someone who reschedules and cancels and reschedules and cancels, and cancels and cancels and then shows up late.
• Someone who replies “maybe” to every invite – never committing to anything (now, is that flaky or noncommittal?)
• Someone who commits to plans, which require them to be there for the other person to go, and because they back out, the other person is stuck not doing something they wanted to do.
• Someone who bails on anything that required tickets or reservations.
• Etc, etc, etc.

What are your thoughts on the what it means to be flaky? Do you put an emphasis on it?
Do you think I put too much emphasis on it? I’d love to hear your thoughts…

All I ask is for a G.D. pencil with my name on it

At the bottom of the rather large building I work in (56 floors, and I’m on the 53rd), there is a little tiny shop named Dimples. The owners are Korean and oh so friendly. The husband stands outside the doors of the shop at around 4:45 and says, “Goodnight!” to everyone who are walking to their cars or out to hit the streets for a bus or walk home. And every time I buy lunch there he asks, “What schweet would you like?” and I get to pick out either a York Peppermint patty or a mini box of Junior Mints. (Of course I go with the latter).

The store is what they call a “sundries” shop – a little bit of this, a little bit of that – two rows of greeting cards, a rack of wine and one for magazines, soups, Lean Cuisines, daily sandwiches and sushi, medicines, candy and little trinkets, which I suppose are there to grab in case it’s Secretary Day or someone’s birthday.

I usually run down there for the 3 p.m. snack attack – or to kill some time away from the good ole desk job. This week, I noticed a rack of personalized stickers for little boys and girls in the corner of the store. My IMMEDIATE reaction was to spin the rack and search for a set with my name on it. Or at best, something near my name. Or perhaps the first letter?

Nope. No such luck. Never in my life.

See, my mom gifted with one of those names that I could NEVER find on pencils, toothbrushes, note pads, stickers, or all those random other items that are personalized, and sitting on racks and taunting little kids cause it’s THE.COOLEST.THING.EVER to have a pencil in RAINBOW colors with your very OWN NAME on it.

I was never one of those kids, and it seriously always made me feel like the world wasn’t fair. I distinctly remember more than a handful of times, spinning those racks and wondering why they never put MY name on a key chain.

And here I am, 27 and still longing for fugly sparkly bear stickers, that are made AWESOME cause they’re PERSONALIZED. Although what the hec would I do with them, but even still, that little kid in me still wants them – still kinda feelin’ like the world isn’t fair.

What is that?

I think I’m going to start a company that makes personalized items for EVERY name in the baby book! It wouldn’t be a rack, it would be an ENTIRE AISLE of personalized rainbow pencils since I think there are approximately 489,650 names out there. But at least there wouldn’t be a little girl, searching through the pencils and feeling like the world left her out!

Currently Feeling: SO relieved today is over with. Time to celebrate!
Currently Anticipating: Drinks with the Bestie tonight.
Currently Loving: The May we’ve had in Seattle! The best I can remember in a long time.

Bad luck in the Random Shiz That Goes On department

I have some serious bad luck in the Random Shiz That Goes On department.

I don’t think I’d consider myself a clumsy person – I don’t generally have a problem with dropping things, falling over, tripping, etc. But I do have a problem with little mishaps and sometimes I just do stupid shiz, so I guess I might be a little accident prone.

It appears as if I have to “initiate” myself into a new home with one of these little accidents before my body, mind and soul can feel comfortable there. It’s becoming a tradition.

For example, for those of you who are new readers, when I moved into my old apartment about two years ago, I came home after an all-nighter at the bars and accidentally knocked deodorant out of the cabinet above the toilet after flushing it, and it was SUCKED UP the freakin’ toilet. Full story is here. Can you believe that? How does that happen? So, for at least the first week, the toilet was out of order while my landlord called a plumber. The whole debacle cost me $75. For bumping something out of the GD cupboard. Anybody else and the deodorant would have probably just fallen to the ground. But oh no, me – well, for me, it has to actually be timed just perfectly to be sucked up the toilet, clog it and cost me a mighty large fee for a drunken stumble. Bad luck in the Random Shiz That Goes On department.

So, last week was my first week living in the sexy new place, and I was packing away with bated breath, waiting for me to do something stupid. I almost lost an entire 16 ounces of dark iced tea all over the white carpet while walking into my room on the first night – but I caught it at the last minute. Phew. Looks like I was going to escape being a retard* just this once.

The next evening I was making dinner and hanging some pictures in the kitchen (I’m an ultimate multitasker), so I go to pick up the hammer, and the edge catches the plastic container of nails and screws that I have, and the ENTIRE freakin’ container FALLS into the SINK with the GARBAGE DISPOSAL and at least 10 NAILS and other metal objects fall DOWN the disposal.

F*%#$@!

Now, because garbage disposals and gross food particles kinda give me the gag reflex, I told my roommate not to use it, put a plug over it and waited, sneakily for my boyfriend to come over a couple days later so I could ask him to fish out the nails for me, via the form of a “favor.”

Saturday morning I woke up and started off with, “I’ll make you breakfast if you do a favor for me.”

“Are you serious? Like what…” he eyes me warily. At this point, I’ve already enlisted him for moving my entire apartment, helping me break down and take out all the cardboard boxes, hanging items I can’t hang myself, storing a lot of my stuff I can’t fit at my place in his garage, and cleaning my old apartment. Some might say I’m running a slave relationship. I just say this is the reason why girls have boyfriends next to the fact that battery-operated items sometimes get old.

So I explain the nails to him, and he shakes his head, rolls up his sleeve and starts to fish around for NAILS and SCREWS in the garbage disposal. Of course, when I explained it to him, I just said, “a few.” I didn’t say “nearly the entire box.” So by screw number four and nail number eight, he was starting to get a bit frustrated with me. After about 40 minutes of fishing and a few scraped knuckles, he couldn’t see anymore, so we turned the disposal on.

RUUUHHH RUUHHHH SCUUUUUGG RUUH. zuuuuuu uuu uu u

The sucker stopped spinning. After further inspection, we still couldn’t find any more nails – so that means one is probably stuck somewhere we can’t reach, preventing it from spinning, and now I’ve broken the GD garbage disposal in week one and have to call my landlord to fix it.

The BF flicked off the switch, shook his head and looked at me.

I know exactly what he was thinking….

How in the HELL do you do this shiz?!

How?! I’ll tell you how – because I have BAD LUCK IN THE RANDOM SHIZ THAT GOES ON DEPARTMENT.

*I’m sorry if this term offends you. If it does, you should probably not read the blog. Hence the terms of my profile. Perhaps I should amend it to say, “I drink, fornicate and use the word retard a lot, therefore I’m not going to heaven.”

Currently Feeling: Jazzed up for the 30-day challenge I just enlisted myself in. Check it out!
Currently Anticipating: A dinner tonight to celebrate my Bestie’s one-year return to home, a boat festival and parade on the Seattle waterfront tomorrow in 66-degree weather (!!!) and a lovely Sunday planned for Mother’s Day, including brunch at a new spot in Ballard.
Currently Needing: Some really great summer/spring shoes.

I’m dreaming of a NON white Christmas

Okay, okay, I don’t really need to say it – but Seattle is covered in snow; it’s totally nutso. Apparently we’re drowning in the worst sea of white since 1998. The headlines shout “Worst Snowstorm in 10 Years!” but I don’t remember anything like this when I was 16… I have no memory whatsoever of there ever being this much snow in Seattle. It’s crazy.

I know that those reading in outlying cities probably think we’re total pansies. But cut us some slack – we’re not used to this! We’re equipped with extra strength windshield wipers, galoshes, extra large umbrellas and waterproof jackets, but all for the RAIN not a foot of SNOW.

Usually, I don’t mind the snow – when I choose to travel to it in the mountains to snowboard. I don’t love to live my every day life in it. Everything that last couple days has been f@*ked. The buses aren’t running. It takes me an hour to get to work, and this morning I trudged a mile to a main bus stop in my neighborhood, to wait with 50+ other people. When a bus finally pulled up, it was packed and only had room for five people… And driving is out of the question. My little red VW beetle is buried in the back parking lot of my building, and the only exit route is down a huge iced hill with stranded SUVs. You think my car’s going to make it if their car didn’t?! Plus, my tires are bald. I’m terrible at car maintenance unless my dad sits me down and reams me for an hour about the importance of simple procedures such as changing my oil or buying new tires… then eventually gives up, does it for me and then adds it to my long running list of IOUs. So yeah, bald tires dad. Help?

The worst part about it – I’ve had so many fun social engagements canceled the last couple days because no one can drive anywhere… a Christmas party with friends from San Fran who I never get to see, decorating the Christmas tree with my family, a college reunion party with a friend who’s only in town for a week. Insult to injury, my boyfriend lives 30 minutes (no traffic, driving 70mph) outside of Seattle. So yeah, that’s keeping us apart. I’m literally going stark raving mad. If I don’t get OUT. of. the. HOUSE. tonight and do some freakin’ drinking and socializing, or at least get a piece of ass, then you might as well count this as my last blog entry because I’ll be spending the rest of the year down the bunny hole with Alice and the White Rabbit.

Eff you snow.

Currently Feeling: Like I don’t really need two weeks of vacation after all this time snowed in, watching TV and reading.
Currently Anticipating: CHRISTMAS!
Currently Reading: “Saving Fish From Drowning” by Amy Tan

I’m gonna lose my boyfriend to a coffee-slinging hooker

I think a lot of times, us coupled types can get comfortable in our relationships and fail to really see our partner through a fresh pair of eyes. After a good amount of time has gone by, you see the other person in sweats and slippers more than than you see them dressed, and it’s easy to forget to compliment quite as much or not pick apart silly stuff.

I’m terrible at this. Lately I’ve been more inclined to crinkle my nose at my boyfriend’s work uniform (I hate it), tell him that he should have probably ironed his shirt, or tease him about his chicken legs. I think I’ve been slacking a little in the compliment department lately. It’s not that I don’t think he’s just as hot as the day I met him. Actually, scratch that. I think he’s MORE hot. It’s just that it kinda not so top-of-mind anymore.

Yesterday a friend posted a group pic from the summertime on his Facebook page that I hadn’t seen yet:

And there was my boyfriend, all smiley and tan in his army shorts (majah weakness for camo), and I was reminded how much I think my boyfriend’s a sexy bitch. Just looking at this pic gets me all hot and bothered. So, I left work yesterday, thinking about how bad I wanted to see him and tear his clothes off, and tell him that’s he’s HOT.

Except someone had already beat me to it. I walked into his kitchen, and there was an empty Starbucks cup on his counter with something along the lines of the following:

Hi Mike! Hope you have a great day out there!
Heart, Theresa
253-xxx-xxxx

@*&$#&!!!! *$##@@$#!!!

I don’t really have a jealous bone in my body, but my feathers are really ruffled about this.

I’m trying to resist the urge to visit all Starbucks within his general work and home radius (which would be really hard, natch, this is Seattle!) and mean-mug all the baristas.

Currently Feeling: Headachy from staring at Web site code all week.
Currently Anticipating: My holiday wine party tomorrow night!!! Should have some good stories and pics.
Currently Needing: To get started on my Christmas shopping.

Car-less in the City

A month or so ago, I started thinking about what it would be like to sell my car… and started to question, “Do I really need a car since I work and live downtown?”

Most everyone I posed the question to thought I was crazy – but all I could think about was the money it’d save. So, I thought about setting a November 1 date to attempt to go “car-less” for a period of time before I really decided to kiss my beloved little red Bug away.

Be careful for what you wish for.

In the hectic-ness of Halloween and then the election, I missed my November 1 set car-less date. But, as fate would have it–I lost my car key Election night, so I was intermittently forced to go car-less anyway. Unfortunately though, this little amendment to the car-less plan is going to cost me $220 to replace my computer-chip key that has to be purchased and programmed from the dealership. (AN.NOY.ING)

In short: my car has been parked for the last two plus weeks, and I’ve been making my way through the city by bus. And I can tell you, for an extremely independent woman, living without a car is effing brutal.

It’s nice and all to walk more places (with increasing blisters on my heeled feet) and to save money on gas and cab fare (taking the bus to bars), but it is IMPOSSIBLE to do a lot of things that I’m used to—like running to another neighborhood for dinner with friends on a Thursday night. Oh no, this now requires two hours worth of busing and three transfers to get home, but “home” is really six blocks away—at 10:30 at night. I don’t have that kind of time or energy when I’m tired after work. So, instead of traveling for two hours via bus to hang out for dinner for one hour, I skip out on the dinner. [NOT OKAY in my book.]

By the time I get most places by bus, I’m too exhausted or annoyed [read: increasing amount of time on the bus = spending more time with crazies than I do with my own friends and family. I don’t think this is good for the soul] to want to accomplish the goal of my errand in the first place.

I would like to go car-less at some point in my life, I just don’t think it’s feasible while living in Seattle, with family 30-minutes north and two-hours south; friends who live 20-minutes plus from my house by car; and a boyfriend who lives 30-minutes plus by car.

In conclusion: I am going to learn from my new crazy friends how to panhandle money to save up for a replacement car key since Christmas, the economy and saving for a friend’s destination wedding in five months deems it an impossible expense at the time.

ARGH!

Currently Feeling: Sick of staying home to save money this week.
Currently Anticipating: Catching a drink with Amanda and our old friend in Ballard tonight.
Currently Regretting: My lunch-time retail therapy. Oh, but I got two beautiful new scarves!

Get the hec off my cloud

People see a little…off…today. Is it the weather?

My bus ride this morning was just odd. It was more crowded than usual, and one girl (slightly more curvy then the average bear) with a huge backpack and brown bag full of stuff (plus her own bag) had to stand and sway and fall over and trip in front of all of us on the back of the bus. She nearly fell over and a nice old lady said, “Are you okay?” “YES. I’m FINE,” she huffed back. Two people, including me, offered her a seat. The first she snottily replied, “No. There’s not enough room for me anyway!” And when I offered to move so she could have two seats, she replied in a shrill voice, “No. Nothing is going to work!” Yikes. We’re just trying to be nice, you freak show.

Then there was a guy listening to music so loud that the entire back of the bus could hear all the lyrics through his headphones. Everyone was glowering, glaring and mean-mugging him left and right. First it was extreme rap, then it was something Pantera-esque, then it was The Rolling Stones (the only decent choice). When one girl asked him to turn it down, he ignored her and looked straight ahead, continuing to interrupt our nice book-reading bus ride without so much a sorry or apologetic care in the world.

Then, I get into work, and the head of IT is setting up a brand new computer. “Ooh, that’s a pretty new screen!” I commented–very cheerfully–might I add. You know, just trying to make friendly conversation with the computer geeks. And he didn’t mutter a word, ignored me and didn’t even look up. Sheesh.

You know people, just because you’re having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, doesn’t mean you need to take it out on the rest of society who might be having a not so bad day until all of your negative energy pierced my purple aura bubble.

Currently Feeling: A little nervous, but excited for Miami!
Currently Anticipating: Finally getting cable at home. Lol.
Currently Hating: Comcast. Why are they always SO retarded?

Curly Like Jessie Spano*

I am a curly headed woman.

I know, I know. You all have to peel yourselves off the floor in shock from reading that line.

BUT, as a curly headed woman, I’ve spent years, probably 1,000s of dollars and countless hours using, purchasing, researching and gathering recommendations for THE PERFECT CURL hair product. I’d like to think that I’m somewhat of an expert. In fact, the commission I made on hair product sales while working as a receptionist at a salon during college supported my college drinking habit.

So, it really just frosts my cookies when I see really great curl potential walking around in light-socket, mad-scientist frizz. Come on people – put some product on that head of hair of yours!!

That’s my thought of the day.

*Jessie Spano

Currently Feeling: Like a fatty.
Currently Anticipating: “Dexter,” wine and boyfriend on the new couch tonight.
Currently Wishing: I was going to the Goldfrapp concert tonight at the Showbox. No money, there’s never any money!

Unhappy in Sushi Land

Conveyor belt sushi is unbelievably terrible.

Prior to my sushi-loving days of late, I’d get drug along for dinner at a conveyor belt sushi restaurant and everyone would exclaim, “Oh, it’s so amazing!” Since this was before I could even stomach California rolls, I grabbed the orange plates with edamame, pot stickers and tempura. I was never really that impressed. It wasn’t until I was introduced to sushi restaurants with lovely, detailed menus and options, did I really become a fan. And since I’m terribly spoiled with places like Chiso, Kisaku, Dragonfish and Wasabi Bistro in Seattle and Sam’s Sushi right down the street from my house, shying away from what I deemed the “fast food” of sushi proved to be effortless.

But last night I was in Redmond, searching for somewhere to eat before the evening showing of the new scary movie, The Strangers, and I was craving sushi. If you want to get rich quick, open a decent sushi place in Redmond. Apparently there’s only one conveyor belt sushi place and one buffet-style Japanese place, which rumor has it, features mediocre rolls. Since the conveyor belt sushi restaurant was right next to the theater, we opted to try it out, against our better judgment.

Oi vay.

Where do I begin?

The wait was terrible. People were standing all around the perimeter of the restaurant, and the empty spots weren’t being cleaned or sat till approximately 10 minutes or more after people left.

The service was terrible. My “refillable” ice tea was never refilled nor could we find anyone to help us or answer questions.

The general appearance was gross. The big pot of wasabi was crusted around the edge and dry, and there were crumbs, napkins, chopstick wrappers and plastic plate toppers all over the floor.

The sushi was S-I-C-K. There was no way to tell if something had been sitting on the conveyor belt all day or not. And a lot of it certainly looked like it had. The rolls could not be deciphered from the menu in front of us, nor did half of the menu ever make it to the belt. The whole time I was waiting for a tempura shrimp roll, a veggie roll, a house roll—something—to make an appearance. But all that ever circulated was California rolls, made with what looked like imitation crab coleslaw, and nigiri—various logs of white rice with slabs of fish lying on top. Then there were the rolls that scared me beyond belief—corn in some sort of white mayonnaisey sauce, stuffed in seaweed, and tuna salad stuffed in seaweed. Since when does sushi include food you’d find at a barbecue or ingredients you’d find sandwiched between two pieces of whole wheat?

“Fast food of sushi”—pshaw. That was being nice. I now deem conveyor belt sushi the sushi outlet store.

Currently Feeling: Hatred for the G.D. weather.
Currently Anticipating: This Monday being over. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
Currently Loving: These. I’m ordering them immediately.

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.