Adventures at Bumbershoot

Considering how often I talked up the Bumbershoot music festival to my Australian friends, I was suspiciously reluctant to go.
The reason? Besides my inability to grasp even the most simple musical concepts, and thus enjoy a concert for anything other than people watching, I didn't want to shell out forty bucks to walk around and be a victim of 'unintentional' frottage by stoned teenagers.

I get enough uninvited bodies rubbing against me walking around my building, thank-you-very-much-city-of-Seattle-for-putting-a-methadone-clinic-there.

But I couldn't resist a free ticket.

And it just so happened that my wonderful Stephanie not only had a free ticket, she had two; So, one for me and one for (the also wonderful) Kallista.

Kallista and I were so excited, we couldn't wait for Stephanie (who, due to babysitting commitments, would be joining us later).

We decided to head down hours before hand, and check out all the amazing things to do.

So, with me bursting with excitement, and Kallista looking like a fashion queen as always, we raced inside the festival and prepared ourselves for amazingness.





















This seemed like the greatest idea in the world when we thought of it.
Kallista needed a new wardrobe for fall, I needed a trench coat (people had finally forgotten about the matrix, and before some other movie ruined them again I NEEDED ONE).

The only problem was that the only good shopping places around were downtown. Which was a bit of a trek (at least a thirty minute walk). And we were both wearing four inch heeled boots.



It didn't take long before I started to complain.





Kallista lasted much longer.
But boots were not meant for walking long distances, up and down hills.
And even Kallistas pain tolerance was no match for our stupidity.









We finally stumbled back to the festival late for when we had arranged to met Stephanie.
Not that it mattered too much, as Stephanie was still occupied.



















We watched the Israeli jugglers finish their act (the were spectacular), and Stephanie delivered the little sociopath to their waiting arms.
We were finally free to enjoy the festival!

Except for the sudden awareness I had that I hadn't eaten all day, and we had just walked well over a mile.







I couldn't leave the festival just to get food.
But I'd been keeping so healthy for the last few weeks it seemed a shame to throw it all away.

In the end, my body won out, and it demanded I feed it immediately.
Rather than going by taste, I picked the stand with the shortest line.

Big mistake.

It was a pizza stand.



My Hawaiian pizza was little more than a mushy lump of dough covered in greasy cheese and a few pieces of pineapple. There was no meat to be found anywhere on its glistening surface, and for that I was actually thankful.

The whole thing cost six bucks. Without a drink.





Disappointed in my pizza, I left early and came home to feel sorry for myself and drink a bottle of pepto bismol.

Rain Induced Amnesia

Earlier this week, our great city suddenly remembered 'Oh wait... I'm Seattle' and our weather went from sunny and happy, to rainy and horrible.

And, for some reason I'll never understand, the introduction of rain causes everyone in Seattle to suddenly forget how to drive.
I call it rain induced amnesia.

Now, before I go any further, I'm sure you're all wondering why on Earth you're reading another driving related blog post. This seems like a reoccurring theme here, doesn't it?
Well, there's a good reason for that.

You see, I spend an extraordinary amount of time in my car.
To explain, I drew a chart of how I spend my time daily:


(notice the exclusion of sleep)

That doesn't leave me with much to write posts about.

Especially considering my average work day pretty much consists of the following:











See? That's not very interesting. And that's pretty much my entire work day.

Anyway, back to the point.

I call this phenomenon rain induced amnesia, and it can be expressed as the following formula:
Rain + Seattle Drivers = Total Chaos.

This is especially dangerous considering Seattle drivers are bad drivers on any given day. But rain changes them from careless to outwardly homicidal.


Here is a Seattle driver on a regular day:



And here is a Seattle diver when it is raining:











I'm guilty of this, as well.
But not purposefully.
You see, as well as turning all other drivers into homicidal maniacs with no depth perception, rain turns my wheels into total dicks.

Things That Make Me Happy...

Yesterday was one of the few bad days I've ever had at my new job.
This is not a reflection on my job, at all. It's not you, job; It's me. I just couldn't seem to do anything right.

For example, I spent four frustrating hours attempting to contact a medical evaluation company. I tried their phone, and it was perpetually busy. I tried their other phone, and it had been disconnected. I tried their fax, and it was also busy. I finally e-mailed them, to which I didn't receive a reply.
Five minutes before I left, and two hours after I had officially given up, I received a call from said company informing me that their power had gone out all morning, but had recorded a record 20-something calls from my office. They expressed both praise at my dedication, and a strong questioning of my sanity.
I didn't really blame them.

My day was so frustrating, that I forgot my newest blog post (which was actually finished early this week) at the office in my rush to get out, and had nothing to scan in when I arrived home.

It's days like this that we need reminding of the good things in life. The little things that make us happy when the world suddenly goes insane, and everything we touch dissolves into massive globs of fail.
So I sat down and made a list of the things that remind me that life isn't so bad after all.

1. High Heels

My dad has a saying; High heels are to women what porn is to men.

I disagree, and always told him that PORN is to women what porn is to men, but he never really believes it. His generation is still clinging to the idea that women view sex the same way we view cleaning the house; yeah, we'll do it, but we're not happy about it, and really we're just taking care of it before things get out of hand.

Also, I never see men displaying their porn in decorative shelves in their closet and squealing about what a deal they got on the new Hustler mag. That doesn't happen. And if it does, I really don't want to know about it.

I think shoes are to women what facial hair is to men. It's a source of pride, and makes us feel warm and comfortable in our gender roles (also, makes us feel warm and comfortable on our feet and faces, respectively).

And Cinderella taught us that shoes are magical. They can transform even the lowest servant into a princess; an idea that I and my peers still cling to.
Albeit, we cling to our own idea of the magical power of high heels. Instead of transforming us into princesses (so passe), high heels can transform this:





Into the combination of a power-hungry CEO...



...and a porn star.



Because that's how I feel in high heels. I feel like a mixture of Hilary Clinton and Dita Von Tease, with a little Suicide Girl thrown in for good measure.
High heels make me happy; be they kitten heels or 6 inch Manolo Blahnik stilettos.

(Side note: That exact negligee is available is several fashion colors at a Victoria Secret near you. You're welcome, VS)

2. Sushi

Sushi makes me happy. Because sushi just looks happy.

I mean, look at it:



Sushi also reminds me to try unexpected things. I was so hesitant to order my first Unagi Nigiri (fresh water eel, nigiri style).
It is now my favorite food of all time.



I will eat Unagi anyway possible. It is amazing.

3. Oversized bath robes.



4. Tae Bo/Kickboxing



I could never kick anyones ass. Due to both lack of physical strength, and the fact that in tense situations I have the survival instincts of a potato bug. I curl up and hope no one notices me.

But Tae Bo and Kickboxing make me feel like I could kick someones ass. I feel primal. I feel powerful.
And just when you feel like you can't do anymore kicks, Billy Blank informs me that we have one more set to do AND WAIT ITS DOUBLE TIME!* AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

5. Kittens

Because kittens are pretty much the closest you can get to owning a small, fuzzy serial killer.


I recommend that everyone goes and makes their own 'Things that make me happy' list. Put it on your wall, or above your computer. That way, when you have one of those days where you start calculating just how many people you could take out before the cops get you, you can look at your list and remember that the world is still full of kittens and high heels and all sorts of wonderful things.
And I hope it makes you smile.


*For those who have no idea who Billy Blank is, I pity you. Go download his workout videos now.