Two week blergness

Is this thing still on?

I have been away from the bloggie because I have been away from home for the last couple of weeks doing something super not fun. I don't want to get into the details of not funness but suffice it to say that it involved travel, and a sick loved one, and hospitals, and the whole thing from beginning to end was awful. Sorry to be mysterious, but talking about it will just give me the voms at this point.

Instead, I shall talk around it by giving you some various thoughts I had over the past two weeks, without context. Wheee!

1. I have somehow avoided travel to cold climates in winter for many years now, and had forgotten what zero degrees feels like. MOTHERCRACKER zero degrees is not even RIGHT. It burns your lungs, and makes it feel like you have icicles in your nostrils, and it shrinks up your ballsack even if you do not have a ballsack. I remember that when I first moved to Seattle, I told people it was because I couldn't stand one more winter, and I had forgotten that I was actually telling the truth. Cold. YEE-ICK.

2. I was standing in the ICU while some serious shit was going down and I noticed that the ICU muzak was playing "My Heart Will Go On." Am I wrong or should that song not be played in the ICU, ever? Like, ever, ever? Majorly inappropes, dudes.

3. I didn't have time to read, look at tv, listen to music ("My Heart Will Go On" notwithstanding), or get any news for 10 days. I now feel like I am coming out of a bubble. Olympics what now?

4. Hospitals are food deserts, at least this one was. That cafeteria had all kinds of soda and candy but fruit? Not so much. One day there they actually stocked some yogurt cups and I almost cried.

I have been thinking about help. What do you do when someone you know needs help? Like, not just easy help. The kind of help that is inconvenient, where you may actually have to make some effort, go out of your way, make a sacrifice? Do you hesitate? Do you say "I wish I could do more, but..." I was talking to someone yesterday about how I was surprised at how few of the people around this current situation had made a big effort, and the person said back to me "well, I can understand people not feeling comfortable with that." Not feeling comfortable helping? Not feeling comfortable getting involved? Are we really that way? Afraid to get involved, even with the people we love? This makes me profoundly sad.

Today my loved one was in a compromising situation, and I am already back in Seattle and not there to help. I reached out to my pal Alli, who is a well-known helper in my life, to see if she had any ideas on what to do. She told her mother-in-law about it, and her mother-in-law is now on her way to my loved ones house to help. This woman doesn't even really know me, and has never met my loved one in her life. But she is showing up, inconveniencing herself, getting involved. Don't you just love that woman? Don't you just want to BE that woman? Next time you think you can help someone, think of Alli's mom-in-law and please just do it, even if it's messy, inconvenient, or intimidating. Isn't that the world we want to live in?

We're Going

A couple of weeks ago, I woke up, grabbed my phone, and looked at my blog reader. One of the things settled in there, like a glowing taunt on the screen, was a little article about the fact that Baryshnikov was going to be doing a run of a recent show that he produced and starred in in California. I had read reviews of this show, and was fascinated with it in a way that I can only describe as an ache. Chekhov short story? Yes, please. Dance? Come on, who you talking to. Innovative staging? Yeah, buddy. Elements of film, music, and visual art, all woven together? Gimme. Themes of love and loneliness? YOU SPEAKETH MY LANGUAGE. Add freaking Baryshnikov to the whole thing? It is really too much. Too much!

I handed the phone to Nordic Boy and made some sort of whiney remark, and then we got out of bed, got ready for work, and went. It was a cold (ok, I know, east coast and midwest, I KNOW it's not that cold), soggy, sloggy week. I just felt drenched and clammy, physically and otherwise.

A few hours after I saw that article, Nordic Boy rang me up while I sat desoggifying in my office. "That show? In California? We're GOING," he said. Plane tickets, show tickets, done.Whu-hutt!! 

That very weekend, we jumped on that plane, we busted out into some glorious, delicious California sunshine (no coats!), we wandered around Berkeley, had a lovely dinner, and then went to the show. Front row, even!

I have had the privilege of seeing Baryshnikov perform in person many times in my life, as a child, as a teen, as an adult. I've even had the (absolutely nutso) privilege of having him see me dance one time during a rehearsal of a show he was affiliated with, once upon a time in a life that doesn't seem like mine. So aside from the brilliance of the show (and it truly honestly for realsies was brilliant), I have a lot of personal nostalgic stuff all deep in my guts for that guy. Add onto that that my dad loved Chekhov stories. Add onto that that my sweet fella looked at me so tender as the lights went down at the start of the show. There were several moments that made me cry, a lot, during that show, because my feels were so feelsy. Too much.

After the show, we strolled the streets and then had drinks at the hotel bar and talked and talked about what we'd just seen. If there is something that's better than seeing good art and then gabbing about it with Nordic Boy, I don't know what it is.

The entire trip just makes me think about the things we talk ourselves out of doing. Granted, not everyone can afford to do shit like that, and we can't afford to do it much either, but this time, instead of saying no, Nordic Boy helped me to say yes. And it was a weekend that I'll remember forever. Art and love, my two favorite things. Perfection.

Decembhair

Hey you want to talk about my hair some more? Because we're gonna. So, I recovered from bad Haircuttageddon 2013 and I went to Michigan to visit my mom. While there all sorts of things happened, and one of them was that I took a box of my Dad's things and mailed the box back to Seattle. When I packed it, I thought, hey, as long as I am mailing this box, if there is room in here I might as well pack some of my heavier items that would have gone in my suitcase, because Nordic Boy and I packed super tight (one week, one small carry on suitcase between the two of us LIGHT PACKERS AWARD) so why not take advantage of this mailed box and stuff some shit in there, thus alleviating the suitcase burden? I put in a book, and my boots, and a sweater, and my hair dryer. I was not thinking about the fact that it would take a week to get to Seattle. More than a week because of the holiday, actually. Which left me Hairdryerless In Seattle. Which meant that even though I had a good haircut again, I now had ugly non-blowdried hair for days.

I am so sorry to discover this about myself. That I am such an effing pain in my own ass about my hair. But I am so vain that that song is totally about me, you guys. Ugh. WORST.

I am vain, but not vain enough to go out and buy another hair dryer for a week and a half, so that says something, I guess. I will say that I did a happy jig when that damn box was delivered today though.

You know what else happened? I was paying my automo-bills (Destiny's Child, wut wut) over the weekend and I discovered that while we were in Michigan someone here in Seattle was running amok with our credit card number. SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS WORTH OF AMOK. It's that sort of discovery that makes you not worry about your hair for a minute. It seems like our credit card people are going to be cool about it, but that was a jolt to the old ticker, I tell you.

Oh yeah, and there was that whole Giving of the Thanky Feelings Day that happened too. We had Delium and Biogirl over for the vittle times for that. The rest of the weekend was spent going to a movie (Hunka Hunka Burning Shirtless Thor 2), snuggling up at home, and turning up the furnace.

I solemnly lemon pledge to you that we will not talk about my hair again for a very long time.

Winterize, Flinterize

We're in Michigan for the week to visit with my mom (how weird to not say "mom and dad" there) and help her hunker down for the winter months ahead. We have been taking her car in for maintenance, raking leaves, pruning trees, getting firewood ready, cleaning house, changing furnace filters, fixing little things around the house, etc. She still has lots of things that were in both her and my dad's names so we're helping her get everything into her name, and we're supporting her as she starts the gradual process of getting rid of my dad's stuff. Today we went through his closet.

Yeah, so. That's what's happening.

It's been a while since I've been back to Michigan at just this time of year, and it makes me remember why fall is so awesome. Fall in Seattle is a much less vibrant affair- things never really stop being green there for the most part which can be nice in its own way, but this is pretty rad.

Night Owl

Place: airport. Time: pre-crack-of-ass. Me: sloppy, sloppy tired.

High class water closet

It is 90 degrees outside today! I believe I am the only person in all of Seattle that is happy about this. I just want to get out there and BAKE IT LIKE A POLAROID PICTURE. I know that lyric doesn't make sense when changed that way, but wheeeee I am sun drunk and so who cares.

Hey, so the other day, Nordic Boy and I drove up to our house and there were FIVE raccoons just chillin' on our front porch. It was maybe 5pm. Aren't raccoons supposed to be creatures of the night? Is that not the pact that they have agreed to with us? Nordic Boy and I started up our front stairs, saw the raccoon gang, and we backed our shit up and got back into our car to discuss what the hell we should do next. Do you think we are fraidy cats? I don't care because raccoons are mothereffing badasses and they will tear you a new crack crater if you mess with them. It took a few minutes but they decided to move along- they paraded down our front stairs, looked us in the face as we sat in our car, and they were all "THUG LIFE" and walked right past us and crossed the street into our neighbor's yard.

Did I tell you that when I was in Chicago a few months ago, Alli and I were taking an afternoon stroll through her neighborhood and we were walking by these train tracks and we saw a pack of 4 skunks waddling along a few yards away from us? What is with my only seeing smallish wild mammals in packs? Thank goodness the skunks were not startled by us or else they surely would have did that nasty shart-like spray on us or what have you.

I am super well-versed in the ways of nature, can't you tell? A regular Marlin Perkins.

In other news, we worked on our bathroom this weekend. Want to see?

Here's what it looked like before we started:

The counter and sink were super low, which I guess was nice only in that I felt like a total giant every time I was in there, and the counter was also built slanting outward so the depth took up all the space in the room. When Nordic Boy and I were in there at the same time, it was squishville. I always felt like we were fighting over the mirror, which when I say it like that makes it seem like we are vain, vain people, pushing each other to the side to gaze lovingly at ourselves. Which, I guess if fighting over the mirror was such a problem, then maybe?

Anyway, so it got ripped out.

Then Nordic Boy put in new insulation, replumbed some stuff, rewired and put in new lights.

 Then we bought a medicine cabinet/mirror that was more suitable for our gigantic pair of faces. There are even mirrors on the inside of it so we can love ourselves even when it's open. And the storage space! Line up all the things in the cabinet! LINE THEM UP!

 And then there was a new sink and new storage that allows both Nordic Boy and I to be in there at the same time, cozy but not squished:

And finally, new tile, which classed up the joint:

Result: I just want to be in my bathroom all the time. I am considering moving in there.

"If you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?"

Leavin' on a jet plane

Like T Pain says, it's five o'clock in the morning. Unlike T Pain, I'm not going to tell you a horny story about it. I'm up because I'm headed out of town, back to the Michigan homeland. The airport is a decidedly unhorny place. Maybe if I were T Pain, I would feel different. About many things, probably.

There are so many things happening that I'm dying to tell you about, but it's early and I've got a plane to catch so I shall leave it all for later.

Michigan, ho! (says the Michigan ho).

hhhhhwhere have I been?

Is this thing still on? Anyone there?

(crickets, crickets)

So I may be just talking to myself at this point, but that's ok. Hi, me! How have you been? Well, me, I feel that I have to quote my close personal friend Inigo Montoya and say the following "Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up." Not that anything big has happened. Just livin' life, as T.I. would say.

Where else are you going to get Inigo Montoya and T.I. in the same breath, you guys? Did you miss me? Or does that make you not miss me? I could see it going either way.

So here's some stuff that I want to tell you, with no rhyme, reason, segues, or cohesion. In other words, I AM BACK.

I went to Michigan last month and Map told me a story about a coworker of hers who, when agitated, will over-aspirate her "wh" words. So like this: "hhhhhhhwhere are those budget numbers and hhhhhhhhhwhy haven't they been turned in yet? Hhhhhhhhwho is responsible?" I don't know why but this made Alli and me so completely delighted that we have been talking like this at every opportunity. I highly recommend it.

We went to the local state fair. Nordic Boy, who has spent part of his life working an actual family dairy farm when he was a youngster (and will not drink a glass of milk if you paid him ever since), revealed to me that he has never ever been to a fair before. To which I said hhhhhhwhat? How can that be? He's from Wisconsin, for pete's sake. Isn't it the law that everyone go to the fair in Wisconsin? It turns out that his family was more likely to have gone to carnies that would travel through his town, which actually rings true for me too. We didn't do the fair thing when I was a kid either, but we sure went to the local ethnic festivals or travelling carnies and did some fair-like things, like eating cotton candy and getting on rickety/dubious death-traps (aka rides). I have a lot of really fun carnie memories. But yet, whenever I think about the carnie concept all I can think of is that movie Two Moon Junction. Do you guys remember that? It was Sherilyn Fenn having sexy times with a burly carnie worker drifter guy who had veins popping out everywhere. It was all kinds of ICK. It is also one of Nordic Boy's mom's favorite movies. Which I sort of think is awesome while also is a thing I wish I didn't know. Like, simultaneously.

Thankfully, there were no burly drifters trying to sex us up when we went to the fair, at least that we could tell. We had an awesome time, although afterward, Delium was asking us about it and we realized that we had probably the most un-state-fair-est time of anyone who has been to a state fair. It went like this:

Delium: So did you go on any rides?
Me: No.
Delium: How about animals? Did you see those?
Me: Well, we actually skipped that part.
Delium: How about fair food? Slushies? Kettle corn?
Me: No, we skipped that part too.
Delium: You went to the STATE FAIR, right?

In our defense, we had no time for all those things, because we got sucked into three other, much more awesome things.

1. Giant vegetables. PUMPKINS AS BIG AS MY CAR, YOU GUYS.
2. Grange competition. There was this competition where these farms would put together a huge mosaic made from their produce. Which, yes.
3. Home arts. This was actually where we spent most of the day. Quilts! Crochet! Dollhouse construction! Pie contests! It was totally mesmerizing. There was even something called a "table setting competition" which, from what I could surmise, was just what it sounds like: pick a theme and set a table according to that theme. And then you get a RIBBON if your setting is superior! I have pretty much been demanding a mf ribbon every time I have set our dinner table every night since the fair. I will tell you if I ever get one.

In other news, it is coming up on my birthday and I have celebrated so far by sleeping wrong and pulling a muscle in my neck to the point where I basically couldn't move. I felt like I maybe would have benefited from one of those brace things like Joan Cusack wore in Sixteen Candles. Neck pull around birthday time makes me feel, let's see, how can I put it? Forever young, I think is how Rod Stewart would prefer I say it.

Also, in related old fartness, I have been out three times in the past month and have not been carded AT ALL. Now, I know I am way, way, way (waaaaaaaay) past being at an age where I should really be getting carded in bars and it was happening less and less over time, but I was still averaging a carding about a third of the time. Sure, it was probably sympathy carding that was happening but I WILL TAKE IT. But apparently not anymore.

So, to summarize: I find the home arts fascinating, I have a pulled neck muscle and I don't have to have ID when going to clubs that perhaps I am too old to be in in the first place. I am rolling up to this next birthday like a BAWSE.

Midwest, Midbest

Warning, incoherent blogging ahead!

The blog silence has been because I've been searching for words, which, let's face it, I never really do before I puke-write on the blog.The trip through the midwest is over and I am completely confused about settling back in. Does anyone else get like this after a trip? So far it has been wall-to-wall bewilderment: my house, is that you? Oh, and walking around my neighborhood: this is my neighborhood, yes, I remember now. I have to go to a job and do job things, ok. But what am I supposed to be doing and thinking about? It feels mystifying, my life.

So to ease back into the blogging, I'll just jot some things down about the last week of the tripsie.

Nordic Boy spent a goodly amount of time fixing up busted stuff at my parents' house. He got them a new dishwasher and tv and installed them, fixed wiring, found every last loose closet doorknob or sticky screen door and fixed those up, just everything. This meant that we were at the local mom and pop hardware store every single solitary day, sometimes twice. The folks that work at the store quickly identified me as "cookie man's daughter." The hardware store also provides UPS service (seriously that place is like Oleson's Mercantile) and my dad is constantly showing up there with packages of cookies that my mom has made for sending off to all the grandkids, and he often has a cookie or two for the staff there as well. My dad, therefore, is known as "cookie man." Could you just die from the cuteness?

For more cuteness, see: my mom. Alli and Map dropped me off one night after we had all gone out, and my mom got her pajamafied self together to make them a snack, and then when they were ready to go, she says to me "they aren't staying over?" Like, an assumed slumber party, as it was when we were kids, when none of us ever slept at our own houses on weekends like, ever.

I am so glad I grew up in a household where cookies and slumber parties were a given, with pals to share them both and parents who encouraged the tomfoolery.

One night Alli, Map and I put out a call on the Facebooks for some childhood friends to come out with us. Did we have fun? Dude, we had all the fun. Most of the people that I saw that night, I met when I was in kindergarten, and we all are so, so different from each other now and I love it. I really adore those people. They are just so genuine, and so freaking hilarious. And it's so funny how we all think we have changed so much, and I guess we have, but really every last one of those people seemed, at their core, pretty much the same as they were when they were 5 or 15.

I also got to spend some time with my all-time favorite relative, my cousin R. We stayed up almost all night talking. What is better than staying up all night because you just can't shut up around someone? It's pretty awesome.

Also, there was a lot of time going back and forth to hospitals and such, which was the opposite of awesome.

Anyway, I feel sort of at a loss now that I'm back, just for words in general. So I guess that's all I will say about it, even though I feel like there's so much more to say. How about some photos from my week in Traverse City with my favorite ladies and we call it good?

This town

makes me feel acute Bruce Springsteenitis.

Top o' the mitten to ya

I'm typing this on my phone, is the first thing that I want to say up front so as you understand the pain-in-the-arse-ness I am feeling and also so that you excuse any auto-correct boolshizz that may happen along the way here.

I wrapped up my Madison trip, whipped through Chicago for less than 12 hours (most of which was spent in sleepy bye bye land) and then got in Alli's car and drove up to Traverse City at the top of the Michigan Mitten. (I wonder if people there say good morning by saying "top o' the mitten to ya!" because if they don't that's a damn shame). We checked in to what we have now dubbed Chateau Relaxeau, also known as Alli's sister Steph's house, for three days of silly girl times. During this time, we ate 4 kinds of cheesecake that was sent all the way from New York City ("New York City??? Get a rope!"), we confessed things to each other that made all of us cry (feelings! Whoa whoa whoa feelings! That's right I am Morris Albert-ing you), laughed until we wanted to pee ourselves, and saw some ridiculous beautiful scenery every last place we looked.

Oh, and I finally found a cocktail that I really and truly liked! And you know what it took? It took a soothsayer like Steph to look into my soul and understand the truth of the matter which is that I am, at heart, the least refined drinker you'll ever meet. So, with flattered thanks to all of you over the years who have looked at me and said "try a gin and tonic" or an Old Fashioned or a Lemon Drop or a Tom Collins or a Apple Martini or a Whiskey Sour or a Manhattan or a whatever, you have clearly misread the true essence of who I am and Steph knew better within 10 seconds. She looked me dead in my face, pointed at me and said two words: Detroit Cooler.

Vernor's ginger ale (it's got to be Vernor's), a shot of vanilla vodka, and a shot of root beer vodka. That's right I said ROOT BEER VODKA, bitchez! Class out the mutha effing ass.

I have to admit that most of my even wanting a favorite drink in the first place was so that I could sound cool ordering it. I mean, Joan Holloway ain't ordering no goddamn Detroit Cooler. So on the one hand I'm disappointed. On the other hand, for the first time in my life I could see myself getting seriously shit-faced. So...yay?

In other breakthroughs, I finally have some semblance of a Free Pass List. See how my lady pals keep things so elegant? You know those lists where you pick 5 celebrities that you're allowed to sleep with if given the (obviously highly likely) opportunity? Alli has always had a list, for at least the past 15 years. Not only that, but her #1 spot has been held by John Cusack for all 15-plus years of it, unabated. She has even lobbied for him to be able to get two slots on her list, as if that makes any kind of sense. That's serious passion, people. John, you better watch yourself because if given the opportunity that girl is going to tear. you. up.

I have never had a list. One, because I am very indecisive about such things. I don't have a favorite color or a favorite food so how am I supposed to pick a favorite imaginary booty man? The other reason is that I am a bit predisposed to think that celebrities are fuckwits, and I don't want to fuck a fuckwit. Also, in my theatre and dance days I was peripherally around a good number of that lot and 90% of them were straight up dicks. So, I don't know about this whole list business. Still, on the 6 hour drive from Chicago to the Mitten Top, Alli counseled me through list-making. And after six hours- (SIX HOURS! Let us all take a moment to applaud Alli for her friendship duties in putting up with that car ride) I came up with three candidates. They are still candidates, mind you. My list is firmly incomplete, in metaphorical pencil, and nowhere near being in a state where I would laminate it. My candidates are: Jon Hamm, Daniel Craig, and Ewan McGregor. Even as I say this, I feel that I should be more excited about my list. I don't know. I'm sure I'll have an epiphany at some point. It's like the drink: I was rooting around for years when who knew that all I needed was for the Detroit Cooler to walk into my life. I need the Detroit Cooler of men, perhaps. Except, ew! That scares me, just as a, like, concept.

Anyway, the Mitten Top was grand. I'm in the hometown homestead now, with a week full of hospital and doctor time to occupy myself, but no computer except for this here phone so we'll see if further posting happens until I return to Seattle.

Until then, I leave you with a photo I took in a candy store the other day. Just cuz.

No Talking Time

Have you ever taken one of those Myers Briggs tests- you know the one where it tells you how introverted or extroverted you are? Is that a legit thing? The test, I mean? I have skepticism about such categorizations but I have no basis for my skepticism, so I am also skeptical of my own skepticism. (Wow, dudes, I swear I am not even smoking a doobie right now). Anyway, I have taken that test a few times throughout my life and although I feel like I have gone through phases where I have a super crazy extroverted time (hello, early 20s) and then times when I have not wanted to talk to a single solitary soul for like, a year (hello 1994 and 2003), my results are always the same. I pretty much always fall right near the dead center between extrovert and introvert, with perhaps just a teeny leaning toward introvert.

I'm taking a trip to see some pals and my family, but first I stopped off in one of my favorite towns for three days so I could indulge the introvert half of my innards. Madison, where I lived for one year back in the 90s when I was a youngster, holds a special place in my heart because it is, more than anywhere else, a place where my life totally changed. I was one person before I moved there, and a different one after I left there, some of that for the better and some of it not, and it's hard to explain the whole enchilada but suffice it to say I just love that town.

So I checked myself into a cute inn and proceeded to spend hours and hours by myself, wandering aimlessly and thinking about Big Things and nothing at all. Three days may not seem like a long time, but when was the last time you did nothing but pay attention to your own thoughts for three days? It felt crazy extravagant.

All this contemplative stuff did have two fun breaks- I met up with MetaLeah and her trophy husband for dinner one night, and another night MetaLeah and I met up with Katie, a longtime blog friend who is now an in-person friend. My streak of awesome blog friends who turn out to be more awesome in person continues! I managed to snap out of my introspective haze for each event and form words of communication. At least I hope I did.

Thanks, Madison.

Ding dong, who's there?

I have to start off by saying that the other night I had a dream about my friend The Soggy Librarian, and the dream was that we were hanging out, as we do, totally normal, except she was talking in a very exaggerated Bill Cosby voice the whole time. I mean, her voice was still her voice, but it was like she was having an involuntary need to talk Cosby talk. It was all "It's such a nice day-eeee, and I'm so glad we're hanging owwwwt, and pudding pops and RUDY! And picture pages!" (chicken dance arms).

I know it's boring to tell other people your dreams, but I can't keep that one to myself.

So I just got back from Vancouver and it was so lovely. My friend and I just decided to up and go, just because it's good, if you can, to do something fun just for no other reason than because it's fun. Just to be kind to oneself.

Oh, and then we saw a bunch of wrinkley naked guys on accident so hey! Kindness is not always rewarded.

How did a sweet weekend trip take a turn into accidental nakedtown? I'll tell you.

We were in the University of BC area to take a look around there, and as we were walking around, we noticed from our map that we were pretty close to the beach. We thought, yes please, let's find a trail that gets us to some sandy shores, stat. We walked around and found a trailhead that seemed pointed in the right direction. The sign at the top of the trailhead included this: "Clothing optional beach ahead." This is not something I see every day, but I wasn't too worried about it because I was thinking we would hike down to the beach, and maybe there would be a few ladies sunbathing with their tops off or perhaps some skinny dipping in the water. I am not a person who does these things, but I am not opposed to others doing them and I am not going to care about seeing boobs and butts and other junk out. I have seen way too many episodes of Game of Boobs/Thrones to be phased by that.

So we started down the trail, which was very foresty, and steep. There was also a stream that ran alongside the trail, which was quite pleasant and picturesque. We walked down and down, the only thought preoccupying my mind was what a pain in the arse it was going to be coming back up that mammer jammer. Then, I looked up and saw, well...how can I describe it?

There was a man, probably 60 years old or so, about 20 yards ahead down the trail. He had taken his t-shirt partially off so that the arms were empty and the only thing that was attaching him to his shirt was that his head was still coming through the neckhole. So it was like his t-shirt was almost a cape. Oh, and p.s., the rest of him was bare ass nude. And also, he wasn't on the trail anymore. Rather, he was in the stream next to the trail, jumping around the water like a fricking water nymph. I was not close enough to hear him, but if I had been I would not have been surprised to hear "wheeeee!" or the like. He was behaving in a very spritely manner.

Am I wrong to have been surprised by this? What is the difference between this and skinny dipping in the ocean? Or sunbathing? Whether justified or not, this stopped my friend and me in our tracks.

"Oh!" we both said, watching the cavorting pixie man. He did not see us.

Here's the thing. The beach was labelled as potential nekkid-town, true. But in my mind, we were not yet on the beach. We were still in regular non-naked territory, as it was back at the parking lot, and the rest of the park behind us. We were still on a forest trail. Not the beach. So seeing this person, doing this frolic in the stream next to the trail, felt weird. Apparently my friend felt the same way. We stood there, and debated whether we should go forward, which would mean passing this man. He probably wouldn't have cared, but somehow we did.

We turned around.

Now, we had to hike back up to the top of the trail, and that sucker was steep. SO STEEP. And it was hot, and we were tired, and once we got going, we were winded, and ok fine, we also had a case of the giggles about the man we had just seen. All of this made the walk back up extra hard. But we did it, and we made it to about 10 yards from the top, when:

Birthday suit #2!

At the very top of the trail was another man, also in his 60s, wearing hiking boots and not a stitch more. He had not noticed us yet, and he was marching down the trail with a stride that was parade-worthy. Arms were swinging, steps were wide, and oh lordy, dingdong was flopping in a most noticeable way.

Which way to go? Nothing to do but continue. He did eventually see us, and he sort of hesitated too. The trail was narrow, and so when we passed each other, we were shoulder to shoulder. Have you ever been inches away from a stranger who was showing full peen? I will tell you this: it is not comfortable.

This brings me back to where the appropriate buck naked boundary was. Because he was at the top of the trail when we spotted him, and he was total junk out at that point. Which means, he must have gotten naked before starting the trail. Like, at the parking area, maybe? And the parking area is just next to a road. So, he must have unfettered himself up there, to be full monty at the top of the trail.

I don't know. I guess it doesn't make much of a difference. It was just surprising, that's all.

Other stuff happened in Vancouver too, but somehow double stranger peter seemed like the best story to tell.

Summer wandering

Hey gang!

I had a professor in college who seemed like she was the feisty camp counselor in an 80s made-for-tv movie. She had red hair, curly like Mrs. Roper's, and she started every lecture by snapping her gum and saying "Hey gang!" in a way that was at once jolly and sardonic. Every once in a while I try to bust out a "hey gang!" in her manner, even though no one knows what I am up to so I just end up looking weird. I would love to be jolly and sardonic, but I will settle for weird. Apparently.

Let's catch up on the happenings around here. There is a regional "joke" in Seattle that says that summer really doesn't kick in until July 4th. This year that was quite literal. It rained up a storm (ha ha, now THAT'S a joke, fellas) (oh dear lord) right up until July 3 and then on the 4th and ever since it has been super gorgeous. Sorry to rub that in the faces of all y'all reading this in other parts of the country, where I know that the weather has been crap on toast. I would send you all a little package of this heavenly stuff here if I could.

My July 4th was as low key as could be. My brain has just been running amok lately and so I think I just needed to max and relax as much as possible. I took myself to a quiet lunch by myself, and then Biogirl and I hiked it over to a lakeside park and sat in the grass for the entire afternoon and then strolled over to get gelato and strolled some more. Nordic Boy and I spent the rest of the night in, no fireworks, no barbecuing, no nothing. America was pretty mad at us I am sure.

Once the weekend rolled around I found myself, still due to the previous month's madness, completely and totally without plans. I love a good activity-filled weekend, don't get me wrong, but a gorgeous, sunny, summertime weekend with absolutely nothing that has to be done? GOLDEN.

This meant that I spent the whole weekend just thinking, in the moment, "Self? What would you like to do next?" What resulted was a sort of unremarkable weekend, but it was the kind of weekend that I hope I will remember for a very long time.

About 10 years ago, when Nordic Boy and I lived next door to our friends Neighbor B and Neighbor J, there was this one summer evening where we were grumpy and tired and hot, and the Neighbors invited us over for watermelon. And we sat in their living room, which had a view of Lake Washington, and ate this watermelon, and it seemed the sweetest, tastiest shit ever, and we were laughing and talking and looking out the window to the lake in the distance. There was nothing about that day that was memorable, yet I have never forgotten it. I felt content, and happy, and just inside a cocoon of friendship and love, if you want to get right down into hokey-town. Just so ordinary, but so beautiful. I love those days the best. The ordinary and beautiful ones.

I got to have two of those this weekend, and here's some of what went down.

Nordic Boy and I wandered to a little Italian restaurant where I had some sparkly white wine that made me hiccup all the way home.

I met up with Biogirl and one of her high school besties and his wife who were visiting from California, and we wandered around Pike Place Market, eating ice cream and listening to the seagulls over Elliott Bay.

I saw Moonrise Kingdom, which seemed so appropriate for summer. If you want to see it, see it in summertime.

I had brunch with Biogirl at our favorite haunt.

Nordic Boy and I drove to Snohomish, which is known for its antique stores, and wandered around a bunch of them aimlessly, digging up World War II aviator goggles and 1970s McDonald's collectible juice glasses and cut glass grandma-style bowls.

On the way back from Snohomish, instead of hopping onto the freeway, we got onto some curvy backroads that cut through farmland and looked at blue sky, and wide green fields, and white-topped mountains on the horizon.

I sat on my front stoop and talked to my mom and dad on the phone, and we laughed a lot, and I missed them, so very very hard.

I opened up all of the windows in the house, put my feet onto Nordic Boy's lap, and read a book from beginning to end all in one sitting.

I wore summer dresses all day every day (which are hard to take self-portraits of, by the way).

Thanks, July. I needed that.

This and That

By this point in my week, my thoughts are no longer cohesive. So, you get Weird Lady Brain Potpourri today! Aren't you so excited?

I saw the security at a drug store totally nab a shoplifter today! They chased this guy out onto the street (there were TWO officers! Like Chips! Only nothing like Chips!), and tackled his ass, and then cuffed him, and then pulled up his shirt and bam! There was a shiny new Bic pen pack tucked in the guy's waistband. Bad boys, bad boys, what you gonna do when they come for you? And your Bic pen pack?

Yesterday, I made the executive decision to eat ice cream for lunch. The perks of being a grown up! I can decide to eat ice cream for lunch! And then well. I felt shitty for the rest of the afternoon. Grown-up-ness: proving less than awesome once again.

I have had a week full of bad hair days and I am not above telling you that this seriously bums me out.

I bought new glasses, and although I loved them in the store, I now have a fear that I went straight into Velma from Scooby Doo land. Jinkies!

I bought plane tickets for an end-of-summer vacation, using mileage that made the entire thing free. Is there any better feeling than that? I do not know of one.

Biogirl made up a totally disgusting sexual term called "dental spelunking." I love that girl.

Speaking of disgusting, my office chair at work has started doing this thing where every time I swivel, it makes a farty noise. Class out the ass, people.

Last weekend Biogirl and I went to Bellingham for the afternoon. It was the prettiness.

New York Grub

I can't believe I ate the whole thing.