28 HOURS IN DAYTON

Due to some friends seeking their future in the rural back of beyonds, and my loving them in spite of it, this last weekend found me in the among the burning embers of Dayton. That would be the somewhat lesser known Dayton, WA, population 2,700.

Wildfire season is not being kind to this little agrarian corner of Washington state, so despite the peaceful nature of the quaint town (though I’ve been told it claims citydom) it felt a little more like I’d spent two days in a bar pre-ban instead of the pollution free air one comes to expect when you venture so far off the freeway.

The trip didn’t start out quite as planned, though it’s not like I didn’t expect morning to come hard when I went out to see a friends band the night before. Nursing a well earned hangover, I was rather proud of making it from consciousness to highway speeds within 30 minutes. Downtown is so peaceful at 8 am Saturday morning, it was with a slight pang I sped past it unimpeded by traffic.

It was in North Bend I made the rude discovery that one can’t get a Big Mac at 9 AM. I was tempted to debate this travesty with the squeaky voiced window boy, but as this appeared to be the most efficient McD’s I’ve every seen, they were quick to appease me with a handful of additional hash browns to keep me from tying up their system and messing with fulfillment minutes. Duly noted for the future.

While I didn’t get to see any actual blazes, and only occasional glimpses of firefighters, the sky started looking hazy by the time I reached Othello (mid way there).

The dual purpose of the trip was for my best girlfriend’s birthday/housewarming, and it seemed to be successful on both sides. I thought I was rolling in a bit late, but I was actually first to arrive and get the grand tour. I had seen their little chunk of equity a couple months ago when I signed on for a laborious weekend of ceiling painting (two story vaulted, and I just don’t want to talk about it) and they have worked absolute wonders. It is adorable, and can imagine being deliriously happy enjoying a home of one’s own, until the nagging realization that the nearest decent sushi spot was at least four hours away. The color scheme is creative and warm, and it’s a perfect space for two people.

Other party members arrived throughout the day. Snacks were everywhere, and drinks were almost magically refilled, making it an ideal way to pass a hot afternoon avoiding the sun. My eyes started tearing up from the smoke, but some drops more or less cleared that up.

For dinner we ventured all the way to Waitsburg (nine miles) to the WhoopemUp Café, and it was awesome. The mushroom soup was almost literally orgasmic. So good. If I hadn’t already ordered what turned out to be a smashing entree, I would have requested they just roll the whole pot out to me.

By Sunday morning the smoked had rolled in thickly again, and the sense that I was camping nearly a badly maintained fire was. We rolled on down to an odd A frame shaped diner for the most delightful greasy breakfast. I went with the special hash browns with gravy. It’s the ham that makes it special. So greasy, with minimal nutritional value, and hit the spot perfectly.

At 4 pm I was doing my best not speed excessively on the way home. It’s at least 4.5 hours door to door, avoiding stops, and for an activity that involves no actual activity, it’s quite a draining drive.

So my weekend consisted of a lot of driving, good friends, fun conversation, delicious food and plenty of drinks. Not a bad way to start wrapping up summer.

MAKE IT WORK

Oh my goodness! I can’t believe I’m just discovering that Tim Gunn, a genius element on Project Runway, has a blog. He is as hilarious in his write up and critiques of the designers and their work as he is on the show, only with less editing.

It appears he has a podcast as well. I am so subscribing to that.

DO YOUR OWN LAUNDRY

There was a possible bomb threat at the port today, which is close enough to my office to raise alarm. It’s good to know that there was ultimately nothing threatening and that procedure seemed to go smoothly from detection to inspection of the possible problem, but I want to know why we ever let the container into the port at all. The container was flagged due to irregularities in the reported inventory of oily rags.

Why are we importing oily rags? Do we not produce enough oily rags of our own? Is there some call for oily rags that I’m blissfully ignorant of? Do we perhaps offer an intercontinental laundry service, shipping out freshly cleaned rags?

I’m just saying, I would have flagged that cargo as suspect well before the x-ray.

NORMAL I TELL YOU

Slim or lithe have never been words one might describe me with. Despite my tendency to bruise easily, I’ll never be mistaken for a delicate flower. I’ve accepted, and even attempt to embrace, my plight as a voluptuous gal, though the media’s evil scheme to undermine women’s body confidence isn’t entirely unsuccessful.

In actuality I fall pretty solidly across the national averages. Average height, weight, shoe size and hair color. Unfortunately, as has been a common theme in recent press, these averages aren’t exactly healthy. Despite my mediocre physical make up, it has been alarming to refer to national institutes of health charts putting me in the obese category. While feelings about body image might fluctuate, that’s a term I’ve never imposed on my psyche.

And today I shall celebrate another measure of my normalcy. A good health program within the office has brought a barrage of diet and exercise literature, the occasional healthy snacks and weight measurements for both personal information and study data. It has been satisfying to find out that my diet and exercise routine of late is within acceptable levels, but even better than that, I have a NORMAL body fat percentage! I am normal! The little, digital machiney thing says so, and for that, I do a little dance of joy. I guess I’ll even keep going to the gym.

COMPULSORY OR OPTIONAL

A recent Salon article looks into the fact that apparently American’s have fewer friends. This of course raises the issues what constitutes a friend, what’s keeping us from them and is the new rise in solitary lifestyles a choice or circumstances.

I don’t feel I suffer from a shortage of friends, though some of my best confidants have scattered across distances and life situations, leaving a bit of a void in my localized social circle. While I value having quality time to myself, such time has been in abundance of late. It seems comforting to know I’m not alone in my situation even if it isn’t entirely by conscious choice.

TIS THE SEASON

I must admit that over the years I have absorbed more than one interest from the boys in my life. The first boyfriend was obsessed w/ Alice in Chains, and could mimic them well enough to impress my moody college freshman sensibilities. Another taught me all I know of colloquial Spanish and left me with a wistful fondness of muted cigarette smoke covered in breath mints. The latest hobby achieved by osmosis is football. To be fair, that one had several seasons to imbed in my psyche, but now I find myself actually counting down to even preseason games and tracking Seahawks injury status. Though I refuse to be sucked into the stat madness that is fantasy football. I just feel like it takes one out of the game.

Exposure to sports is not new to me, since my dad was an avid fan of every season’s offerings and I got to tag along to a multitude of intramural activities w/ him about town as a tot, so I don’t have to play the dumb girl role in figuring out what’s happening, most of the time. I’ve also watched enough pro sports to know which ones I like, and which I will only watch when bored in a bar. Football is in, hockey has moments but is much better live, baseball and basketball are mind numbing, and I refuse to recognize golf as a legitimate sport.

Then there’s soccer. I can probably draw my earliest appreciation of the sport to the perpetually secretly smoking Spaniard, who took me to my first pro soccer match in Valencia. It was an awesome game, with fans going crazy before players even hit the field and he let me keep his team scarf that I wear to this day. However, this summer’s World Cup combined with an exhibition game between Real Madrid and DC United coming to town opened a whole new passion for me. Add in a number of incredibly hot players, and there are few sports I find more enjoyable over a nice cold hard cider backed by the din of hooligans gathered in mass.

With school well behind me, there has been little left to mark the passing from summer to fall beyond the weather. Now, Seahawk’s preseason starts in August and the Euro pro leagues get rolling in September. I’ll miss the sun, but bar time just got a lot more entertaining.

SOLA, YET SUFFICIENT

I like to go out at night when the four walls of my apartment begin to fold in on me. I refuse to stay in solely because I lack companions to go out with, so over time I’ve developed a report at with my local bar of choice. It’s practically around the corner, so it makes venturing out at will easy as pie. It didn’t take long to be recognized at my pub of choice, but it is only recently the staff actively interact on my behalf. I hardly have to order a drink when I role in on weekend evenings, and I’ve even been bailed out from a few over eager suitors by the bar staff, earning my undying affections.

For this evening's adventures I did find was a collection of people who have also made connections with this bar due to living in the area. Sometimes the appeal of Cheers becomes all to clear in the draw of the bar one can call home. All in all, a fun evening, well worth the venturing out in the first place. Can’t really ask for more as a single girl on the town these days.

SANS PLANS

The air smells fishy tonight. It has for the last couple of days. Not the alley behind a seafood restaurant fishy, but that faint seashore smell you find near docks or beaches when the seaweed is drying. Considering it’s a port city, the seaside scent isn’t unusual, but I only notice it occasionally. I’m not sure if it’s when the air is still or if the wind is just blowing from a certain direction, but I do like it. I’m not much of a water person, but I enjoy the effects of living on the sound. The weather, the relaxed pace and the occasional smells.

It’s another Friday night of me trying to figure out what to do and lamenting my non-existent phone-a-friend list. Started the evening getting most of the way through a library book that I find myself identifying with a bit much. The unsettling oddity being that it’s borderline Lad Lit and the lead character is quite moody and depressed, despite signs of measurable success, going through the clichéd ‘what have I been doing with my life’ shtick. Could be just my current mood, but it’s disturbing how much I’m identifying with the many intentions to call people that go unrealized and the overall loss of connection with one’s own life.

I’m tempted to just whole up w/ a couple of movies for the rest of the night, but I think I might venture at least as far as the local. Since I ran into some of the bar staff on my contemplative stroll back from the coffee shop, and they’re my primary neighborhood acquaintances, I might as well close out the night in my customary location. Might as well maintain the connections I do have.

ON THE PROWL

I’ve been ‘the single girl’ for well over a year now. Since I was ‘the girl whose boyfriend never went anywhere with her’ for far longer than recommended, it didn’t seem to affect interactions within my social circle. However, maintaining a year plus of solitary status is starting to show wear.

There are many occasions where one is expected to be paired, like dinner parties, weddings and Sunday morning breakfasts. It seems evenings out sans date are acceptable as long as one is accompanied by a circle of friends. (A current lacking in localized pals leads to my pathetically holding down a barstool trying to not look morose, but that’s another post all together.) As I’ve no intention shutting myself off from the world just because of my shameful singlehood, and I’ve proven entirely inept at rustling up casual dates thus far, I’ve been flaunting the two-by-two requirements with abandon. In addition to serving as the third, fifth or eleventh wheel about town, I’ve become the highly suspect, single vamp lurking dangerously around the fringes of the wedding party.

I swear I’m just happy to take part in the couple’s happy day and honored to be considered among their intimate friends and family. I do not have designs on any tenuously available groomsmen, and it’s truly OK if I leave the reception as solo as I arrived. My penchant for daring necklines is not to be taken as a sign of aggression. They are just very flattering, and I wouldn’t be opposed to meeting new, handsome people, while looking my best.

37/38

I qualified to donate blood again!

It was a close call in the Bloodmobile today. After the drop didn’t sink on the first run, the spin test spit out the results of 37 in one and 38 in the other. I very little idea of what these numbers mean beyond qualifying me to give up a pint and reminding me that I should get back to regularly taking my multivitamin. I believe the minimum is 38, so I totally squeaked by.

Then there was the trouble with me being a slow bleeder again. Not nearly the man handling and poking around of the last draw, but we’ll have to wait and see what kind of bruising occurs. It took over 20 minutes to squeeze out a pint, but I shall not be denied my success.

It seemed pretty crowded in there today, with a wait to get a bench, so I hope it’s a good collection day over all. I still don’t know what my blood type is. I’m pretty sure I should have received a card in the mail, so maybe I need to sort through the mountain of mail on my table more thoroughly this week.

KINDA CREEPY

There’s this guy I see on my bus route relatively frequently who sets me on edge. He’s not really my cup of tea and is on the short side, but I frequently catch him smiling at me. I cannot describe why this makes me uneasy, since on the face of it, there’s nothing at all wrong with being friendly with strangers on the bus. There’s just a vibe about him. Some kind of sociopathic, lives in his mother’s basement and catalogues an extensive collection of dryer lint in his spare time air around him. I have no basis for this entirely unfair assessment, but that’s how I read him, despite exchanging only brief greetings on a couple of occasions.

Now there he is, in my corner coffee shop, smiling at me while I’m trying to look busy and deeply engrossed in my iPhoto collection. Sure he was here when I got here, and beyond the ubiquitous furtive grinning, he hasn’t made any move to invade my Sunday afternoon peace. Of all the people to cross over from the world of my work week commute to my weekend leisure world, it would have to be the short, kinda creepy dude.

Yep, the antisocial tendencies run deep.

CATCHING UP

I went on vacation. Then I was really busy. Then I was excessively lazy, and a month went by. Considering no one really reads this disorganized mess, it’s not that much of a hardship. It was a pretty full month, though some of it I’m just as happy to not chronicle.

Weather wise, we went from inclimate weather over the fourth, and consequently my lakeside vacation, to a record-breaking heat wave nationwide that sapped me of the energy to do anything more than sit very still and sip iced beverages for hours on end. Strangely enough, the heat had me craving office time with the sweet embrace of climate controlled air conditioning. It’s nice to be back to the near Seattle perfection of low 70s with intermittent showers for a change, though I did get more damp than I bargained for on my way to brunch this morning.

I lost a couple more fish, but I’m not giving up yet. Olivia didn’t make it through vacation, but the symptoms had been starting show before I took off. I attempted to bounce back w/ Victoria and Angelica, a couple of smaller calico fantails. Angelica only made it two weeks. My latest theory relates to the tank water getting toxically alkaline. This means I’ll need more frequent water changes and fervent monitoring of water levels, but I’m willing to do anything to shake my goldfish death chamber status.

To this end I’ve taken the somewhat questionable step of increasing the tank family size. Victoria is holding strong, as is Franc III, who is awesome. He’s my biggest snail to date, and for a while I worried he might fight back when the girls picked on him. So far peace reigns. The latest additions are Serafina, the fair scaled sister, and Gissel, our golden fish. I’ve been obsessively monitoring the water levels, and I’m beginning to think they’re messing with me. They’ll get all lethargic and hang around dark corners of the tank, only to break into frenetic outbursts of happy fish activity. Either they’re doomed, as all my fish seem to be, or they think it’s hilarious to send me rushing for the water testing tabs and planning mid week water changes. This is why I should only have pets that are contained within a small habitat. If I had a cat or dog running loose in the apartment, I’d probably start to suspect them plotting my demise. My pets all seem to be devious. I’m sure that’s not projection at all.

Made it to three concerts. Fiona Apple was a little disappointing, but it could have been because of where we sat. It was my first concert at the winery though, and gave me a good idea of how to do it right. Checked out a club performance of Grupo Fantasma. They’re a lot of fun, and I got to chat w/ a band member. Pink Martini were back at the winery, and this time we packed a fab picnic dinner and packed in ample vino. They were an amazing performance despite the fantastic heat.

July also involved a couple if ill advised boy choices, for which I should probably be embarrassed, but ultimately no real harm done. If I can forget them, there’s no reason to dwell.

While it was a good month for catching up with old friends, getting in some quality family time, and becoming even chummier w/ the staff at my favorite local, I haven’t managed to meet any new pals for hanging out with. Starting to worry about the family history of antisocial behavior being carried on through me in this generation.

Here’s hoping August brings some more excitement, fewer embarrassing moments, and some worthwhile experiences.

WILTING

The heat wave has come early this summer. Hitting the 90s before July is unusual, and much speculation is flying as to whether this means we’re in for a long hot summer or if it’s going to burn out so we get a crappy fall. Hey, there isn’t a lot to talk about around the office.

I look forward to the short, intense periods of summer’s force. I’m not one for roasting myself to a golden brown, at least outside of vacation time, but I love the heat induced slow down that hits the city. Soaking up lackadaisical hours with a trivial book and heading to bed ever later waiting for a breath of cool air to close the day. My clearest summer memories involve trying to stay still, limiting any skin to skin contact and the primary activity to seek out and drink all manner of iced beverages.

Coming to work, with its proficient air conditioning, is a bit of a break, but I can’t shake the desire to get back outside, away from business efficiency and the digital pace. I want to melt into a bar stool or park bench for a few hours and come away with only a slight sun burn and sweat sheen to show for it.

THEM

I foolishly thought I had deterred the aphid scourge from devouring my basil. Not at all. It’s been growing, if not flourishing, so I’ve been happy to keep it watered and moderately sunned.

Today, as I’m checking on the health of my balcony paradise, I discover my precious herb covered in adult aphids, sucking the life from the innocent greenery.

It’s back to the heavy duty soap spraying. I haven’t lost the battle yet!

ASPIRING HOOLIGAN

I like soccer/fútbol. I’ve played it and watched it, but I can’t say that I’ve followed it. With the World Cup on this month, I’ve been following every stat and group update. I still don’t fully follow the tournament organization, but I think I’m catching on. The nine hour time change putting the games right during business hours, they’re being played on the lobby plasma screen, and I’m totally hooked.

My favorites are naturally the US and Spain, but I haven’t seen a match that didn’t hold my wrapped attention yet. The hot players don’t hurt either (what? I’m shallow). I’m looking into trading cards and posters at this point.

It really is a beautiful game that doesn’t discriminate on economic and cultural basis. It’s a shame the US hasn’t embraced the sport on a professional level, but it’s good to know that I live only a few blocks from one of the best bars for watching fútbol year round so I can keep up on it all. At least it’s a good way fill time until American football is back in action.

UNSKILLED LABOR

I have returned, achy and bone tired, from the wilds of far eastern Washington, where my dearest friends have chosen to make their new home. Dayton is an adorable town with sweet neighborhoods branching off from the one stop light main street. It’s got the basics for a simple life and not much more, but certainly seems like a charming place to settle down, if that’s ones goal.

For my part I find it to be a bit too far from the nearest Nordstrom Rack for my taste, drops off the map of any national company cell phone coverage and has no discernable night life from the first impression. Since I’m not looking to settle down anytime soon, it’s not my kind of thing.

I was part of an envoy to help in the home renovation of my friend’s starter home before they move over for good. It was two days of physical labor that isn’t entirely my forte, but I like to think I held my own. Four coats of paint (two primer, two color) on the two story vaulted ceilings covered in acoustic tile have left me with a stiff neck and hands permanently clenched in the shape of the roller handle. On the up side, the house shows all kinds of potential to be great, and I think we took some positive strides in that direction. I’m also taking a long look at plans to own my own place some day and how much renovation I’ll be prepared to put in.

QUE VERGüENZA!

My parents have been staying w/ me a bit recently due to travel and medical appointments. They are a pleasure to have around and fabulous house guests, even in a place as small as mine. They visited midweek this time, and I had leave for work before they were ready to head off, so I left them with a key.

It was so lovely upon arriving home to find everything far tidier than I’d left it. Dad almost compulsively washes my dishes whenever he’s around. As I was hopping about the bedroom getting ready to hit the gym, I was struck by the horrific realization that my parents had even looked under the bed. Nicely arranged on the top of my laundry basket sat damning evidence of illicit activity.

For context, a few months ago there was a somewhat regrettable, highly forgettable evening that was not nearly as interesting as the evidence would suggest (unless you count the ample evidence of my being severely ill) that resulted in a guest departing without everything they came in with. Finding this parting gift the following morning was as hilarious as it was humiliating, and I kicked it under the bed so as not to think about it.

Never look under the bed! Things are sent there for a reason. Either to be hidden or forgotten. I can only hope my parents have learned this lesson. Or they just think they’re being hysterically funny. With dad I can never really tell.

I’m being haunted by a pair of tatty Jockeys.

ESTOY LIBRE!

It seems like any other day. Just cruising the internet when I should be working. The norm. With hesitant key strokes I have just made the final electronic payment on my consumer debt. My credit cards are PAID! OFF! COMPLETELY!

(With the exception of the AMEX revolving credit, but that totally doesn’t count as is paid off each month. Still awesome!)

Like many young Americans, this debt has followed me since college, reaching an unsettling high point when the Ex and I were combining our debt for better interest rates. (I was young and dumb, whatever.) I had begun to doubt I would ever shed it, but last summer my resolve was reset, thanks to fairly steady and reliable income. An extra boost from the tax return has allowed me to obliterate my consumer debt just in time to start making monthly payments on my post grad school student loans. Sure it’s basically a trade from one to the other, but student debt is so much better than consumer. With a comfy interest rate locked in last year before it all went to hell w/ the Fed, I’m sitting as pretty as can be expected.

Next thing you know I’ll be setting up a retirement fund. Fantastic!

GENE ASTAIRE

The first wedding in my generation of Roemers came off quite smoothly this weekend. My cousin looked radiant, and showed no signs of all the stress I know revolved around the event. The ceremony was sweetly located on beach in the south sound, and the reception was fun even without alcohol.

Since I’m moving into my roll as the family spinster, and couldn’t drum up a date for the occassion, I was tasked with transporting Granny and Auntie to and from the festivities and manning the guest book at the reception. The taxi services went smoothly, though the drive was even longer than I’d expected at nearly two hours each way. The guest table I shirked a bit, but it wasn’t entirely my fault. Due to having the family photo session immediately after the ceremony, on the beach, while most of the crowd moved on to the snacks and dancing, everyone was well past the signing in by the time I was ready to man my post. Considering the guest book table was down hall from the party area, near the door and the restrooms, I couldn’t really bring myself to stay there much past twenty minutes. A few people filled out the cards with well wishes, and I tried to keep an eye on it while sampling all the food and dancing with dad. Generally, I’m sticking with timing being at fault for my neglect rather than my dodging the wall flower station.

Like most weddings I’m emotionally invested in, there were several bright moments. The ceremony setting was entirely charming, granny was escorted down the beach by a most solicitous groom and most fantastic of all, my dad is a spectacular dancer.

Dad was have a good health day in general, but on the dance floor, he positively lights up. He kicked off his sandals because they were slowing him down and spun me, my mom and his sisters around the floor like a barefoot pro. He said I was a quick study with the East Coast Swing, and even if he was just being kind, it’s the high point of my birthday/grad week. Now my daddy is not only the smartest and most athletic man ever, he’s the most graceful too.

Yeah, I’m daddy’s girl. What of it?

THE AQUATIC PLAGUE CONTINUES

Perhaps I should not attempt to keep fish, if at the least to keep PETA from knocking on my door. I’m a pox.

Jacqueline has passed away. It was more sudden than Veronica, but the symptoms were the same. On Tuesday evening she was acting a bit strange and only staying in one corner of the tank. By Wednesday, she was listing to the side, and Thursday found her wedging herself beneath a vine of the low lying tank décor only gawping shallowly. On Friday morning I scooped her lifeless little form from the tank for good.

To add to the oddities, it appears Franc has passed away as well. I was hoping he might just pop out of his shell and start sliming about, but several days of no movement pretty much sound the death knell.

Since I have carefully followed all the care instructions I was given at the pet store and searched out online, I don’t know how I can be causing this. My new suspicion is that the store I’ve been purchasing my gals from results in short life spans once they get home. Sure, it’s way more likely I’m the cause, but I’ve got to cling to something.

Now Olivia is running solo in the tank, and I don’t think I’ll be getting her a roommate anytime soon. If she hangs around for another month or so, I’ll reconsider. Perhaps a new snail will be in order though.

RIP Jacqs.