GOL!

It would seem I have been quite woeful in the updating of this blog. Since I perform these updates primarily for my own edification and in keeping with my new year’s resolution, it is all the more shameful for this to be the first post in the month of February.

Once this failing became evident, I felt pressured to come back with something good, something worth waiting for, however, nothing of note came up. (Though, if it did, I’m going with the story of it being either excessively dull or too juicy for public consumption in an attempt to build an air of mystery.) Time passed, and it needed to be even better.

Well, naturally, nothing big happened, and I’m as devoid of deep thoughts as ever, thus here is the gripping recounting of my first soccer goal, as an adult, possibly ever.

It was Monday night, and we were in the sixth game of a thus far 1 and 5 season. We were actually ahead, which tends to lift team spirits overall, an unfamiliar sensation. It being the end of a holiday weekend, I was gamely playing with a headache and slight hangover from having just a bit too much fun Sunday night.

Some average size dude from the opposing team was bringing the ball down the boards toward our goal, and in a surprising show of competence, I managed to strip it away and stay with it on the other side of the challenge. Suddenly, it’s me at midfield in a situation clearly calling dribbling down the pitch. Not a strong point for my game. I managed to stay ahead of the pursuing opposition for a few steps, pass off to one of my own team mates with some precision and prepare to move back to my defensive responsibilities. A job adequately done.

Then said team mate ends up passing back to me around midfield despite the constant evidence that passing to me on purpose rarely produces positive results. I booted the ball back down to the end, where, had there been no goalie present the ball would have likely bounced ineffectually off the wall, a few inches from entering the goal. However, the goalie was there and promptly scooped the ball up. I was in full retreat to provide defense when Andrea sent out an astonished shout that I scored, and everyone began trotting back to kickoff positions. It would seem that the goalie bobbled the ball once collecting it, dropping it into his own goal.

Sure, it’s a stretch to claim the goal as my own, but I’m taking it. Even if I didn’t vastly prefer sticking to defense, it is unlikely my most useful soccer skills of being an obstacle or running a step or two behind incoming opposition would ever result in a goal. Thus, I’m taking it. I am now a goal scorer. Perhaps someday another flash of luck and happenstance might even lead to me being a scorer of goals.

UNMATCHED

I would like to say I'm bad at dating, but it would seem necessary to actually go on dates before rating my success level. To this end, I occasionally consider entering the online personals realm, but I can never quite get over my hang-ups.

To preface, I have no doubt that meeting people can be highly effective and satisfying. In all practicality, the internet is just another public space in which you can meet up with friends and strangers alike. I have no problem with online dating, in theory; I just can’t do it myself, yet.

First, I’m not ready to give up the first impression experience when meeting someone in person. Sure, deception is practically standard in dating; only revealing layers of truth over time, and it can be done as effectively in person as remotely. I still hold to the belief that some form of twitchy, shifty, calloused, distant, clingy, creepy behavior is more likely to slip through when directly interacting with someone than when masked by the text medium.

I’m also reticent to submit my image and personal details to an infinitely replicable and editable medium. Though I have caved somewhat with MySpace and Blogger accounts, I haven’t yet found my profile info scraped and redistributed on any alternative adult sites I didn’t submit to, as happened to a friend of mine who suddenly found out his image was being used to draw customers to a gay personals site.

And the current, decisive reason I choose to steer clear of the internet for my socializing is my rage over the Match.com logo. With the extensive advertising push in the ramp up to Valentine’s Day, this offensive little logo has been foisted into my awareness. It consists of figures that are usually used to designate men’s and women’s public bathrooms. The male figure stands there, strait as ever while the female cuddles up against him kicking her rounded heal behind her in blissful glee. Yes, the man stands impassively while the woman vies for his attentions and clings. This gross generalization of dating stereotypes only adds to the pains of interpersonal miscommunication and insults half of Match’s customer base.

The Eagle

Opening weekend @ the SAM sculpture park

Is it really so hard to spell ‘pussy’?

I have inherited the new work responsibility of acting as primary media contact for the marketing department. Basically, this means that when anyone fills out the website form, it’s directed to my email. Thus, I get a lot of spam. An army of bots are out there automatically filling in the form with solicitations for insurance, erectile dysfunction medication and lots of porn. I only have to scan through them enough to ensure there aren’t any legitimate media inquiries, so I get to read the brief descriptions of what is likely contained in the masses of links so considerately sent my way.

I’m not sure if I’m more appalled that someone has actually produced dirty Kim Possible images or by the atrocious grammar skills of adult material purveyors.

Yet another day I failed to wear adequate footwear

The wind let up and now it snows, sort of. It's been a fun winter for the Emerald City.

Resolved

The year 2007 has started with a hangover, promptly followed by a sore throat and cold. Or, more accurately, it started in the midst of earning said hangover and progressed from there. In spite of this less than spectacular beginning, I am maintaining optimism for the coming months.

In keeping with the rosy outlook, I shall record my resolutions in this (moderately) public forum, so at least I might be shamed into adhering to them in the face of (moderate) public scrutiny.

1) Read more.
Since I am attempting to participate in two separate book clubs, I should be able to tackle at least two reasonably meaningful books a month, and throw in some pleasure reading besides. I like to read, and it is ridiculous how easy it is to push books to the back of the priority list when free time becomes available.

2) Determine a career path & actually make a plan.
I’m entirely too old and educated to still not know what I want to do even 5 years from now. This will take assessment, which I don’t enjoy all that much, and actual planning, which I am fairly decent at. Note: I’m not fully expecting to be “on” said path by the end of the year. I’ve determined the resolutions should be achievable goals, or else you just get fed up with even making them.

3) Write more.
There was a time I imagined I would be a writer, and there have been occasions when I might have demonstrated an actual knack with words. However, I have not put time and effort in this direction since school. Maybe with some committed effort and time I’ll find my voice. Or I could just discover I should stick with the consumption rather than production of words. Either way, better to know.

4) Get smaller.
Last year, and probably every year previous, I set out to lose weight. It’s the perpetual chick resolution. Finally, last year I succeeded in sticking to a solid fitness routine that has resulted in my being as healthy as I can remember being. I just didn’t get any smaller. If anything, I gained a few pounds. Sure, we can play the muscle vs. fat game of rational, but I haven’t given up the dream of actually taking up less space. I’ve got a pedometer, a gym membership, soccer gear and a diet plan that basically centers around cutting out alcohol. If I can’t see progress within the next month I’ll just have to start considering surgery. (mostly kidding)

Can't believe it was 33 degrees out

Waiting for the shuttle as 4 AM approaches
I have seen both sides of 3 AM this wknd & I assure you this is the wrong side to be on.

Future cat burglar

The second story window through which i successfully broke into Anika's condo after the keys were locked inside the car inside the locked garage.
We are just lucky my flight was cancelled and my mad ninja skills were on game.

Multimedia message

Greetings from Skybar

And this is why I came to CA in December?

Overcast in LA
Figures
The Ghetty still looks gorgeous

The beautiful people

Lunch al fresco @ the mall & Ani sporting a new do

Misplaced in Beverly Hills

I’m vacationing down in the LA area, visiting the twins. For this trip it means hanging out in a posh hotel and being surrounded by impossibly tempting shopping. While this promises to be a substantial financial drain, it’s a rarity that’s totally worth it.

December in California is funny. It’s like the most perfect June days up in Seattle weather wise, and it does look like some of the trees actually do lose their leaves. Christmas decorations look somewhat out of place on the bright, warm days, and I can’t help but notice the distinct lack of snowman representations.

Off to explore the alien landscape with some drool inducing window shopping, star chasing and perhaps house gazing in the Beverly Hills residential sector.

Sleeping late & leftovers

Morning in Beverly Hills w/ breakfast in bed
Livin' large

Perfect day

Vacation in the sun
Long overdue

New toy!

Not the action figure, the camera.

I have waited so long to qualify for a phone upgrade. Then there was the question of which phone would make me happy, once qualification occured. At last, it has come together flawlessly.

The Sony Ericsson w810i makes me terrifically happy. It's not unlike my first Ericsson, so cruely wrested from me as I departed a job, but with way more bells and whistles. I have even read the manual in the hopes of taking advatage of the coolest features.

Yay me!

CREAKY

I joined the company soccer team, not expecting to be a star or anything, but with the idea of having some fun and exercise. Mission accomplished. Although we were thoroughly tromped in our fist game by a superior team (apparently half the team is moonlighting at City College after being on the UW track team), but I ran around faster than I can ever remember doing, and didn’t feel completely useless while playing a heroic (if I’m being modest) 90 minutes due to a shortage of female subs. My legs were almost cramped beyond use on the way home, and I hobbled for two days after, but it pain positively earned.

It would seem my exertions followed me into this week without my realizing. I thought I was back up to par, even venturing to work out two days before this week’s game. While my muscled seemed more or less ready for another evening of over exertion, my ankles were not. I was a bit gimpy from the get go, and was attempting more of a cripple’s hop pursuit style by the end of the game.

Today I’m sporting a full on limp with both ankle wrapped in Ace bandages unearthed from the depths of my household med supplies. It will be the height of irony if I end up with some kind of long term sports injury. There are no shortage of adjectives to describe me, but athletic has never really fell on that list.

On the other hand, I had a great game. Sure we lost stupendously yet again, but my personal level of play was much improved, if perhaps more slowly executed. I successfully stripped oncoming opponents of ball time and again, without grievous fouls, and even occasionally redirected in the appropriate up field direction. Plus, I took no less than four direct shots to the body, each leaving a distinct soccer ball shaped mark, which successfully deflected shots on goal. Perhaps I will see if they can’t get ‘human shield’ put on my jersey before the end of the season.

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.