Dollars and Nonsense

Today is going to be a productive day. There are things to purchase and things to do, and window shopping to be had. I need new jeans. And a new pair of boots. And a few new "cold weather" shirts and such. Losing weight is a bitch because while you feel great about yourself, a lot of your old clothes don't really fit the same. Yes I know that complaining about it makes me sound ungrateful and narcissistic, but it's a big problem when you have no fucking money, you know?

While we're speaking about clothing, have you seen Gap's new logo? It's disturbing. Not as disturbing as their call to "artists" to redesign the logo for them (Noam Chomsky's head must be imploding), but yeah--it's pretty offensive to anyone who appreciates, you know, things that look good. AdBusters is going to have a field day.

"Hello daddy, hello mom.

I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb."

Making babies.

This is going to be one of those stream of conscious-y type entries.

Drip, drip, drip.

Surreality takes a metaphysical form: That moment when I realized that all of us are getting married and/or having kids. I went to 4 weddings this past summer, and all of them were uniquely different and totally ridiculous in ways both good and bad. One was very small, one was huge, one was mid-sized, and one was small-ish.

Each time that I got jazzed up and put on my dancin' shoes, I felt the same two-flavored emotion: Excitement and Sadness. Excited to be there for such a magnificent moment in the lives of people I know, and sadness that the seconds and minutes of every single day just sort of fall off the calendar. It's no wonder sand is used in hourglasses. Talk about the perfect, most approximate metaphor, huh?

Sometimes I want kids, and sometimes the idea scares the daylights out of me. Sometimes my brain is all "oh dude, of course you have to have kids, they're so adorable and squishy!" and sometimes it's like "yeah, but then when are you going to visit Italy? Australia? Kenya? Japan? Antarctica?" Then there's that third, instinctual, Freud's Id voice that's like "GO FORTH AND PRO-CREATE, MOTHER FUCKER!!!!" and then sex isn't fun so much as it is a mission statement, and that's a major cockblock by my brain and by stupid biology and stuff.

Sometimes it's tempting to get up out of my office, shut off the computer, leave all my stuff on a street corner in a box marked "Please Take--FREE" and run away to somewhere else that's not here . . . But then, the fact that I have student loans and Facebook makes this pretty much impossible.

Is today's theme "I really want to go do something different?" I think if this were a certain city block populated by muppets and multi-racial kids, it would be sponsored by the letter "P" for "Pensive."


"Can I get-get-get to know-know-know-know ya better-better, baby?"

Gonna change my way of thinkin'...

Today I get to go to the FSA Food Expo at the Seattle Convention Center. It's basically a day where different food vendors, restaurants, catering companies, and breweries market and sample their product for regional businesses interested in buying. Is my hotel going to buy anything? Probably not. But it's paid, and it's an excuse to go eat rad food.

I'm sort of at a weird place with my job. They've got me doing about 25% of the job of the Director of Sales, 50% of the job of front desk person, and 25% of the job of an administrative assistant for my boss. My official title is "Guest Services Manager," and I'm still only a little bit sure of what that means. I sort of feel dead in the water about it. On the one hand I'm grateful to have a job, but on the other hand I've got that feeling on the fringes of my psyche that I always tend to get when I go months without affirmation that my degree is worth something--The feeling that I'm going nowhere. Doing nothing worthwhile. A placeholder.

To stave off the good ol' insecurities, I've taken to exploring new web comics, reading non-fiction, and (attempting) to try one new restaurant or one new bar every week. So far so good--we were introduced to this amazing Cuban sandwich shop called Paseo. We've been three times now in two months; something about the caramelized onions makes it instantly appealing at just the mention of its name. It's absolutely one of the best kept secrets in the city. Make no mistake, it's not "first date food" as Alli and I discussed. It's definitely "I've seen you naked and I still want to have sex with you" food. Should you go there, and should you purchase one of their sandwiches, you will end up looking like a total slob. A satisfied, perfectly content, in-total-bliss slob.

You know what I hate? Yelp. It's like all of the opinions I never ever wanted to hear and all of the whining, complaining, irrational customers I've ever dealt with were all corralled into one place so that they could all be grumpy and totally irrational and obtrusive together. It makes me want to bash my head against a wall repeatedly. Guess what, "portlandgal444," nobody cares that you think Starbucks is the root of all evil. I'm sorry nobody reads your blog, but don't take it out on the rest of the Internets by publishing your rants where everybody can see them. And if you're going to, at least try and be interesting. Or have something objective and well-rounded to say. In summary, DIAF.

If you're not reading The Abominable Charles Christopher, you should be. It's beautiful and hilarious and heartbreaking. And it's got adorable animals!

This weekend I've got my buddy Daniel's birthday and a re-bachelor party for my friend Nu_Ryan (which is what I call him on the Internets), whom just finalized his divorce. Busy-busy-busy bees, we are!

"Who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma?"

Crawling out from under the rock...

...The rock, in this case, being work and everyting work-related.

My job became pretty hyper-stressful these past two months for several reasons: The first being when I found out that my wages had been lowered without my knowledge. I never thought I needed to check my rate of pay on my pay stubs, but one random glance one random day led me to discover that for 2 months my wages had been slashed. Which is illegal if no one tells you.

A long, arduous, 2-month battle with the hotel building owner later, and now I'm back to making what I rightfully should've been making in the first place (with a raise[!]). No wonder I was barely making ends meet for a while there, huh?

The next reason is because of our awkward transitionary phase. We're picking up in business, but we only opened 5 months ago, so we still have shit for employees. There aren't enough of us, so when something breaks down or someone gets sick everyone is royally screwed. We've only just recently hired a few extra housekeepers and an extra front desk person (thank God--I can actually have office hours in my shared office space!), yet there's still not enough equipment or funding to go around. It's absolutely insane and not in any way under my control, which is eternally frustrating.

The final reason is because I've been having some intense dreams recently. I haven't even told Josh about this because I don't want to freak him out. The reoccuring dream happens every few nights, and certain details are always a little different, yet the over-arching "story" of the dream stays the same:

In my dream, I have children. They keep telling me that they're hungry, so I keep making them food. Yet there's no food left in the house. I run frantically through the house opening doors and drawers and closets and cabinets but we have no food. So I go to check my bank balance online and I have negative however-many-thousands of dollars.

Sometimes, also, our cat talks to me and repremands me for doing a poor job of parenting.

Is my fear of growing older and feeling directionless when I'm 30 manifesting itelf in the form of these odd dreams where I'm broke and have no way of taking care of those whom depend on me? Probably. I hate feeling helpless, and stupid, and embarassed, so it only makes sense that I'd hate being broke with kids. Plus it doesn't help that in the dream my cat is a total bitch.

Anyway, it hasn't done wonders for my sleep cycle.

My battle with soda has continued. I've fallen victim to temptation at a friend's house a few times and had a can of regular Cherry Pepsi here and there, but other than that it's Diet soda all the way! Blerg.

Josh and I are doing well. We hit a bit of a bump recently but I feel like things are smoothed over. He's the one constant in my life, and I'm glad that I've got him. Few other things make me feel good after a long, shitty day at work than just being around him.

Thanks to my mom we now have nearly $500 worth of brand new living room furniture :) I'm really pleased with how it looks. I feel like we need to push the "modern, industrial forest" aesthetic a little further with some larger prints or some really gaudy pieces, but I dig everything about it thus far. I'll post pictures when I take some.

Now for lists.

Three Bands I'm Currently Over-Listening To:
1) Discovery
2) Sleigh Bells
3) Best Coast

Three Foods I'm Currently Overeating:
1) Bananas
2) Various Lean Pockets
3) Tortilla Chips

Three Things I Hope Happen:
1) Josh has a good birthday.
2) I get a bite on something--anything--that I've submitted to various editorial people.
3) I get tickets to the Capitol Hill Block Party (DEADWEATHER! BEST COAST!).

Three Things I Will Make Happen:
1) Call my mom back after a week's worth of phone tag.
2) Buy a wedding present for Josh's brother.
3) Write more, more, and more again.

Three People I Need to Call:
1) My mom (cheating on this one)
2) Alli
3) Julie

Three People I Need to Write:
1) Aunt Charlotte
2) Lindsay
3) Matt

I'll be posting wedding stuff soon, so get stoked for that :)


"Life has a funny way,
of sneaking up on you
when you think everything is okay;
then everything blows up in your face."

The Twitching Hour(s).

I think that between the hours of 12:30 and 2:30 at my job, I've achieved new states of boredom. I can't access Facebook on the business internet, which is unfortunate, but even then I think it would have its limits of any sort of entertainment factor.

Today has been exceptionally slow. Over half of a family reunion just checked out, and what was a group of 30 individual rooms is now down to around 10. They were all lovely people, for the most part, with nothing but good things to say. Which is rare given that in every family there are always the stcik-in-the-mud/no-way-in-hell-can-I-ever-be-happy types. Anyway, with those folks gone and very few arrivals today, my day has been spent doing little lame tasks just to stay active and keep me from standing still behind my desk. You can only mop, dust, and make a pot of coffee so many times before it just becomes redundant, you know?

The interesting thing about working in a hotel is that you get to see the real face of people. In retail everything is very simple; very transaction-based. Sure there are those customers that you really connect or bond with, but those are few and far between. In the hospitality industry you get an actual good sense of how people act privately as well as in public; it's not just their game face that they're wearing. I've met some very nice and kind adults since working here. I've also met some very spoiled, very self-righteous adults. The kind who can barely handle it when it takes an extra five minutes for a fresh pot of coffee to be made, or who can't follow simple instructions on how to log on to the hotel internets; they expect you to do it for them.

It's not just an American thing, either. Spoiled adults come from all nations, or so I've ascertained. Apparently there are no limits to how truly moronic one can be when they feel as if they've got no time to take a moment, breathe, and think something through before they complain about it. Can't get the door open? Stop shoving your card in, pause for a moment, and carefully/lightly swipe it one more time. Very simple if you just come down and stop acting like it's the biggest and most inconvenient thing in the world, ever.

I really do like my job, though. I don't see myself getting burned out on this industry as fast as I did retail.

Still, I hope that things perk up for me in the writing department. I've had a great time writing again for Mutineer and really hope it brings steady work, or at least work every now and then a few times a year. We'll see what comes of it . . .

. . . I really need a new pair of shorts. None of mine fit me anymore. But when you shoot from a waist size of 34 to a 28 or 29 in just a year, that's bound to happen. I really like this soft linen shorts I found at H&M; they come in khaki or in basic black and they're disturbingly comfy and very well-made. The next time I have thirty bucks, yeah?

I've successfully made the transition to a soda-less life, and I have to say it's been quite an experience. Not only do a find that soda is more convenient than a healthy alternative (seriously--this is another reason why America is obese), but that taste-wise it seems like they don't even want to make diet soda attractive in taste or visual aesthetics. Diet Coke is, I'm sorry, totally atrocious. Diet Dr. Pepper is fairly acceptable. Diet Sprite is my favorite so far in terms of taste. Diet Root Beer of the Barq's variety is absolute nonsense. And why do they even bother to make Diet Red Bull? It does absolutely nothing and, if you read the calorie count, has nearly the same as a can of normal Coke. Worthless! But I've stopped getting it at restaurants, and stopped buying it on-the-go for a pick-me-up, and we only have diet at home. And it's diet soda all the way at bars and clubs.

Speaking of, I really want to go dancing some time soon. Perhaps after I buy my new shorts? But shorts at a club is so blech, unless you're going for a beachy/nautical/I'm adorable and should be on a yacht a'la Nate Archibald from "Gossip Girl" sort of look.

My birthday is in two weeks. I don't know what's planned, but Josh assures me he has everything under control. The control freak in me wants to jump in and take over, but I really don't want to get in his way on this. I had a ton of fun planning his birthday last summer and Julie's birthday this past Novemeber, and I LOVED planning our Halloween Party . . . So part of me really wants to get involved, but it's sort of my birthday, which means I can't and shouldn't butt in too much. What worries me is that he's going to go overboard or stretch his mind and wallet so thin that it will depress him, and then put him in a shitty mood if everything isn't perfect. In reality all I want is just to be drunk with my friends.

24, 24 . . . Will it be different than 23? Sources say no, not really. I'll find out soon!



"Everyone's alive but ill.
Let's just take a deep breath,
And lock the doors so no one;
No one has to know.
I can say I'm doing well,
As long as, as long as I can see the room
From the graveyard shift."