i don't laugh like a french man

Although I've been accused of it.

Here is me trying to leave myself a voicemail about a sales lead I saw while driving around with my friend Chris. In the time it took me to dial the phone, I had forgotten the name of the business. This was funny only because it followed a two minute conversation about how I didn't need to write it down because I would "totally remember" it tomorrow. Yeah. Either that or completely forget it in, like, 20 seconds.

So, here ya go kids, this is me laughing while Chris mocks me.

with a side of punk rock

Oh. I’m tired.

It’s a good tired. Hard day’s work kind of tired. Don’t be fooled, I wasn’t out in a field and my job does not typically require that I sweat. Instead, I was inside juggling about two dozen things including clients, proposals, coffee breaks, contracts and insertion orders. It was three o’clock before I would have guessed it was noon. And come 7pm I was a little cranky, a little hungry and a little accidentally calling one of my clients Karen when her name is Kristen. When you become a liability, it’s time to go home.

Isn’t it weird that I have a real job? I read some of the stuff I write and think, DANG, amazing that I’m employed in, like, a professional position and, like, I make good money and stuff. Because I write about boys and stitch fake teeth. And want a yurt.

I more than want a yurt, actually. I am OBSESSED with yurts. I’ve been rallying the troops, i.e. my coworkers and friends, to start a yurt colony with me. We’d each live peacefully in our own separate yurts and all pitch in and buy a Command Yurt or Yurt HQ where we can gather to watch movies and bake cupcakes. I have the yurt brochure on my desk and make yurt jokes at every opportunity. Chris accuses me of being a yurt instigator. I’m not sure what that all means, but if it has the word yurt in it, I consider it a compliment. Abby found a yurt tree house today so now the colony is looking for woodland property instead of grassy fields near babbling brooks. This whole idea kinda makes me want to start a cult.

Other obsessions: large scale graffiti style knitting, hamsters, scoop neck t-shirts from Old Navy and if soy milk is giving me stomach aches.

I was asked to write two, count ‘em, two stories for the next issue of Gender F. Gender Fuck You. Gender Flunked. Gender Fabulous. Gender Fun! I said yes so eagerly that you’d think they’d negotiate on rate. “Yeah, um, we’re not gonna pay you this time...” I have yet to get the full details on the assignments but I know this much: one of the stories will be on how hipster girls are getting together and getting their craft on. That’s almost as good as it being on yurts. Because if there is one thing I know, it’s ah, being crafty.

What else. What else. I got my hair cut. Used Rock, Paper, Scissors to efficiently settle a dispute. (I lost.) Saw As You Like It in Volunteer Park. Had a sno-cone. Pet a really cute dog. Oh! Chris threw his gum out the car window and it somehow landed on the hood. I got a picture! I made a t-shirt. Finished an iBook cozy and checked on airfare to Europe. Oo la la. Tres jujujuju oui oui oui le croissant, non?

someday somebody's gonna ask you

He said he’d been antisocial and spent the holiday on his roof watching the tops of fireworks peek over trees from miles and miles away. I spent it on my neighbor’s deck watching them explode over Elliot Bay and having my mind wander sometimes to what he was doing and sometimes to how fortunate I was to be surrounded by tipsy friends with s’mores on the horizon. The mint julep had made my cheeks pink from two sips and I bet he was drunk, too. The booms were setting of car alarms and my friend Laura’s daughter was eating red licorice by the handful. Everyone looked so pretty in the darkened glow of red, white and blue.

All the important people were there. Laura. Boo. Charity. Charity is new. Met on 43things and have become fast friends. Together the four of us form some dream team of smart girls with special talents. Laura can speak French and makes an amazing macaroni and cheese. Boo works graphic magic and lights up a room. Charity is an emotionally smart genius who can knit you anything your heart desires. Me. I can paint and embroider dish towels and turn any problem into happy. If only we could fly. If only we could bring about world peace with well designed flyers, little sweaters and pasta dishes. I musta done something right to have found these girls in a city this big and this sometimes rainy. Apparently, I've had at least three lucky Seattle days.

I made a flag cake and baked beans and bought more food than I needed . Way more. Like four times more. I was sending leftovers home with everyone who had a spare arm to carry a zip-lock bag or covered dish. Laura and I made a trip to Costco for the occasion and while a giant jug of ketchup seemed like a good idea in the moment, it’s now turned into a lifetime supply. Same thing with graham crackers. Same thing with veggie dogs. Same thing with jell-o. In event of nuclear holocaust, I’m totally covered. Boo promised that next time I have a party she’ll follow me around and secretly put back 2/3 of everything I have in the cart.

It was my second Fourth of July here. The first one, I was a bit wide eyed and homesick. Remembering very clearly my last 4th of July in Minneapolis. Remembering riding my bike. Remembering the mosquitos. Then, from my perch on Capitol Hill, I watched the fireworks while playing with Sophie’s hair and wondering how exactly I had landed in Seattle. Figuring the reason would make itself known in time. And my only job was to be patient and recognize it when it crossed my path. That’s me still, one year later. Keeping an eye out and sipping summer drinks while sitting on the porch.