Friend visits from outta town. Talk some shop. Explore a new neighborhood. Buy some used French books. Make candied-espresso walnuts. Attend a BBQ. Meet some new friends (easily done while armed with said nuts*). Walk in the 60-degree sunshine. Try a new brunch place. Study some French with the company of a scone.
It was the last weekend of the summer, and I am satisfied.
* I could re-write the book, How to Win Friends and Influence People. Chapter 1: Make candied-espresso walnuts. Bring them to a party. Done. Everyone loves you. The End.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
1 year, 4 cities
It's my 3-month anniversary of living in Washington. In the last year, I have spent:
autumn in Davenport, Iowa
winter in Quebec City, Canada
spring in Atlanta, Georgia, and
summer in Seattle.
I guess my tail feathers were on fire.
I'm very curious to see what fall in the northwest will bring. As long as it's not SAD, I'm thinking it will be survivable. And maybe even fantastic.
autumn in Davenport, Iowa
winter in Quebec City, Canada
spring in Atlanta, Georgia, and
summer in Seattle.
I guess my tail feathers were on fire.
I'm very curious to see what fall in the northwest will bring. As long as it's not SAD, I'm thinking it will be survivable. And maybe even fantastic.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
questions
1. why's coffee make me all happy and shit? i mean, an 11-hour work day, and i could care less, all because of that little 8 ounces of creamy caffeinated heaven, my first in 5 days. LOVE IT.
2. how come girl talk (the music, not the gay feminine chattiness) makes me wanna dance, like even without any booze in mah veins? so thrilled for monday: showbox at the market. girl talk live. deliciousssssssss.
3. wine. what's up with the druggy beauty of a simple glass? just your average day, then BOOM. i feel all open and great and free, without the pressing urge to edit every. single. fucking. detail of life. and a little like i should always be on a 1-glass vino buzz, 24/7, for the sake of society all around me. COME ON, WHY NOT?
4. grilled cheese sandwiches, pathway to the heavens? i think so. makes you feel like a 7-year-old again, even when eaten past your regularly scheduled dinnertime, in your clinic clothes. fuck yeah. where's my cartoons?
2. how come girl talk (the music, not the gay feminine chattiness) makes me wanna dance, like even without any booze in mah veins? so thrilled for monday: showbox at the market. girl talk live. deliciousssssssss.
3. wine. what's up with the druggy beauty of a simple glass? just your average day, then BOOM. i feel all open and great and free, without the pressing urge to edit every. single. fucking. detail of life. and a little like i should always be on a 1-glass vino buzz, 24/7, for the sake of society all around me. COME ON, WHY NOT?
4. grilled cheese sandwiches, pathway to the heavens? i think so. makes you feel like a 7-year-old again, even when eaten past your regularly scheduled dinnertime, in your clinic clothes. fuck yeah. where's my cartoons?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
tuesday AM
Nothing like a homemade breakfast taco, an hour-long massage, brand-new $12 shoes, and the promise of an evening Skype date to set the tone for the day.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
caned but able
(Disclaimer: Though I probably totally deserved the following events, and they probably make me a horrible person, it doesn't make them any less hilarious.)
Saturday afternoon, I was walking downtown with my friend Lisa, trying to get to the intersection before the crowd of people coming from my right blocked us off from it. I noticed an old (blind? homeless?) woman coming, and thinking she'd be slow, rushed a bit to cross her path and clear the crowd. She was apparently faster than I gave her credit for, and not even looking up once, she came barreling into me, then - to my horror - began to lose her balance. I felt terrible for cutting her off, and was horrified that she was about to fall due to my impatient scampering. So I grabbed her forearm to help her out, while repeating, "I'm so sorry!"
She didn't fall. (Whew.) But she DID scream, "Leave me alone!" while jerking her arm away, then she grabbed her cane with both hands (as one would a baseball bat) and proceeded to beat my leg with it. Not really knowing what was happening, I realized her hat had flown off in the process, and she was hobbling away without it, still berating me: "Goddamn you!" I said, "Um, excuse me, I have your hat!" and I went over to put it back on her head. She paused and brought her head down to receive it. Then she wandered off into the Seattle streets, with her eyes still aimed toward the ground and her hair in her face, still not looking where she was going (because she was blind?? or had some other problems? I will never know!). I wasn't sure if I should feel bad for being in her way, or indignant for sustaining an assault (however feeble). But instead, I started choking back laughter, when Lisa and I realized what had just happened:
I got caned by an old woman.
Saturday afternoon, I was walking downtown with my friend Lisa, trying to get to the intersection before the crowd of people coming from my right blocked us off from it. I noticed an old (blind? homeless?) woman coming, and thinking she'd be slow, rushed a bit to cross her path and clear the crowd. She was apparently faster than I gave her credit for, and not even looking up once, she came barreling into me, then - to my horror - began to lose her balance. I felt terrible for cutting her off, and was horrified that she was about to fall due to my impatient scampering. So I grabbed her forearm to help her out, while repeating, "I'm so sorry!"
She didn't fall. (Whew.) But she DID scream, "Leave me alone!" while jerking her arm away, then she grabbed her cane with both hands (as one would a baseball bat) and proceeded to beat my leg with it. Not really knowing what was happening, I realized her hat had flown off in the process, and she was hobbling away without it, still berating me: "Goddamn you!" I said, "Um, excuse me, I have your hat!" and I went over to put it back on her head. She paused and brought her head down to receive it. Then she wandered off into the Seattle streets, with her eyes still aimed toward the ground and her hair in her face, still not looking where she was going (because she was blind?? or had some other problems? I will never know!). I wasn't sure if I should feel bad for being in her way, or indignant for sustaining an assault (however feeble). But instead, I started choking back laughter, when Lisa and I realized what had just happened:
I got caned by an old woman.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
the state of things
I finally moved to a city where the plan - for lack of a better word - is to stay for a while, at least longer than a few months. Yet I still feel so temporary about everything. It’s a perspective I’ve evolved over the course of nearly 10 years of being on the move, of living in impermanent places that are only for school, or only for an internship, and then, and then, and then... there will be some place else! It's like a cloak I throw on each time a new opportunity presents itself, to remind myself: ‘don’t get comfortable… this is only for a spell.’ I wonder now when the time will come when I feel stable enough to toss off the cloak. Will it happen after a certain time period here? Once I know the ins and outs of the city? When my salary increases and I start paying off the debt, saving money, becoming responsible?
I know it’s only been two months. I look back at Quebec, and at the 2-month mark, I was already dreading my departure, but was so happy with where I was. At that same point in Atlanta, I was indifferent to staying or going… I was happy for the time being, but knew from the beginning there that it was just a stepping stone. I knew the next thing would be coming soon, so any sadness I had about leaving a place I was just getting to know was overshadowed with the excitement of starting again, this time with a REAL job.
And here, it’s so weird to try and think about the long term, since there hasn’t been one before. But in reality, this could be my long term. I mean, why not? It’s beautiful here… the landscape, the weather, the city. I have a great job, a secure one, with lots of potential, a great boss, a career that is taking off. I’m making friends who I really like. I have a home that I love returning to after a day’s work or a weekend trip.
And yet…
I still just don’t know. It all seems so up in the air. I don’t know if I’m not letting myself feel settled, or my intuition is telling me for some other reason not to get too comfortable. Or maybe, of course, it’s possible that I’ve just really started here, and inevitably it takes time to build… well, a life. Which is, I guess…what I’m supposed to be doing? Although I question what all exactly that entails.
In the meantime, I'll see how it all plays out. My Seattle existence. The northwest winter. Being far from any other place I've called home. Being a doctor for the first time. And, like with everything else, I'll trust the seat of my pants, and do like Dad says: one thing at a time.
I know it’s only been two months. I look back at Quebec, and at the 2-month mark, I was already dreading my departure, but was so happy with where I was. At that same point in Atlanta, I was indifferent to staying or going… I was happy for the time being, but knew from the beginning there that it was just a stepping stone. I knew the next thing would be coming soon, so any sadness I had about leaving a place I was just getting to know was overshadowed with the excitement of starting again, this time with a REAL job.
And here, it’s so weird to try and think about the long term, since there hasn’t been one before. But in reality, this could be my long term. I mean, why not? It’s beautiful here… the landscape, the weather, the city. I have a great job, a secure one, with lots of potential, a great boss, a career that is taking off. I’m making friends who I really like. I have a home that I love returning to after a day’s work or a weekend trip.
And yet…
I still just don’t know. It all seems so up in the air. I don’t know if I’m not letting myself feel settled, or my intuition is telling me for some other reason not to get too comfortable. Or maybe, of course, it’s possible that I’ve just really started here, and inevitably it takes time to build… well, a life. Which is, I guess…what I’m supposed to be doing? Although I question what all exactly that entails.
In the meantime, I'll see how it all plays out. My Seattle existence. The northwest winter. Being far from any other place I've called home. Being a doctor for the first time. And, like with everything else, I'll trust the seat of my pants, and do like Dad says: one thing at a time.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
shades of gray
I've said before that I could never live in a place that never has clouds. Blue, sunny skies are boring, not to mention very mean to my pasty epidermis.
Not that there has been a shortage of sun here this summer. There's actually been a perfect amount. And I haven't yet made it through the fall and winter months, when the sun allegedly hides itself and doesn't come out to play till late spring, but I'm digging the clouds so far. They are splendid in their unpredictability.
Seattle has brought to my attention just how many shades of gray there can be, as far as clouds go. Gray can be, in fact, absolutely beautiful, and it's not a boring color at all. There can be a seamless, solid blanket of your typical gray cloud-cover, or pretty, bubbly gray patches with various textures. There are multiple hues of gray-violet, as well as countless gray-blues, and even warmer shades of pinkish gray or with tinges of orange, depending on the time of day. There are infinite various patterns of holey clouds, where sun rays can peek through, giving that majestic look to the heavens, if you like that kind of thing (I, in fact, do). And there's your everyday wispy or puffy cottony whitish clouds, when the sky feels like being a conformist.
In conclusion, clouds are the bomb and people who say this town is too gray can suck it. That's like saying that Quebec is too snowy in winter, having never experienced the joy that comes with playing in the fluffy deliciousness of it. Or like saying there are too many nuts in banana bread. Which is clearly impossible.
Not that there has been a shortage of sun here this summer. There's actually been a perfect amount. And I haven't yet made it through the fall and winter months, when the sun allegedly hides itself and doesn't come out to play till late spring, but I'm digging the clouds so far. They are splendid in their unpredictability.
Seattle has brought to my attention just how many shades of gray there can be, as far as clouds go. Gray can be, in fact, absolutely beautiful, and it's not a boring color at all. There can be a seamless, solid blanket of your typical gray cloud-cover, or pretty, bubbly gray patches with various textures. There are multiple hues of gray-violet, as well as countless gray-blues, and even warmer shades of pinkish gray or with tinges of orange, depending on the time of day. There are infinite various patterns of holey clouds, where sun rays can peek through, giving that majestic look to the heavens, if you like that kind of thing (I, in fact, do). And there's your everyday wispy or puffy cottony whitish clouds, when the sky feels like being a conformist.
In conclusion, clouds are the bomb and people who say this town is too gray can suck it. That's like saying that Quebec is too snowy in winter, having never experienced the joy that comes with playing in the fluffy deliciousness of it. Or like saying there are too many nuts in banana bread. Which is clearly impossible.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
pop quiz
Q: What do you do when there's leftover salsa in the bowl after you've finished your cheese-loaded, delicious, incredibly filling homemade quesadillas?
A: Make more quesadillas to finish the salsa. Duh.
A: Make more quesadillas to finish the salsa. Duh.
Monday, August 17, 2009
making a house a home
Once upon a time, there was a girl who couldn't make up her mind where to live. Her roots were in Texas, and there had been stints in New York City and Iowa. There were those few months in Quebec, and a few more in Atlanta. She liked them all (mostly). She couldn't choose. (This was a very fickle, indecisive girl.) Finally, she decided to head west.
After 3,299 miles and 4 days of driving, she arrived in Washington, only to find the saddest little hovel waiting for her there. Them's were the suburbs, and they were pretty effing ghetto.
After 3,299 miles and 4 days of driving, she arrived in Washington, only to find the saddest little hovel waiting for her there. Them's were the suburbs, and they were pretty effing ghetto.
She cursed the cultureless strip-malls and miserable abode cried. Then, a stroke of luck landed her the perfect apartment in Seattle. She just had to wait out the month of July so she could move in. So, she endured more ghetto....
...until finally, the day came when she could, at long last, (after four long, urban-less years,) settle herself into a real city (for longer than three months),
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
hallelujah
Over the weekend, I was melted and crushed, only not in that order.
Thursday and Friday were such big days in the clinic that afterward, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. But that didn't come until the next night, when I was navigating home after a promising night out with new friends. Through Seattle I ventured, down diagonal downtown streets, until one unknowingly illegal left turn later (Texas, meet Seattle, but first hold onto your fucking britches), and SMACK. A Ford truck - or maybe it was a Dodge...my head was spinning and pulsating too fast to really notice - at 30 mph, bit into my little Camry, and gave my upper body a good jarring.
Fifteen minutes of shock later, after trading insurance info with the other driver and double-checking that I was not fatally wounded, I found myself in the midst of a post-adrenalin-surge emotional eruption. Upset, in disbelief, frustrated that I could have let this stupid shit happen, and worrying about my already-been-through-eight-car-crashes poor little neck, I was a complete mess. So, to try and ameliorate the first signs of the inevitable whiplash soreness that would soon follow, I rigged myself a cervical collar outta frozen fruit and masking tape:
freaked out, but smelling fruity.
...and after a good laugh at the ridiculousness of sticking blueberries and pineapple to my neck, and the realization that I could get x-rayed and adjusted at work on Monday, that my atlas would eventually be just fine, and that it could have been a LOT worse, I proceeded to calm the hell down.
And then came the hearts in my eyes (and ears)... some relief-granting news and sweet words from a friend served to sooth a healing salve into freshly-traumatized sprains and strains, and patch up the shock-induced mental anguish I'd just endured.
I further self-medicated by reconnecting to Jeff Buckley's Grace, immediately followed by feeling like a total fucking girl: my heart actually tingled and I allowed myself to disintegrate under his poetic words and melodic voice...
and love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
...
it's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
...
broken down and hungry for your love, with no way to feed it
...
too young to hold on, too old to break free and run
His lyrics and gorgeous tunes, mingled with the sweet smell of thawing pineapple taped to your neck, is enough to make a girl go 'uuhuuhhhhnnnnhnh...'
I wonder if there's a way to prove that angelic voices and unfathomably beautiful guitar riffs have healing powers, scientifically speaking.
Thursday and Friday were such big days in the clinic that afterward, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. But that didn't come until the next night, when I was navigating home after a promising night out with new friends. Through Seattle I ventured, down diagonal downtown streets, until one unknowingly illegal left turn later (Texas, meet Seattle, but first hold onto your fucking britches), and SMACK. A Ford truck - or maybe it was a Dodge...my head was spinning and pulsating too fast to really notice - at 30 mph, bit into my little Camry, and gave my upper body a good jarring.
Fifteen minutes of shock later, after trading insurance info with the other driver and double-checking that I was not fatally wounded, I found myself in the midst of a post-adrenalin-surge emotional eruption. Upset, in disbelief, frustrated that I could have let this stupid shit happen, and worrying about my already-been-through-eight-car-crashes poor little neck, I was a complete mess. So, to try and ameliorate the first signs of the inevitable whiplash soreness that would soon follow, I rigged myself a cervical collar outta frozen fruit and masking tape:
freaked out, but smelling fruity. ...and after a good laugh at the ridiculousness of sticking blueberries and pineapple to my neck, and the realization that I could get x-rayed and adjusted at work on Monday, that my atlas would eventually be just fine, and that it could have been a LOT worse, I proceeded to calm the hell down.
And then came the hearts in my eyes (and ears)... some relief-granting news and sweet words from a friend served to sooth a healing salve into freshly-traumatized sprains and strains, and patch up the shock-induced mental anguish I'd just endured.
I further self-medicated by reconnecting to Jeff Buckley's Grace, immediately followed by feeling like a total fucking girl: my heart actually tingled and I allowed myself to disintegrate under his poetic words and melodic voice...
and love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
...
it's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
...
broken down and hungry for your love, with no way to feed it
...
too young to hold on, too old to break free and run
His lyrics and gorgeous tunes, mingled with the sweet smell of thawing pineapple taped to your neck, is enough to make a girl go 'uuhuuhhhhnnnnhnh...'
I wonder if there's a way to prove that angelic voices and unfathomably beautiful guitar riffs have healing powers, scientifically speaking.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
thursday night equation
a roller-coaster Wednesday
+
a massive Friday to-do list
+
my first 40-patient day at the clinic (!)
+
second glass of wine?
=
I wish I could sleep for 15 hours.
+
a massive Friday to-do list
+
my first 40-patient day at the clinic (!)
+
second glass of wine?
=
I wish I could sleep for 15 hours.
Monday, August 3, 2009
something tells me...
that this IKEA bed would be assembled a lot more easily if I was drunk.
I'm not saying it was the voice of logic, but I'm off to find some cheap booze. Because I do what I'm told.
I'm not saying it was the voice of logic, but I'm off to find some cheap booze. Because I do what I'm told.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
discoveries
1. As much as a Texan can justifiably mock Pacific Northwesterners for saying 80 degrees is "sooo warm, omg!" Seattle can be really hot. Like, nearly Texas hot, only sans AC. (No fair.)
2. I have the ability to move from one apartment to another all by myself. Heavy, craigslist-bought IKEA bed and all! (God bless freight elevators.)
3. Mixing double espresso drinks and wine does not bode well when attempting to assemble a very confusing craigslist-bought IKEA bed. With all the foreign hardware. And the heaviness. And, caffeinated drunkenness. No good. (But soo goood.)
4. Fuck bed assembly, I wanna jump around this new place. South Lake Union! No funky smell! Outta the ‘burbs! Weeeeee!
5. Decidedly, this apartment will one day be the ideal setting for a dance party, after single-handedly testing its viability as such. In my underwear. Under the influence of Vivace espresso and cheap red wine. Who wants to party?
2. I have the ability to move from one apartment to another all by myself. Heavy, craigslist-bought IKEA bed and all! (God bless freight elevators.)
3. Mixing double espresso drinks and wine does not bode well when attempting to assemble a very confusing craigslist-bought IKEA bed. With all the foreign hardware. And the heaviness. And, caffeinated drunkenness. No good. (But soo goood.)
4. Fuck bed assembly, I wanna jump around this new place. South Lake Union! No funky smell! Outta the ‘burbs! Weeeeee!
5. Decidedly, this apartment will one day be the ideal setting for a dance party, after single-handedly testing its viability as such. In my underwear. Under the influence of Vivace espresso and cheap red wine. Who wants to party?
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