Worst. Morning. Ever.

[Anonymous workplace of death and despair], you can suck my metaphorical balls.

Long shadows, gunpowder eyes

Croon away, Neko Case. Sink my mind into that silky aural texture that flows around my teeth and ears and inside my head.

I thought we were better than that...

Seattle has made me a bit of a fool. For months prior to summer, I've been telling non-Seattlites new to this emerald city that while yes, the rain is a bit oppressive, and yes, we've had a long, wet spring, just HOLD OUT for the nirvana that is summer. It'll be warm, but not too warm. Clear skies will abound. You will not be able to keep yourself from gamboling about beaches and hillsides. Yes, your skin will darken in the sun!

Instead, this summer has been brutal to my optimism. The occasional sunny day, afternoon or weekend is just enough to tease my hopes up, promises of a long, late summer keep me going. Really though, it's gray, humid and kind of chilly. Those sundresses won't wear themselves, Seattle! Give us a boost of vitamin D. Please?

On that note, this weekend is projected to be dry and hot. Please, Seattle, don't leave us with blue balls.

Stage, oh, Stage

here I come.

Oh, I'm ruing....

Ruing the day I didn't aim higher for my undergraduate degree. Sure, I took away some worthwhile experiences and training, but I am in no way remotely competitive in the graduate school arena. Aim for the middle ground, and that is exactly where you'll be. Mediocre. Sure, I might have a nice singing voice and vibrant personality, but this doesn't come out on paper. Zeal for learning and a passion for music? So sorry. Now, had you joined the Peace Corp...

Fuck.

Holey trousers, ________________

Post-college poverty*:

It is acceptable to wear to my professional place of business seven year old trouser pants with all seams fallen, two of three buttons gone forever, and a hole ripped across the ass cheek.

*Poverty - A fluid state of being in which money is prioritized to drugs of choice and food, fancy clothes too short, too low or too be-sequined for the workplace, and travel. NOT impending graduate school, NOT car maintenance, NOT future life purchases like a house or dog.

This is my argument for a raise: I need new pants.

Pink Martinis are delicious to the tongue and the ears!

In honor or the title of this little chalkboard for my thoughts, I salute Pink Martini's performance on Friday with the Seattle Symphony. The spunk of the accordion player, the charm of Ari Shapiro, and the generally superb musicianship all around was more satisfying than the finest of fine dining.

Hats off!