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!

Do lemons corrode a silver lining?

Yes.

Putting all things in perspective, acceptance into grad school is slippery. Comparing one applicant to another when you consider only that they went to undergrad together is no comparison at all.

Do I resent my rejection, and this other person's acceptance? Yes. Does the acidity of the lemon sting more in my wounds because of certain qualities that this person possesses? Oui. Do I feel that more the failure? Si.

Onward.

Doo wop

Standing at the precipice of my future career, my next step is to learn how to scat. How SWEET is my job going to be?

Tuesday gloom.

Redundancy.*



*See previous post.

Monday doom.

Solution? Mid day jog. Will this keep future "Mondays" at bay? Dare to dream. DARE to dream.

Thirteen minutes until "Monday: Part 1" is over.

"Part 2" is promising.

Partisan pie

The more I pay attention to US government and politics, the more I (1) marvel at its unique complexities and, (2) want to tear out my hair and rip my clothes in frustration. The divide between parties is natural and right - individuals value different things! That said, for crying out loud! I perpetually hear (in this case) Republicans talking about how they have a duty to listen to the American people, and the American people do not want universal health care! They want greater resources for defense! I'm sorry, but when did I stop being an American? I want universal health care! Though you might not represent my state or district, I am an American, and I do not agree with you. Find some fucking common ground, people!

This morning on NPR I heard an indignant Republican say he was offended by President Obama's "calling out" last night to the voice of opposition. "We (Republicans) do not always say no to things!" The NPR host asked, "Can you give us an example of something significant in the last year where Republicans and Democrats worked together?" "Yes," responded the Arizona Repub, "we supported Obama's move into Pakistan!" SHOCKING. You astound me with this stretch of bipartisanship, reaching across party lines to support defense. This man was also offended by the length of the State of the Union, saying it was "too long." Your knee jerk reaction is that Obama is long winded? Balls up, put on your "I'm listening" face, and stop behaving like an easily-distracted teenager. Try to remember that eloquence and organized thought is something that we, as hopeful leaders in intellectualism, should prize.

Saturation

Let it be noted! Unsurprisingly, the unsatisfying nature of my 40 hours a week is reaching its zenith. Change, be afoot. Hop on over on your monoped and allow me to piggyback your momentum.

Demise by insipidness seems worse than succumbing to adverse conditions. The bland, beige thief of time absconds with months and years. "Cease!" I plead.

New year, new rain.

Misty little drops of rain cling to hair and jackets and windshields like microcosmic baptisms. They feel pretty, like I might end up resembling a glistening, ethereal spider's web, but I only end up looking like a soggy kitten. Cold seeps into my skin, insulating a mood of despondence. With some "Death by Cupcake"* and a cozy sweater, I can tromp outside with my head down, or pensively stare out of a window without regret. This is Seattle, baby.


*S. Sherrard.

The fog outside my windows is like a sweater bundling the city

Low clouds are cozy and sleepy, demanding hot chocolate, a blanket, and someone warm to curl up against. If at all possible, it also requests a crackling fire.

This morning seems so long ago. Is it time to crawl back into bed yet?

Parabolic movement

Curve balls are fun. Not unlike the way in which one handles an overly attentive Parisian man-stranger, one learns to dodge and deal in a ninja-like fashion. All I can say, is at least I'm not alone. Gratitude burns a comforting warmth in my rib cage.

Manna

I've underestimated Seattle's capacity for coffee. I could speak at length, but suffice it to say, by international standards, Seattle makes a damn fine roast.

Complementary colours

Once upon a time there was a balloon named Ozzy. Shiny and red with long yellow and white ribbons, she (yes, she) enjoyed a life of aimless air current transportation, sailing to and fro, battered by breezes, occasionally caught by a tree branch, cable antennae, the hands of a child.

One day Ozzy got caught on the handlebars of a motorcycle. The boy driving the motorcycle enjoyed having her along, reveling in the festive quality she leant his ride. They zoomed down windy alleyways and up steep hills and around tight turns. Ozzy stretched long in the wind resistance. Suddenly, a wayward branch snagged the yellow and white ribbons, tearing Ozzy away from her breakneck journey.

A thorn on the branch gently punctured her red side, releasing a small but steady stream of helium. Slowly, Oz drifted down, turning upside down. She spent the rest of the day getting used to life from a new perspective.

Cuppa

I think my most favorite thing about England is the camaraderie of tea. In a house with half a dozen people about at ay particular time, I am frequently asked if I'd like any tea, and how I'd like to take it. Milk? Sugar? They see it as common courtesy, but I can't help but feel singled out and taken care of.

Anonymity can be lonely.

Not only lonely, but also exhausting. Mustering the energy to traipse into a city full of gems to discover and experience is satisfying and worthwhile, but so tiring. One can't help but wish they had someone with them, if only to exchange knowing glances of the emotional spectrum.

Haunting the National Portrait Gallery today, I had the pleasure of experiencing "The Beatles to Bowie 1960s" exhibit. It was fascinating to see the young faces of so many budding rock stars, their images beautifully and creatively rendered. I am smitten.

Time to not mope. I'm in London, after all.