t.g.i.(my)f.

Throughout the day, I get a lot of emails. And inevitably there is at least one that makes me want to call my mother. Because whenever I want to complain about anything, I call my mom and rant and rave, then take a deep breath and ask, “So how was your day?” It’s because I live alone so there’s no one to go home and vent to, so I call my mom instead. Like everyone, I just want to complain and get it off my chest and move on.

Today, I got an email with a question with absolutely no context at all. I know that this person was looking at a page on my site, had a question about it, and wrote me an email. But they didn’t tell me what page they were looking at. They didn’t even say what organization they were with (although I could figure it out from their email). So even though I really had no idea what they were talking about, I attempted to answer their question. I provided them with lots of links that might help them find whatever it is they were looking for, and directed them to some other people that might be able to help them. I was very nice, even though I was annoyed.

I just checked my Inbox and found a System Delivery Failure message. They failed to receive my email so 1) I will never know what exactly they were looking for and 2) they’re going to think that I’m the jerk because I didn’t reply. Gah!

I’m so happy I’m taking a long weekend, even though it meant cramming in some extra hours this week. But I think I got everything done on my list.

but not this one

For all the crap I give other people about not updating their blogs, I have been slacking in my postings lately. Since I am going out of town this weekend, I have been working a lot and have not been motivated to lug my computer around for free wireless so I can write some more and not get paid for it. Can’t write for free all the time.

Anyway, here is my thought/rant/query for the day. Does Facebook rotate ads based on the settings in your profile? I’m curious because for awhile, I kept seeing ads for a petition to make a “Gilmore Girls” movie and Christian singles. But then I realized that my religious affiliation is not listed in my profile. I started to get a little concerned when I started getting ads about donating my eggs (no, Science, you can’t have them just because I’m not using them now).

But I think it’s just random. I’ve been seeing a lot of ads for Popeye’s Chicken lately, and I don’t think there is anything about that on my profile. I suppose that Christian singles groups just put a lot of money into advertising because they know there is a big market of women out there that are frantically seeking a husband.

surfing the net…literally

Grandmother: Do you ever use Goggle?

Me: Goggles? Like for swimming?

Grandmother: No, on the computer. I Goggled your name the other day and it’s all over the place!

I am sure this conversation has occured between countless grandparents and grandkids. But it still really made me laugh.

cranky lady

Yesterday, I got a cup of coffe at 4:45 PM because I planned on working late. Half a cup later, I was down for the count. I don’t want to blame the coffee, but ever since then, I have been feeling extra crummy. I forced down some noodle soup last night and I ate like five peapods for lunch. I couldn’t drink more than a half of a cup of coffee this morning. I have this weird feeling in my stomach, and I can’t tell if I’m hungry or if I’m going to be sick. Nothing sounds good. I’m tired and achy. I keep slumping down in my chair, or curling up with my legs under me. I’m wearing my beanie and my gray hoodie (that I haven’t washed since we went camping). I don’t look like I should be working in an office. I don’t look like a person that is qualified to be interviewed on for a local television.

This sounds crazy, but if i could be anywhere right now, I’d want to be on the green couch outside the Reading Room of Wilson Library, trying to recoup and catch a quick cat nap before my afternoon Dickens seminar. I’m having one of those days where I miss the past.

timbuk2 love

Seth issued a challenge. Challenge? Photo? Blog? Bag? Sold. It actually was perfect timing since I was planning to write a blog post about my bag anyway…what? I make my own fun.

Nearly everywhere I go, you will find me with my timbuk2 bag over my shoulder. I got it last year in preparation for my trip to Detroit. I fully admit to copying K.Gray and K.Web when I decided to get the bag. Shannon called them our ”intern bags.” Now all three of us have grown-up jobs, but I don’t think the other girls use them when they go to work. Granted, I think my office is a bit more laidback than theirs (I think I wore heels one day in the past nine months), but I even if it was, I would have a hard time giving up my timbuk2.

First of all, it’s orange. Well, orangish. I think the technical color is gold or mustard, but it’s close enough for me. Second of all, since I actually have a bike now, it makes sense to have a bike messenger bag. And you know I’m hardcore, because I keep the extra strap attached all the time.

I love all the little pockets that are perfect for sunglasses and business cards. I love that I can fit several books, my lunch, an empty mug, and a sweatshirt in it if I really need to. I don’t like it when I think, “I don’t need to bring my whole bag,” so I just grab my wallet and my phone, only to end up somewhere without a pen or chapstick or, horror of horrors, my camera. Seriously, my love affair with this bag is probably unhealthy.

But I don’t know if I can ever give it up. It’s pretty much become part of my identity. The other day, one of my bosses said that he saw me and a friend walking near my house. “I knew it was you,” he said, “when I saw your bag.”

camping adventure

About two weeks ago, BDub asked me if I wanted to go to Orcas Island for the Woodsong Arts and Music Festival. “When is it? How much is it? Wait, would I have to camp?” I asked. “Two weekends from now. $15 a day. Yes.” I sucked the air in between my teeth before shaking my head. “Yeah, I don’t camp.”

We used to camp when I was kid. But then my parents lost interest, so I think the last time I camped, I might have been in elementary school. I got used to vacations in hotels with heated pools. When I stared going on INN retreats in college, I thought that was roughing it.

So I admit that I was hesitant. It was compounded with the fact that B would be leaving earlier in the week so I couldn’t drive down with her. But then she mentioned it to Bec, who was on board. So I told Bec that I would be interested in going as long as it didn’t interfere with the work week and that she would provide a tent for me to sleep in. She agreed to my terms, and even threw in the added bonus of enlisting one of my old housemate to join us from Seattle for the weekend.

We got an early start on Saturday morning so we could make the 7:30 ferry. It was a long day between climbing Mt. Constitution (by car), eating glorious camping food all day, hearing some good folk music (and mocking some of it), lying in the sun, and playing Bananagrams, but it was worth every moment.

So my first camping experience this century was a success. And I think I am up for another camping trip in the future. Maybe even backpacking! As long as it’s a short hike, and someone will loan me a pack. But I am definitely going to bring a mattress pad next time. I don’t need to “rough it” that much.

The “Happy List” for Woodsong 2008: $8 camping chairs, accent color, a destination, ferry rides, convincing Becca that we didn’t see Doug on his bike (we did), Jim making breakfast in the mornings, Mountain bluebirds, scouting guys at the grill, getting sassed by Brie and Jim (but also doling out plenty of sass myself), Tarin getting Dana’s name tattooed on her arm by the Bearded Lady, Bananagrams, He/She/It Kid, The Muffin Man, pomegranate juice, Cat Cookies for People, the Wonder of Jiffy Pop, Chauncey, Welshy, sleeping on a rock, “Monetary Woman,” extra foam, being compared to Beck circa 1992, making tentative plans to backpack at Lake Anne this fall.

a PhD in awesomeness

Are you a fan of musicals? Do you think that Joss Whedon is a genius? Do you have surprising feelings of affection for Neil Patrick Harris (aka Doogie Howser, M.D.)? Are you a nerd?

If you answered yes to at least two of these questions, you should watch Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. You won’t be sorry.

In other news, I am going camping this weekend! I am quite excited about it, mostly because of the people I am going with. In terms of sleeping in a tent and cooking on a campfire, we’ll see if I survive.

mispronounced

You would think me, of all people, would be more sensitive to name pronunciation. My last name has been misspelled and misspoke my whole life. There’s actually a really funny story about one of my good friends, who had only seen my name written down but never actually heard me say it out loud, when she ended up meeting one of my old friends from my high school. We’d only known each other a few months at the time, but she started going on and on about what great friends we’d become (and obviously still are, six years running), and my high school friend had to politely tell her how to say my name correctly. Whoops.

The problem is that when you read someone’s last name, there’s a very good chance that it won’t tell you how to pronounce it. But there’s an even more likely chance that I am going to mix the letters up. It hasn’t been a problem until recently when I have started making phone calls for work and this is what someone said when I asked for the owner of a local business, “That’s actually not how you say his name, but I know who you’re talking about.” Rude! And he didn’t even tell me how to correctly say the name. That would have been helpful (although I have decided that the more popular a local establishment is, the ruder their employees seem to be).

Anyway, it just got me thinking, why do we take personal offense when our names our mispronounced or misspelled?  It seem so arbitrary since our parents are the ones who gave us our names, because of the inherent violence of naming, because the names that have been misspelled and misspoke along the way have separated us from our ancestors and lost their original meaning.

Why should I get upset when someone says my name incorrectly? Who gets to decide what is correct? I have distant relatives that pronounce our last name differently, but who says that it’s necessarily wrong?

washing feet

Whenever I get into bed at night, I pull back the covers and start to climb in. Then I pause, right before I stick my feet in between the cottony softness of my white, jersey sheets, I always sit up again and examine the bottoms of my feet.

For those of you with a feet phobia, I apologize for this story. I am not a big fan of feet myself. Other people’s feet, at least. I vainly think that my own feet are quite cute, even when they are calloused and dirty.

Every day that it has not rained this year since February has been spent wearing my favorite pair of shoes: my strapy Teva flip flops. I alternate between my black pair and my orange and brown pair, depending on the rest of my outfit. But it doesn’t matter where I am going or what I will be doing. They are the most comfortable objects I’ve ever put on my feet and they just don’t want to wear anything else.

The problem with these sandals, however, is that my feet get quite grimy after a full day, especially when I am walking all over town. This is bound to happen on any day in sandals, but the black foam Teva soles leave my feet especially dirty.

On Sunday night, my feet were filthy. They looked like I had walked through glue, then black sand. I hopped out of bed and walked to my bathroom. I opened the shower curtain and started running the water as I sat on the edge of the tub. I grabbed a washcloth and soap and began scrubbing, running the warm water over my feet, watching the sooty water run down the drain. I turned off the water and dried my feet with a towel hanging next to the toilet. I noticed this low hanging hook when I first moved in and wondered what it could be useful for. A foot-drying towel, obviously.

I liked seeing the dirt on my feet that night. It was dirt from a journey that involved an early morning bike ride to the grocery store when most of the world seemed to still be asleep, coffee and banana bread with friends as the sun rose over my patio, meeting new people from church as we enjoyed perfect weather for biking, the largest ice cream cone I’ve ever eaten, passing notes in a stuffy church and distracting myself as the sun filtered through stained glass windows, and finally having a moment to catch up with my mom.

Whenever I wash my feet, I think about Jesus. I don’t know if I could ever do what he did—you know, wash the filthy feet of twelve men—but I sometimes pray that I could be that humble, that faithful, that willing to serve. I think about how washing feet was something that the privileged probably took for granted, to have someone else wash their feet, to even have the luxury to clean your feet on a regular basis.

I know there are a lot of things I take for granted. But I am grateful for the journey. And I am grateful for the possibility of clean feet.

chuckanut brewery & kitchen

This the last time I am going to write about Chuckanut Brewery, I swear. At least for this week. But I tried it out, so I figured that after all the hype (from me), I should probably tell you what I think.

First of all, the Red Ale did not disappoint. I am definitely a fan of medium-colored beers, especially in the summer. I like dark beers, but they really do warm you up so a full-bodied but still refreshing ale is just what I like in the summer (although I am occasionally inspired to order Blondes and Heffs too). And, as promised, the menu at Chuckanut is laid out with suggested beers to go with each item.

However, by the time I got my food last night, I had nearly finished my beer. It really was fine. Bec and I kept commenting how busy it was, how they were definitely still working out the kinks (I think our server overheard us and kept apologizing). But we really weren’t complaining. We weren’t in a hurry, we were enjoying watching all the people come in and, of course, seeing some good friends who were also trying out the new place. We understood that it was one of the first nights (if not the first). It’ll take some time to get things sorted out.

I had the Brewmaster’s Meatloaf with mashed red potatoes and roasted veggies. I enjoyed it quite a bit. I ate the whole thing. And if I leave a restaurant without leftovers, it means one of two things: either I was ravenously hungry, or there wasn’t enough food. Last night, I think it was a combination of the two. I know that I’m cheap sometimes, but if I don’t get leftovers, a $10+ meal isn’t always worth it.

We had a hard time not comparing Chuckanut to another brew pub in town that we frequently patron. I think the beer quality definitely measured up to Boundary. And the menu was quite similar too, with a hodgepodge of international dishes and pub fare. And while it feels a bit “nicer” than Boundary, it might have just been the fact that it is “newer.” Fresh paint, new tables and chairs. It doesn’t have that worn quality that I actually quite enjoy about Boundary. Not yet, at least. But Bec did note that it feel a little strange having a cloth napkin while her sandwich came in a plastic basket.

The bar is also quite tight (and will be even more so when the winter closes the outdoor seating), so it’ll be interesting to see what happens with this place. When BB is overcrowded, there are plenty of other restaurants in the same area. And at least they have space for a waiting room. When this place is busy, people probably aren’t going to decide to walk down to the Waterfront Tavern instead. So maybe they won’t even bother to stop in to see how busy it is and decide to go some else entirely.

So we’ll see. But I’m definitely doing my part to get the word out. Today, I met up with my aunt and cousin who were randomly in town for lunch. They wanted a beer so I suggested Boundary or Chuckanut. Since they were going to Boundary for a bachelorette party later tonight, we went to Chuckanut. Twice in 24 hours. Maybe I will become a regular there. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I had the Brown Ale (a bit more nuttiness to it than the Red) and the Chicken Salad Sandwich with apricot and roasted almonds that was SO good. Also, yam fries.  We’ll see what I try next time. It might depend on what’s on tap.