Apparently I'm a lot cooler than I used to be...

Last week, a woman approached me as I was walking to my car. She told me that she really liked the way I "put myself together" and that I looked "very nice." (For the record, I was wearing a knee-length black skirt, black tights with this funky flower pattern on them, a purple shirt, a black cardigan, and heels). I thought, what a nice compliment, and then she added that she was a fashion designer. I couldn't help but think that if she only saw how I dressed on other days, she'd probably take back her compliment.

It's almost Halloween!

Tomorrow is Halloween, one of my favorite holidays of the year (Christmas, of course, being my other favorite).

I guess that's pretty much all I wanted to point out.

Night of the Living Dead

In lieu of Halloween, I decided to watch the 1990 remake of Night of the Living Dead. I've always been a big proponent of the original being the best, and this instance is no different. I'm not really sure what the value is in taking a movie that was originally made in black and white, keeping basically the same exact script, maintaining the same corny acting, and then putting everything in color. NOTLD wasn't originally a movie that required special effects or a big budget-- so if they're not really "modernizing" anything, so to speak, then what the heck was the point in remaking it only 22 years later? Just so we could see red blood? And this is not, by any means, a knock against zombie movies-- they happen to be my favorite horror sub-genre, followed closely by vampire flicks (Fright Night is one of my all-time faves).

Embarrassing moment

I am one of those unfortunate people who ultimately ends up embarrassing herself more frequently than the average person. Today (or technically yesterday, I suppose, since it's almost 1am), I had just finished a tutoring session with a student. The dad was waiting by the door and I stood up to go and introduce myself to him. Instead of making a graceful introduction, I stood up, catching my foot in the chair I had been sitting in, tripped over my foot and stumbled several feet across the room, flailing my arms in the air, and knocked the chair to the ground, stopping myself before landing flat on my face. What a great first impression. I attempted to regain as much composure as I could, shook the dad's hand, and told him that I was trying to make a grand entrance. I think he felt sorry for me. Hopefully he doesn't think I'm an incompetent tutor just because I have under-developed gross motor skills.

Steppin' it up a notch

I ran the Dawg Dash today, and instead of doing my usual 5K, I was overcome by a burning desire to run the 10K race. So I did. 6.2 miles. I made it. I ran all 6. 2 miles, and my goal was to break 60 minutes, which would have been averaging just under 10 minutes a mile. I shattered my goal and ran the 10K in 54:49. I'm happy. I think I might dabble in running longer distances my next few races. I feel like I ultimately end up pacing myself better when I'm running more than three miles-- maybe because my runner's high doesn't really kick in until around mile four, and at that point I just keep on running...like a machine-- not necessarily the fastest or most efficient machine, but a machine nonetheless. Anyway, it felt good to challenge myself and run a longer distance. Maybe there will be a marathon in my future after all...but I probably shouldn't get too far ahead of myself.

Just another face in the crowd...

I get a lot of people telling me that I look like someone they know... it kind of bugs me because it make me feel common and not special. Like today, for instance, when I was walking toward my work, a guy approached me and asked if I worked at the Mac store. When I told him no, he said I looked like a girl he had met there.

Do other people get that a lot, or is it just me? I'm not saying that it's a super-frequent occurrence that someone tells me that I look like someone they know, but it seems to happen often enough.

Funny bum

I parked far away from work today because I didn't wanna have to pay to park (which I've been doing the past few days). While I was walking down the sketchy part of the street to my car, a bum sitting on the sidewalk looked up at me and asked, "Will you love me forever?"

Needless to say, I was at a loss for words.

Turd on my bed

Contrary to what you may be thinking upon reading the subject heading of this particular post, I did not, in fact, poop in my bed. Last night, when I was getting ready to go to sleep, I was struck with an all-too-familiar pungent and repulsive odor: cat crap. Now my dear little Hector has a knack of taking a huge dump right before I go to sleep every night (I think this is due in large part to the fact that I typically clean his litter box in the evening, and he likes to "test out" the fresh litter). At any rate, the smell seemed to be even more pervasive than usual, and I groped my way to my bed, gasping and choking for air. I climbed into my bed and realized that the crap odor seemed to have grown in strength and intensity. Then I saw it-- out of the corner of my eye, on the edge of my bed, lay a perfect blemish on my blue floral sheets: a cat turd. I shrieked in surprise, jumped off of my bed, and reprimanded Hector, who stared up at me from the floor, wide-eyed and innocent, as if to ask, "Who, me?".

200 smackeroos!

I just found $200 in my piggy bank...this makes me very happy.

There's something about having actual $100 bills in a piggy bank that makes me less likely to spend it...I think that money feels fake online, like I'm not really spending anything. Maybe I should just cash out my savings account and hoard it in my bedroom-- I might be less inclined to spend it that way.

Orchestra

Yesterday was my first official rehearsal with the orchestra that I joined. It was so much fun-- I haven't played in an orchestra since junior year of high school, and I forgot how hard it is to try and play your part while listening to everyone else play their part, too. The orchestra is a pretty goofy hodge-podge of people, but I think that that's its charm. I sounded hideously awful, and I was out of tune and off-rhythm the entire rehearsal, but it felt so good to be playing my violin again that I really didn't care. The orchestra meets once a week for 12 weeks, and our concert is in mid-December, where we will be performing three songs, one of which, ironically enough, is a Bach concerto that I played as a duet with a friend in high school at one of our concerts. I still have the first half of the song memorized, so that one shouldn't be too bad. I just need to get back in the groove...

Tony Danza

Hopefully this will be the first and only time that I ever devote an entire blog entry to Tony Danza, but this is just too funny to resist. Right now I'm watching this ridiculous (is there any other kind?) Lifetime movie starring Tony Danza, and he plays a southern hick father of three with multiple personality disorder who murders his oldest daughter. This movie is incredibly disturbing for two reasons: 1) Tony Danza as a deranged murderer? Creepy ; 2) Tony Micelli with a southern Italian accent? Even creepier.

Right after this movie is another made-for-TV feature starring Joanna Kearns...I guess it's "return of the 80s sitcom parents night."

And the verdict is...

I ended up getting one of my parking tickets cut in half (I did a "mitigation by mail" and sent in a statement explaining the circumstances) and one of them dismissed (I went downtown to the Municipal Court and defended myself in person). So instead of having to pay $76 in parking tickets, I only have to pay $20. Needless to say I am very happy with the results. My faith in the justice system has been restored, and at least I know that while the meter maids are completely ruthless, the magistrates have some sense of compassion.

The simple life

Not the show, of course, but my life. Right now it's simple. And simple is good. I get to stay up late, then I get to sleep in. I get to lounge around in my pajamas, watch TV, go for a run, do some "On Demand" exercises courtesy of Comcast digital cable (I've been promised thinner thighs, firmer buns, and flatter abs in 7 days), then take a leisurely shower, spend an unnecessary amount of time straightening my hair and primping, and then go to work. Things are good right now, and I'm really enjoying this whole part-time thing. Of course, ideally, I'd like to fit in some writing some time between the hair-straightening and eight-minute abs, since having more time to write was kind of a major factor in my whole decision to work part-time.

I'm also finding time for extracurricular activities, too. I think being around students all the time now has made me reminisce on the days of being more of a "Jack of all trades"-type-- dabbling in sports here, music there... so anyway, I recently decided that I really missed playing the violin, bought all new strings for mine, and then signed up to play in a local all-ages community orchestra. I get into these phases where I get really bored with myself, and I have to do something that is interesting and independent. I think it's a self-defense mechanism to prevent me from becoming a completely reclusive hermit. The orchestra starts in a week and a half, and rehearsals will be once a week for an hour. I just hope that I'm not too rusty to try and pull this off. Before a couple days ago, I hadn't played my violin in over a year. But I'm hoping that weekly rehearsals will encourage me to practice and play more consistently. Oh, I forgot to mention one more thing: it's called the Ravenna Second String Orchestra (because it's for intermediate-level musicians). Isn't that the cutest name?

I know, I know...

OK, I know it's been, like, forever since I've updated my blog, so here's the Reader's Digest version of the past month:

Disneyland: Absolutely awesome. Without a doubt the most fun I had all summer (sorry Nickelby!). We experienced a potentially-fatal run on the Matterhorn when they took our cart aside and muttered some cryptic comment about a problem with the brakes. Of course, they didn't give us anytime to re-think our decision to go on the ride, so we were at the mercy of Mickey Mouse...thankfully, we survived.

Butte, Montana: Went to visit the boy while he was away on business. Highlights include road-tripping to Yellowstone National Park, where we saw elk, bison (I was particularly fond of one that I nicknamed "Fluffyhead," because, alas, his head was exceptionally fluffy), and a wolf; stopping at a chintzy, run-down water park in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho (where I bruised my back and my elbow on a waterslide that I'm not entirely sure met safety regulations-- but it was worth it); and of course, facing the omnipresent danger of being burned alive in the blink of an eye due to the rampant wildfires raging through the state of Montana.

Not Teaching: As many of you know by now, despite the fact that I recently graduated with a Master's in Teaching and my Washington state teacher's certification, I have decided not to pursue classroom teaching this year. Instead, I accepted a job with a tutoring agency: the pay is good, the hours are good, the location is good, and, if I'm ever going to give myself a fair shot at writing, I have to give myself a chance. So I've decided to pursue my real dream, which is (and has been since 3rd grade), to be an author. By day I'm a tutor, by night I moonlight as a writer. And I'm still doing my gymnastics b-day party gig on the weekend, because, damn it, I love little kids and I love birthday parties. So that's that.

Parking Tickets: I invite you to reflect on a previous blog entry that I wrote approximately a month ago, where I proceeded to rant in a lengthy, irate fashion (an accurate reflection of my deep-seeded rage, which is far-reaching in scope and intensity) about two parking tickets (received on consecutive days, no less) that I felt were unjust, unreasonable, and unfounded. Well, the streak continues, and on Tuesday of this week I received my third parking ticket. I'm beginning to wonder if the meter maids of the city of Seattle secretly planted a tracking device in me...

Disneyland!

In one week I will be at Disneyland, the happiest place on earth. I'm counting down the days!

I'm probably going to jail...

...because I'm going to adamantly, if not violently, refuse to pay the TWO parking tickets that I got on two consecutive days.

Ticket #1: Thursday morning, 8:44am. I arrive home late Wednesday night and park in a metered spot because there are no zone spots available in my neighborhood (which are reserved for residents and which there is a serious, almost offensive, shortage of. Anyway, I run downstairs in my pajamas at 8:45 Thursday morning to go move my car and hopefully find a zone spot. I'm still groggy and half-asleep, and I probably look like one of the hobos who frequents our street in the wee morning hours. I see the meter maid car parked in front of mine, and I run to my car to go and move it before I get a ticket. Too late. The meter maid is busy ticketing the car directly two spots behind mine. I pick up the ticket and hold it out to her, pleading, and say, "Please, is there anything you can do?" She looks at me and replies mechanically, "Sorry, the ticket's already been written." $35. $35 for 45 minutes. I am basically in tears as I go to move my car. And this lady is particularly ruthless. I see her all the time in my neighborhood, whipping out her stupid little machine, issuing tickets left and right like it's her god-given duty on this earth.

...and it gets even better (or worse)....

Ticket #2: Friday, 5:14pm. I go to the U-District Friday afternoon to meet with my new employer and fill out some paperwork (more about that later). I park in a metered spot, PAY the meter, and assume that I'll probably be out of there within an hour, but give myself 10 extra minutes just in case. I head back to my car right around 5:30, make brief conversation with a confused old Asian man who is a real estate agent but is asking me about a parking lot across the street, and hop in my car and drive off. About ten minutes later I notice a white piece of paper gently flapping in the summer breeze on the righthand side of my windshield. My eyes take a minute to focus, and I feel like I'm seeing a phantom. You've got to be kidding me, I think to myself. But the ticket remains stuck under my windshield wiper, taunting me as I'm willing it to just blow away in the wind and claim ignorance to the whole pathetically unfortunate fiasco. When I finally arrive at Safeway, I rip the ticket out from under my windshield wipers and open the envelope. The meter I paid for expired at 5:12pm, and the ticket was issued at 5:14pm. Two minutes! Two freakin' minutes!?! And this is on a Friday afternoon, when the damn parking meters are all turned off at 6pm anyway. Another $35 ticket. For two minutes. What the hell is wrong with the city of Seattle? Aren't there more important things to do than ticket innocent people?

One thing is for sure, though: I am sure as hell not paying these parking tickets. I would seriously, I swear to God, rather spend a night in jail than pay these tickets. $70 f-ing dollars!?! That's unreal. Sorry, city of Seattle, you can all just suck it on this one. Because I'm not coughing up $70 for a combined total of 46 minutes of unpaid parking. Especially when 44 of them don't even count because there aren't enough damn zone spots available in the first place. Maybe if we didn't vote against the monorail or had a reliable, actually useful public transportation system none of this crap would have happened. If I could use an Unforgivable Curse on meter maids, I would. And I'd do it with no regrets. But alas, how is a Muggle to fight a Death Eater?

HP7

I can't believe I'm reading the last Harry Potter book. It's completely crazy. I'm so deathly afraid of inadvertently finding out how the book ends that I'm sheltering myself as much as possible from the outside world-- and I'm doing minimal surfing of the Net, which means no blog-reading until I'm done with Harry.

I truly can't believe it's the last book...OK, enough talk about Harry...time to go read!

Alright, I admit it...

...I'm bored. I've been done with school for almost 6 days now, and I'm getting pretty bored. And I've worked three of these six days, too, so that's saying something right there. I think the problem is that it's just really difficult to transition from being insanely busy with barely enough time to sleep to having absolutely nothing to do. Here's what I've done these past few days in my abundant free time:
-applied for jobs
-run 13 miles (not all at once, so don't get too excited)
-surfed the net
-watched three "On Demand" episodes of "The Facts of Life" (embarrassing but true)
-cleaned the apartment

Ruminations

I can't believe it. I'm done. I'm actually finished with school. No more papers, no more homework, no more projects and portfolios... You know when you finish something big and you feel like you're expecting, I don't know, fireworks or something? But then nothing really happens and everything's just sort of anticlimactic? Well, that's how I feel right now. It's weird when something really important in your life occurs and you come home to an empty apartment-- well, almost empty, except for your lazy cat sprawled out across the floor, sleeping the afternoon away. I feel kind of naked without school, like it was protecting me from having to be a "real" adult. And now I have to venture back out into the great unknown and find a job and live a life. I kind of just want to be a student forever.

Waiting to exhale

Three days left of school...I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

"Little engine that could" references aside, the one bright spot in my week is seeing Harry Potter tomorrow at the Imax. I can't wait. Unfortunately, between now and Friday I have a buttload of work to do. Now that I've actually reduced myself to typing the word "buttload," I'm really beginning to question my graduate-level education...