View from an Office Window

This is from the window closest to my desk. If you look to the left you'll see a green awning and red and white umbrella tables. That's El Toro, a restaurant where we often go for lunch. We also sometimes go there for a very late lunch at 3 pm, when happy hour starts. For the cost of a Shirley Temple (yes, Jamie really orders that) and a diet coke (guess who) and whatever else everyone is drinking we get free burritos. They're not that great, but their green salsa, which is heavy on the cilantro, is wonderful. Last Friday four of us went for drinks after work. We compared dating horror stories. My entry tied for 1st place: I was on a third date with a good looking and well-educated guy I really liked. He wanted to sit on the same side of the booth in the romantic Italian restaurant he'd invited me to. Toward the end of the evening he sidled closer to me. I was excited. I thought he was going to tell me I looked pretty or that he was really enjoying getting to know me. Since I already mentioned that this was a horror story you know he did not say either of those things. What he said was "I'd appreciate it if you'd contribute $15 toward the check". The women asked me if I paid it. When I said yes a collective "Arrrrgghhhh!" went up. One of them- I'm not sure if it was Sojourner ("Sojo") or Faauu- summed it up well "Girl, you have got to raise your bar" That, in essence, is what my mother keeps telling me. And for the most part, with an occassional lapse (in the form of a troglodyte named Larry) I have.

To get back to my point of this post, I love the street my office is on. This same street, Broadway, turns into St. Helens avenue, where my apartment is. So what you are seeing is the first part of my walk home from work.

Scenes from a Cube

Welcome to my cube. It's not yet fully decorated, but it's starting to feel like home.
This fountain simulates rainfall. I don't tend to use the "Soothing nature sounds" feature which includes a riot of crickets ("Summer Night") or howls of terrifying primates ("Rain Forest"). The round purple thing is my Ikea light. When on, it is filled with what look like fiber optic crystals.

Graduation

Yesterday was graduation day for UOP western Washington students. We all had to be there to help starting at 7:30 a.m. That's after a 45 minute drive up to Seattle. Needless to say, since I can never fall asleep before midnight, I was half asleep through the whole thing.

It was a nice ceremony (I hate having to resort to adjectives as bland as 'nice', but for some reason the correct descriptor eludes me at the moment). It was in Key Arena in the Seattle Center, by the Space Needle. There were 460 graduates. The whole thing went off with only a few bloopers, none of which were caused by me, thank God.

As mentioned in an earlier post wherever there is a gathering that involves emoting people, I pick up on that emotion. However it's really not the collective emotion that affects me, it's the little things: a father's face at a wedding, wondering how the years passed so quickly (you know, the whole "Sunrise, Sunset" thing). Or yesterday, happening to catch a glance of a graduate who appeared to be about 35, clutching his diploma and looking both wistful and proud. Even if the whole life story I saw in him at that moment was inaccurate, it was representative of the graduates in general.

When I graduated from college 26 years ago, I didn't want to take part in the graduation ceremony. I had a blase, 'big whoop, everyone graduates from college' attitude and I just saw it as the end of four years. Also, since I had transferred into my college as a junior, most of my friends were sophomores when I was graduating. My grandfather told me I'd regret it the rest of my life if I didn't participate in the ceremony. I knew at the time that wouldn't be true for me, but between that and my parents' desire to watch me graduate I went through with it. All I really remember was steaming out my black graduation gown in the shower (knowing me at that time in my life I had probably throw it into a wad on the floor when I first received it) while my friend Lou crimped my hair. Crimping made hair look like crinkle cut fries- it was an 80s thing.
After the ceremony, I don't remember any "Wow...now I'm a college graduate" feelings. The main thing I remember after the ceremony was getting into a battle of wills with a brownie at the reception that followed. The brownie won. Four years of overspending on my father's gold American Express card. Four years of throwing myself passionately into English, photography, and psychology classes, but blowing off the classes that didn't interest me. Four years. Done. Big deal.

The average age of the graduates yesterday was about 35. Many of them have familes and made a lot of sacrifices to get this degree. Many of them were the first in the family to graduate from college. Many of them saw graduating as a true accomplishment. It was impossible to not feel happy and excited for them.

By next June I'll have finished my master's degree. I really don't think I'll take part in the ceremony. It's just not my thing. But I will be proud of myself this time because with my ADD (self diagnosed, but I think it's undeniable) and adjusting to being a full-time cubicle dweller, it has been an accomplisment for me to stick with getting this degree. It hasn't been particularly taxing intellectually, but it's been a challenge to come home after a long day and have to crank out a 1,500 word paper. In ways I'm enjoying school, but like the graduates yesterday, I will definietly be happy when it's over.

More of my Neighborhood

Looking down a side street.
This is a pretty staight-on view of what I see as I walk to work every morning. That's the Tacoma Dome in the background.
Another off to the side view, zoomed in a little bit.
This is the Temple Theater / LandMark Convention Center, right next to my apartment building.

In a previous post I promised to show the building attached to the entrance awning. Ta Da.

The Ted Nugent School of Home Decorating

The wedding yesterday was beautiful. The church ceremony was blissfully short (really short- I don't think the ceremony itself was more than 15 minutes), but it manged to cover everything. Molly was a gorgeous bride in a unique linen and lace dress. I made it through the ceremony free of excess emotion, and very much enjoyed the reception.

It was great to catch up with Seattle friends and acquaintances. Over dinner, I shared with my table my latest romantic tribulation.

When the guy in question first answered my ad, I was impressed with his response. He seemed intelligent, stable, and nice looking. And, he raised yellow Labs.

The first night we talked on the phone it went great. Granted, our interests were different, as were our upbringings and well, almost everything else but there still seemed to be some kind of connection. The next night was a shorter conversation but it went well too. The third night seemed to be keeping up the positive trend, but then I asked him to tell me more about his house in the country. First of all, from this point forward if a man mentions that he lives in the country I am going to run like hell. A living situation anything more than 15 miles from a major city makes me break out in hives. My no more than a three minute drive to get a Diet Coke rule is going to remain firmly in place. Besides, people who live in the country tend to be loners, and /or huntin'/fishin'./campin' types. The signs that this guy was both were becoming evident even through my...well, let's call it my shroud of optimism.

He was telling me about certain features of the house, so I asked him how it was decorated. He monotonously named off every last piece of furniture. Then he mentioned that both of his bathrooms had the same shower curtain: A hunting scene of hunter, pointing dog, and water fowl. Yes. This was indeed the first sign of trouble. Then he got to the part about the two deer head "trophies" mounted on the living room wall.

I'll admit it: I can be obnoxiously blunt at times. My response to his wall carnage was something like: "OhmyGod, I could NEVER live in a house with dead animals on the wall!"
A well-adjusted guy may have been able to laugh this off, but this guy was anything but well adjusted. We'll get to that in a minute. First I want to talk about what my former business partner Patsy would have done in the same situation. Patsy was a long haired, 95 pound, born again Christian with huge saucer eyes, and the thickest, most exaggerated southern accent you've ever heard (despite the fact that she hadn't lived in Oklahoma for almost thirty years). Men found her adorable, or as she would put it "Cute as can bay." If she, inevitably, sniffed out John's financial situation and found it favorable she would have said of the living room Bambis "Yew dew? Whale, ah just thank that shows what a masculine man yew are John. Ah jus' luv men lahk yew." Then she would have used her feminine wiles to learn more about his financial situation, and if the cash and prizes added up would have considered him for her 4th husband.

I am seriously hoping to fall deeply in love. I'm not out to 'win' some jerk just because he has money.
And I don't even think the jerk in question here had any real money. But that's not the point...

Ok, after my lack of favorable reaction to his decor he went into a frighteningly muted, clenched-teeth tirade about how it's his home and his wall so he could have his deer there if he wanted. Ok then. I asked him where the anger was coming from and he explained that his last wife hated the deer too and would insist on covering them with sheets when they had company over. Deer heads draped with sheets. Tee hee. Anyway, then he launched into a new tirade about how she was a control freak and how he likes the way he decorates and... well, between this and the fact that in all three nights he had barely asked me any questions about myself, at this point I was done.

Happily, all the women at my table agreed that he sounded like a world-class jerk. My favorite response though was from a voice-of-reason kind of guy named Dave. Dave explained that he and his fiancee were in the process of building a house. They were designing the house to have a workshop out back for him, and a room in the house just for her so they could both have their own spaces to pursue their hobbies- or just be alone at times. Dave suggested that if a man really needs to have deer heads in his home, that it would be best for him to have them in his own little part of the house, not where his wife would have to look at them every day. I couldn't agree more. It wasn't the deer heads that were the deal killer (I'm not vegetarian so I'm not hypocritical about people killing animals)- it was the uncompromising attitude. And, ok, I won't lie: I do think animal trophies in a living room are in poor taste. Not to mention bad feng shui.

So that's been my last few days. Frankly I'm more fixated on being worried that I had a big piece of dark green lettuce in my teeth in some of the wedding photos (why is it always something with me?) than I am in thinking about this guy. Despite everything I've been through with men, I remain hopeful. During the wedding vows, Molly and Patrick stood facing each other with both hands joined. As Molly spoke, Patrick lightly rubbed his thumbs over her gloved hands in a gesture that spoke volumes about love, connection, and adoration. That was the closest I came to crying during the ceremony because I so want that in my life. I've gotten snippets of it here and there, but it's never been mine to keep. I don't want to close with an "I hope...: sentence, so I'll simply sign off here. Back this evening with more Tacoma photos.

A Quick Tour of my Neighborhood

This is right next door to my apartment building. It's part of a convention center. There's a wedding here almost every weekend. I suppose I should show the actual building. Will do in next post.

Mt. Rainier is about 60 miles away, but it's startlingly visible from many places in Tacoma including from my living room window (although this is zoomed in somewhat).
I know not everyone would understand or agree with my logic but I like taking pictures of things that just simply are because they help tell the whole story. This is what Tacoma looks like on my walk to work.
I love this building. I got a deja vu sense the first time I saw it. It looks to me like it should be in a New Hampshire town. It's about two blocks from my apartment.
This is my building. I'm in the "historic" Stadium District of Tacoma. I will provide a more comprehensive view of my surroundings soon; these were just quick pictures I snapped today.

Tofu and Cats

I'm listening to Warren Zevon right now. I love Warren Zevon. About twelve (fourteen? - who knows anymore) years ago I went to a Zevon concert with my then-friend Scott. Scott was one of my best friends for about eight years. Our friendship ended a year or two after that concert. For the most part I was ok with that but every once in a while I'll think of a fun time we shared and I miss him.

I saw Warren Zevon in concert about three times, but the night with Scott was definitely the best. Partly because it was just a silly, happy evening and also because Warren played with gorgeous, passionate intensity (any fellow fans of the late, great might know what I mean).

The opening act was as bad as W.Z. was good. The concert took place in Boulder, Colorado and featured a very Boulder-like husband and wife couple. They were aging hippy types with acoustic guitars and one song was more earthy and smarmy than the next. The worst song, however, was so bad it was almost...no, actually it wasn't almost good. It was unequivocally bad. The bearded guy introduced the song as "One that I wrote for my wife Maggie...who is everything to me". Awww.
Ok, that's sweet, but the lyrics were something like "She's a woman, she's a girl, she's an angel, she's a chiiiiiiild." Oy. Scott and I debated on several names for what their act should have been called before deciding on 'Tofu and Cats'.

After the concert, we walked back from the Boulder Theater to Scott's apartment. For some reason we decided to make up ironic and / or silly pet names. I'm sure there were obvious ones like Hercules for a Chihuhua or Fluffy for a bad-tempered Rottweiler but the one I remember was Scott's contribution of Shar Peis named Scro and Tum. I have no idea why I still think that's funny.

Warren Zevon broke at least three guitar strings that night. He played in such a full-throttle, nothing-between-him-and-the-music manner that his guitar could have blissfully and righteously disintegrated at the end of it all. He was amazing.

There's other concerts I remember with similar reverance: The Who. The Call. The Moody Blues. Even Dan Fogelberg at Red Rocks, if nothing else because the beautiful setting and cool mountain air was such a perfect venue for him. Of course the Beat Farmers, but my obsession with them in the early 90s is a post unto itself. Al Stewart, whose live version of "On the Border" gave me a source of happiness to draw upon for months. That one song still does now, more than 20 years later, especially the intro. Gorgeous.

Ok, back to my school work. Sigh.

Weddings

I have two weddings to attend this summer. The first one is a week from Saturday. The couple is around my age. The second one is in August and is that of a 25 year old coworker and the guy she's already actually married to ("We got married in November, but we're being wedded in August"). It's their story to tell. I'm not telling it here.

Weddings for me are not in the same category as birthday parties or Bar Mitzvahs. They never have been. Although any type of event in which people experience and express emotions makes me do the same, weddings tend to go a step beyond that for me.

In 1979 my best friend Nancy got married. I was a silly, rock concert going little twerp when I was 19, who had no idea what responsibility was. Getting married was something grown ups did. I wasn't ready for my friends to be getting married.

I cried during her wedding. We're not talking dainty, sentimental little tears, we're talking burgundy faced, snot running down the front of my pale peach bridesmaid's dress sobbing. I did this on the stage, during the entire ceremony. Even the part where her dorky now-ex-husband vowed, in his southern drawl, "For sickness and in health". The entire ceremony, I kid you not. I don't think anyone was looking at the bride. They were too distracted by the freak show that was me.

I cheered up a bit at the reception, enough to go after the tossing of the bouqet with great vigor. In the wedding album shot that will exist for all posterity, I am about two feet off the ground, my back arched, arm outstretched, facial features set in a gruesome chariacture of over-eagerness. I think at the time we called it the "Wendy Abdul Jabar shot" I have made her swear that if I ever become famous she will not send that picture into People magazine.

About 13 years later my best friend from Denver, Barbara, got married. She had moved to New York six months earlier. Long story short: I spent the day before the wedding with my ex-boyfriend Stuart and his wife. And then I was literally the only person at the wedding who was single. Bad combination of circumstances. This led to my once again, although for different reasons, being a sobbing mess. I didn't realize this until I was writing this, but that was the first night that I was offically unhappy about being single.

I'm happy to report that I made it through bridesmaid duty at the above wedding ceremony tear free. I think the fact that I was wearing size 8 AA shoes when I'm an 8 B helped (they were really cute shoes, and on sale. I didn't think they would cause the mind-numbing pain that they did all through the 6 1/2 hour or however long it was ceremony). I saved my nervous breakdown for the reception.

"So Wendy" you're thinking "Have you ever been, er, normal at a wedding?" Why yes I have. I have a great time at most weddings. And that's my plan for the two weddings I'm attending this summer. Despite the fact that I am currently not at all happy being single and that a certain nordic someone had told me I'd be getting married around this time.... I will go to these weddings happy for the couples and happy to be part of fun celebrations. That's the plan. And although no one has reason to believe me at this point, I am pretty certain that I'll be getting married within the next few years. At least that too is the plan.

A Royal Mystery

A few weeks ago, my father posed a question which I myself had previously wondered: What does Queen Elizabeth carry in her purse? (or does a queen carry a handbag, pronounced of course with the emphasis on the first syllable, as in hahndbag...hmm, ok, whatever)

No one ever feels like working the last 15 minutes of the day, myself included, so I asked one of my coworkers that question. After a moment of intense concentration she suggested that certainly the queen carries a hanky- probably a lace-edged one. And perhaps a lipstick and a compact. Then she suggested that she might carry a spare tiara. I loved that one. I pointed out that Her Majesty's purses are not that big, so it would have to be a collapsable one. Don't you just love the thought of a dour-faced Q.E. snapping the thing together before plopping it on her head?

I like to think that the queen also carries a tube of Smarties (the British version of M&Ms). If I were the Queen of England, or just me in England, I would carry a tube of Smarties.

I just thought of another thing: She probably carries a spare pair of gloves.

Ok, your turn.