sum-sum-summah

Yup, August is in the can. The month started out strong, with girls' night at a friend-chef-coolgirl's house up north. We drank wine on a hot summer evening, we watched her chickens run around and ate delicious snacks and drank homemade limoncello and laughed at wisdom teeth videos. I got 2 of my nails did. What a treat.Then, Friday was Gaga, rescheduled at Key Arena, and I was less excited for the show (my 3rd time seeing her) than to hang out with good pals over salt-n-pepper tofu and drinks. I met a new friend and closed out the night by myself, at the neighborhood hot dog cart, treading lightly on my high heeled wedges. Two days later--Book of Mormon, with my sis. We pre-funked nearby on happy hour martinis and potato nachos. Mmmph. I checked out Radiator Whiskey a couple nights later with some pals. My neighbor and her rad husband work there and the whiskey drinks were stellar (and a lil spendy). It was a tough night--I got some news I didn't want to hear--but, now I know what's up, for real, and now I can proceed.
The next night was a good friend-artist's birthday party on the hill. Imagine cucumber and gin drinks, an outdoor patio, a warm summer evening, scads of friends--yes.
Next up--Trombone Shorty at the zoo. Big ups to the big man for a hott show. And a loud chorus of boo's to the zoo for pretty much fucking up everything you could want in a venue: letting kids--babies!--in for free, operating two miniscule beer gardens with zero view of the stage, and no extra bathrooms, meaning females spent a good ten to fifteen minutes waiting to pee. Parents--you're in trouble too. Spring for a babysitter you fucking cheapskates, so the rest of us can enjoy the show without smelling shitty diapers or listening to your kid whine. And to the lady who tried to make 2 dudes sit down so she could see--ha ha. Kudos guys for laughingly saying no.
A few days later I hopped in a car with my Sid and Hammy and we headed up to Vancouver. A pit stop at Duty Free for whiskey, and then onward to Granville Island and our party pad. The visit was stressful and fun and maddening and a little melancholy. During the ceremony's mini-sermon, hate settled in the air like a choking gloom. I looked around afterward at these smiling people, invoking a deity and passing judgement. Ah, no.
On Saturday, I was home by 7pm and in a Zipcar by 8 to check out a friend's housewarming. I got there in good time but it was a bust; people were settled in, comfortable in their party cliques,  not inclined to extend themselves, and so I was on the road again by 9.30. Mid-week I met up with a good pal to catch up after her month away meditating. She's gorgeous and smart and we egg each other on in the best possible way. When I left her at the bar, one of the owners was chatting her up. Girl got game.
The last Saturday was me and Hammy, on the road to the coast to do some trailer repair and generally hang out. By Sunday I was dragging, but I had breakfast and bloody mary's with a good pal, catching up on news--a funeral, a surly ex, a sick parent.
The news continues relentlessly. And so do we.

ugly on the inside

Twice this week I've had to deal with ugliness from strangers. A good friend had to also. A diabetic panhandler called me a "fucking prostitute" for not giving her any money. A creepy old guy stared at me on the bus and followed me around the Burien Transit Center until I told him to step off. He whined he hadn't done anything and then proceeded to sit in the front of the bus we both boarded and stare at me.
My friend was happily walking near GreenLake sporting a newly-shaven head and a cool dress when a db of a guy screamed bravely from his car, "nice haircut faggot." I want to believe in good, in humanity, in selam ana fikir, but sometimes I struggle. I know people are dealing with rage and miswired brains and plain old badness.
A friend studying criminology said she was taught there are 3 reasons for crime: bad, mad or sad.
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This picture is from Crescent Beach, on a very not-bad day spent beachcombing with my man. He was only in town for a few days but we saw friends and family, drank and danced and had homemade tater tots and my pizza and grilled zucchini and sausages and beans over a roaring fire and later tried to crack each other up with the best rip.

double dutch

A friend invited me to check out double-dutching at a Seattle park last night.
He brought along his boombox, freshly loaded with jams from De La Soul to Prince to Chromeo, and the jump-ropers (rope-jumpers?) freestyled for hours--hipsters and oldsters and a dog and even a couple of drunk people.
Flatchestedmama posted the video to her Youtube channel.

One way ticket

As a kid, I never wore my favorite shoes or read the new Nancy Drew right away because I was scared the fun would be over, that things would wear out or get used up and then what would I do?
I still have that fear. I keep thinking things will slow down, that I'll stop running around so much and staying out til three a.m. and having so much fun.
So far it hasn't really happened.
I scooped up a one-way ticket to crazytown.
I plan less and yeah, sometimes things overlap (an upcoming Sunday is already triple booked with stuff going on ). But now there's room for the last minute dash to happy hour, for happenstance, for wandering, for the kinds of things you can't really plan for.
It's not comfortable. Hell no. But, it's the thing. The only thing.
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(h/t to my pal Clif for the cool pic)