February 22, 2009
Because I don’t always manage to clean up before they get here they have seen the contents of my “make up” bag strewn across the counter in the bathroom.
And they know that I am losing hair like crazy; not Rogaine losing hair, but not, oh la di da I am 22 and my hair is so thick I can’t close the banana clip. If you’re old enough to know what a banana clip is your hair is probably falling out a little too.
Makes a damn mess doesn’t it? Especially if you’re trying to grow out your layers and it is getting a little long… thin but long and it clogs the hell out of the sink as it escapes your crown, floating down into the drain trap where it teams with toothpaste to form an impenetrable clog.
BTW; what feels more like a spider crawling down your vulnerable nakedness in a spot you can’t reach than a spider? Dyed to a crisp, thin, fragile hair, escaping your head one at a time and slinky-ing their way down your back!
So housekeeping knows I’m losing my hair. They know that one hair can be up to 3 different colors depending on its length and how many processes it has been through when it made its departure from my scalp. They know what I read, eat, do to towels and sheets that I don’t have to wash myself and they know that there is more than makeup in my “makeup” bag…
February 21, 2009
February 20, 2009
February 19, 2009
That’s what I said to Jane as she was signing my copy of her new album, “the lovers, the dreamers, and me”. I truly meant it as a compliment, but in the light of day, I can see why she might not have thought it was that funny.
Her new CD includes a cover of “Rainbow Connection” (Kermit… get it?”) and when she ended up her opening night at the Jazz Alley last Tuesday by singing it and then going straight into Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I could barely hold back the tears. Yes I am a sentimental ole gal, but Jane’s voice would move you if you were made of stone and she was singing the phone book. And it wasn’t the wine either, because her opening number got me too.
We were seated about ten feet from Jane and her wonderful band, which includes her husband on drums, as they performed. And while we weren’t familiar yet with the songs from the new album, we enjoyed every number and were also treated to some tunes that did not make it onto the disc. Jane used an expression during the show that for me summed up her performance. A- maze-ing… three words.
And it wasn’t just her pipey, sultry voice, but also the stylings of her band including solos by Michael Kanan on piano, Neal Miner on bass, and Rick Montalbano on drums. A couple of years ago, Wayne got me one of Jane’s albums for Christmas, I had not heard of her at the time, but have liked her ever since.
The whole experience made for a great night. A real jazz club in a real city was wow. The sound in Jazz Alley is awesome and makes up for the not perfect food. My salad was lame and Wayne swears his mashed potatoes were instant or at least tasted like it, but the staff was great and our server was a good guy. And the food did not take away from the great music and atmosphere of the club. Where else can you sit so close, enjoying your wine and listening to someone so talented sing and talk to the audience.
Below is a clip from a few years back that features Jane and another of my favorites, Michael Buble. Enjoy.
February 11, 2009
February 10, 2009
Uncle Mo's, good bar food, and Karaoke, works for me.
Whistle Stop, good food, wine and beer, friendly bar tender, and a half wall that separates the kid area, good idea!
February 6, 2009
The morning we were flying out of Florida, I did one last perimeter check on the house to make sure all was well before the house sitter got there. On our lemon tree I found one lone lemon hiding in the leaves. I picked it and put it in my purse. It made it here to Seattle and has been showing up at famous places...
January 13th through January 26th
February 5, 2009
I didn’t pack any moisturizer because I haven’t used it anywhere but my crows feet in six, almost seven years, and the hotel gives you little bottles for free. This is a great hotel but the free moisturizer has this minty-ness to it, and although it is kind of light, don’t get it in the wrong spot if you know what I'm saying. Like I said, I know it ain’t Tuesday; but what the hell.
So… let me start over so I can tell you what I’m going to tell you.
Hotel sex is great!!! Yeah you know it, do what you want to those sheets, it’s all good.
The bad part: I don’t want to be as vibrantly vocal as I sometimes am. After all, we have at least two and half months left to go in this hotel and I would rather not have the staff stop calling us Mrs. Wendy and Mr. Wayne when we walk through the lobby, and start calling us Daddy and the gymnast. (Ok, I wouldn’t mind that, but Wayne would frown.)
So here’s what I’m trying to tell you:
Last night while watching cable TV, which we don’t have at home so that is a treat, Wayne is into some show called the L-Word, I haven’t seen it but he seems to like to watch it every time it’s on even if it’s a re-run, but I digress. We were watching Dirty Things I wouldn’t Do, or Jobs I wouldn’t Do or Dirty Jobs, whatever it’s called, and I stretched out and put my feet up on Wayne’s lap.
What follows is reason number elevendy hundred and three why I love Wayne; he started scratching my leg. And then he reached under my sock, (wearing socks is another thing I have not done in almost seven years) and scratched my ankle.
“OH YEAH, THAT’S THE ITCHY FUCKING SPOT!!!”
I didn’t mean to yell, it just felt so damn good. I know anyone in the hotel, hotel parking lot and the hotel next door heard me. Maybe they heard me in Tacoma, I don’t know, but I just couldn’t help it. Wayne’s not happy though; hurt that during his Saturday night special I didn’t make a peep, but his Wednesday ankle scratch made me HOLLA, he has threatened sanctions unless I get my oral approvals more accurately timed. Maybe he’s afraid that one of the great restaurants in the Seattle area will cause me to all "When Harry Met Sally" over my entrée.
February 4, 2009
It had been about 20 years since I last rode the bus, and that was in Columbus Ohio, in the winter, in the dark, I missed my transfer to the last bus of the day and it SUCKED.
“As God is my witness I will never ride the bus again!” I proclaimed while standing ass deep in melty wet snow waiting for my sister to pick me up, when she got damn well ready to pick me up. But how could I know that one day I would be in Seattle for 3 months with no car and my choices would be one more day in the hotel or take the freaking bus somewhere, anywhere.
So I did my research, collected route pamphlets, cross checked with the King County online trip planner, had the hotel shuttle take me to the bus stop and ventured on board.
20 years later or no, I guessed the rules couldn’t have changed that much; keep your head down, your hands within your own seat area and avoid the guy who is talking to himself. Oh, and if you know what’s good for you, you better have correct change or you will get booed like Bush at a lesbian rally. (That’s George W. of course.)
One more thing; these days, correct change means breaking a five before you get on the bus not breaking a one like when I was a regular rider.
All went well on my adventure, save for garlic man in front of me. Wow he was an olfactory offence I won’t soon forget. But even his super stench couldn’t take away the awe of coming up over a hill and seeing MT Rainer in the distance. Most days have been cloudy, our hotel is in a valley and I haven’t got to see it that much. It’s just surprising to be riding along behind stink man, watching a Wal-Mart roll by the window and then suddenly you look out the other window and there is MT Rainer’s snowy top jutting up into the sky.
It seems like when you see something as beautiful as that you ought to be in a better place than on a bus. I mean there should not even be a Wal-Mart anywhere that you can see it and something so majestic at the same time. I don’t know… when we first moved to Florida, I couldn’t believe there were palm trees outside of a Wal-Mart, I guess you get used to it, but I can’t imagine getting passé about seeing that mountain while hauling TP and canned goods out of the store.
It didn’t take long to get to my destination, but I had earned myself a little treat. I purchased post cards, found a little spot and proceeded to fill them out while enjoying a little Jack and diet. Yummy. Did you know that drinking Jack while you’re writing makes you just as chatty as when you’re talking? I had to send one person two postcards just so I could finish my thought.
For my next trip, I am planning on going downtown. I am such the explorer! If Dora drank Jack, we’d be twins.