Fake & Bake

I hate being ripped off. Almost as much as I hate feeling pressured.

Here’s the story…

So, a few weeks ago I came up with the brilliant idea that one of the reasons I am so depressed about my body is because I am so pale. Really, I look one of those people who live in some remote corner of the world where the sun only comes out for four hours each day and the temperature never reaches above 7 degrees Fahrenheit. Someone at work the other day even laughed at how pale my feet looked in my new sandals. Sad.

Anyway, Desert Sun Tanning Salon recently opened in Upper Queen Anne. I’m sure every resident of Seattle is aware, because the company has been shamelessly mailing out coupons and fliers for about three months. So since the tanning bed at my gym is kinda skanky, and because Desert Sun is only a block from my house, I decided to check it out.

Wow. Walking into this place is AMAZING! It’s so clean and bright! And it smells like a tropical beach! Nothing like some of the gross tanning places I have been to over the years. But I immediately cringed as I looked at the five 100-pound girls clustered, giggling, around the counter. Fabulous. Their bleached teeth and hair flashed at me as they all screeched, “Hello, welcome to Desert Sun!!” in perfect unison. You’re got to be kidding me. Gag.

However, I let one of the bronzed bombshells take me on a tour of the salon, and I have to admit it was pretty impressive. I began to express interest in some of the products. BIG mistake. Once I got back up to the front to sign up for a package, Little Miss Fake ‘n’ Bake really went for the jugular. She started by offering me a package that was over $300!! For five tans! You’ve got to be effing kidding me! I don’t give a shit what this so-called tanning expert says, I DO NOT believe that just three times in a special tanning bed will make me look like I’ve spent a month in the Caribbean.

Man this girl was tough though. She went on and on about the benefits of the different beds, but I wasn’t going to be sucked in. I ended up buying 30 “conventional” tans for about $55 – not a bad deal, really. And I can use them over any period of time that I want, instead of cramming them all into one month and speeding up my inevitable skin cancer by a few years. Then she busted out the tanning lotions. She would have had me sold too, had they been at any sort of reasonable price. But $60 for a medium-sized bottle of lotion?! What sort of insane person would pay for that?! Not me. Wow. Tanning Girl’s attitude really changed when not only did I not buy her incredibly expensive deluxe tanning package, but turned down her specialty lotion as well. Her smile disappeared as she tapped my order into the computer with her acrylic nails in obvious annoyance. God, I wonder how much commission these girls get paid…

Now, not only was I semi-annoyed with these pushy fake bitches in the first place, but at this point I am thoroughly enraged. Last weekend I walked up to Desert Sun in the middle of the afternoon. The place was virtually empty, with only one customer at the counter. Considering they have about 20 beds, I figured it would be no problem to get in. Nope. Apparently, “no conventional beds were open at that time,” but of course, girl at counter would be HAPPY to upgrade me to a specialty bed for only $22! I began to catch on. But not wanting to judge too quickly, I politely said no, that I would come back at another time and just use the tans that I had already paid for. Wow. That perky little smile turned into a sneer quicker than I could imagine. Whatever.

Tonight after work I braved the Desert again. And again – empty lobby, but “no conventional beds were open,” was the report, along with a huge fake smile and offer of an upgrade. But when I requested an appointment for the following evening to ensure that I could finally get in and utilize what I paid for, boy did those shining rays turn to burning daggers quickly. With an annoyed sigh and a flip of her hair, Blondie wrote down my name and turned away. Apparently, I no longer deserved the signature sing-song, “Have a nice day!!”

God I’m irritated. I think I have every right to take advantage of what I paid for, without being made to feel guilty. Trying to tan at Desert Sun is worse than trying to shop at a store where the employees get paid straight commission. I hate pressure, and these fake and bake chicks have been trained to lay it on, let me tell you. So if you get one of those “$9.99 Unlimited Tans For One Month” coupons in the mail, use it, by all means. It’s a great deal. But just be prepared for the Fake ‘n’ Bake Robots. They’ll either wear you down to the point of maxing out your credit card or else make you feel like a cheap bastard. Seriously.

You’re been fairly warned.

MySpace is Evil

Yes, I am one of those guilty people who has been sucked into the black hole that is MySpace. What can I say? I work a desk job and need something to occupy myself every day. The site claims to be “a place for friends,” and for the most part, it is. It’s been a really great way for me to get back in contact with people I don’t see very often, and I like staying up to date on their lives.

I use MySpace mostly to keep in touch with old friends from high school and college who I don’t get to see very often. And I use my own page so they can stay updated on my life as well. I like posting pictures so they can see how and what I’ve been doing, and I write blogs to let them know what I’ve been up to. Not to mention the exchange of many comments and messages across the web. It’s fantastic.

My “MySpace friends” list is quite short. I only communicate with people that I know from the real world, and I have my page set as private so that no one can view it unless they contact me first. I don’t use the internet to meet new people: no offense to those that do, but I find that creepy and desperate.

However, I am guilty of being sucked in deeper than necessary. I troll other people’s pages occasionally. Why I do this, I can’t explain. Pure morbid curiosity, I guess. I check up on girls who are no longer my friends to see what direction their lives have taken. I check up on the "popular" kids from high school to see how they turned out. I check out the private lives of the people I work with. It’s horrible.

But by far my worst sin: I look for my ex boyfriends. Why I do this, I will never understand. Because I am SO over both of these guys, yet I still can’t help being curious how their lives are turning out. I can’t stop myself; it’s like an addiction. A few months ago, I found some pictures of my first boyfriend from when I was in college. They were on his little sister’s page. They were of his wedding. And even though this guy cheated on me, lied to me, and broke my heart, and even though I’ve been over him for years, I still felt like I was going to vomit as I looked at the beautiful pictures of him and his gorgeous bride. Why do I do this to myself?

Today I made the mistake of going to an old friend’s page to see what she’s been up to. Let’s just say the two of us were friends in college because our boyfriends were friends. She’s still with her boyfriend. I, however, am not. Hence, the dissolving of the friendship. But not to worry. Today I found that I have been replaced. My ex has found a new girlfriend. And even though I already knew he was dating someone else, finding her page on MySpace just made the facts that much more vivid.

I am over my ex. I had been for months before we even broke up more than a year ago. But this afternoon when I came across his new girlfriend’s page, loaded with happy pictures of the two of them together, my heart dropped and I felt bile rise up in my throat. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t stop scrolling. I knew the smartest thing to do would be to slam shut my laptop, but my hands wouldn’t obey my mind. My eyes filled with tears and my breath quickened until I felt I was going to pass out.

Sarah. Put. Down. The. Mouse.

So yes folks, once again I am pretty depressed. I’m depressed because even though I don’t want to be with either of these men, I feel cheated that they were able to find happiness before me. I feel like I am the girl that men break up with and then go and find someone better, someone who is actually worth their love. I know that all my feelings are irrational, but I can’t help it. I can’t figure out why everyone else has been able to move on and find happiness, and here I sit. Alone on a Saturday night, writing this blog.

MySpace is evil.

The Red Tent

I don’t just read books. I become obsessed with them. I finished reading my most recent fixation when I got home from work tonight, unable to let go until the last page was turned. This one was GREAT, I highly recommend it.

The Red Tent, by Anita Diamant, retells the story of Dinah, which is found in the Bible’s book of Genesis, Chapter 34. It is most commonly known as the “Rape of Dinah.” In Genesis, Dinah does not say a single word; what happens to her is recounted and characterized as rape by her brothers. But in Diamant’s fictional tale, Dinah finds her voice. The Red Tent is told entirely from her perspective, and the women around her.

I don’t know how I have only now discovered this book, because it was first published in 1997 and my mother has been claiming it as her favorite for at least a couple years. I’m usually not a huge fan of historical fiction, but will definitely file this one away in my “favorites” category.

I’ve always found the roles (or absence) of women in the Bible very fascinating. Considering my intense Catholic upbringing and being named after one of the most important women in the bible, these tales of ancient holy life have continued to hold my interest. My constant struggle with faith is fed by the morbid curiosity of, “How much of it is true?” And so I read, and it’s been rare that a biblical tale has held me so captive.

The Red Tent is fiction, but the novel still reveals the traditions and turmoil of ancient womanhood – a story that, sadly, has been left out of the Bible’s fantastic tales. I was fascinated to read about the imagined lives of Dinah’s mothers; Leah, Rachel, Zilpah and Bilah, who were sisters and the four wives of Jacob. Polygamy is obviously no longer an accepted practice, but in ancient times, it was quite common. And according to this story, the wives were often quite close with one another – working together to take care of the large extended family, cooking, cleaning, sewing, washing – all the while trying to become pregnant as often as possible to birth many sons. Yuck.

Dinah’s personal story of this remarkable period of early history created a connection to this secret world of women I never imagined. The book clearly illustrates how ignored, used, and betrayed these women were, but also how valued and special. Dinah’s life changes and goes through so many phases over the course of the novel – she experiences her first love, the murder of her lover, the betrayal of her father and brothers, the birth of her son, the loss of her son, the depths of despair, and finally the ability to find love again. I have a deeper respect for the important place of women in society after reading Dinah’s untold story.

I particularly liked a review of this novel by The Boston Globe: “The Red Tent is what the Bible would be like if it had been written by women.”

Interesting thought.

OK, I’m ready for a new obsession. Any suggestions?

Super Sized

Sitting at dinner last night, I found myself pondering the disgusting phenomenon of American obesity. It is estimated that as many as one in five Americans is obese, a condition defined as being more than 30 percent above the ideal weight based on height. Even more alarming is the fact that obesity rates for children have doubled over the past 20 years. And as I look at the world around me, and the people in it, I become more and more revolted. However, I think I have found one of the main reasons for this super-sized problem.

Completely starved for dinner after a long day at work, a friend and I headed to one of our favorite restaurants, Wasabi Bistro, a modern Japanese restaurant in Belltown. I have been obsessed with this sushi heaven ever since the first time I went there. It’s reasonably priced and the food is to die for, not to mention that virtually nothing requires cooking, so you get your meal in no time.

Since I was completely famished, I couldn’t decide what to order. Even though I was tempted to get about five sushi rolls, I settled for one, the Mango Tango, which is AMAZING – filled with shrimp tempura, cilantro, red bell pepper and mango. I also ordered an appetizer of tempura eggplant with sweet and spicy sauce to tide myself over. By the time it arrived, I had already eaten a ton of edamame, the restaurant’s specialty. It’s amazing how a few of those little bean pods can fill you up just as much as the mounds of bread most restaurants provide.

After splitting the eggplant appetizer, I was still excited for my sushi roll, but the feeling of wanting to gnaw off my own arm had passed. In fact, but the time I had finished, I actually had to force myself to pop the last bite of Mango Tango into my mouth. Interesting, considering I hadn’t even really consumed that much in terms of volume. Some beans, a couple pieces of eggplant, and six pieces of rice and vegetables. Yet I was stuffed! How had this mean managed to fill me up more than a Big Mac, large fries and a Coke?

I’ve never been to Japan, but for some reason I have been under the impression that most Japanese people are pretty thin. Perhaps this is a stereotype. However, when I did some research, I found that the prevalence of obesity has been found to be less than 5% in Japan and China. A drastic difference compared to the more than 20% in America. So obesity levels do vary depending on ethnic origin. I believe it, after the delicious and filling meal I had at Wasabi Bistro.

Which brings me to the topic of portion control in America. Research says a number of factors have been linked to obesity, including age, gender and socio-economic status. Sure. I’ll buy that. Somewhat. But from my recent experiences, I am convinced that establishing some portion control in restaurants for greedy Americans could significantly reduce the American obesity problem.

This past weekend I had dinner at Daniel’s Broiler, a Seattle steakhouse restaurant. My friend and I decided to split a meal, mainly because of the pricy menu. But after being served our food, we were both unable to even finish our respective halves. What does that say about the portions this restaurant serves? And the problem is that most people have the mindset of “getting what they paid for.” Therefore they will continue to stuff their faces until everything put before them is gone. I myself am guilty of this sin. Another example: I often go to lunch at a Thai restaurant near my work. Every time I order the Pad Thai, and every time I go home with a giant doggy bag. The leftovers from this lunch are usually enough to feed me for an additional two meals!

Americans are used to getting massive amounts of food, whether it be at fancy restaurants or fast food places. The portions are usually far larger than the recommended portion sizes for most foods, but the costs remain relatively low. So it makes sense for restaurants to offer larger portions that make their customers feel like they are getting a bang for their buck. And as Americans eat out more and more frequently, they become accustomed to those oversized portions, and think they are normal. If we don’t get enough food, we feel that we’ve paid too much and will not return, so the restaurants are happy to indulge our greedy bellies.

Ironically, many people will pay for a gym membership that they rarely use, but when paying money for food, they insist on devouring every morsel so they won’t waste a single penny. In 1995 in the USA, the total economic cost attributed to obesity was estimated at $99 billion. Frankly, it makes me want to puke.

I know there is nothing that I can do to change the world, but I can try to be aware of my own choices regarding my diet. I try to keep in mind the advice that my mother told me long ago: “Eat until you’re not hungry anymore, not until you are full.” I wish all Americans could try to have a similar mindset. Because it breaks my heart as I see the incidence of childhood obesity rise on a daily basis, simply because many parents are too busy, lazy or greedy to feed their children nutritious meals.

Obesity is a SERIOUS medical condition, which needs urgent attention throughout the world, and especially in America. The International Obesity Task Force (IOTF) was established in 1996 to tackle the emerging global epidemic of obesity. Learn more about it here.

And keep in mind, you don’t always HAVE to clean your plate in order to get dessert, no matter what your mother taught you.

Here Come the Brides

Wow. I’ve never been in a wedding before, and next June I am going to be in two!! People are getting engaged all around me. I was expecting to feel far more jealousy that I actually do, but I am genuinely happy for all of these lucky people. One of my best friends from college, Cailin, and also my sister, Nichole, will both be getting married next summer, and I will play important roles in both of the weddings.

Cailin and her finance, Clint, came into town this weekend for Cailin’s 24th birthday. It was so great to finally meet Clint, although surprisingly anticlimactic – I felt like I already knew him so well that meeting him in person for the first time wasn’t at all awkward or weird, just very natural. That’s obviously a good thing. He and Cailin seem to click so well together, and compliment each other’s personalities in a way that is rare, I believe. And since their engagement happened rather quickly, it was pretty relieving to finally see the happy couple in action, and remove all doubts about their meant-to-be-ness.

The three bridesmaids got together with the bride on Friday night with pj’s, music, bridal magazines, and a bottle of vodka. Fabulous. We got as far as selecting the color, length and cost of the bridesmaid dresses before the cocktails took precedence over the evening. There was a lot of laughing, hugging and dancing before we finally passed out (some of us in sweats and stilettos) on Lacey’s couches. It was so great to just be with the girls, no pressure from the outside world for a while. Essentially, this was our last chance to have a girl’s night with Cailin before she will be married, and I think it meant a lot to her that we were all there.

On Saturday morning, after a fabulous hung-over brunch in an Alki café, we headed to the Eastside for dress shopping. Playing out the traditional bride’s “maids” roles, we zipped, buttoned, snapped, tied, clipped and sometimes yanked Cailin into countless wedding dresses. After about two hours and two dozen dresses later, she had found “the one.” I couldn’t believe how painless the process had been! Cailin glowed in her white princess gown, and we all immediately knew without a doubt that it was the dress. Thirty minutes later, the bridesmaid dresses were selected as well, without any fighting, bickering, or disappointment. Rare, for three girls with drastically different body types!

Saturday evening was Cailin's birthday dinner at Daniel’s Broiler on the Seattle waterfront. We all got dressed up and spent three hours having great appetizers, cocktails and some of the most AMAZING food I have ever tasted!! My New York steak and mashed potatoes were to die for; they just melted in my mouth. PS, I eat crappy food way too much. Cailin was able to spend time with a lot of people who were very important to her, and I think she really had a good time. And we got to spend some quality time chatting with the happy couple before heading out on the town. Many hours of drinking, dancing, hugging and about ten million photographs later, we all stumbled home. It had been a fabulous day.

Sunday evening we headed out to Clint’s parents house to spend some final moments with Cailin and Clint before they headed back to sunny Florida. It was nice to have one final (sober) goodbye. I miss them already.

I can’t help but feel a little bit sad that this will probably be the last time we will interact with Cailin like this before she’s married. But I was so happy to spend so much time with her, and can’t stop thinking about her fairy-tale wedding. It’s definitely going to be an event to remember.

I also spoke to my sister Nichole for the first time since her engagement on Friday, and she seems ecstatic as well. I’ve spent a lot of time with her fiancé, Aaron, and I couldn’t pick a more perfect person for her to spend her life with if I tried. They are a match made in heaven, it’s completely adorable. I can’t wait to get together with her and see her ring, which I hope won’t BLIND me with it’s TWO CARATS of diamonds!!

Overall, I had a fantastic weekend. I’m so happy for the people I love. I’m a little overwhelmed by the fact that I will play a part in two different weddings in less than a month next summer, but I’m sure everything will turn out fine. Luckily, Nichole and Aaron are getting married in Oregon, so I will only have to pay for one plane ticket. But more than anything, I am excited and grateful that I have women who love me enough to allow me to take part in the most special times of their lives.

Congratulations Cailin and Clint!

Congratulations Nichole and Aaron!

A New Definition for "Single"

As I ponder the loneliness that is my life, I have come to examine the concept of friendship. More importantly, the idea of “best friends.” According to the dictionary “best friend” is defined as “the one friend who is closest to you.”

I had a best friend in the third grade. It was the first week of a new school year, and we met in the bathroom. After shyly introducing each other and discovering we had the same teacher, the bond was quickly formed. We held hands as we walked back to class. By the time fifth grade rolled around, I had acquired another best friend. The three of us even went so far as to buy one of those best friend necklaces made for three people – a heart on a chain broken into three even pieces, symbolizing our friendship.

Sadly, due to district configuration, I was sent to a different middle school than my bosom buddies. We kept in touch for a while, but over the years, the friendships faded. And by seventh grade, everyone at my new school already had their “best friends” picked out. There wasn’t much prospect for the creation of an undying friendship since I was the “new girl.” However, I did make some amazing friends over the next few years, girls that I had never felt so close with as we experienced our first loves, first periods, the divorce of parents and the death of pets. I found myself strongly connected to one girl in particular. However, she had had her technical “best friendship” locked in since kindergarten, and there was no room for me.

By the time high school rolled around, my tight circle of friends had widened considerably. And during those four years my individual friendships grew and faded, depending upon class schedules, team activities, and general common interests. However, it was always vividly clear to me that when push came to shove, “best friends” always sided with each other. I seemed to be well-liked and included in all activities, but I could never shake the feeling that I was expendable, since I was not technically connected to another girl in the group by those two magic words.

You would think these to be the naïve feelings of childhood. But when I began college, the first friends I made were already talking about their “best friends,” whether they were from back home, or newly formed college friendships. Once again, I was the outsider, the third wheel clinging onto friendships that were not really my own. The thought finally occurred to me: I had really missed the boat. I had missed my chance at having a lifelong “best friend,” the person who would be there for me always, no matter how many fights we had. The person who would always be on my side, always choose ME first for kickball, always understand why I cried without even asking.

As an adult, I still feel pangs of loneliness as I watch the “best friendships” of others continue to grow. Even as grownups, women are sure to make it known who their “best friend” is. And it may seem selfish and dumb, but sometime I want to be the most important, the most special. These feelings are probably magnified because of my single status. Isn’t your boyfriend/husband supposed to become your best friend, and make all those feelings go away? That’s what I’m hoping for at this point, because it seems that time has run out to find a best friend – everyone was already taken, years ago.

I know they’re just words, just a phrase, but why do they seem to have so much hold over me? Why do they still create so many feelings of regret, even though I am a grown woman? Perhaps I’ve convinced myself that having a best friend there to cushion me would subdue the pangs of sadness and lonliness I feel. Maybe I’m just looking for excuses. The fact remains, I need to figure out how to stand on my own two feet. And learn that jealousy is not a positive emotion, and I cannot allow it to take over my life, no matter how alone I feel.

"Always a bridesmaid, never the maid of honor."

Um, American Idol?

OK, I admit that I’m not a diehard fan, and have only watched the show a handful of times this season, but … Taylor Hicks? Are you kidding me? In the famous words of Paula Abdul, “I think America got it wrong this time.”

We’re seriously supposed to idolize this old grey-haired guy? They may as well have just picked that Chicken Little kid people liked to call “Squishy” as our new role model. I think they should rename this show American Dork.

How could America vote off the amazingly talented and drop dead gorgeous Chris Daughtry, and then vote a guy named Taylor Hicks from Alabama as the American Idol? In my opinion, the voting system is messed up. Some people have presented the theory that the only reason Daughtry was eliminated is because voters already had him pegged to win. Therefore, they did not pick up the phone to vote for him. Alternately, fans of the underdog, Hicks, dialed in. From now on, I think voters should have to call in and vote for the contestant they want OFF the show. It would make the process a whole lot fairer.

So in the end, 21-year-old L.A. native Katharine McPhee was left as the runner-up. To be honest, when I found out that Hicks and McPhee were the final contestants, I didn’t even bother to watch the finale. Not only was McPhee incredibly talented, but she totally fit the mold to become America’s next pop icon – along the same lines as previous winners Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood. But once the votes were tallied, such was not the case.

The crowning of Taylor Hicks as our American Idol has only more firmly justified my belief that the only reason to watch this show is the first few weeks of auditions. The crazy antics of thousands of untalented wannabes from across the country is completely hysterical, as they attempt crazy and idiotic stunts that may result in a 30-second television spot. Even still, we usually end up with a few moderately talented finalists.

But Taylor Hicks over Katharine McPhee? Laughable. Sheesh. We might as well have let William Hung win.

It's a Beautiful Day!

Well, it’s not really so beautiful today, considering the drizzle outside, consistent with a typical May afternoon in Washington state. However, as of right now I couldn’t care less what the weather is going to be like for the rest of the summer. It could rain every single day for all I care, because I have just gotten FABULOUS news… In less than a month, I will be getting a new desk – WITH A WINDOW!

But let me back up a second and introduce you to my world…

I spend eight hours a day, five days a week at a tiny desk in a tiny cubicle in a huge room packed with countless similar cubicles in a giant building filled with floors of identical cubicles. It’s like spending the majority of your life in a honeycomb. Mine measures roughly six feet by eight feet (in a generous estimate). And I actually have what’s called a “large” cubicle by some.

According to the dictionary definition, “a cubicle desk is a partially enclosed workspace, separated from neighboring workspaces by partitions, generally five to six feet high. It is partially or entirely open on one side to allow access. Horizontal work surfaces are usually suspended from the partitions, as is shelving, overhead storage, and other amenities.” Amenities?? What is this, a freaking hotel? Let me tell you a little bit about my cubicle, or the dark cave I like to call hell.

I do not have a wall that provides privacy from my nearest neighbor, and therefore I spend many hours each day listening to her argue on the phone with her husband. I swear, if they fight one more time about whether they’re going to have broccoli for dinner or not, I am going to clock her in the head with my Swingline stapler.

The noise in this area of the building is horrible. I happen to be right outside a conference room that seems to be the designated party area for people who apparently have nothing job-related to do each Friday morning. What they are always celebrating about, I will never know, but it’s not pleasant when I have to scream through the phone to my customers that I will call them back whenever my obnoxious co-workers decide to shut the hell up. They better watch out for a Swingline in the back of the head as well.

Not only that, but my cubicle has been chosen as the storage space for my entire department. Stacks of old newspapers combined with poor air circulation create a constantly returning film of dust. So when I say I’m allergic to my desk, I mean it. My co-workers don’t even bother to say “bless you” anymore.

And here’s the worst part of all. In the winter months I arrive at work in the morning in the dark, only to see stars again when I leave. This is bad enough, but my department is also located dead center in the middle of my floor. This means that no matter which direction I look, I see only the harsh glare of florescent lights, the gray of dirty carpet, dusty newspapers, and the occasional dying houseplant on top of a file cabinet. If I stand on top of my desk and stretch my neck out real far, I can see a hint of daylight down a hallway, but it’s questionable. Could be a fish tank.

When I get ready to leave for my lunch break, I have to email a co-worker on the other side of the building to see if I need to bring my umbrella. The only thing close to real sunlight I have seen in months came from a tanning bed. I feel like I live in a cave. This nocturnal way of life can’t be healthy. I sit like a zombie each day in front of my computer, watching the hours creep by, only knowing if it is day or night by the small “am” or “pm” indicator on my screen.

For a while, I thought I was destined to die in this cubicle… or go completely insane, whichever came first. And then yesterday… A ray of glorious sunshine!!!

My department is moving to the West side of the building! And since I have seniority, I have been given one of the best seats in the house!! I will receive TWO cubicles joined together, both of which have a magnificent view. Each day I will be able to look out at the Space Needle and bask in the colors of the setting sun. My boring afternoons will no longer be filled with web sites and images of nature, but a real-life picture window to the great outdoors. Needless to say, I’m a little excited!

Feel free to buy me a plant in celebration of my move.

Ah-choo!

Top O' the Mornin' to Ya

I’ve realized that I write about television shows far too much on this blog, so I thought it was time to shift gears a bit.

I seem to be quite obsessed with Irish pubs lately, so this past Friday a friend and I decided to meet up with some friends at Fado in Pioneer Square. This is generally an area of town I tend to avoid after dark, but I will make the occasional exception when it involves a cool Irish pub. Anyway, after downing a few drinks and catching up with old friends from college, we decided a nice brisk walk to Kells would be a great choice of activity. We were itching to dance, and Kells generally has a live band.

Kells is one of my favorite bars in town – I’ve never not had a good time there. It’s one of Seattle’s favorite hideaways, located in Post Alley above Pike Place Market. The traditional Irish pub has a warm, cozy atmosphere, and not only that, but they have Hoegaarden on tap, my absolute favorite beer!!

After arriving on Friday night at about 12:30 a.m., we promptly claimed some space at the back bar, which happens to be right near the stage. Already more than slightly buzzed at this point, our excitement rose when the band came out. As they warmed up, I knew the show would be entertaining. And it WAS! This was music like I have never heard before! Imagine traditional Irish music mixed with modern punk and what do you get? A rockin’ good time!! We alternated between dancing, jumping up and down, attempting to Riverdance, and drinking for the next hour and a half. Sweet.

I found out that the band is called Amadan, an Irish-Gaelic colloquialism for fool or idiot – what an awesome name! According to their web site, it’s also a Pacific Northwestern colloquialism for the Irish punkrock institution that attacks the senses from all six sides and routinely orchestrates chaos out of the throngs of expectant fans. The band says they exist for each other and for these people – a crew as integral to the phenomenon as the rogues’ gallery of musicianship itself.

Amadan starts off each set with fists in the air and a resounding “ARGH!” from the crowd. Then the six band members ROCK OUT! It was the high-energy, foot-stomping music typical of Irish pubs, but with a nice modern twist. I can’t really explain why I found this type of music so entertaining, because it’s not really the style that I listen to every day. But how can you go wrong with guitar, bass, didgeridoo, drums, fiddle, accordion, spoons, penny whistle, snare drum and banjo? Not to mention vocals that included sheep and monkey sounds! (Seriously.)

It was such a great time that when I found out Amadan was playing again at Kells on Saturday night, I just had to make another appearance. The second time around was just as good as the first, if not better. I think Saturday night was the epitome of “Eat, drink and be merry.” We ate, drank, danced until our heads and feet were throbbing. And I have to say the most entertaining part of the night was when a random chick we were dancing with threw herself blindly backwards, only to be caught, inches from smashing her head into the ground, by one of my friends. Since no one seemed to notice, I think this sort of behavior is common at Amadan shows. Cool.

The band is from Oregon, so I may have to take a trip down there sometime in the near future to see them again.

Argh!!!

Desperate for More...

I can tell you one thing – I am going to be DESPERATLY waiting the return of Desperate Housewives this fall! Last night’s season finale certainly had a lot of unexpected twists!! Although completely entertained for two hours, my main complaint? This show is getting a little unrealistic.

Sunday’s finale weaved in flashbacks to when everyone moved to Wisteria Lane, enabling viewers to finally see the character of Mary Alice. She typically provides voice-over narration, since she committed suicide before the story began.

Let’s begin with Bree Van de Kamp, the widowed uptight perfectionist. Her flawless demeanor has been unshakable over the past year, even considering the death of her husband, murder of her fiancé, and having to raise two rebellious teenagers: a soulless son and self-absorbed daughter. But by the time last night’s show rolled around, Bree had finally had it and checked herself into a psychiatric hospital. Let’s intertwine the story of the Applewhites. Betty Applewhite and her two sons moved to Wisteria Lane just this season, and have caused quite the neighborhood scandal. Throughout the year we have been taught to fear Caleb Applewhite as the murderer of Melanie Foster, only to find out that his brother, conveniently Bree’s daughter’s boyfriend, is the killer. When Bree hears the news, she busts out of that psych ward to save her daughter. This scenario ends with Matthew Applewhite being shot by the police (Death #1).

Moving on to my often-favorite couple, Lynette and Tom Scavo. These two have had their disagreements over the past year, most often involving their battling careers and four unruly young brats. But I always had hope for these two – their marriage seemed strong enough to withstand anything, and let’s face it, Tom Scavo is the hottest guy on Wisteria Lane, without a doubt! So when Lynette tailed Tom to Atlantic City and found him with another woman, it was quite a shocker. However, last night’s finale revealed that Tom was only in contact with the “other woman” because she had been raising his illegitimate child for the past 11 years. Now this was a fair explanation, and I was stoked to find out that Tom wasn’t cheating. HOWEVER, once they brought in psycho one-night-stand girl, I began to get irritated. She convinced Lynette and Tom to pay her $30,000 in back child support, then promptly spent the money on a house five blocks away! Now how realistic is that, when she could have spent the money on her daughter’s college, etc. Give me a freaking break.

And then there’s Gabrielle and Carlos Solis. Glamorous and scandalous ex-model Gaby has been working hard at her marriage since moving on from her affair with the underage gardener. She even went as far as to agree to children with Carlos, which was not her top choice of activities in life. Shopping is more her style, not spit-up. Enter their maid, who’s name I have never been quite sure of, so we’ll call her Shao Mae, which is as close as I can get. In danger of being deported, Shao Mae has agreed to carry Carlos and Gaby’s child as a surrogate mother, since Gabby cannot do it herself after miscarrying their first child. I thought all this baby talk has been great for the marriage, but apparently not, since at the end of the episode Gaby found Carlos and Shao Mae in a quite compromising “baby making” position. Considering the circumstances, I admire Gaby for having the presence of mind to only kick out Carlos and keep Shao Mae around. I mean, she is carrying Gaby’s baby, after all. Let’s face it though, BOTH Gaby and Carlos need a serious lesson in the definition of monogamy. I don’t see how they’re going to get through this one.

Finally, we have Susan Mayer, our 40-something divorcee living in a trailer with her 14-year old daughter since their neighbor Edie Britt burned down their house. (But to be fair, only after finding out that Susan had been having an affair with her ex-husband, soon to be Edie’s new husband, Karl). But since day one, Susan has been in love with Mike Delfino, and I can’t say that I blame her. He’s smokin’ hot. And throughout the episode, it seemed that things were finally going to work out between Mike and Susan. She had planned a romantic dinner during which he was likely to propose. However, something odd’s going on here… After chipping a tooth, Mike went to see Bree’s dentist friend. We’ll call him Dr. Trey McDougall from his previous roll on Sex & the City, since I can’t remember his name. Dr. Trey saw something funny enough on Mike’s prison dental films to run him over with his car! (Death #2 – still potential). So Mike never did end up proposing and poor Susan was left high and dry.

Oh and let’s not forget our favorite little psycho, Zach Young, who is actually Mike Delfino’s son, although he was raised by Paul and Mary Alice Young. Paul Young is currently in jail facing murder charges, and instructs young Zach to go to his grandfather for money. Instead, Zach kills his grandfather in order to inherit his estate, (Death #3) and then cuts off communication with Paul. Interesting.

Questions still remaining:

· What happened to Bree’s son Andrew? He never appeared in the season finale, will he be back next season?
· Are the Applewhites gone for good? I think so, not much more plot there to work with, now that they’re moving and her murderer son is dead.
· Are they actually going to introduce this psycho bitch Tom slept with a decade ago as a character? I really hope not.
· Where will the Solis’ story line go from here? In my opinion, their marriage is far to messed up at this point to be salvageable. However, they do have a baby on the way…
· What happened to Edie Britt? Last time we left this vengeful bitch, she was laid up in a hospital bed… will she be back?
· Most importantly, is Mike Delfino really dead?!?

As situations get more and more desperate, how will things end in suburbia? My opinion? This season finale left doors open for the development of dozens more story lines, and I think Desperate Housewives will be around for years to come.

Check it out here.