Nom de Plume

Seattle is not a good place for the directionally-challenged.

Unfortunately, Steve and I both fall into the category. Put us in a car in an unknown setting, and chances are we’ll be lost and fighting within the hour. Okay, maybe not fighting exactly, but since he refuses to stop and ask directions, and I refuse to study the map at every intersection, it does make for some interesting times. I’ve come to the conclusion that we’re horribly unsuited for each other, because there really ought to be at least one person in a relationship who has a good sense of direction. Then again, he’s cute and I love him.

Seattle is the only place I’ve ever been where there is a South exit to a freeway, but no North. Or that has signs that say “No Parking North of Here” when you’re actually pointing East. It’s also got the zaniest street numbering in the world. Sure, numbered streets run E-W and numbered avenues run N-S sounds perfectly logical, until you take into consideration the winding streets (or would that be avenues?) and the fact that nothing–I repeat, nothing–is marked.

There isn’t a single sign on the Alaska Freeway that tells you that this is the last exit for five miles. There isn’t a sign that you can bypass the 99 by going under the bridge that veers to the left (and seemingly defies that rush of oncoming traffic). There’s no way to know that downtown Seattle is a maze of little one-way streets that end abruptly and start going, quite inexplicably, in the other direction. To get to Steve’s work, you get off the 99, turn right, then left and you’re there. To get back to the 99, you turn right, then right, then right, then left, then right, then left.

ARGH!

Maybe normal people find this easier to deal with. Steve bought a compass for his car to help with our mutual inability to get where we’re going. THe first time we tested it, we’d been in the car for an hour and were both a little grumpy. He looked at it. He shook it. He shook it again. Finally, he said he had to take it back to REI because it was defective. In my infinite wisdom, I tried to explain that compasses didn’t work like that, but he just fixed me with a glare and told me to get back to my map reading.

Job interview went well, made it to the second round. Had the weirdest interview question ever: “Would you rather be a lemming, a sloth or an earthworm?”

Any votes?

Job interview with a market research company.

Good thing, because my poor little car is revving really high. I called Hurless Brothers in Boise, and they walked me through checking a couple of things. I was immensely proud of myself; I went under the hood and looked at the air filter, pushed oily things and checked the radiator fluid. Brett assured me it was probably something really simple, but to take it in. So I took it to the place five blocks from the house.

Then I wandered around for two hours with oil smudges on my face.

From: Mike Hurley
Subject: Why a Mikey?!?!?

There are just too many long hairs around for me to miss you yet- almost
strangled myself taking a bath the other day. Do you train those things to
lie in wait and then strike?

The main reason I don’t do Victoria’s Secret–and what happens when you get your first VS pushup bra at the age of 8.

For those jonesing for a new Harry Potter, may I suggest Jenny Nimmo’s Charlie Bone series?

I have finally gotten around to changing my phone number. So it’s official. Off to get biz cards printed up now.

Great short story, by the way, from the December issue of The Atlantic monthly.

O frabjous, frabjous day! The University of Washington has EVERY SINGLE BOOK I need for my research on Razia.

I found a couch!!!!!