The Walgreen's Adventure

There are three things I'd like to discuss today:

1. Flatulence
2. Flatulence in the card aisle at Walgreen's
3. The card aisle at Walgreen's

First, why oh why is there a "polite" term for an act that can never be done politely? Let's consider some other terms for flatulence: fart, rip ass, poot, cheese, break wind. These words are quick, abrasive, forceful... much like the act itself now that I think about it. To say that you're experiencing bad "flatulence" is like trying to put a flower on top of dog poop -- you're not covering anything up.

Second, I had about 20 minutes to kill before a presentation last night so I stopped in Walgreen's. I never actually got a birthday card for the Muchacho and we're celebrating next weekend, so I though I'd check out the card aisle. I'm standing there, rummaging through the endless, poorly written, funny-but-not-really-funny cards when all of a sudden I hear something that resembles the low growl of a bull frog - if bull frogs could growl. I pause, staring blankly with raised eyebrows at the card wall in front of me, and slowly turn my head to see some Grandma about five feet away leaning on her walker, reading cards, r i p p i n g a s s.

Seriously, you guys, I have NEVER heard farts like this before. And that is saying A LOT coming from me.

It's not that they were terribly loud... they were actually quite understated... but they sounded like a low growl... except more bubbly. Words can't describe.

Once I figured out there was not, in fact, a growling bull frog at my feet, I turned and walked down the length of the card aisle as to avoid walking through the fart. Please don't think I judged this woman - I'm actually quite envious of her. When will I reach a point in my life when I can just blow ass in public and not have a care in the world if anyone hears me? Still... I'd rather not walk through her gas cloud.

Moving on.

Finally, I'd like to discuss the "greeting card" industry. And by "greeting card" I mean any kind of card, even blank ones. Birthday. Anniversary. Mother's Day. Thank you. Condolences. Anything.

I was raised with the standard that a hand written note (whether it be to say, "thank you" or "happy birthday" or "congratulations") is an absolute necessity in important relationships. If you care about someone, you best be sending them a note every so often.

And while I usually spend a solid five to ten minutes in the card aisle before I find The Good One, it's been a while since I've had to buy a "honey" card.

And can I just say, the selection of "honey" cards sucks. I wish I could meet someone who writes for these cards and ask them what the hell they are thinking when they start a sentence like, "Someone as special as you deserves a little something special from me..."

You know what I'm thinking when I read that? I'm thinking about Justin Timberlake's "Dick in a Box" song.

They have to be joking.

Now before you all tell me I'm a cold hearted cynic, let me say that a candid expression of how you feel about someone can be wonderful. Everyone wants to be loved, right? I mean, I'm the girl that still has a tattered business card on my fridge: I was a freshman in college and my dad was probably sending me a New York Times article. He wrote, "I love you and think of you often. Love, Dad" on the back of his business card and put it in the envelope. I don't remember what article he sent me, but that business card note has been on my fridge for six years.

It's those kind of notes that make your heart so big it might bump out of your chest. I can't say the cards at Walgreen's have the same effect. Needless to say, I'm still looking for a viable birthday card.

In sum, I have three main points:

1. Flatulence is an unnecessary word in English vocabulary.
2. It's quite acceptable for older folks to fart in public.
3. Walgreen's has a terrible selection of "honey" cards. I'm not incapable of expressing my feelings, but I'd rather not do it with ribbon, glitter, bows and the words "I cherish your loving heart."

Peace.

Friday Funny

I posted this on my Facebook page, e-mailed a link to my friends, and tweeted it on Twitter. Nonetheless, in case some of you missed it, this may be my most favorite commercial to date:



Happy *&%#ing weekend, *^@$*#bag.

Seattle Neighborhood Eats

It's no secret that I love good food. And it just so happens that I live in a fabulous city to love food. Between Wild Ginger and the mini-doughnut man stand in the Market; between Serafina in Eastlake and Roro's BBQ in Fremont; between the The Dish and Portage Bay Cafe, Seattle is set to satisfy any pallet, any time.

But over the past two months, three restaurants have stood out to me in particular. I've been to one multiple times and the other two were first timers that left stars in my eyes. So if you're looking for a great place to go with your man, lady friend, old college roommate, or parents, I'd suggest the following:

The Crepe Cafe and Wine Bar, Ravenna, 2118 NE 65th Street, (206) 527-7147, www.crepesandwine.com: I have my dear friend Cat to thank for this gem. I've been there for dinner three times and each time I'm surprised at how delicious (and filling!) crepes are (especially at dinner time). But be warned: the cafe is teeny tiny... and if there is anyone already waiting for a table when you walk through the door, you're likely to be squished up against the wall or forced into the back of someone's chair. If you have a reservation you'll get seated right away by a smiling waitress who won't waste any time getting your wine selection. My favorite crepe to date? It's a difficult decision, but I'd have to go with "Heaven's Crepe": black forest ham and swiss topped with their own bechamel sauce and fresh asparagus. Go here.

Eva Restaurant & Wine Bar, Greenlake/Tangletown, 2227 N 56th Street, (206) 633-3538, www.evarestaurant.com: My interest in Eva first peaked when I was playing around with the Muchacho's iPod Touch. He has some application that randomly suggests restaurants in a specified neighborhood. I tried to get us a reservation on a Saturday night to no avail - they were totally booked. A few weeks later, Carly and I were trying to decide on a "Three for $30" restaurant. I saw Eva on the list and suggested we go there. It. Was. Fabulous. Fresh everything - bread, lettuce, seafood, chicken... you name it, it was fresh fresh fresh. And the chef was creative with flavors: they put things together that you would never suspect to see on the same plate -- and it worked. Great food, twinkle light ambiance, and attentive, non-stuffy staff. Go here.

Stumbling Goat Bistro, Greenwood/Wallingford, 6722 Greenwood Avenue N, (206) 784-3535, www.stumblinggoatbistro.com: By far, the best date, to date. Locally grown food, organic, fresh, and so so delicious. The Muchacho ordered roast chicken with potatoes and I had home made pasta with bolognese cream sauce. Heaven. On the plate. In my mouth. And I have to say, hands down the best service I've ever had. Our waiter was jolly: there's no other way to describe him. He was passionate about the food, passionate about the wine, checked in often but not too often, and provided excellent guidance when we couldn't decide what to order. The restaurant is pretty romantic too -- and we weren't even going for that (I mean, I was wearing converse and fleece). But the lighting is soft, and the tables are super private - it was perfect. And I'll end this recommendation the way we ended our meal: with the BREAD PUDDING. I'm a huge bread fan. Not such a huge pudding fan. But this bread pudding was the best dessert I've ever eaten. In. My. Entire. Life. So get in there and get the bread pudding (and other fabulous food) before their seasonal menu changes. Seriously. Go here.

Come again?

Frequent readers of this blog are familiar with my tendency to make a complete ass of myself every now and then at the office. It's rare. But when it happens, it's always bad bad bad.

Part of my job description is to manage and process proposals to potential clients. I recently did one for a company whose acronym starts with a "P", has an "N" in the middle, and ends with an "S." I don't want to give you the entire acronym because I think that would most definitely violate my rule to "never divulge any important details about my job or workplace." But come on people... if it has "P", "N", and "S"... what do you think of?

PENIS.

Correct. So, I was working with one of the partners on this and in my haste to avoid taking up too much of his billable hour (especially at this time of year), I asked him, "so what's the status on the P-fill-N-the-blank-S prop?"

Which I realized sounded remarkably like, "so what's the status on the penis prop?"

Now I realize we are all adults, but forgive me if I'm not totally comfortable saying "penis" to a firm partner.

After I said it, all I could think was, "Say something else. Say something else." But I couldn't think of anything else to say so I just stood there, my eyes getting wider and wider in disbelief of what came out of my mouth.

Thankfully, he broke the silence by answering my question, at which point I turned on my heel and b-lined it back to my cube with my hand shielding my face, which was no doubt the color a of red-delicious apple.

And this entire experience made me remember my sixth grade teacher making the entire sex-ed class yell "PENIS PENIS PENIS, VAGINA VAGINA VAGINA," at the top of our lungs and me being the only one out of 30 kids who couldn't stop laughing .

I'm so mature. I know.

This is a crosswalk!

This morning, while I was driving to work, some pedestrian decided to give me a short lesson on driving.

I had been stuck behind a F-150 towing a trailer, so when I had the opportunity to pass in the right lane, I took advantage. But of course, the light ahead of me turned yellow just as I was accelerating, meaning I had to hit the breaks fairly hard.

This stop light I got stuck at happens to be on a diagonal. You know the kind - a diagonal stoplight with a diagonal crosswalk; each lane has to stop a little farther back than the lane next to it.

Well, I misjudged a little. The hood of my car was probably a foot into the crosswalk. No big deal. Definitely not something to get upset about. But this man who was crossing the street, in the crosswalk, had nothing better to do than waggle his finger at an otherwise law-abiding citizen. At 8:05 in the morning.

Is that really how you want to start you day, buddy?

So here's what happened: As he's approaching my car he looks at the front of the hood and puts his hands out to the side like, "what the hell are you doing?" Then he mouths to me, over enunciating each word so he looks like a cow chewing cud, "T h i s i s a c r o s s w a l k !" Motioning back and forth with his fingers kind of like a flight attendant pointing out the "aisle illuminating lights" on an airplane.

Give me a break guy.

So I throw up the peace sign and give him the biggest closed mouth smile I can - forcing my cheeks into my eye sockets. My goal was the give the look that says, "Oh-ho-kay, dude. Thankssssss."

Another prime example of me having the opportunity to take the high road and choosing to drive a sea level.

Cheers.