What I Packed

We've been here for almost a month, and I haven't gotten tired of it! Let me tell you more about it.

On our first weekend, after unpacking, we went shopping for the essentials, which were towels, a bed, sheets, and Christmas tree.  This was the first year we had room for a real tree, and since we had little to no furniture, we got a big one.  Just compare the sizes!  (Last year's Harlem tree is on top)

Christmas Tree 2011

Christmas Tree 2012

Fortunately, some of the few items that made the final cut during our move was our Christmas tree decorations.  Among other "treasures" I decided to pack was a clipboard (which has already come in handy!), art supplies (paints, brushes, ribbons, stickers), a triangle ruler, 4 boxes of Starbucks instant coffee packets, Lizano sauce from Costa Rica, oil and vinegar from Napa Valley, and a lifetime supply of tampons.  I shipped at least 3 boxes of tampons across the country.  I guess by the end of my packing, I just started throwing things in.  Looking at the tampons, I figured I'd use them sometime, so why throw them out?  But were they worth shipping?  Was the triangle ruler worth shipping?  Is the triangle ruler worth having?  I don't really think so.  Kitchen supplies probably would have been more useful.

Unpacking

December 1 was the big move into our new apartment.  Our cousins, Nate and Jaimie, moved from Portland to Seattle the month before with a U-haul full of belongings and Ken, who was currently unemployed, helped them move in.  Ken helped Nate carry a couch up 5 flights of stairs, so despite my insistence that we really didn't have enough stuff to warrant help, Nate and Jaimie felt indebted and promised to help us move in.

That Saturday morning, Ken and I packed our clothes into some suitcases and piled the boxes that my mom recently shipped to me in Susan's living room, ready to go into the car when Nate and Jaimie arrived.  Under the direction of Max, we formed an assembly line and had everything in the car (2 suitcases and a chair had to wait for another ride) in less than 20 minutes.  We drove 2 minutes to the new apartment, and unpacked in another 20 minutes.  It was a really fast move in and even though we didn't need the help, it was awesome to have it.

Women's Weekend

Somehow, I never posted this.  Women's Weekend took place in early October......

For the past 20 years, the women of my mom’s side of the family have celebrated each other on one very special weekend every autumn, “Women’s Weekend.”

Women’s Weekend, held in Ocean Park, Washington, is two to three Girls Only! days of food, wine, book discussion, goal setting, and familial bonding.  I had a work conflict this year and couldn’t attend, but shortly before the big weekend, found out that I didn’t have to be at the conflicting concert and could go after all!  I drove down, surprised my mother (who I hadn’t seen in 2 months, the longest I stretch in over four years), and settled in for some good old-fashioned family time.

Saturday night was book group night.  A dozen or more women sit around in a circle to discuss and lend recently enjoyed novels, memoirs, and biographies.  My book tastes don't really fit in, and I also read plenty of books that I wouldn’t necessarily recommend (namely “Pretty Little Liars” and all the poorly written History of Weddings and Marriage books I’ve been wasting my time with), so it took me until right before my turn to decide on a book to share.  

I toyed with talking about “The Citizen’s Constitution: An Annotated Guide", but settled on “The Trapp Family Singers,” the autobiography of Maria von Trapp and basis for The Sound of Music.  Considering how very loving, emotional, and womanly this group is, I was very surprised that no one wanted to hear my many anecdotes about how the book compares to the movie-musical.  (Maria was really asked to leave the convent because she sang, skipped and ran too much! The kids really drove away many governesses!  Maria really wore an ugly, ill-fitting dress to the von Trapp estate because she had given away all of her own clothes!  The Captain really had whistle calls for his children!  Marie really sewed rompers for the kids! (Though not out of curtains)  The Baroness really confronted Maria about the captain being in love with her and Maria ran back to the abbey!)  Who doesn’t want to hear this stuff?!?

Well, I didn’t want to hear about their books, either.  All that my aunts, grandmother, and mom seem to read is books about helping people in other countries (Africa is big lately) while finding oneself, or heartbreaking books (topics include war, abuse, mental illness, poverty) that are described in lengthy detail, always with, “It was so heartbreaking, (select one) I would have to put it down periodically/I couldn’t read anything else for weeks/I cried, but you definitely need to read it.”   No thank you.

Following book club, we did “Goals”.  Goals is the portion of the evening when we open last year’s (or whenever you were last there) goals, read them, reflect, write this year’s goals, put the paper in an envelope with your name on it, and put it in a bag.  Then aunt Louise puts the bag in a safe and brings it out the following Women's Weekend.

You don’t read your goals aloud, but Kelsey, mom and I shared our goals with each other.  I had totally kicked my goals' ass, which were written in 2007, during or right before my senior year in college.

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Ashley's Goals 2007:

1. Get into grad school or get a job.  

Double check! I’ve done both of these since 2007!

2. Be more like Caitlin (this is not serious) 

Clearly, Caitlin was reading these as I wrote them.

3. Have a functional relationship or at least convince myself that I am capable of having one. 

Um, have you seen my ring? CHECK.

4. Be nicer to Caitlin (Just kidding, I am perfect)

After the thrill of having seriously rocked my stated goals of five years ago had abated, I was a little intimidated to write any new ones.  I had just achieved another pretty big set (get engaged, quit my job, move to the west coast, select a wedding venue, get a new job, get Ken to the west coast) in a relatively short period of time (two months and twelve days), and just want to relish in the improved quality of my life rather than rush into new goals.  Further, after having so successfully dominated 2007’s goals, I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment next year.  I decided to make it easy:

Ashley’s Goals 2012

1. Get Married

Having not achieved her goals, mom followed suit with an easy win:

See my daughter get married.

Day 3, The Conclusion

The last place of the day was one Ken had just found that afternoon.  We met Karen (who we later found out was Kristen, Ken had the name wrong), the normal, non-sweaty, non-serial killer manager, who showed us to the unit.  It was on the second floor of an old-timey, possible prewar apartment.  I don’t know enough about architecture to know what that looks like.  The walls were conveniently already white, not beige, and the floors were nicely un-carpeted, i.e., hard wood.  Unlike the insane asylum, these floors were not warped and nary a ghost met us on the way up the stairs.  The bathroom fixtures were new, the room was sunny, and there was a random closet in the “living space” with French doors.  Did I mention the small office space?  It is its own separate room.  It’s not a “home office” at the end of long corridor that leads to a window and fire escape like in out Harlem digs.  It is actually an office.  Or it could event be a timeout room if we took the light out and added spikes to the wall.

I barely looked at the place.  I had already decided that we were moving in as soon as possible. 

Ken was fine with it, we turned in our deposit and were on our way! 

That evening when family asked about the place we selected, I couldn’t describe it at all.  It was the only place I didn’t take photos of—why bother? I didn’t have to think about it later—so I had zero concept of the size (I recalled that it was small, but now that I am in it with no furniture aside from an arm chair and Christmas tree, it seems a lot bigger) and didn’t even know whether or not it had a closet in the bedroom (it doesn’t, but there are closets and shelves just about everywhere else).

Also, it was the least expensive place we looked at, a short 7 blocks from Susan’s and 4 blocks from my gym and bus stop, and utilities were included!  It was the best of all seven apartments we viewed, and while I wouldn’t say “This is PERFECT!”, it’s pretty close and only took 3 days to find.

Day 3, Continued

We stopped by the Hawthorne next.  This was in the neighborhood of the single 30-year-old apartment and had a lot of similarities.  It was modern and carpeted.  To me, that made them practically the same place.

The manager was a small, squirrely gay man with a sweaty handshake.  I was immediately turned off.  I almost left right then—“forget it, sweaty man!”—but Ken wanted to go on the tour.

The hallway smelled sweetly musty, like cheesy mildew.  Strike two.  The apartment was small (again, my perception of space is unreliable), had a window that faced the interior courtyard looking out onto the cement walls of the units on the other side, and the bedroom wasn’t completely closed off from the living room.  Meaning there wasn’t a door at all.  The couple currently living there used a curtain to separate what cannot be legally listed as two rooms.  On the plus side, the kitchen was big and open, and Ken loved that.

After the tour, Mr. Sweats took us to his manager’s office to share his philosophy and more details about the building. He described himself as a “fun, laid back guy, who gets the job done.”  He throws monthly “parties,” funded by the owners, using the popcorn maker that was on a shelf behind us.  “It’s important for the residents to get to know one another.  And if the Seahawks win a game,” he told us, he pays for beer out of his own pocket.

“I’m told that you can’t be nice and be a good manager, but I think that’s the only way to be a manager.  I don’t want to be the ‘bad-guy’.”  He wants to be the guy who throws lobby popcorn parties!

I was appalled by everything going on, and had no idea why Ken was asking so many questions.  We were in there for almost half and hour before excusing ourselves for our next appointment.

When we finally left, walking past the obese woman sitting in the lobby whose outfit matched the couch color exactly making it difficult to determine where clothed flesh ended and furniture began, Ken turned to me and said, “I loved it.”

What?  I was about to turn to him and say the same thing, only I would have been saying it in the way I say, “I love dolphins, do you want to see Dolphin Tale?” after seeing the preview in the movie theatre.  That is, I would have been joking.

“The manager seemed really cool.”

“But he had sweaty hands!”

”Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“That was the first thing I noticed!” 

Before diving into my list of grievances against The Hawthorne, I asked Ken to tell me what he liked about it so that I wouldn’t bias him.  He liked the manager, it was inexpensive, it had parking, the kitchen was big, and honestly, he thought that I would have really liked it since I wanted a modern, convenient apartment. 

“Well, let’s just hope the next one is the perfect combination of charming and not falling apart.”

Apartment Search, Day 3

By day three, Ken was very ready to make a decision.  We had three apartments to look at, and while I was really enjoying looking at numerous places, Ken was more impatient than I had ever seen him.  The first building that day, the Ben Lamond, was a bit further out of the way (from Susan’s, my bus, and my gym), but it had a view of the space needle and was relatively inexpensive. 

This was our first experience looking at apartments during the day and I knew that it would influence my decisions heavily.  I would be able to see whether or not the apartment was sunny, and sun is my number one priority after being within budget.

We walked to what seemed like the edge of the universe, or the edge of Capitol Hill along I-5, and down a dead end.  I wondered where Ken (who was doing all the apartment research) was taking me.

“Is that it?  It looks like an abandoned insane asylum.”  It did.  Ken preferred describing it as “an old school”, which it looked like as well, but it was pretty clear to me that psychiatric patients were experimented on within these walls.  There were dead leaves all over, and the manager, who appeared to be transgender (FàM) but could have just been a lesbian, wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic (or apparently hard working) as the guy from the Bates Motel. 

The interior had wide, musty, carpeted hallways; creaky stairways; and huge wooden banisters.  It really did look like an old school inside.  Perhaps it spent a decade or two as a dormitory after the state hospital was shut down.  All I could think was, “I hope I don’t like this apartment, because no one takes care of this building.”

Sam (or Max, or Andy—some name that could be an abbreviation for a girls name) opened the door to the unit.  It was really big, fairly bright, and, as I mentioned, had a view of the space needle.  The living room area had a big bay window, the wood floors were old and warped in a charming way, the kitchen was enormous (these size terms are all relative, and very screwed by my spatial perception), and there was a quirky, built-in backless shelf hanging out between the kitchen and living room.  Though falling apart, it was adorable.  One negative was that it was on the ground floor and the bedroom window faced a back entrance to the building, which could be scary at night.  And of course, there would be ghosts since victims of state-enforced hospitalizations in the 1950’s haunt the building.

I hoped dearly that we would find another place that day that was more awesome because I was learning strongly toward the Ben Lamond, and I knew it would be nothing but problems.

Apartment Search, Day 2

The second apartment we saw was pretty nice.  It was in a modern building and had a decent-seeming apartment manager.  He lived on the premises and appeared to care about the building.  That is very different from our Harlem experience, where no one gave a shit about the building and we had to call the management office for a month before someone fixed the roof and water stopped pouring through the ceiling any time it rained heavily.

The location was pretty good as well—close to Susan’s and close to some restaurants.  It was on the sixth floor (sort of a view!) and had a small balcony.  I imagined a grill and barbecue party.  The kitchen was pretty big and the apartment had its own washer and dryer in the bathroom.  It was definitely a possibility, but it had carpeting and grey/beige walls and was not “our style.”  I could imagine a single woman in her 30’s living there easily, but not Ken.  And not me, either, since I’m totes not single.  Or thirty.

We headed over to another apartment after the single-lady pad.  It was in a building that looked like a motel from decades past.   I think it was called the Red Roof, but even if it wasn’t, we referred to it as the Red Roof Inn.  The manager was extremely enthusiastic and told us about all the projects he was working on.  He pointed out the modern wall art he selected and contemplated aloud whether or not he should switch out a neighboring wall hanging with a new, modern piece as well.  I thought he was nice and his caring for the building was impressive.  Later, after some reflection, I realized that he was totally the type to snap and kill us.

The apartment itself was very big with wood floors, but looked into a shady courtyard so I did not anticipate a lot of light getting in.  It was on the ground floor and had bars across the window.  As I didn’t want to live in a dungeon or be murdered by my apartment manager, I nixed the Red Roof Inn as well.

Apartment Search, Day 1 (back in November)

In my opinion, the first apartment we looked at was too expensive for what was being offered, which was not very much space and no tolerance for painting an ugly railing or beige walls.  Ken really liked it, but only because he just wanted to find the perfect apartment right away and not have to look anymore.

Fortunately, since we were living with my aunt, we had the luxury of taking our time if we needed to.  We also were looking for a December 1 move in date, and it was early November.  Still, Ken wanted to be done already.

I nixed apartment number one based on cost and lameness, and at the same time, reduced the higher end of our apartment cost limit.  Ken was angered.

Seattle Bars: We Don't Dress Up

While Portland is pretty weird, Seattle definitely has it's own quirks.  Ken scouted out an odd concert he wanted to see at a bar in Freemont (that's north of us on), and took the cousins and I to go see.

I was coming down with a cold, so I didn't bother dressing up.  I looked like I was ready for bed with my glasses on and messy hair, and wore a comfy hoodie, jeans, and running sneakers.  I would never have gone to a bar in NYC in running sneakers.  I hardly every went outside in running sneakers if I wasn't actually running.  Needless to say, I looked pretty questionable and would have looked like a monster in NYC.  To my delight, most of the girls at the bar were dressed as casually as I was.  My lazy pajama attire fit right into the Seattle bar scene.

The first band was not awful, but not interesting.  We were getting ready to go when the second group, a Funk band, came on, and if you'll take a look at the pictures below, I think you'll see why we stayed.

The main singer was wearing USA sunglasses with guitar-shaped frames and the keyboard player was wearing a bald eagle shirt and knitted scarf.  Both had sweet sweat bands, and the lead singer (who is shown below eating his guitar) was wearing sweatpants.  Even the bands go to Seattle bars in sweatpants.  I will never feel under-dressed going outside in this city.

Cyclocross

The morning after our pizza competition, we went to watch Brett's Cyclocross race.

Cyclocross is a sport for people who are too old for team sports and too restless for marathons.  The Portland Cyclocross season occurs in the fall, with 8 consecutive weekends of races where fit, outdoorsy men in their 30's-50's ride and carry their light-weight bikes through an obstacle course.   Because of the autumn season and the Northwest's climate, most of these races take place in the rain and the mud adds an extra element of obstacle excitement.  

The race we watched was 1.5 mile loop with a couple of jumps, a stair case-ramp compo, plenty of tight turns that required hopping off the bike, running with it, and hopping back on, and lanes almost too narrow to pass the other competitors.  Spectators consisted of the riders' wives, if they were generous enough to wake up early and stand in the rain to watch the insanity, and in the case of Brett, the rider's mom, dad and cousins.  I'd never heard of the sport before, but maybe that is because it is more popular in the Pacific Northwest than the Atlantic Northeast (there's a shocker).

As the race was starting, details for the upcoming holiday party were announced (Not only do they compete, but they socialize too!), letting riders know that the theme was "Office Party."  Of course it was.  These Portland guys are so cool, their idea of fun is recreating an office party (an running around in mud), because heaven knows they don't work in an office.

A PDX Pizza Competition

Last weekend Ken and I drove down to Lake Oswego, slightly south of Portland, to visit my aunt and uncle, Lore and Bob.   (Lore is my mom's cousin.  I believe Lore is my cousin once removed, and her kids are my second cousins.  I messed that up in the last blog post, but have since gone back and corrected the error.)

Lore informed me that we were to have a three-way pizza competition with the four of us and her son, my second cousin, and his wife, my second cousin-in-law.  Ken was very excited when he heard this, and thought we were sure to win.

"I don't know, Ken.  Brett and his friends had pretty crazy, high stakes pizza competitions when he lived in Berkeley.  They included quail eggs, exotic seafood, and anything you would never really put on pizza.  He's been competing for years."

I had heard incredible things about these Berkeley pizza competitions, and I knew we didn't stand a chance against Brett.  Ken and I have made only about 5 pizzas together, and most of them were barbecue chicken.

"Want to do steak and blue cheese pizza?" I suggested.  Everyone loves meat pizzas, and throwing on deliciously cooked meat can disguise inexpertly cooked pizza dough.

"Let's do Kielbasa!" Ken decided, clearly still as infatuated with Leavenworth as I am.  It was a good idea, too, because it's creative and it couples well with beer, another master of disguise.

We kept our pizza theme a secret, banning Lore and Bob from spying on us in the grocery store.  We picked up an onion and smoked mozzarella and decided to experiment with Alfredo sauce and Dijon mustard as our base.  For the kielbasa, a helpful grocery store clerk guided us to a locally sourced sausage from a place called Olympic Provisions.

"Locally sourced?" we said, "that's perfect for our Portland family!"  I had been acquainted with the northwest's love for homegrown since college, and ever since Portlandia came into being, the whole US has become aware.  Portlanders go crazy for birds, bicycles, and locally sourced nonsense.

The competition was on.

Lore, Bob, Ken and I set to work on our pizzas.  Lore and Bob used traditional ingredients of high caliber: crumbled sausage, home-made tomato sauce with a delicious bouquet of spices, oven-roasted peppers and carefully sliced olives.  Ken and I slowly revealed our intentions, and went so far as to "pretzel" the crust with coarse salt and egg-glaze.  We tried to braid the crust but didn't have enough dough.

Brett and Gillian came late and borrowed ingredients from Lore and Bob, but used their own meat and added banana peppers for some spice that the other two pizzas lacked.

Our pizza came out first.  It was bit floppy and flat, but interesting and effective and declared a "contender" by pizza masters Brett and Gillian.  A contender?!?  That was much more than I could have hoped for, especially with our experimental sauce.

Next we sampled Bob and Lore's creation, over which Gillian oohed and awed, impressed with their fresh, local toppings.

Finally, Brett and Gillian's, the first-seed pizza, was extracted from the oven.   And it was amazing.  It was baked to perfection (was that because the oven had been on longer?), piled high with ingredients, and had a delightful banana pepper-zing.  Both taste and texture were remarkable.

Then came the voting.

Brett voted first, and chose ours due to its creativity.  Sweet!  We could win.  I voted for Brett and Gillian's.  It really was the best pizza.  Lore and Bob also voted for Brett and Gillian's.  It turns out that Brett had turned the oven up higher without our knowledge, consequently baking his pizza into a well-structured masterpiece.  Ken voted for ours.  It was down to Gillian...for whom would she cast her vote?   She found the peppers on her own pizza too spicy and was waffling between Lore and Bob, who desperately wanted a vote, and our kielbasa sensation.  Gillian loved Lore and Bob's fresh, local ingredients.  I tried to sway her by arguing that while the individual ingredients were wonderful, they were not cohesive.  They hadn't united in the oven.  She loved our smoked mozzarella, but still, Gillian was leaning toward the fresh, local produce.

"Wait!" I said, recalling the origins of our meat.  "Our kilebasa is local!  It's from Olympic... something."

"Olympic Provisions?" asked Lore.

"Yes!" I said, remembering the full name.

"Olympic Provisions!" exclaimed Gillian, immediately deciding her vote.  "That place is amazing!  It's in Portland!" 

We had won!  Well, tied.  But that was quite the victory for us, considering how experienced Brett and Gillian are.  Ken and Ashley, underdogs, had tied the pizza competition against reining champions and had learned the secret to any contest in the great northwest: Go local.

More cousins!

You thought I was up to my ears in amazing family that lives near by, and you are right, but now I'm past my ears!

Our cousins Nate and Jaimie (one is a cousin, one is the cousin's fiancée, but I won't tell you who is who so there will be no biases) who previously lived a short 3-4 hours away in Portland have moved up to Seattle and now live only 1.5 miles down the road!  It's a little too far for my taste because we tend to walk everywhere, but if we walk fast it is only about 25 minutes. 

On their first weekend here, we all went to watch Max's regatta.  As five cousins (me, Ken, Nate, Jaimie and Kelsey) packed in the car and drove to the water, and I thought, "Wow, this is the Pierce childhood I missed out on!  All the cousins together hanging out all the time."

I thought about that for a couple of minutes and realized how very untrue this long-held notion was.  As little cousinettes, Caitlin and I always felt so left out because we lived in New York and only saw our mom's side of the family once every year or two (or three, depending on the availability of the family member).  I'm sure Lindsay felt this way too, but she was so much younger that she legitimately was left out.  And for good reason!  A ten year old does not want to play with a five year old.

When Cait and I went to Stanford, we began to get move involved.  We saw the Pierce family much more frequently, flying up to Portland 2-3 times per year.  When I moved in with my grandmother the summer between my first and second years of grad school, I totally made it in the cousin world.  Not only did I hit it big with my first cousins, but my second cousins as well!  Now we live in happy cousin harmony, in the idyllic world I dreamt of being a part of as a child.

However, thinking more realistically, back then, one first-cousin family lived in Portland and the other in Seattle.  I don't think the two families drove 3-4 hours to watch each others sporting events.  The second cousins didn't see each other that much, either, because one family lived in Connecticut while the other two families, who are not close in age (and therefore probably didn't have an amazing, jealous-worthy time when they got together), were in Portland.  The first cousins (the Pierces) and the second cousins (the Harrises) aren't really close, and I doubt they saw each other at all outside of weddings and funerals.  We Hogan girls were not nearly as left out as we imagined.  Except Lindsay.

But it's a good thing that I perceived myself to be left out for 18 long years, because I have since made huge efforts to see my cousins (and aunts, uncles and grandmother) much more.  I've tried to go to all the cousin weddings since they started, and have only missed two.  I even flew out for the bridal shower for one of the ones I couldn't go to be a good cousin.  In the past month and a half, I have seen at least 7 aunts, 3 uncles, 1 grandmother, 11 cousins, and 3 baby cousins, and only 6 of these encounters were due exclusively to the family women's weekend.  And finally, the most impressive example is that I moved to Seattle.

Scuba Ken

Ken has a new job!  He got it a few weeks ago, but I was busy being too tired to blog about it, so here this news is now.  He starts shortly after Thanksgiving at a company called Deep Sea, located about 42 miles north of Seattle.

You may be thinking, "That's a long commute!"

It is, but Ken will be designing something well worth the drive.  Scuba and kayaking equiptment.

You are probably thinking, "That is so much cooler thank kitchen towels!"

It is.  It certainly is.

And now for a little Q&A with the designer himself.

Ashley: Ken, how excited are you?
Ken: 100!   

Have you ever scuba dived?
No.

Why not?
I had jacked up ears as a kid.

Ken has baby ear canals, and changes in pressure cause severe pain.  One of the first things he told me when we started dating was that he couldn't sky dive.  That was almost a deal breaker, because ever since I was a little girl I always dreamed of having a sky-diving wedding.  There is something horribly romantic in reciting our vows to each other in a space between heaven and earth, which I feel accurately describes the our love for each other if love were a place as well as an emotion.  Sometimes I think that love is a place.  After getting engaged, we compromised and decided that I would sky dive to the ceremony and he would just hang out on the ground.  The venue we selected is perfect for this because not only do they have a sky diving school nearby, but the ceremony site is clear of plants and trees so my dress won't catch.

Will you learn to scuba dive?
Yeah, it has ram horns.  It's pretty awesome.

Ken was answering a question about the monster he is painting.  However, he has previously said that Deep Sea is going to pay to get him scuba certified.  How his baby ear canals will fare is a question for another day.

Is the apple-pear cobbler (with organic apples and pears that our wonderful aunt Susan made) going to make you sink to the bottom of the Deep Sea?
Yes

Are you also adding vanilla ice cream to that?
Yes

I'm on my "I have to go wedding dress shopping next month" diet, which isn't really much because I don't have to wear the wedding dress next month (I have until August!), so I'm drinking wine for dessert and foregoing the delicious cobbler that is taunting me from the stove top.

How do your past design experiences relate to this upcoming position?
I've designed military equipment, including a Halo diving suit, which is a high-altitude, low deploy suit.  It's for jumping out of planes.

It seems that Ken has a trend of designing things he can't use.  Due to his baby ears.  He also isn't a Navy Seal, but I'm sure if he tried....

What will you wear to the office?
We allowed my cousin, Max, to answer this question for Ken.
Max: Jeans, but nice jeans.  Very nice and well trimmed.  Black socks, dark brown loafers.  White long sleeved collar shirt under a blazer.  A black blazer.

A black blazer? What about the brown loafers?
Max: Well, black loafers, then.  It indicates a certain touch of formality with...
Ken: ...A willingness to conform.  To the Northwest.
Max: You should make those horns....you should leave them white.  With shading.

Again, they are back on the monster painting.  

How does the office environment compare to the big apple? (Not apple-pear)
Ken: Cleaner.

How will you incorporate kitchen towels into your new designs?
Maybe I will dry off with them.

Thank you Ken and Max for your limited concentration!

Success!

I didn't fall once!

For most of the Halloween party, I hung onto Ken.  The drinks were not very strong, I spaced them out quite a bit, and I brought sneakers in my sweet orange fanny pack.  There was no additional bruising, but my legs are sore from my roller dance moves.

Halloween 2012: "Tough"

Likely a very bad idea for a Halloween costume

I will be dressing as a roller derby player this year for Halloween.


I came up with the idea last year, thinking rather rhetorically, "How funny and annoying (for everyone around me) would it be to roller skate around all night?"  Rhetoric or not, I'll tell you.  It would be really funny and really annoying!  That year, however, I was already scheduled to dress as a dinosaur, so this "best idea ever" had to wait.

The dinosaur costume was great.  Ken and his brother, Tim, who were also dinosaurs, made three costumes our of solid colored hoodies.  I was an orange pterodactyl, Ken a blue triceratops, and Tim a green t-rex.  The costumes were creative, and the warm clothing ideal for walking around a cold Cleveland at night.

The roller derby player also seemed like a really fun costume.  It is slightly "bad ass," I am not expected to look hot (why compete?), and I can play around with makeup to give myself fake injuries. 

Fake injuries are one of my favorite things to create.  That all started in college, when we used to dress up for everything.   My first attempt at bruising was creating track marks on my arms for a cappella solo auditions (the song was from Rent).  My first attempt at blood was for my "Pulp Fiction's Uma Thurman Overdosing on Cocaine" costume senior year. 

Halloween 2007: Uma Thurman, Pulp Fiction

My "I've Been Under The Water Too Long" Mermaid kick-ball costume senior year was another hit, followed by my "Extra From Heroes Who Was Killed By Sylar" my first year of grad school, when the one good season of Heroes was still in the collective pop-culture memory.


I was looking forward to creating a broken, possibly bloody, nose this year, and I still am.  I am also looking forward to a pretty unattractive costume.  My rising concern is that we are going to a crowded party Saturday night and I can't roller skate.  Even more perilous, the cost of my pre-paid ticket includes (unlimited) drinks. You can see why I am questioning the wisdom of this decision.  The evening will almost certainly end with an actual broken nose, or any number of broken noses. We'll find out soon enough!

Boxing

As compensation for moving with me to Seattle, I promised Ken that I would try muay thai.  As many of you know, Ken began practicing (or "playing," as I usually say) muay thai, a martial art with 8 points of contact.  It's like boxing with the additional use of elbows, knees and feet.  Or kickboxing with elbows and knees.

Now, I don't want to get hit in the face, but a promise is a promise.  Ken found a new gym that teaches muay thai, boxing and yoga that conveniently offered a one-day groupon for 10 classes for $50.  I told him I would try boxing first, because that has 6 fewer points of contact.

Last night, I went to my first boxing class.  Boxing 101.  I started with jump roping, which I am terrible at.  I can only really skip rope, and when I try jumping with both feet, I need to do a double jump (two jumps for every spin of the rope.  I don't spin fast enough.).  I kept hitting my feet or ponytail and stopping.  I felt like a complete idiot.  Who can't jump rope?

After this, the instructor went through 6 punches, then moved on to foot work.  Finally, he showed me how to duck and avoid punches.  So here I was, learning how not to get hit.  It was fortunate that my hands and gloves were covering most of my face as I did this, because I started laughing.  I already know how to avoid getting hit: stick to running.

Leavenworth

Day 2 of our visit to Eastern Washington.

Shaun mentioned an Oktoberfest in the nearby village of Leavenworth, and I said, "Sounds good!" As we neared the town, which was at least an hour a way so "nearby was clearly an incorrect assumption on my part, I noticed an oddly decorated Safeway and pointed it out to Ken.  "Look! That's weird!" I said, and as you can see from the image below, it had two unexpected cornucopia. 

"Look! That's weird!"

In fact, it wasn't weird at all.  What Shaun didn't tell us was that Leavenworth is Oktoberfest.  It's not just German themed for one measly festival a year, it is a permanent Bavarian-themed village in a perennially picturesque Alpine setting, and it is amazing.

After their logging industry failed when railway lines were rerouted away from their hamlet, Leavenworth fell into a steep decline.  In the 1960's, an effort was made to save the town through tourism and it was decided to create a fake German village.  And saved it was!  Now, Leavenworth is not only the home of a fancy Safeway, but the home of countless buildings covered with Bavarian facades.  

Countless Bavarian facades

I am not going on our usual family trip to Disney World's Food & Wine Festival this year, but this fake village made me feel like I was in the middle of Epcot (I've never been to Bavaria, so I can't say how it feels in comparison).  Drinking beer in the middle of the day on the upper deck of Munchen Haus, overlooking a themed village with no discernible German roots really hit the spot.  This town has everything you could possibly want, from brauts and nutcracker shops to lederhosen and haus-pitals, and all with subdued touristy-flare that makes you feel warm, welcome and not at all uncomfortable day-drinking.  With an array of delightful German food, beer, and chocolate, not to mention heavy representation by local wineries, this town should be on everyone's "must visit" lists. 

Ellensburg

Last weekend, Ken and I visited our cousin Shaun in Ellensburg, (Eastern) Washington.  Our cousin had invited us to come visit as soon as he heard that we had moved to Seattle.  "That's Ellensburg;" he wrote. "Only 100 miles east of you. We'll need to hang soon."

We took a two hour drive into the heart of nothingness, or Eastern Washington, to a small town of 18,000 residents (10,000 of which are students at Central Washington University) that, according to its website, offers big city amenities and small town charm.

The big city amenities we drove by included a run-down Casino, Jack in the Box, and what Shaun tells us is the most frequented Subway in America.  The town is know for its June "Dachshund Parade", drawing Dachshunds from all over the Northwest, celebrated for its July "Jazz in the Valley" and famous for its Labor Day Weekend Rodeo.  I clearly have my weekends booked this summer!


We walked a block and a half over to the Farmer's Market and passed a Thai restaurant on the way home. 

"How is that?" Ken asked skeptically.

"When it opened, a co-worked told me about the new thigh place in town.  She said 'We ordered 'Pad Thigh.'  It's like sweet noodles.'"

We skipped trying the thigh food, and Shaun took us on a hike that he promised wouldn't be too difficult.  Ken would be fine in jeans.  Turns out, it was difficult.  Shaun is practically 8 feet tall (when we hugged him outside his apartment upon arrival, I was on the lower step and it made for a very awkward, unbalanced hug.  Then I looked down and saw that I was on the same step as him.  He's just that tall), hikes and exercises in the outdoors regularly, and has calves muscles the size of my mid thigh.  We were walking up what felt like a 70 degree incline and sweating away while Shaun dashed in front of us, occasionally pausing so we could catch up.  We will have to work our way up to his "easy" "hikes".

Afterwards, we got some inexpensive drinks from the wine bar below his apartment.  The waitress was new and very overwhelmed by her 4 tables, and Shaun had to help her identify the wine bottle that matched the glass I ordered.  When more customers came in, she completely lost it and she didn't check in on us again.

To conclude our evening, we walked to the local university that makes up over 55% of the population to see a stand up comedy show, and walked home after.  You can walk everywhere.  Very few establishments are open late (after 9 PM), so we retired to his apartment for a drink with his friends.

The outdoor stuff looks really fun, and Ken and I are planning on visiting again.

Pitch PERFECT

The only reason I had any fun in college was because I was in an a cappella group.  The only friends I still have from college, aside from my roommate and my sister (who actually was in my a cappella group for a year), we in a cappella groups.  So, when I heard about Pitch Perfect, a motion feature about an all-girls college a cappella group, I was naturally very very excited.  Unfortunately, it waited to come out in theaters until I was in Seattle, where I don’t know anyone who would go see this movie with me.  In New York, I could find a million people, though Lindsay would have been my go-to.  In California, I would have found several Counterpoint (that was my group!) alumnae to go with me.  But in Seattle??  Ken already refused.  I don’t think my aunt or 16 year old cousin, Max, would be very into it, and my only friends who I am not related to didn’t do a cappella in college.  This movie might not be their jam.

To my surprise and extreme joy, Theresa mentioned that she and Lauren (these are my two friends) wanted to see it!  Ecstasy set in.

This movie was so hysterical!  Rebel Wilson? Hysterical.  Elizabeth Banks? Hysterical.  Anna Kendrick and Brittany Snow? Hot. 

Best of all, the movie was mostly accurate!  ICCA’s is a real thing (I watched them.  We were not good enough to participate).  Three Members were completely forgotten about.  (I know we referred to someone in our partnering guys group as “The Lost Mendicant” because we didn’t realize he was in the group for half a year.  I also distinctly remember leaving Stephanie out of role call and regularly forgetting to assign her parts.)  No member of the guys group was hot.  (What? You thought the main guy actor was cute?  So did I, but that is only because he sang well.  That’s exactly how it was in college, wasn’t it.)

I only had 3-4 objections, and that is amazingly low as far as my objection counts for movies go. 

1. The “Riff Off”: A group would have to be incredible to be able to make up arrangements on the spot.  It’s easy to pick up parts when singing along with a recording, but what are the odds of everyone in the group knowing the song, for one, let alone recalling the various parts and chord progressions?  Highly unlikely.  These girls weren’t music majors, and totally sucked performing at the frat party the week before.  I don’t buy it, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying it.

2. Their ICCA winning performance: It was good, but I wanted more.  I didn’t think that they were that much better than the guy group.   (And why didn’t the guy group incorporate more magic?)  Also, The Bellas “new improved” outfits that reflected each and everyone of their personalities just reflected sluttiness.  Of course, that is true to form.  All all-girl a cappella groups aspired to be desired and would slut-it-up to get the lame guys or girls from other a cappella groups to hook up with them after any performance.  Counterpoint (CPT) totally did that.  

When Bear (Stanford Counterpoint member) visited Ken and I in NYC a year ago, we reminisced and watched old CPT videos.  We had a couple of “sexy” numbers, such as Chicago’s “Cell Block Tango” and the Pussycat Dolls’ “Loosen Up My Buttons” for which we were scantily clad and performed alluring synchronized dances.  We thought we were pretty hot.

Ken watched the videos with us.  Then said, “You thought that was hot?”

This is Ken, my fiancé, who “strongly reveres” me (his words, just now. We thought “worships” was a bit strong) and thinks I’m hot now, when I am significantly less fit than I was in my college days.

This was news to me.  I still thought we were hot.  Sometimes women have a very different idea of what is hot to men than men do.  This was recently covered on “The Mindy Project”.

Fortunately for Counterpoint, and the Bella’s in Pitch Perfect, the guy groups we targeted were nearing the bottom of the barrel and had pretty low standards themselves, especially after a night of beer pong with Coors Light and mixed drinks of Smirnoff, SoCo and Diet Coke.  (We never bought regular.)

2b.  I wished they started singing “cool” songs earlier.  Given Becca’s clear tendency toward “mash-ups”, I was expecting some more sweet a cappella arrangements throughout, but given the very plausible power-struggle story line, I see why the creators waited until the end to bust out their masterpiece.  I just wish it was a little better.

3. The Lesbian: I thought we were passed making the kind of joke where the gay person is all over all the poor straight people every chance he/she gets.  What has Modern Family taught us if not to accept all types of people?  And not to fear the gays because they might hit you. 

However, these are small complaints.  I loved this movie, and it totally made me want to be 10 pounds lighter, drunk more regularly, and back in college.

Dreariness Is Upon Us

Yesterday’s weather was largely cloudy and cold, but it cleared up in the afternoon.   Prior to this, there were hardly any clouds since I got here.  Most skies were completely blue.  I don’t really remember noticing any clouds, but I can’t say that there were none.
 

Today I woke up to a heavy mist that covered the tops of trees and encroached upon power lines.  I had high hopes that Seattle would change its mind, as a warm welcome to its new east coast friends, and refrain from cloud coverage, but I fear that I was wrong.  We did enjoy some extra weeks of summer, but my weekend kayaking outing will likely transform into indoor rock climbing.

Ken finds the wedding venue "cool."

Ken and I just returned from a weekend getaway to Oregon, where we visited our wedding venue with my aunt Julie.  Julie was with me when I first saw it, but Ken has only seen photos and a word-document map I created, that is to no recognizable scale.  I told Ken to dress up a little, because people respect you more when you look nice and I think it is important for the event planner at the venue to take us seriously. 

This was Ken's third morning on the west coast, and he was still overtired from packing, traveling and jet lag.  Per my request, he wore nice jeans, shirt and shoes, but fell asleep in the car on the way to the site so when he was was still pretty groggy when he was introduced to the coordinator.

Julie and I had already seen the venue, so we didn't have a lot of questions.  This was really for Ken.  We showed him the various spaces, and he zombie walked through them. 

"So, what do you think of this?" I asked in the reception space.  "Cool," he said.  "Cool-Cool." 

"Isn't this beautiful?" I asked, standing on the balcony that overlooked the fields of lavender, olive trees, and grapes.  "It's cool," he answered.

There are two levels to the reception space, so we had wondered whether we would split guests up, and where we might want the band and dance floor.  Though I had described the set up, I knew it would make it easier for him to actually see it.  Now that we were here, we could come to some conclusions.  "So, what do you think about where guests will sit for dinner?  We could have the dancing up here, on the balcony, and split the guests, or have the dancing below and everyone together."  To this he responded with a shrug.

For 20 minutes, all he could say was "Cool" or "Cool-Cool".  Ken is normally so animated and talkative, but the event planner must have thought he was completely uninterested and probably didn't want to get married.  If I hadn't seen him sleeping, I would have thought the same thing.

Ken finally woke up at the tail end of our tour and started joking about how we had a guest count of about 500 or 600 (the venue won't hold many over 150), but even so, I don't think we impressed anyone with our fancy attire.

Win-Win

Sadly, Stanford lost that game.  UW scored shortly after my blog post.  I was pretty disappointment, and as punishment to Stanford, I wore a different pajama shirt the following night.

Ken pointed out that as a UW employee, I can be a fan of the Huskies, so either way, my team would have won. 

Football!

Now that I am a huge football enthusiast (you may recall the tailgate I attended, and the Super Bowl set-up party I executed), I am totally watching the Stanford v. Huskies game!  As a Stanford grad and re-engaged alumnae, and as an emerging Seattleite and new UW employee, I take a special interest in tonight's game. 

Ken finally got here, and at our romantic reunion/3-year-anniversary dinner at "8 oz. Burger", I occasionally turned around and checked the score to make sure Stanford was winning.  If we beat USC, we can beat some Dawgs.

Back in my aunts' basement, our current residence, I put on my Stanford gear PJ's to finish watching the game in bed.  Considering the small fraction of my clothes that I brought, it is surprising that my two of my three surviving Stanford apparel items are here with me, but I have on some short shorts that are even smaller than when I bought them freshman year and my Stanford Music Department shirt AS I WATCH.  And as I type, which is further evidence of my engagement in this sport.  This is live coverage.

Unsubscribe

I have slowly been unsubscribing to all New York-related emails, from Living Social Huntington to the Bronx Zoo.  Every day, I get another email that I no longer has anything to do with my life.

"Unsubscribe," I say, "I don't need you anymore!"

Seattle Friends!

This morning, I went to the gym.

"Wow, Ashley," the instructor who I have seen 3 out of the 4 past days that I've been in Seattle, "You are getting pretty intense!"  I've in fact been to the gym every day, but one day took a class from a different instructor.

"Nah," I told him, "I just moved here, so I don't have anything to do yet."

But that is totally an exaggeration.  I have one non-relative friend, and I went to dinner with her and her roommate (which makes two friends!) tonight after my very third day of work.  Luckily, neither of them have many friends, either, (they have 2, aside from themselves), and are very, very excited to be friends with me.  Lucky for them, the feeling is mutual.

Even though I don't know anyone, I am still super happy, and don't even mind not having too much to do. One major pro to having few friends is that I don't have to schedule outings 2-4 weeks in advance.  But just being here makes me happy.  Riding the bus makes me happy.  I can look out the window at TREES.  We didn't have many of those in NYC, and you couldn't see any from the windows of the subway.  I seriously didn't like living in New York, and I am now seeing that life is a lot nicer when you don't hate where you live.  I'm not picky, either, so I think many places will be agreeable.  I've never hated anywhere else that I have lived.  It was really just a standing issue with NYC.

I was so wonderful at dinner, that I have been invited to Mexican Monday, and am in charge of making sangria.

Unpacked

Tonight, I went to another gym class.  I am addicted, simply because the gym is pretty.  I think a pretty gym will make me pretty. 

Afterward, I got drunk by myself while finally unpacking my bags.  There is not much room for Ken, but I could figure something out by the time he gets here next Wednesday.

Half of my clothes are incredibly wrinkled from living in a suitcase for the past 3+ weeks.  Tomorrow, I may get drunk alone and iron my clothes.

Lab5 Fitness

Now that I live in Seattle, I can go to that crazy circuit training class, among others, at a swanky yuppie gym called Lab5 Fitness.  Like many of Seattle's businesses and institutions, the interior has an industrial feel with exposed (and actually, unfinished) beams in the ceiling, and a chain link curtain at the entry way.  It is a far cry from the Harlem New York Sports Club that I frequented in my NYC days.  It is so shockingly clean, and has a wonderful array of Pilates classes and frightening strength-training classes designed by Navy Seals, and class sizes are limited to about 10-15.

My aunt, who is still trying to be ranked "favorite aunt" (though since she is housing me and got me my interview for the job I now have, she is already very high on the list), bought me an introductory package of 3 classes and special grippy toe-socks for the Pilates class we attended together last night.

Today, I attended my second circuit training class, which focused on lower-body today, and came close to falling down the stairs when I got home.

Seattle, Revisited: Permanently

 I have just arrived in my new city!  

I was so excited walking down the streets in Capitol Hill this afternoon as a current resident, not just a visitor!  I faithfully ignored the young people outside QFC asking me if I would support Planned Parenthood, and wondered if there was a convenient back entrance so that I could avoid this permanently. 

I wanted to tell people passing on the street that I had just moved here and today was my very first day!  And it feels great to be here.   When I first moved back to New York four years ago, I cried on the plane leaving California.  I also cried in the middle of Washington Square Park after a security guard was rude to me, and right before I had to take my ID picture, creating a lasting testimony of my despair.

I spent the last half hour contemplating the city via Googlemaps, and am now onto the Seattle Wikipedia entry.  This city is pretty big, and I know none of it.  I didn't even know what bodies of water I am surround by, or have North and South correct in my mind.  Now I do!

Get ready for some exciting historical facts.

Alumna

Since graduating university in 2008, visiting my Alma Mater has caused a certain degree of sadness, a nostalgia mixed with hints of rejection and failure.

Nostalgia

Stanford was really, really fun, and I haven't had that much fun since (most likely because I am no longer surrounded by a group of peers who just want to have fun, and I now have to pay for things).  I also miss the friends I had while in college.

Rejection

By graduating, I was no longer allowed to attend the school.  I was practically kicked out!  And by moving to New York, I do not have a group of college friends who live nearby or that I see on a regular basis.

Failure

As a younger sister, I compare myself to my older sister who went to Duke and then Stanford for a PhD.  I went to Stanford and then NYU for a Masters, which, comparatively speaking, is pretty weak.

Aside from the first time I visited Stanford post-graduation, when I still had plenty of friends in school, stepping foot on campus has upset me.  However, last Saturday I was invited to my very first tailgate and was very excited to go (just to the tailgate, I did not opt to stay for the game).  I wasn't even that worried that I wouldn't know too many people involved, or that I would feel strange being on campus.  This was the first time that I truly had no negative feelings, except physical ones: I was very hung over from our Super Bowl party the night before.

Walking around campus in a sea of red, white, and gold (red and white for Stanford, red and gold for USC), I felt very welcome and had the urge to finally join the Alumni Association.  No longer did I feel rejected, but felt included! and like I was supposed to be there.  As an alumna, I can attend community or alumni events and feel part of a larger society, the alumni, not an outcast from the student body.  Undergraduate status lasts but 4 years, give or take, while being an alumni last forever.

The Party

The week that followed my new-found employment was spent planning a party.  One of Caitlin's single friends wanted to be set up with Caitlin's single coworkers who is also her neighbor, so we decided to throw a party where they could meet.  Once single coworker confirmed attendance, we sent out invites to a Super Bowl themed party.

Though many questioned the theme, which I thought was silly-what is the reason for any theme?, all of our guests dressed up and enjoyed beer, chili, sliders, potato skins, chips, guacamole, and Chex Mix, which in my mind, makes a super bowl.

Our two single guests who were being set up seemed to hit it off well, but did not go home together.  I was horribly disappointed.  Cait's friend did leave her number in two halves of a football we had used as serving bowls on he coworker's doorstep.

Unemployment: Trials and Tribulations

In California, I was beginning to feel unemployed.  Prior to this, when I was in Oregon selecting a wedding venue with family members who are for the most part retired, I felt like I was on vacation.  Since getting to California, I felt jobless.  With no venues to visit, I had no goals or distractions; with no retired family members, I no longer had company during work days; and with no money, I had nothing to with my lonely time except run (slowly, as I was still recovering form circuit training), read books, and watch Law and Order SVU.  I promised that I would watch no more than one season of SVU during my unemployed time because I never want to get to the point where I have seen most of the episodes that air as re-runs on TV.  That would be worrisome (I would hate knowing I had spent that much of my time on a couch) and would also take away one of my greatest pleasures in using cable and certainties in life: No matter what, I can always find an episode of Law and Order to watch that is new to me.

This past Monday was day three in Mountain View, and my unemployment was becoming very trying.  My morning jog had rapidly become an early afternoon jog since I was getting up later and later and usually read for about an hour or two before getting out the door.  On the trail, I ran 1/2 to 2/3 of my planned distance and then walked the rest--what was the rush?  Sometimes, I walked extra because I had nothing to get home to except more reading. 

Afternoons were spent by the pool with Chelsea Handler's, "Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea" followed by "My Horizontal Life."  This was less enjoyable than it sounds because by 2-3 PM when I arrived, the sun was lower than the surrounding pines and I had to wear jeans and a sweatshirt to keep warm enough in the shade. 

Caitlin asked me to make an orzo salad, so a good portion of this particular afternoon was spent at the grocery store and then in the kitchen, making the orzo early enough to give it time to cool off in the refrigerator before dinner.  One of my terms of housing was that I was to cook healthy food for Caitlin and Paul.  It crossed my mind that I should be applying for jobs rather than cooking, but I always to what my older sister tells me to do, and that seemed like a good enough excuse. 

It was only day three, and I was already becoming depressed by my situation and really felt like I understood the sadness and distress of friends who had gone through this experience post college for extended periods. 

Having felt completely worthless all day, I was desperate for company and a sense of purpose.  To my great pleasure, Caitlin and Paul came home early and their friend Lisa joined us for orzo and a sampling of Law and Order.  At 6 PM, I received a call from a Seattle area code, which I correctly assumed was a job offer that I was waiting on from the University of Washington.  Thank goodness. I don't think I could have handled much more unemployment.

Detoxification

The last two months have been eight weeks of excessive food and drink.  First, I got engaged and two plus weeks of celebration followed.  How could I say no to sharing my happiness with friends who offer free drinks?  Following that, there was a slight lull as we moved out of our apartment, but the wining and dining came back in full force in the three weeks prior to my departure from the east coast with numerous farewell dinners.  I thought things might settle down in Portland, but I continued to drink even more wine with my family at various dinners and constantly went out for meals while we were on the road.  Family gatherings and the convenience of eating-out aside, we were beginning to plan a wedding, and that is of course a cause for celebration.

I exercised occasionally, but mostly didn’t do much more than walk around the venues we checked out.  When I arrived in Seattle, I decided that it would be time to get back in shape.  If my aunt offered me wine at dinner, I would have it, but that would be the end.  Once I got to California, I was detoxing.

On my second (and final) evening in Seattle, my cousin invited me to attend an exercise class.  In the spirit of detoxing, I gladly accepted.  She gave me the choice of Pilates or weight training and I chose weight training because I thought I would be more out of it; I’ve never done Pilates and would end up spending most of the time figuring out what was going on.  When we got there, the teacher asked why we picked this class, and my cousin said something along the lines of I was scared to try Pilates.  “Oh,” he said in a tone that revealed this class is much scarier than Pilates.

We were in for some trouble. 

The other three women in the class, which was essentially torturous circuit training, were in amazing shape.  Amazing shape in the Pacific-Northwest-lesbian-weight-training sense of “in shape,” not the Pilates/yoga sense.  This was another sign that we were going to die.

After our first circuit, I was close to either vomiting or blacking out, and my cousin reported that she was in a similar place.  Our second circuit included stretching and was a lot more manageable, but nonetheless, I couldn’t even open the wine bottle (yes, wine was offered) back at my aunts house and was sure to be in significant pain the following day.  

I did not expect this class to have such lasting effects on my body.   

The next day, which was yesterday, I was sore, but could still walk and was pleased that I wasn’t the complete wreck I anticipated.  As the day wore on, regular movements caused more and more muscle pain, completely exhausting me.  I left Seattle at 2 PM, and when I got to California at 4, I was drained.  I fell asleep at 9 PM and awoke no less than 12 hours later.

My first morning in California was clearly off to a bad start.  It was officially Detox Day 1, so I had to at least try to exercise.  After a disappointingly slow jog, which deteriorated into a walk, I watched Internet TV until I regained enough strength to dig through my suitcase and pull out some expired muscle relaxers.  The rest of the afternoon was spent at the pool, because based on the lingering childhood notion that being out-of-doors is the best possible thing for you (which is caused by parents telling you this), I feel that doing nothing outside is somehow less lazy than doing nothing inside.  Eventually, it got cold enough that I didn’t feel guilty going back in.

Portland

Immediately after leaving New York, I arrived in Portland on my multi-city tour of the Pacific Northwest before settling down in the corner of Caitlin and Paul’s apartment in Mountainview, California.  I moved between the houses of three sets of aunts and uncles while going on daily escapades with aunts and grandmother to select a wedding venue.  We toured wine country, hiked Silvercreek Falls and Mount Hood, and celebrated with much of my extended family.  Fiancé Ken was (and is) still in New York, so I was given the daunting responsibility of selecting a place that we both wanted.

For over a year, we discussed having a folk-festival wedding with outdoor lawn seating, a lineup of at least three bands, and a merch. table.  It was going to be a low-key affair with food trucks and a wide selection of wine and beer, but in my week of searching, I really didn’t find the right place.  One problem was that a lot of sites are already booked for August 2013 when we are planning to hold the wedding.  I found some places that would work, and I liked them, but I didn’t love them and it would be a huge pain to pull everything off.  I finally found an available winery and olive oil mill that is beautiful, and it reminded me that I kind of do want a nice, fancy wedding and maybe a sensible chamber music festival model wouldn’t be the worst idea.  Folk is now out the window, but I do promise a lovely evening.

Seattle

I was in Seattle for two days staying with an aunt, and it is a shockingly friendly city.  The adage is “People are friendly, but don’t want to be your friend,” and while its disappointing to hear I will have difficulty socializing should I move there, it beats New York, where “Everyone hates you.”

I took the train from Portland to Seattle on Wednesday, and at the end of the journey, I was having trouble getting my overstuffed luggage out of the Amtrak overhead.  As I was warning the woman still seated that I needed to climb on the seat next to her to get the appropriate leverage, a man’s voice behind me said, “Let me help you with that.”  I have heard of this, of people helping, but I really haven’t seen it.  I am much more accustomed to being yelled at for getting in someone’s way.

The next day, I got coffee with a fellow east coast transplant, and while placing my order, the cashier asked, “So, what are you doing today?”  I first just shrugged and mumbled, “nothing,” but inspired by friendliness (and afraid of being verbally abused for east-coast coldness—my friend has on a number of occasions been yelled at for not smiling), I quickly changed my answer and told the happy cashier that I was going to my sister’s in California later that day. 

“That sounds fun!” 

I assured him it would be.

Finally, at the Seattle-Tacoma airport, a third person was friendly to me.  Three friendly encounters over the course of two days, assuming my face is less than welcoming, is astounding.  The man in front of me on line at security, with whom I had not yet interacted, noticed that our line was out of plastic bins to use in the X-ray.  “I’ll go get us some more bins,” he told me. 

“Us?” I wondered, “We are an us?  You feel responsible for my well-being?”  Apparently, people in Seattle do.  And Portland is even more concerned.   Everyone talks to you in Portland.