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.

Did you miss me?

 

I am sitting at the pool in Caitlin and Paul’s apartment complex, where once again and until employment seeks me out, I will reside in a small corner of their apartment.  Caitlin and Paul have moved to a new place in Mountainview since I last lived with them and blogged over my post-college summer, but I imagine the experience will be much the same.  In fact, it already is.  I had little to do and used to compose many a blog entry beside their pool.  Here I am again.

I came down from Seattle yesterday, and when I sent Cait my flight information, she responded, “Oh, we’ll be in Italy,” but lined up a friend to pick me up from the airport. 

Their new apartment isn’t big, but without them here I can’t manage to find the simplest things, partly because I am never convinced that they have the simplest things.  For instance, a spatula.  I couldn’t find it in their cooking supplies drawer.  In other living spaces, I would assume that the owners had a spatula and keep looking, but I just don’t know about these two.  Their kitchen is pretty organized and neither Caitlin nor Paul are known to cook, so if a spatula is not in the kitchen supplies drawer, it is safe to wonder whether or not they really have one.  Luckily, as my lunch was cooking, I found one in a spoon-holder I had overlooked.

Another challenge was finding sheets and towels.  I was told, via text, that the linens were in the upper right hand corner of the closet, but all I can find there are hand towels.  In a laundry basket at the bottom of the closet are folded sheets and towels, but being in a laundry basket, I question their cleanliness.