Posts in Category: Seattle Summer


Hey, all. I’m just checking in the blog-front after I realized I haven’t posted in over two weeks. During that time, I lounged around a lot, spent some time as a social butterfly, and abandoned my home for life in sunny Seattle! Consequently, I have had no stories of even remote interest to tell. Boring parties and get-togethers, followed by my sister and her boyfriend, who are sadly the most normal people I know. They don’t do anything amusing or stupid or irritating; they merely exist.

I’m adjusting here nicely. The weather’s fine; it’s cloudy almost all the time, but it rarely rains. Perfect. I’m having some problems adjusting to the hilly environment; it is not pedestrian-friendly, and I have no car. But hey, if I keep making epic journeys up and down hills all the time, maybe I’ll be in some reasonable shape by the time I get back. It’s doubtful but entirely possible.

I still have no job, and it looks like the three separate jobs my sister guaranteed me to entice me to come out have all fallen through. She’s a lying sack of shit, that sister of mine. Oh well, at least I’m out here now. And with literally nothing to do all day, I’m able to actually—gasp!—relax.

Hopefully I’ll start meeting people soon. Expect an entirely new Stan Has Issues™. Gone are the days when I spent all my time and concern on Lucy’s problems and Ophelia’s schizophrenia and Owen’s retardosity; for the next three months, there will be a completely different social circle, but I can assure you that while the faces may have changed, the problems will be just the same (that was, for those of you who picked up on it, a Strangers With Candy shout-out).

See you when I get a life!

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New Names, or: What Ever Happened to Gina?

“So who is this girl?” my sister’s boyfriend, Jack, asked after my sister and I had an extended conversation about Lucy during dinner.

“Just Lucy,” I said.

“No, no, no,” he said. “This whole name thing isn’t working for me—I’m never gonna remember who they are. I need descriptions.”

“Well, she’s my best friend,” I responded.

“Are you retarded?” Jack asked.

I thought of answering with a truthful “yes,” but said nothing instead.

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Where’d I Go?

Because I’m told this is hilarious, I’m blogging it:

I’ve spent the past four weeks of my life sitting around in my underwear, watching either Repo Man or the Oxygen network, periodically taking breaks to look for a job and/or massage the pink chutney.

Otherwise, very little of interest has happened. I found a job, though, and I start on Monday, so anticipate a wide variety of comic hijinks in the coming weeks.

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The Old Man

Since coming to Seattle, I’ve been home alone a lot. It’s refreshing. Still, I sometimes worry. See, it gets warm here, but apparently not warm enough for anybody to invest in air-conditioning. It’s not like back home, where we sometimes don’t run the air to save money. People don’t even have air-conditioning here. I don’t really understand it, because while it doesn’t get as hot as Chicago, it gets hot enough that opening doors and windows doesn’t really do the job.

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Where the Fuck Have I Been?

Working. Not just at my job, although I’ve worked the last seven days in a row (and have another shift tomorrow, followed by a day off, followed by six more days of work). I’ve actually been fairly productive with my writing, since I’m applying for a writers’ fellowship for the spring.

As a result of all that madness, I’ve done very little of consequence, which is the other reason I haven’t blogged. I could blog about my job and vent the frustration, but freakishly enough, I like my job. I get along with my co-workers, even the fucking tourist customers don’t bother me (and we get a lot of them). So, no angst means no stories means no blog.

I have a few amusing anecdotes about the shop that I could relate, but all in good time. Once things settle down a bit (read: once I get home), I’ll probably blog with more regularity and get to those stories.

In social news:

  • I’m close to convincing Lucy that Iowa is not (not!) the place for her, or anyone else, to be. She’s very reluctant, but I have an ace up my sleeve that I’m almost positive will draw her back to Chicago. More on that as it happens.
  • I’m tired of living here. It has been making my allergies go wonky ever since I got here, to the point where I have trouble sleeping. My sister and I, contrary to our efforts, simply do not get along. It’s sad but true. She invited me out here, and we were civil for awhile, but eventually it melted away as we realized how much we just don’t like each other. I’m getting along with her boyfriend a lot, though, which is cool, I guess, but I’d rather just go home so I can be with my own friends. While I like my job, it’s a fucking coffee shop—I can do the exact same work, for the exact same pay, at home. The only reason I’m still out here is because I have a non-refundable return flight already, and I still need to give two weeks’ notice at my job (I’m giving my notice tomorrow—dun-dun-dun!).

That’s all the noteworthy shit I can think of just now. I’ll try to keep you all posted more regularly, but don’t expect anything more detailed than this post for awhile.

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Crazy Crackhead

Working in Pioneer Square is an odd beast. I work literally on the streetcorner where the phrase “Skid Row” was coined, and to be honest, things haven’t changed much. It’s filled to the brims with bums, bars, and shelters…

…but because it’s an historic district (home of the Underground Tour) and it’s blocks away from Mariners and Seahawks games, it’s also filled with tourists. Tourists, bums, and drunks…it’s a confusing, bizarre combination.

At any rate, we get our fair share of all three, plus some of the businesspeople and people who actually live around the neighborhood. We’ve got some regulars, both good and bad.

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One of the more amusing places I’ve discovered since coming to Seattle is a place called Pioneer Square Pizza. It’s right on the edge of the square for which it is named, and it’s a tiny hole-in-the-wall place that boasts “authentic Italian pizza” despite being run entirely by Koreans. This is not to say that, perhaps, they stole the recipe from an authentic Italian, but it is owned and operated by a very nice Korean woman and her family.

I’ve started eating lunch there quite frequently because, authentic or not, the pizza is really fucking good. Seattle ain’t much for pizza, but it’s great that I can find some good stuff in a little dive in the middle of Bumtown.

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Last Day at Tully’s

Note: The events detailed in this entry actually occurred on Thursday, September 2nd. Sorry I’m late! Anarchronistic references, such as the “last weekend” right there in the first paragraph below, should be based on that date.

My last day was sort of anticlimactic, in the sense of the old saying “same shit, different day.” Not that I expected something different to swoop down and say, “Golly, today’s your last day. Good luck with the rest of your life!” Hell, Thursday wasn’t even supposed to be my last day. To make sure I, ever the procrastinator, met the deadline for the TV writing fellowship, I donated my last day to a newer employee who bitched at me all last weekend about how she wasn’t getting enough hours.

I actually wanted Thursday off, too, since the manager scheduled me for eight days in a row again and I had no time to write something that should’ve been finished weeks ago. It’s nice to be loved, but Christ, give me a day off. Anyway, this girl couldn’t switch with me because she was being traded between us and another store (and still was getting shit hours) and was working at the other store, so Thursday became my last day.

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