A new chapter

My cell phone was stolen on Friday. Kindof. I lost it somewhere, and when I called my carrier, they found that it had been used to send text messages that afternoon. So, I have a new one. It's a lot cuter and smaller than the old one, probably on account of the fact that the old one was free when I opened an account. Things have changed in the last 3 years!

I was definitely due for an upgrade, I just wasn't counting on being forced into the change on the same weekend that I was scheduled to move. Not only was it an additional financial burden, but I was in the midst of arranging moving parties, and I didn't have a phone. The girl from TMobile was absolutely fantastic, and she offered to ship my new phone via Air Express free of charge, but I still wouldn't have a phone until Monday or even Tuesday. Luckily my good friend Don came to the rescue, letting me borrow his extra business phone, so all was well again. I still had to call around to my landlord, moving friends, moving company, etc. to give the temporary phone number, but I was relieved that I was able to reach out to people.

So, I have a new phone. And a new apartment. I love my apartment, and I'm slowly getting used to my phone.

Oh! There you are!

I'm back! Hopefully this will help resolve some of the drama in my life. Welcome to my new home! As you may have noticed, comments are back, baby! Now Sean can resume enjoying my mother's comments, and the 'Anonymous' friend that I invited over can resume yelling at me when I don't post fast enough.

Please excuse our mess

'Musings of a pastry case' will be temporarily unavailable on account of recent nastiness and threats. Please tune in next week or the week after, depending on when the dust settles.

God Bless Us, Everyone!

Thank you for the nice words.

I've received several emails since my last post, some from friends, some from people I don't even know. I think its fabulous that in the middle of all the hate and ugliness, there are still people with nice things to say, who will go out of their way to say them.

Side note - 'Anonymous' who ruined everyone's fun is not the same as "Post Post Post!!!" 'Anonymous'. This entry is dedicated to the latter. More than one word, even!

All good things must come to an end

Unfortunately I have been forced to remove the comments option from my blog, kids. It appears that my anonymous "friend" isn't such a great friend after all.

Hey, Anonymous...yeah, You. In case you weren't aware, this is MY turf, and I am god. Next time you're going to post a comment somewhere, try to make it less obvious that you don't care to understand what you're talking about. Oh, and if you're going to make especially mean statements, be sure to have the balls to give your identity.

To everyone else - if you really can't cope with the lack of comment opportunities, or you just want to say "Hey, I appreciate the things you have to say", or "I really dig your brother's story - fab, baby, just fab!", feel free to email me - a link to my email address is located in my profile.

Worth Writing Home About

I recently received a package in the mail that made my week sunny and nice. My little brother and sister sent me some artwork they had created, and my brother sent a story he had written.

For everyone's reading pleasure, my almost 8-year-0ld brother's story! (If you're good, I might let you see the artwork at a later date...)

Brass was a beetle who had black wings and was two stories high. One day he was looking for roses to eat. He was looking deep into the forest. Suddenly, he came upon an old old city. There was moss covering every building and there were no people. Suddenly, Brass found what he was looking for, sweet smelling red roses. Then he found a deep twisty hole under the rose bush. So he ate a rose. Then a ghost came out of the hole! Then Brass spit the petals out! Then he ran into one of the buildings! So the ghost raced after him! Then the ghost was right beside him. The ghost said, "Boo!" Then Brass smashed into a wall and it broke to bits. Then brass said, "Ouch!" So the ghost said, "Boo!" Brass turned around, went through the doorway, ran through the forest and all the way home. He never ever went back again. He lived happily ever after.

The end.

Worst weekend EVER.

I've had a horrible 3 days. The finer points:

1. Apparently my privacy and comfort levels don't mean shit to some people.
2. Apparently if you intentionally make decisions that will make my life difficult, it just means that we have different priorities, and I need to learn to deal.
3. Apparently storing your stuff somewhere means that you "live" there, and anyone who thinks differently best recognize.
4. Apparently Skagit County jail sucks. Bad. ("Apparently" is the part which signifies that I had nothing to do with it, Mom.)

On a positive note...Woodinville is a pretty short drive from Seattle, and the wineries aren't so bad. Washington state has a standard which requires that reserve wines only include the top 10% of the fruit. Grand reserves are only 1%. Washington is the only state that has any such standards, and if word gets out that you aren't following along, it makes people wanna bust a cap...That, or they just make it pretty difficult for you to acquire things like bottles and corks.

Something New.

Happy?

Spiders Have Taken Over My House.

You think I'm kidding.

I woke up at 11:30 last night with a spider crawling on my arm. I must have been really sleepy, because I didn't immediately fly out of bed. In fact, I sat up and actually contemplated going back to sleep without investigating. "There was a spider crawling on your arm, you (expletive) twit! Turn the light on and do something about it!" It was a very "Get up, Trinity. Get UP!" moment. I turned on the light and found a small, but fat, black spider hanging out by my pillow. Caught him. Flushed him down the toilet. Somehow managed to fall back asleep.

This morning as I was contemplating how I could possibly go to work without having to get out of bed, I noticed another spider on the ceiling. This one was brown and skinny. Skinny, yes, but not any less freakish than the fat black one. I looked at this spider on the ceiling, and thought, "Hmm. I'm not tall enough to reach it. Maybe it will go over to the wall so I can catch it." As the spider started crawling across the ceiling, above my bed, I thought, "What if it dropped? What if it dropped right now?? No, wait. What if it dropped right as it reached the space above my head???" I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when it reached the space above my head, and actually dropped. Shrieking and throwing of blankets ensued.

Mornin'.

Unexpected

Calm can be a funny thing. We convince ourselves that it's the reaction we want, but it has the ability to make things feel worse.

Reality Check

I recently came to the sudden realization that I'm turning 25 in two months, and I'm not doing what I thought I would be. I've been doing a lot of re-evaluating.

I always fancied myself as the girl from the movies who uproots herself and runs away to live in another country.

Of course, I know it's the romance of it all that I find attractive, but I feel that I'm not as adventurous as I always thought I would be. I watch myself living in the suburbs, getting up every day to go work at a desk in an office building, and I think, "This is not my life! Who's freakin' life am I living???"

I hate the thought that this may be all I'll ever do, y'know? I've kept myself from branching out by convincing myself that I'm "tied down" with my job, bills, and other responsibilities. Now I'm starting to realize that I was just hiding behind those things so that I wouldn't have to approach the "unknown".

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate feeling secure in my job, and having a nice place to come home to, but I don't want to end up in my 30's, wondering why I didn't explore other possibilities. I've had conversations with older friends who talk about how they don't like the direction their life has taken, and that they haven't accomplished some of the things they'd set out to. I remember having these conversations and thinking, "That won't be me; I'm going to embrace life and the opportunities that I have to explore other things." Now I'm starting to realize that I'm not far off from those friends, age or mentality-wise, and I don't want to end up with the regrets that they have.

I think I'd like to save up and go somewhere in a year or so. Just take off and live somewhere strange and non-touristy for a few months. A "Self Discovery" of sorts. I'll have enough saved up to pay rent while I'm gone, and I'll schedule an extended leave of absence from work.

Running away from it all, responsibly!

Do not try this at home

So, when I blow my nose, I get paranoid about leftovers, so I always have to look to make sure that I've done an adequate job of cleaning things up. Yesterday I locked myself in a bathroom stall for the initial sinus flushing, then I went to the mirror to check on my progress. As I was lifting the end of my nose to look in my left nostril, my finger slipped, and I jabbed myself in the eye.

At first, I was in a state of shock. "I can't believe I just did that!" However, my amazement was soon replaced by really intense pain, and then the waterworks started up.

Unlike the underwear conversation of a few weeks ago, I did not divulge too much information this time! Even though I only told my coworker that I had poked myself in the eye, he still made fun of me.

Not for the weak - Lots of italics coming your way.

I've been sick for the last 2 weeks, and quite frankly, I'm starting to feel a little broken. Sometimes I hear about people getting sick and how their sickness ends up being more than they bargained for. You know how it is...I'm sick with blah, and as an unexpected result, this happened. That's what my sickness has been like, except this time, I got hit with all of the unexpected results.

Things started off innocently enough - a slight sore spot in the back of my throat; Itchy ears. The next morning I had a full blown sore throat. A few days later I was stuffed up, and then the next day I started coughing. Not just a cough...but coughing stuff up. Gross.

A week later I went to the doctor because I was still feeling like hell and leaving work early every other day or so. Lucky for me (and him), this particular doctor is really good at seeming to give a damn about how I feel, so that was nice. Unfortunately, I no longer have a silly little cold. I have a sinus infection.

So, now I've missed nearly a work of week all together, I've paid for a doctor's visit, and a prescription for antibiotics. I've finished my bottle of Nyquil by now, so I have to get more. This is getting quite expensive.

Matt dropped my prescription request off on his way to the gym, and called to let me know it would be ready in about 30 minutes. An hour later I still had not left for the drugstore, because I was still sitting on the toilet. It wasn't that things weren't happening initially, but things stopped happening just short of being productive. It was right about then that I realized, I haven't pooped in 3 days. Luckily Matt and I have been together long enough that I can make silly requests such as, "Hey Honey, would you mind running to the store real quick to get me some strawberry ice cream? Oh, and while you're at it, why don't you pick up an enema?"

Well, we got that disaster under control. I finally got to a point that I didn't think I would need Nyquil to sleep, but after last night I realize that I've come to depend on it for sleep.

I forgot to take acidophilus when I started taking my antibiotics. I have the worst yeast infection ever. Ever. This is coming from someone who would know what the worst ever should be like. So, now I'm popping supplements like candy, in hopes of catching up and realigning my system.

I equate the last 2 weeks to the following:

I'm in an airplane and I've just gotten used to the bumpy flight when I hear, "Attention passengers. This is your pilot. It seems that we're about to enter the eye of the storm, so I ask that everyone fasten their seatbelts and remain calm while we ride this one out." Shortly thereafter we nosedive and crash in the middle of a war zone. I regain consciousness just in time to hear, "Fiiiiiire in the hole!"

I've come to terms with the fact that I'm bound to acquire another more annoying ailment. I'm just having a hard time preparing myself for something worse than fire in the hole.

And it slowly sinks in...

The other day I was part of a conversation about the benefits/downfalls of dating someone who is religious, when you're not. Someone piped up that they had dated a Mormon once. I thought to myself, "Wow, I think this guy takes the corruption cake with that one." Then I thought further..."Wait. You're gay."

So when do you suppose it hit the other guy? "No matter how much I pray; No matter how many goats I sacrifice, I'm never getting my planet back."

Making the world uncomfortable, one colleague at a time.

If one of your coworkers asks how you're doing today, and you, being the funny person that you are, say "Well, I'm not wearing underwear, so I'm sure it will be a fantastic day!", and said coworker doesn't immediately start laughing, it would be a good time to start apologizing and offering to buy lunch.

Is HR in on this???

The company that I work for is really big on diversity, and I'm always getting "group communication" emails inviting me to brown bag lunches or workshops which are designed to promote diversity. We've got the Martin Luther King thing down like nobody's business.

Last week everyone received an email invite for "Understanding White Culture". As we were all trying to absorb what we were reading, we heard a faint voice across the expanse of cubicles, "Oh yeah, I nearly forgot - April is Cracker Awareness Month!"

Lesson learned.

You know the compressed air you can get for cleaning your keyboard? Never, under any circumstances, should you use said canned air to deal with static in your skirt.

Please disregard the previous statement if you want your upper thighs and crotch to be encased in ice, and therefore outlive the rest of your body.

Of course, if nothing else, it's highly entertaining to see your colleagues fall out of their chairs from laughing so hard.

I do NOT have PMS, you bastards!

Why is it that people on the bus feel the need to sit close enough to me that we touch arms? I fucking hate that! I am not a large person, and neither are you - there's absolutely no reason for us to be touching! This has been happening on a daily basis, with a variety of riders. People are gross. Don’t touch me if I don't know you!!! I'm tired of having to sit against the wall, with my outside arm across my chest. I mean, which is worse - touching another person, or touching part of the bus?

And another thing.

Why is it such a pain in the ass for people to rinse out a milk jug and toss it in the recycling? This morning I went to make my latte, and there were *4* cartons in the refrigerator with tiny bits of milk in the bottom. This also happens a lot. Apparently if you see that there isn't enough milk for an entire drink, you're supposed to just ignore it and open a new carton. This doesn't usually bother me, but this morning, as I was busy emptying the first of *4* cartons into my pitcher, I nearly got sick from the smell…then I realized the expiration date on that particular carton was April 01. What is wrong with people????

I should write a book. Musings of a Corporate Peon: A Tale of The Peons Who Make My Life a Pain in The Ass.

Do the whale thing!

Beluga
Originally uploaded by pastry_child.

After Matt and I went to the Vancouver aquarium, he perfected a really fantastic Beluga whale impression. Matt pulls his arms to his sides and flaps his hands while he bobs up and down, keeping a very peaceful smile on his face the entire time. I laugh hysterically every time he does this. It's so funny, in fact, that I make him do it for people all the time. Not because I want to embarrass him, but because I think everyone should get to know the hysteria that is Matt.

I ruined a good thing.

Easter Sunday we were at his mother's house for dinner, and we started talking about our trip. Of course...Perfect segue to the Beluga whale impression! So, Matt, the obedient boyfriend that he is, stands up to start doing his act. Before Matt gets a chance to show off his newfound talent, his mother starts to tell a story about her Beluga whale experience. Please keep in mind that we had enjoyed some wine by this point.

"I went to the aquarium and saw the Beluga whales one time. There was one whale off in the corner amusing himself by bobbing around. He must have been really enjoying himself, because he had an erection the entire time!"

Matt refuses to do his Beluga whale impression now.

Email of the day!

I wish I could write Christmas letters like this.

Friends and Family,

We all have lofty aspirations in life, and I am proud to announce I have attained a lifelong goal that I once thought was merely a fantasy.

Yes, I am proud to say I am now a resident of the beautiful greater Federal Way, Washington area.

Aghast with envy you might be, I know. Sure, you North Sounders have your lakes, your arts communities, your BMW's and two car garages.

But I have chosen a different path, a path wrought with the exhaust belching from the rears of an endless line of 1980 Chevy Citations and 1984 Buick LeSabres, a path lined with 17 Office Depots, 42 Radio Shacks and 187 Teriyaki joints, a path that I affectionately refer to as "320th Avenue South." And at the end of that path lay my own slice of heaven, my own nirvana if you will. It's the Arco Gas Hut on the corner of 320th Avenue South and Pacific Highway. If there is a greater place to be on this earth at 4:26 AM on a Tuesday morning, please let me know where it is.

Sure, go ahead, laugh. I laugh as well, to tears of remorse each and every day, but have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, you didn't ever take the time to learn about the real Federal Way? I know how you snotty North Sounders are. I used to be one.

Have you ever thought that, hey, perhaps Federal Way can offer it's residents superior community services? Maybe Federal Way provides a relatively unknown yet vibrant cultural scene? What about fine restaurants, and institutions of higher education? Did you ever think to yourself that maybe Federal Way might offer any one of these things, or could even offer all of them at once?

Well, before you go jumping to conclusions, let me answer that question for you.

It offers absolutely none of these things.

Not even a tractor pull for God's sakes.

Just so you guys can have a little more information on my new hometown, I took some time and compiled some interesting trivia about Federal Way, and now I would like to share that with you.

A Detailed History of Federal Way

Federal Way used to be a highway. Then there was a Kmart. Then some guy opened a sword shop. Then some people got shot. Then some fat guys built a freeway exit. Then the people demanded places that offered quality donuts at reasonable prices. And today, Federal Way is a really good place to be if you find yourself in the market for a laundry hamper.

And that's what happened. Quaint, isn't it?

Here's some more information I curtailed from a book called "Reasons You'll Love Federal Way!". Actually, it's not really a book, it was more of a leaflet. A really small one, stuck on my doorknob. Half of the leaflet was reasons I'd love Federal Way, the other half was a coupon for 10% off Cheese Bread at one of 56 participating Federal Way area Domino's Pizza outlets.

FEDERAL WAY, WASHINGTON

Defined: Federal Way is a derivative of an ancient Klickitat Tribe term "Federah Whaya Hye", which, literally translated, means "Hey, let's dump all our shit here."

Population: 121,723
Number of Pedestrians hit by cars in 2004: 121,723

Unemployment Rate: 99.9%

Primary Industries: Strip mall construction; Mattress sales; Thuggery; Loitering; Abandoning cars; Production of unwanted children; Welfare Disbursement offices; Narcotics.

Educational Facilities: DeVry institute, Scuba Division. Dress Barn Training Center. Washington State DUI Victim's Panel Conference Center. Getting beaten up on the street.

Official Federal Way color: Tar
Commentary: Tie between Tar and Suffocating Exhaust, which I did not
know was a color.

Official Federal Way bird: Pigeon
Commentary: Apparently this only applies to a pigeons with a beak. They are protected. If you run over a pigeon with a beak, you will be sentenced by a judge to spend 15 minutes in Sea-Tac Mall.

(Editor's Note: Oh, excuse me. It's no longer "Sea-Tac Mall." Now it's "The Commons at Federal Way", or "Downtown Federal Way." Which is like giving George Bush a sparkly wand and a princess hat and calling him "Peacekeeper." No matter what you call it, you still don't have to buy bullets down here. Just walk around the mall for a while and you'll be full of them. There's even a police station in the mall. Didn't get that? I'll say it again. There is a police station IN the mall.

Official Mascot: Food Stamp Freddie
Commentary: Food Stamp Freddie wanders aimlessly around Federal Way because he is unemployed and waiting for his welfare check. Wears oversized Raider jacket, and he's a Crip motherfucker, so don't you start steppin' to him.

Official Flower: Grime-covered decorative shrub with beer can in it. It's outside Arby's on 320th.
Commentary: For the love of God, don't eat at Arby's.

Official Flag: Surrender.

Local High School: Federal Way High School, home of the Federal Way Societal Burdens. The football team plays half-heartedly in the first quarter, then waits for the government to bail them out. All seats in the stadium are in Section 8.

The Official Motto of Federal Way hasn't been decided yet, but it has been narrowed down to ten finalists.

"Federal Way: Lamp Shades Always 20% Off."

"Federal Way: We're Sort Of Kind Of By The Airport."

"Federal Way: At Least We Ain't Burien."

"Federal Way: Where Anyone Can Be Better Than 95% of the Population, and Also Get 2 Free Tanning Sessions!"

"Federal Way: You Just Stepped In It."

"Federal Way: Dashing Your Dreams Since 1972."

"Federal Way: City of Hopes and Fears. Okay, Mostly Just Fears."

"Federal Way: Get Knocked Up by the Time You're 14."

"Federal Way: Urban Blight 365 Days a Year."

"Federal Way: Birthplace Of Wilbur Fortknee, 1974 US Enchilada Eating Champion."

Federal Way provided me with a wide array of apartment and condominium options to choose from, and some came without bars on the windows. I chose an "apartment community" called Cove East, whose sole purpose for existence is to deceive you into thinking that you aren't in Federal Way anymore. This is done with an amalgamation of visual tricks, such as trees, a big pond, and even a fake river. Seriously, I walk out of my "condominium-style" apartment, and there is a river, right there, for me to fall into.

For those really into nature, Cove East also provides an ample supply of violent, water-based fowl, whether you prefer perpetually angry and aggressive geese, or simply intestinally challenged ducks whose innards are unable to congeal their excrement into any type of solid, removable waste product, so what comes out is essentially the consistency of yogurt, yet with the adhesive qualities of Elmers Glue, so it just basically just sticks to my porch like a Van Gogh painting on a concrete canvas.

I've realized that management in my community cares little about the bird problem. They manage everything here except the ever-increasing proliferation of pond birds. In fact, the property is littered with signs supporting their continued evolution.

"Don't feed the ducks or the geese!" the signs scream. "Feeding the ducks and geese human foods will make them very sick, and they could die!"

And then it shows a picture of a sad goose. A sad goose? I know that goose doesn't live here. Most the geese here carry chainsaws.

Um, correct me if I'm wrong here, but isn't killing the geese the ultimate goal? Do we, as a community, want to remain ankle deep in stringy white goose turd? I think not. I do believe we should change the signs. "Please, oh, please, community members!" it should bellow, "Please feed the ducks and geese chili dogs, frozen pizzas, canned okra, and macaroni and cheese. Feed them paper clips, plastic packaging waste, hot wings and Eggo Walnut Waffles." This, at least, would get them out of the pool area.

Yes, the pool area. That has become the Baghdad of the Cove East bird population. Sure, they have a humungous pond the size of a football field to live in, complete with lily pads, reed banks and flowing streams. But where do they choose to reside? In the community swimming pool of course, which is right next to the pond. The geese own the pool, and mark their territory by shellaqing the pool deck with an amount of goose poop that is only exceeded by the amount of goose poop actually in the pool. Occasionally, the ducks, who act as the insurgents of Cove East Pool Area, will try to break into some pool space, but the geese attack and feathers fly. I could make a living stuffing pillows on the pool deck at Cove East. But anyways, I digress.

I've ascertained that the using word "community" here is really pushing it though, because generally people in my "community" stare at me with suspicion and contempt, usually from their porches where they can't ever seem to find the time to ooze their obese asses off of. I feel like I'm guilty, and I haven't even done anything. Then I decided to steal a bike, so then at least my guilt won't be unfounded. I think I stand out as one of those "city boys" with "one of dem collar thingys on his shirt." Maybe they are just startled that I have a job, or, more likely, they're just really high on spray paint.

Moving in was quick and painless, in the same sense that getting eaten by a shark is quick and painless. IKEA selected and delivered an unintentionally two-tone computer desk, which may have worked in the 70's, but not today.

Two-tone would not work, you see, because I chose to make all the furnishings in my apartment white, along with my white carpets and white walls, thinking that women would believe I’m a modern, progressive man. Instead, it just makes it easier for them to inspect my apartment and tell me where all the dirt is. Which is good, because living in a white apartment, I am actually forced to clean it every 12-16 hours. Normally, I'd probably do it every 12-16 months.

Lastly, I would like to thank the good employees at Comcast Cable and Internet Services, and offer my prayers that your corporate headquarters will someday release you from the barn you are housed in. When I called Comcast I said "Hey, can you guys come hook up my new 'ultra-modern white condo-style apartment'" (I was trying to impress them.) "Sure!" they said. "Can you be there tomorrow?" They must have been impressed that my apartment was all white.

So they came the next day, and the guy went through the usual routine of pretending like he was really busy "hooking up" my cable, when indeed all he was doing was flipping a switch. Then he left and my modem didn't work. "Gosh darn" I said, "what an unfortunate situation I find myself in."

Actually that's not what I said.

So I call Comcast and say, "Hey, the guy just left, and my modem is broken." "No problem," said the cheery, um, woman, at Comcast. "We can have someone come out there and fix it for you." (Silence). "In two weeks."

I said "Wow, how unfortunate I got stuck in this predicament."

Actually, that's not what I said.

So after verbally flogging the poor girl, I got it down to eight days, which they term "emergency service".

And just because of that, I'm going to become a fireman. And when their customer service center catches on fire, they can call me, yelling "FIRE! FIRE!" and I'll calmly say, "Well, I can come help you with that fire. Can you be there between noon and 6 pm 13 days from now and show me where the fire is?"

The moral of the story is the same one you learn from your gym. Once you sign on the dotted line, they don't care about you anymore. It's like getting married, only not as bad.

So having no cable service, no computer, and no TV, I spent a few days looking at the wall in my apartment. It was white.

Anyway, I'm at work, with a lot of time to kill on this slow night. I have to go actually "work", so I'll cut this short before Random House publishes it. (Next week, rather than write a notice, I will be sending you all a handcrafted origami aardvark.)

You can still contact me at (xxx) xxx-xxxx, unless I owe you money or just pretend to like you, in which case I was run over by an unmanned wheat combine last Monday.

So, if any of you are unlucky enough to ever be in Federal Way for a court appearance or a laundry hamper or something, or if you just happened to get into a head-on accident in the I-5 area, feel free to drop by my place, and if you bring any mud in, I'll be really pissed.

Later.

Mike