Fun With Words

No Go

2011-07-02T22:55:00.000-07:00

I never catch you
Looking at me
The way I look at you

Waldron Island

2011-04-19T17:50:00.000-07:00

Tin trucks with half-flat tires,
Keys resting in the front seats,
Waldron is a special place.

Not much to fear here,
Hard to get lost with only one road,
But I manage to anyways.

"Go past the big rock, you can't miss it"

I don't miss the big rock,
Wondering how it came to rest in its spot,
As snakes slide into ferns lining the dirt road.

A warning caw from above,
Is aimed at a bald eagle
In search of brunch.

A mile later,
Past the roosters, chicken, and sheep,
I find the largest building on the island:
The school.

Gus

2010-03-02T21:02:00.000-08:00

Inside the poorly lit cabin, a man sits by himself. The rain has recently stopped, and drops can still be heard from the large maple leaves outside. There is a fire in the fireplace in dire need of two more pieces of chopped alder, but the man isn't going to get up. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he isn't able. The man is old, and he is currently asleep. If the man had a family, he would just be "resting his eyes." Not in deep sleep, for he is only sleeping because he has nothing better to do.

The bottle of red wine beside the old man's chair is three-quarters full (or one-quarter empty, depending on the day). A year ago, he would have been drinking out of a glass, but last summer his last wine glass broke shortly after teetering on the railing of the cabin's back patio overlooking the creek. He thought about replacing the wine glass, but came to the conclusion that there was really no need. He didn't have much time left, and anyways, he had always preferred to drink straight from the bottle.

The fire grows dimmer and the time between rain drops lengthens, lulling the old man into a deeper sleep.

A mouse scurries across the floor along the opposite wall from the fireplace. It can smell both the old man's red wine and Ritz crackers, but it is far more interested in the block of cheese left unprotected. The mouse zips along the wall behind the old man's chair, closing in on its prize.

Unfortunately for the mouse, the old man has a cat. From the mouse's first step in the room, the old man's cat had one eye open and following the mouse's every move. When the mouse disappeared behind the old man's chair, the cat slinked its way down from its resting place in the chair opposite the old man, and the cat moved in behind the clueless mouse.

While close to falling deep asleep, the old man wasn't quite there yet. He sleeps with his eyes open a slit, and although his eyes now aren't sharp enough to detect a mouse across the room, he can detect a 22lb cat moving just a few feet in front of him, and although the cat's movements were quite stealthy for a 22lb cat, it is a difficult task for the cat to hide its excess.

The old man stirs.

"Hmm... Gus. What you after?"

The old man's voice panics the mouse, who tries to retreat, but the hefty cat has blocked his escape route. The panicked mouse races past the cheese, with 22lbs of cat in chase behind him.

"Gus! Git out from behin..."

The mouse darts out in front of the old man, while Gus the hefty cat crashes through the cheese, crackers, and most notably--the three-quarters full bottle of red wine. Gus remains in hot pursuit of the mouse, hardly noticing the objects he has knocked over, as the tiny rodent races out of sight towards the bathroom and eludes Gus in the safety of the cabin's insulated walls. The old man moves the quickest he has in years to save as much of the red wine still pouring out of his bottle.

"Dag gummit, Gus!!"

Only a quarter of the red wine remains, with half of the bottle freshly covering the light brown carpet around the old man's chair. Gus lays in wait by the hole in the wall where the mouse entered. Gus tunes out the shouts of the old man, instead staring intently at the hole, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement, anything, a mouse whisker, a tail... when suddenly, Gus is grabbed by his scruff and held five feet in the air, at eye-level with the old man.

"You cost me a bottle of wine! You're sleeping outside tonight!"

Writin' Time

2010-01-25T20:07:00.000-08:00

I've wanted to write, and write more, for a long time now. The block has been huge for some reason, and although I've had ample time and space to write, I just have never gotten started. Hopefully that ends today. What usually ends up stopping me is myself, and editing every little thing along the way until writing is no longer fun. I'd like to be able to just write anything and let it land where it may, but I know it'll be a struggle.

"You really think you'll be something one day?" the man behind the bar asks.

"Definitely," the young musician answers.

The musician finishes coiling the cord around his amp and gives a quick look around the impromptu stage setup in the back of McNaulty's Pub & Eatery. The stage is large enough for him, his guitar, and his friend and accompanying violist, Tessa. If he wants to add anymore band members, he will need to find a new place to play.

"Yeah? Why's that?" asks the bartender.

The musician turns to the bartender, but doesn't answer.

"How come you think you'll hit it big?" says the bartender.

"Well now, Sid," responds the musician, "that isn't the same question you asked earlier. I don't know about hitting it big, I imagine that might happen as well, but to your prior question about 'being something', well, I reckon I'm something right now, and I plan on continuing my being into one day."

The bartender stops counting his tips and stares at the musician.

"You're full of shit," the bartender says.

The musician flashes a smile at the bartender as a car's horn is heard from the propped back door.

"Well," the musician says and he pushes away from the bar and retrieves his guitar and amp, "it sounds like Tessa is ready to go. Tonight was a pleasure, like always, Sid."

"Don't forget to wash that shit-eating grin, you no-talent hack. Now Tessa, that girl has some talent. You're a lucky sonofabitch!"

The musician waves the guitar case as he leaves McNaulty's, kicking the door stop back inside as he makes his exit.

---

"You were great tonight, baby!" the musician says as he hops into the passenger seat of Tessa's white 1995 Toyota Corolla station wagon.

"I'm tired," she says.

"Oh, I was going to ask if you wanted to grab a drink with Mike and Gabe, they invited us to come and join them over at the Wild Rover."

Tessa sighs.

"What?" the musician asks.

"You know I have work tomorrow morning."

"Just one drink?"

"One drink," Tessa says as she shakes her head sideways, "yeah, right."

"I promise."

"I'm tired, and I want to go home. I can drop you off on the way home," Tessa says.

Spark

2010-01-17T22:37:00.000-08:00

Stumble into love
Love like blue flames

Embers still hot,
But the fire is out
With no fire, no life

Cold and dark,
Until a spark appears
Out of nowhere
To light a new fire

My Room

2009-11-22T20:55:00.000-08:00

This is a description of my current room, formerly Eddie's room, and formerly no one else's (his family bought the house new).

The bed is soft and comfortable, with a tan bed cover and a teal comforter. I think the bed is a queen, but don't quote me on that... maybe it is a double or a twin? It is very comfortable for one person, and spacious enough for two people who like each other.

There are two bedside tables, both with lamps, but I only ever use the lamp closer to the door. The lamp by the window, in a corner, looks sad. Below the sad lamp is a picture Dick took of me on our five-day hike along the John Muir Trail in the high Sierras. I am sitting down near a stream refilling a water bottle on our second-to-last day. It is a serene spot.

On the bedside table with the frequently used lamp, there is a load of other stuff. First and foremost, my trusty, annoying alarm clock. The time reads 9:02pm, and I just set the alarm for 6:00am in hopes of a sub job coming my way early tomorrow. Also on the table is my cell phone, which will probably start ringing around 5am if a sub job is available. I probably don't even need an alarm clock, but just in case. Sitting on the table between the alarm clock and my cell phone is a glass, and that glass is filled about 2/3rds of the way up with Guinness... now 1/2 of the way filled with Guinness. I bought Tyler an 8-pack for his birthday party and decided to buy myself an 8-pack as well.

Underneath my cell phone on the bedside table are two books: "Another Roadside Attraction" by Tom Robbins, and "The Assassins Gallery" by David L. Robbins. I finished Tom's book last Friday, and it was real good. I haven't really started David's book, but I found both in the same section of fiction at the library... under R.

There are a few receipts on the table. The one from Safeway is doubling as a coaster for my glass of Guinness. Nail clippers are nearly hidden from my view, but they are on the table as well. A rock with a piece of rope tied around it is also on my bedside table, a gift from Eddie, and I don't know what I will do with it. Rounding out the bedside table items are: an empty Coors beer can, an empty Blue Moon beer glass, my bulging wallet, the book "Mostly Harmless" by Douglas Adams (in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series), the book "So Long and Thanks for All the Fish" also by Douglas Adams (same series), the book "The Having of Wonderful Ideas" by Eleanor Duckworth (a book from my teaching program), and my keys.

My keychain (in counter-clockwise order):
A bottle opener with the FCB logo (Football Club Barcelona)
A key-chain scanner for the Snohomish Public Library
My parents' house key
Eddie's house key
Motorcycle key
Honda key
A key-chain scanner for LA Fitness

There is a big pillow in the corner of my room where the door opens. It is one of those pillows people snuggle up to at night, a body pillow? But now it is a humble wall pad to stop the door from slamming the wall.

On the inside doorknob hangs my swimsuit, interweb out. On the ground between the door and my bed (which is about four feet) lies my jacket, my backpack, and a hamper of clean clothes yet to be put away. There would normally be dirty clothes in this spot.

In another corner of my room (opposite the unused lamp), the Southwest corner, there is a wicker chair, which I have never sat in. It holds my late grandmother's two cat quilts, made by my aunt. There is a blanket and my ski bibs hanging off the chair's left arm, and there are various papers in the seat of the chair. There is also my brand new neon yellow beanie in the seat of the chair.

Another side table to the left of the chair is filled with stuff. I see a pink piggy bank, that I know is filled with all coins but quarters. A zip-lock bag next to the piggy bank is filled with only quarters. A canister of Airborne sick flu tablets. A candle (haven't used). Batteries. Car air freshener trees. Check book. And a jar of pens.

Motorcycle helmet and gloves on the ground between the table and the walk-in closet. Along with two empty water bottles.

Walk-in closet has clothes in it. And boxes. I'm starting to wane, so I'm going to leave it at that.

Fourth corner of my room, the NW corner, has yet another little table, this one with a plant that I can't tell if it is alive, dead, or plastic. I am leaning towards alive because it looks like the plant is in a vase of water. I haven't watered it in the three months I've been here. The plant spirals upwards with a very skinny trunk and leaves near the top. It looks kind of like an electric coil.

Along the north wall is the widow, shades drawn. The east wall has a picture I never look at, because it is above the bed. South wall is the door and one small framed picture of Toronto, which Eddie left in the room. West wall is where the action is, with two small framed pictures and a larger framed mirror, about 4x as big as the pictures, squarish with a length of about 2.5ft.

All the walls of the room are painted a color between tan and teal, but I can't figure out what it is. The door frames are both wooden color, and the doors are white.

The ceiling has a smoke detector near the door and a nice lamp with a swirly design int the glass in the middle of the ceiling.

The Guinness has left the building. Time for bed.

Driving To And From Work

2009-10-05T17:41:00.000-07:00

My first day teaching up in Everett was today. The day went well, substitute teaching was great, but the most memorable part of the day was during my drives to and from work. I don't know if I've ever driven I-5 north of Seattle at 7am before, but the stretch just south of Everett is majestic. The freeway is elevated, and to the east is a long valley of farmland, flanked by the rugged Cascade Mountains. This morning, the valley was completely covered in a thick layer of fog. From the freeway all I could see was a blanket of fog, then the sharp peaks of the Cascades, back lit by the sun, and nothing but blue sky.

On the way home, I caught the sight again, without the fog, and with the mountains front lit instead of back lit. Not nearly as breathtaking, but still beautiful. The drive home provided a weird encounter with a spider. A tiny spider. This tiny spider appeared a few minutes into the drive, slowly walking across the dashboard of my car. Right in front of the steering wheel. It was just kind of chilling out, enjoying the ride. I was fine to let it chill on the dashboard--better on the dashboard than dangling from the ceiling above my head. The spider kept making its way towards the open window, then scurrying back to the middle, seemingly scared of the gusting wind. I enjoyed the show as I drove, and then I wondered if I put my finger out, would it climb on? I touched the side of the dashboard, making a bridge for the spider with my index finger. The spider stopped. It didn't run away, and then, not two seconds after I had placed my finger on the dash, it walked onto my fingernail. I had not thought about it actually climbing up my hand. I freaked out and flicked it out of the window. I felt bad about it afterwards, but I don't think I'll lose sleep over it. I had not intended to kill the guy, and who knows, he could still be alive and kicking, but the experience was very odd.

The Novice (Ch. 1)

2009-07-30T00:10:00.000-07:00

The second-story studio apartment had not been cleaned for months. The urine ring around the toilet was all the proof one needed, but the dirty dishes in the sink, the clothes strewn about, and the blob asleep on the hide-a-bed sofa added to the ambiance of the apartment. Stan is not in a happy place. His fiance' broke off the relationship in May, citing that he had "changed too much." It is now early August and unemployed Stan's Seattle apartment complex (along with nearly every other domicile in Seattle) does not have the air conditioning to combat the record heat wave scorching the Pacific Northwest.

Stan grudgingly wakes up a few minutes after noon on this forecasted record-breaking Wednesday. The shades are still drawn, but the heat is pouring into the room, and Stan is finding the sofa too sticky to stay asleep. He swears to himself as sits up on the sofa, blood and last night's whiskey rushing to his head. After a minute sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands, he manages to stand and makes a bee-line for the bathroom.

Between Stan and his porcelain throne sits Stan's faithful 20lb cat, Herbert. Herbert perks up at Stan, who for all Herbert knows may be rushing to fill his empty food bowl in the bathroom. Unfortunately for both human and feline, Stan does not see Herbert on the floor, camouflaged amongst the dirty clothes of the past month.

Herbert lets out a howl. Stan lets out a howl and a string of curse words as he crumples to the floor. Stan notices Herbert limping away and feels sick to his stomach. Sickness to his stomach, combined with the bile already forming in his mouth from his adult headache, causes his mouth to erupt like St. Helens.

When the World Ends

2009-07-06T20:45:00.000-07:00

We both lead incredibly busy lives. Between all of the different hats each one of us juggles, we rarely have time to sit and contemplate life. Where are we going? Where do we want to be?

Sometimes I envision myself with someone else. What would my life be like today if Lisa and I had never broken up? How different would my kids be? Would my sex life be better or worse? Would I be happier? I don't tell you about these thoughts, because they are just day dreams.

Soaking in the hot tub with you, vacationing out at the coast with the kids asleep, finally gives us time to talk. No more talking about how our days went. No more talking about the weather or Matt's baseball game. Talk about us.

You really do want that job in California. I know you've talked about it before, but life always seems to get in the way of us talking about it. Yes, the move would be difficult, but if it is really what you want to do, I support you. I love your strength and desire. I do enjoy living here, but a change of scenery would be nice, and now that I know just how much you want this, I think we should go for it.

Bartender

2009-07-06T20:23:00.000-07:00

I sit at the end of the bar, alone. I've been sitting on this stool for the last six hours. We broke up today, and I did not see it coming. Everywhere I look in this town, I see our ghosts smiling together.

I am drinking to forget, but every drink I remember another special moment we spent together. Sadness, anger, happiness... and now I'm at indifference. I wonder what you are thinking. I wonder what is next.

Writing Project

2009-07-06T19:34:00.000-07:00

I am beginning a writing project based on the Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds "Live at Radio City" performance from 2007. There are 27 tracks to the performance, and I intend to use each track to create a 1,000 word maximum writing sample. I think each writing sample will stand alone, as each of the songs do, but once finished I may be able to compile them together. The title of each post will be the name of the song, which will also be the title of the writing sample. If I can find the tracks on YouTube, I will provide the performance at the beginning of each writing sample.

Sleeping Socks

2008-01-16T01:08:00.000-08:00

The bathroom light flicks off,
Your naked silhouette zips across the room,
Your only pieces of clothing
don't make a sound on the hardwood floor.

You jump back in bed,
Shivering from your brief trip,
But the tropical cocoon,
Made from comforter and exhausted us,
Quickly ends the shivering;
You in your socks, me barefoot.

I thought you silly, sleeping in socks--
Now I can't sleep without.

A View From The Hot Tub

2008-01-03T22:47:00.000-08:00

Swift clouds, lit by the city,
Engulf descending planes.

Thousands of needles
Leave their Evergreen homes.

Poop Poem

2007-12-30T22:31:00.001-08:00

I go poop in the morning
when I awake,
kinda like a doggie,
going poop near a lake.
When I go poop
and have moist logs,
I tend to create,
real big clogs.
That's when I ask myself,
What have I ate?

http://www.poopreport.com/Contests/Content/Roses/roses_vote.html

Julie's Vacation Game

2007-08-29T23:21:00.000-07:00

Julie, my wife, is one kinky woman.

We're at the tail end of our first trip to Italy, and the last two weeks have been amazing. We started down in Rome, and spent a few days there doing the tourist thing. The Colosseum was unbelievable, to stand in the same spot Caesar stood two thousand years ago was awe-inspiring. I kept envisioning the fall of Rome, and what that must have been like for the people of the city. The raiders stole all of the valuable metal out of the city, including the rods in the Colosseum itself. If you look closely at photos taken of the Colossem's exterior, there are hundreds of large holes where metal rods were taken. I'm not exactly sure what type of metal, but I think I overheard someone say bronze or copper.

We hit Assisi, Ravenna, Florence, Milan, and now we are on our second of three days in Venice before we fly home to the States. Every big trip we take, Julie likes to play a little game. We make one day our "Game Day," and today is that day.

She wakes up early, while I am still in bed. She makes herself up, and leaves before I wake up. Then the hunt begins. We pretend not know each other the entire day, and I never know where she is until we run into each other. Invariably, we end up in bed together shortly after we meet, and sometimes we can't restrain ourselves in time to find a bed.

Some of our more memorable trips include a trip to Whistler, where we found each other in line for the gondola. We managed to get a gondola all to ourselves...

There was also the time I couldn't find her in New York until she sent my cell phone a picture of the Statue of Liberty. I grabbed the last ferry out to the island, and the custodian of the Statue found us on the torch stairs during his closing sweep. The fine was worth it.

I'm surprised how much I've enjoyed the game over the years. At first, I just did it for her, but as anniversaries passed, "Game Day" started becoming a good incentive to take trips. It also reminded me of the trips I took in high school with my parents. They would go see the sights, while I would try my best to get tail in a city or town completely foreign to me. I felt a bit like a panther, scoping out my prey, back in those days.

I wasn't the most successful hunter, but I wouldn't have starved in the wild. These days, when I'm playing the game, I get that old animal instinct back. I'm not specifically looking for my wife in the crowds, but she is usually the only one that catches my eye. She's got the eyes of a siren and a body to match. As soon as we lock eyes on "Game Day," my heart starts beating faster, and blood rushes South.

Five years ago, I was following her in London, when she led me to the Tate Museum. She disappeared into a crowd of people, and I wasn't quite ready. I wasn't a husband looking for his wife to museum-fuck, I was a casual observer of art.

I walked around the various rooms, taking my time while I studied each piece of art in the room. The creativity of those artists was out of this world, and eventually a photographer named Tom Wood caught my eye. His mission was to capture the life on Liverpool buses, and the night photos caught my eye.

I spent a good five minutes in front of a picture Wood took of a group of ladies putting on their make up in the bus, trying to look pretty for the guys. While contemplating all of the different thoughts going on in the photo, Julie, out of nowhere said, "Amazing." We talked about the photo for 30 minutes before I suggested we go get some coffee. She suggested beer, and after two pints at the bar, we paid the bartender and barely made it back to the hotel room. I still remember the trail of clothes leading from the door to the bed.

Venice has been a big dream of hers for a while now. Both to visit the city, and to play the game. The city is large enough that there are plenty of places to hide, yet small enough that there is an air of romance surrounding the island. Having no vehicles on an island can do that to a place. The gondolas (completely unlike their counterparts in Whistler) have made their way into my dreams since we initially started planning our trip here. There are plenty of narrow alleyways and red rooftops that could be end-of-the-night possibilities as well.

I'm getting restless, this is worse than staying up for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. She's been in the bathroom for an hour now, and I've been pretending to sleep for the last two. Wait, I think I just heard the bathroom door open...

...and the entry door open and close.

Let the hunt begin.

Money or Morals, Chapter 1

2007-08-26T23:26:00.000-07:00

Public libraries are a fascinating place. They are incredibly diverse, with occupants ranging from school kids and their parents roaming the children's section, to middle-aged homeless men using the free internet to look up porn. Incredibly diverse. A lot of thought goes on in libraries, and on any given day (except Tuesdays, when the branch is closed) the Northeast Seattle Public Library is filled with a shmorgasboard of thought.

A young girl in the children's section envisions herself skipping along in a flowery meadow with ponies and make believe friends. An unbuildable Dr. Seuss contraption rolls alongside the dirt path, spitting out candy into the sky all around her. The ponies never pooh, and all her friends are nice to her.

The man behind the counter is brainlessly filing away books recently placed on hold, wondering why he became a librarian. Originally, it was to meet women, but if he had a quarter for every time a single woman came into the library and just assumed he was gay, he'd be retired and the bags of money would attract a woman he'd marry, but wouldn't love.

There is also the hefty guy sitting next to you at the row of computers. You're no computer idiot, but you've got a sinking suspicion that this guy could hack into the library system and see exactly what books you're looking at checking out, and reserve them all for the next two years. It'd be best to stay on his good side.

He must have heard you thinking (can computer nerds do that?), because he just moved away from his comfortable two-inches from the computer screen, pushed up his glasses and looked at you. You shoot him a pity-smile and think it is time to go get your books before he does.

You grab the books quickly from the shelves. You are the reference queen. If there was an annual reference race to find the most obscure books in the library, your only competition would be the librarians. The librarians wouldn't be allowed to compete, but after winning the title five years in a row, you'd get cocky and want better competition. They'd put you in your place though.

As you go to check out, you decide to move your ring from your middle finger to your ring finger on your left hand. The guy at the counter looks a bit desperate, and much like a reverse bank-robbery, you don't want him to try anything stupid. Like a hawk, he sees the "off limits" sign on your finger as soon as you deliberately place the books on the counter for check out.

He looks at all four books you've checked out, judging you based on what books you've brought to the counter. The first two books are newly released mysteries from two of your favorite authors. The third is a how-to book on kitchen remodel. The fourth book is a smutty romance novel with Fabio on the cover. A shirtless Fabio and his golden locks hold a woman with heaving bosoms close to his chest. You had no intention of reading the book, but it was a little game you liked to play to keep the librarians guessing on what category to pigeon-hole you into. You are also in no position to remodel your kitchen, but you love to look at different designs for when you finally do settle down and get to construct your dream home.

"Remodeling your kitchen?" the man behind the counter asks.

"Thinking about it."

"Good luck with that, and have a nice rest of your day." he said as he shot you a rehearsed smile.

"Thanks, you too."

At least he didn't ask you about the smutty romance novel.

The library was the first of many errands planned for your rainy Saturday in Seattle. You've just finished your first week of teaching high school biology at Nathan Hale High School. You're on your fourth year at Hale, and although you originally thought it might be your job for the next 20 years, if someone offered you a job in a respectable field, you might just take it. High school kids can be a drain. The first week, the kids are usually fine--it is the administration you have to watch out for. The new advisors don't know what the hell they are doing, and again this year you found a senior in your freshman-only class.

You pull your 2006 Hyundai Accent into the Starbucks parking lot. Your second, and most important errand (in your eyes) is your Carmel Macchiato. You've tried everything in the book to kick your habit, but nothing has worked. Your Mom has bought you a kitchen-full of espresso makers for home, but nothing satisfies you quite like a Carmel Macchiato in a Starbucks cup and sleeve. Much like your sudoku books, the espresso makers are gathering dust, and you are shelling out $4 twice a week on your favorite drink, while doing the newspaper's sudoku puzzle.

At Starbucks, you usually relax and spend an hour savoring your Macchiato while completing the six-star sudoku puzzle from Saturday morning's paper. You haven't spent much time thinking about Starbucks as a place to meet men. Usually, there aren't any eligible men sitting down when you are inside, but today a well-dressed man probably only a few years older than you grabbed a table in front of you after you were about halfway through your sudoku puzzle.

You take little glances his way every few minutes. Not bad eye-candy for a Saturday morning. You two catch eyes a few times, which elicited a quick glance back down to your paper. A bit childish, but you like the roll of playing hard to get. It hasn't worked out very well so far, but whenever you do meet your ideal man, he is going to fall for you from the moment you two catch eyes and then quickly look away--you're sure of it.

As you're getting to the end of your Carmel Macchiato and simultaneously filling in the last few numbers on the sudoku puzzle, the well dressed man leans over and asks, "Are you working on today's sudoku?"

A bit flustered, you reply, "I am, are you finished yet?"

He laughs, "Not even close, I can do the four-star ones, but I have trouble on the five and six-stars."

"You'll figure it out, it took me a while too," you lie. Sudoku's came to you as naturally as fresh-squeezed orange juice.

"You aren't a teacher, are you?" he asks.

"Lucky guess, how did you know?"

"You look like a teacher, but your Nathan Hale sweatshirt also helped a bit," he says with a smile.

Okay, maybe he's a little bit too cocky for you. You take a moment to fill out the rest of the numbers on the sudoku. As you stand to leave, you walk over to his table and say, "I don't usually condone cheating, but here is a cheat-sheet if you need a little help on today's puzzle."

He extends his arm for the newspaper and says, "Thanks, your husband is a very lucky man."

You stand there dumb-founded for ten seconds until you realize you forgot to switch the ring back to your middle finger. Once you realize your mistake, you can feel your face starting to turn its patented beet-red, so you smile at the man and quickly exit the premises.

Safely in your car, you sit with your hands on the wheel and bang your head on the steering wheel while calling yourself a bad name. You look down at your left hand and decide that you should probably move your ring back to its appropriate finger before you forget again.

The rest of the day is a blur, as you can't get your mind off the fact that through one of your tricky ways to get out of embarrassing situations, you end up falling into one anyways! Rainy Saturdays in Seattle for a single 28 year-old woman can be sadly lonely. But this isn't the first rainy day you've spent alone in Seattle, and you're prepared. Especially after a mishap like the one earlier this morning. All you could think about for the last hour was getting home, slipping into sweats, fixing yourself a bowl of ice cream and starting in on the new mystery from J.A. Joyce.

After setting your things down on the kitchen counter, you head into the bedroom to change into sweats. Through years of finding coins, keys, money and receipts in the laundry, you've finally conditioned yourself to check your pockets--ALL of your pockets--before taking off your pants. You don't remember putting anything in your pockets besides your keys, but the jingle in your right pocket says otherwise.

Duh, the change from your various errands. But, there are also a few receipts stuck in there. You separate the coins from the receipts and put the coins in your pink piggy bank you've had since you were nine years old. You toss the receipts into the trash, but the way the receipts land, you notice something written on the back of one. You grab the receipt from the top of the trash bin and uncrumple it.

Dan 206-555-9016

It is on the back of a Starbucks receipt. He slipped a receipt into your pants pocket? And he expects you to call him, really??? You don't think so.

Writing Space

2007-08-26T23:22:00.000-07:00

My original blog started out as a space for me to write. Over the last few years it has changed into pretty much a diary and place to chat with other bloggers. I'm having fun with it, but I also want a space to write more creatively. It makes sense to start another blog up, so the MHG blog doesn't get too cluttered.

I grabbed a few books from the library on Friday, and the more I read, the more I'm motivated to write. My writing is terrible, so hopefully by writing more (although terrible) stuff, I'll get better.

So yes, expect more of the creative stuff here, and back on MHG will be the daily updates and journal-style blog.

-Chris