2002-01-28 - 1:45 p.m.
It SNOWED this weekend. JB and
I went downtown to watch a movie (Black Hawk Down: worth the
ticket price, surely the best rooting-up-a-thigh-wound-for-an-artery
scene of 2002), and when we got out of the theater, there was
SNOW everywhere. It made me want to run home real fast and listen
to the radio to see if school was cancelled. 'Cause of all the
The snow is gone now. In fact,
it's all sunny and cheerful looking outside. Let me tell you,
I love our view. We look out on Elliott Bay, with the Olympic
mountains off to the north. I can watch ferries going back and
forth. In the summer we watch big cruiseliners, lit up like chandeliers,
gliding across the water to and from Alaska. What really sucks
is that some condos are being built across the street from us,
and will mostly block our view of the Olympics. Today they are
all snow-dusted and gorgeous and look startlingly big, like maybe
their cousins from Nepal nipped over for a visit. It's sad to
know that pretty soon we'll be looking at some overpaid yuppies'
(the sign outside trumpets that the condos are starting from
the "low 500s") balconies instead.
JB thinks we should consider
getting a condo. But not the hip urban living, walk to the clubs,
view of the cityscape kind - the more affordable east side suburban
kind. The very idea gives me hives and we practically have a
screaming argument every time the subject comes up. I mean, I
am adjusting to the idea that we can't pay rent forever, and
that we should invest in something that will build equity, and
that we probably can't afford to live anywhere near where we
currently live and blah blah blah - but buying a glorified apartment
in suburbia with a view of the parking lot or whatever
is depressing beyond words. Lucky for ME I can't find a job and
therefore we have no money to do anything. Ha. So there, condo.
I bitched about the condo thing
to my hairdresser last week. His name is Marty, and he always
remembers everything from our previous conversation even though
I let way too many months go by in between appointments and only
see him when my roots look all Tonya Harding and shit. He also
has this weirdly receptive demeanor that makes me blather away
like he's my bestest friend or something. He also agrees with
almost everything I say - "I KNOW. Me TOO. You SAID it,
girl." - which is immensely satisfying.
Marty has never said anything
along the lines of, "Say, have I happened to tell you I
am gay?" but I'm fairly certain he is. Among other things,
he has Gay Sideburns. I don't mean this in a bad way, they look
very nice and sort of rockabilly-ish, they just somehow brand
the sideburnee as gay. If I ever learn that Marty is NOT gay,
I will be very sad. I want a hairdresser to be either 1) a women,
or 2) gay. Once I went to a hairdresser that a friend had recommended
to me, and he was 1) my age, and 2) cute, and 3) NOT gay. The
whole thing felt really awkward, with all the pseudo-intimacy
of hair touching and head washing. Worse, just when he had put
my hair into all these foil wrappers, effectively rendering me
devoid of any dignity, a whole bunch of his skater-looking buddies
showed up and just sort of hung out waiting for him. I
tried to look bored and nonchalant ("Oh, the foil? It's
the biggest rage in Milan this season") but inwardly I was
freaking out: "There are cute skater boys in here!
And you look like a DORK!"
So I'm happy with Marty, the
Almost Certainly Gay Hairdresser. I'm comfortable being foil-laden
around him. And hey, he agreed with me about the condo thing.
Well, but then he agrees with
me about everything.
Which is cool.
go back :::
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004