Celebrity Sightings

I am often told by strangers that I look exactly like a celebrity. The peculiar thing to me is that it is never the same celebrity. It has happened a couple of times in the past couple of weeks, and I decided I would like to start keeping track of my many celebrity doppelgangers.

1. Kirsten DunstA gay man in Seattle ran up to me in the street and told me I looked EXACTLY like her, and I must get that all the time. Nope. Never have before and never have since. This is a common characteristic of these celebrity sightings. People are always hesitant to tell me because they are all so afraid that I've heard it too many times.

2. Maggie Gyllenhaal


This one I was so ecstatic about! I had recently cut my hair short and wore it curly. I wanted to look like her when a regular customer at the Blue Dog told me that he thought I was a dead-ringer for her. Within the following month, two other customers told me the same thing.

3. Fiona Apple


Again, another customer at Blue Dog casually mentioned that I looked like her. She asked me if I had heard that before. "No," I said. And with a proud smile added, "But people do tell me I look like Maggie Gyllenhaal." The girl gasped. "Totally!" she said. "You look exactly like her!"

4. The chick from "Scrubs"
At my 23rd birthday gathering, a rather drunk boy who I had met once before started ranting how I looked like this lovely lady. I ran into him this past weekend. He did not remember ever meeting me, but did remember that I looked JUST like this girl.

5. Mia Farrow
At the boyfriend's work's Christmas party, the wife of one of his co-workers insisted I look like Woody Allen's old fling. I like thinking I look like a movie star from times past. I approve this one.

6. Taylor Swift

My friend Brehnan told me this one. I was a bit surprised. To me, Swift is much like a country barbie doll. She is pretty sure, but she doesn't look like a real human. I am kind of afraid of her. But two days after Brehnan broke the news to me, he texted me at midnight, saying simply "TAYLOR MOTHERFUCKING SWIFT."

Murder at Midnight

Once upon a time when I was five or so, my neighbor Joey brought me to a crack in the sidewalk. He reached down and pulled back the broken chunk of concrete to reveal a nest of ants swarming over one another. He raised his knee into the air and smashed his sneaker atop them. I followed suit. A massacre, an attempted genocide of sorts. The power to take small, little lives was in my shoes. Later that day when I came in for dinner, I told my mother all about my day with Joey. She hated Joey, still rolls her eyes to this day when his memory is brought up. He picked his nose and left little presents on her furniture. But, I loved him.

She told me that I had no idea what I had done and who I had smashed. I could have, for all I knew, killed a mama ant and now her baby ants were waiting in anticipation for their mother that would never return to them. Heavy shit for a kid, and needless to say, I never killed an insect since.

Especially not spiders. I wholeheartedly admire spiders. Eight legs? Awesome. Webs? Beautiful. I try to keep a healthy distance from them, and if one is in my apartment, I kindly explain (yes, aloud) to them that I don't think they belong in my space, and I free them outside. However, I am afraid word has gotten out, as over the last six months or so, I've noticed a shit ton of spiders congregating in my room. But I will not kill them. I fear their retaliation. They don't seem to be forgiving creatures by any means. Spiders are beings of a vengeful nature.

About a week ago, I saw a large bite on my ankle, not mosquito. It is clearly the work of a spider. I started to get nervous when I saw a monstrously large spider in my room. I took a picture and showed a friend of mine who is something of a spider expert. She told me it was a wolf spider who are venomous, not to a deadly degree, but she did say they are not spiders to fuck around with and that I should get them out of my apartment.

So last night, I saw one climbing along the wall, I freaked out, grabbed a sneaker from my closet and flung my arm back and hit the wall as hard as I could. The spider crinkled its legs into a ball and slowly fell down onto the carpet where I hit it some more.

I was alone at the time, so I quietly spoke to it. Something along the lines of, "I am so sorry, but you must understand that it's you or me and I hope you fare better in the next life. I guess you didn't deserve that."

I hardly slept that night. Tossing and turning. I could feel things on my legs. Every fifteen minutes or so I would turn my light on, flip off my covers and check all over for them. I was sure his buddies were coming for me. I had nightmares of being entangled in webs, being scolded by spiders.

Then, today, when I came home from errands, I saw two of the spiders crawling along the wall, behind my bed. I SWEAR TO GOD, they were taunting me.

But, I don't know how to atone for my crime.

And the moon was so big!

I had a dream last night that I was preparing for a trip out to space to help Batman fight the Joker...again! I was frustrated, because I could have sworn that we already defeated the bastard. The night before our departure all the crew members of the space craft sat out on a large, expansive lawn, gazing up at the stars we were soon to enter.

We were unimportant members of the crew: janitorial, mechanical, myself I was a cartographer. Everything was dark and stars were in the grass. I was enjoying the company of a fellow cartographer as we traced the odd occurrences in the sky. A large white light, directly ahead of us seemed to be getting larger. I pointed out to it and told her, "That. That out there. It all scares me. I've flown out so far so many times, and I still get so afraid whenever I'm about to go again."

The orb grew larger and came closer.

"I get scared, too," she said. "It's the unknown, and no matter who many times you go out into it, you'll still never know it."

The orb started to have shadows and craters as I realized it was the moon. The collective gasp of the crowd confirmed that everyone had figured that out.

"Why would that keep you on the grass, though?" she added.

After a few more unexplainable, dreamy things, I watched as Batman took a simple pistol and shot the Joker in the gut. I checked his pulse, unable to believe he could die that easily.

Game Forecast for Tomorrow

Today was a really rough game for the Mariners and all their employees. The game was super long. We lost and poorly at that. It was freezing. At the end of the night as my co-worker and I were heading to check out we walk by the security gate we always do.

"We damn well deserve to see some quality players after the night we had," I mumble as we pass the gate.

Then it happened, a beautiful man, wearing white and practically glowing passed me by.

"Wa-wa-was that FELIX?" I ask my co-worker. The angels in heaven began to sing, and my heart sang. It was. He was right in front of me, not three feet away. I was blushing and giggling. He briefly looked at me, probably not even long enough to register my existence. But that was it for me. I was having a great night.

This is what is going to happen tomorrow.

He will pitch nine, count them, nine scoreless innings. He will sit in the dugout between innings, feeling an expected sense of accomplishment, but also thinking why. His mind will flash to a girl with the short curly hair in the merchandising uniform. Despite the pants being so unflattering, there was just something about her. He'll throw strike after strike, all the while thinking, "I must find her." Once he clinches the game, we will toss of his glove and follow his heart, jumping the fence, climbing the stairs and arriving at my stand. I will look up in shock and awe.

"What are you doing here?"

"Venga conmigo," he'll say and in one fail swoop knock all the bobbleheads and foam fingers off the counter. As they shatter on the floor I will laugh and say, "But this is crazy."

"Venga," he'll reply. I'll leap across the counter and into his arms. He will carry me out of the stadium amid the roars and cheers of the crowd. I'll take the hat off his head and put it on mine a la "An Officer and a Gentlemen."

"You pitched beautifully tonight," I'll say.

"Te amo," he'll reply.

So, I will be unreachable for a while. I am going to be in Venezuela for the next month on my honeymoon. I will see you all when I return.

Buenas Noches.

Back at Work

I was setting up my store today with the ever-colorful cast of characters that I have found at SafeCo field. In particular I was working with a rather elderly woman who limped around with a cane and latched onto me, calling me either Sweetie or Kiddo the whole day. When this visibly started to irk me, she resorted to baby-talk to try and cheer me up which only made fury course through my veins. "So, kiddo, wher-ah do you wantcha put yo'ah twading cards?"

Why me?

I was also working with what we in the biz call a rookie. He is very tall, and very quiet. I adore him. He hangs all the stuff I can't reach. I just have to point. I zoned out most of the day, folding, and staring at endless boxes of hats trying to decide the best color system of organizing them. I came back to Earth to hear baby-talk-old-woman saying:

"I am so excited to see 'Escape to Witch Mountain.' I love the man that is playing the protector of the children. I really believe he cares for those children's welfare. He is just such a great protector."

I turn slowly, "You mean the Rock."

Tall-kid turns toward me with a snap.

"That's JUST a stage name! He's Dwane Johnson now."

Lord knows I'll never make that mistake again.

Sugar Daddy

So I was reading the Stranger today, and they had a special section on how to save/make money in what they are calling the "new depression." Most of it was nonsense (as the Stranger is prone to do), i.e. how to become a drug dealer, how to steal a car, etc. There was one section about a popular dating website called sugardaddie.com.

It's no secret that I have a strange little hobby of checking out personal ads. I have never responded to one, but it entertains me to see what men say in trying to attract a woman. It never ceases to amaze me! So I was drawn in at the prospect of a new website to peruse in my downtime.

The website is ridiculous. The tagline is "Where the affluent meet." It is blatantly for rich men and beautiful women. Shallow, shallow, shallow. The women are on there to look for men who will spend large sums of money on them, and the men are looking for women to be trophies. The website claims to not have anything to do with prostitution, but it seems pretty damn close. It just seems that instead of a wad of cash in the morning, it's a good meal, and perhaps a chinchilla coat.

The only way to look at the profiles, though, is to sign up. I am DYING to see what these people look like and what they write and who they are. But I feel as though I cannot sign up for this thing and be able to sleep at night. I mean just receiving e-mails from them would be shameful enough, but to actually have to make a profile and be out there... Yikes.

I've got too much time on my hands. Baseball season needs to start soon. The 2009 M's commercials are great!!! The Felix one is the best, of course.

At 5 am

I youtube-searched "Having a Coke with You" by Frank O'Hara at the advice of a friend. I enjoyed it. Then, youtube told me I might like to hear Sylvia Plath reading "Daddy." Why yes, youtube, I'd love that!

Oh, but it was whiney, and I don't feel like playing the melancholy, overburdened, young American female role. What else can you recommend me, youtube? What is it that you think a person like me would like?

Puff Daddy performing "I'll Be Missing You."?

Yes.

Sleepless nights are the worst.

Mike Birbiglia on Bonnie Hunt Show

I really really love this.

Too Easy

After months of trying to arrange interviews and trainings, I am finally going to be starting my ESL tutoring with political refugees at Seattle Central. I am soooooo excited. I love teaching English. I could do it my whole life, and just might. I was so excited about it tonight that I was looking at all the training classes Seattle Central is sending me to and all the future classes I'll have the options of attending. I was also looking at the ESL website Seattle Central designed for their students. It has a bunch of links to English practice and little games and whatnot. There is even a section of things the students themselves have written and done.

I clicked on the link that was supposed to take me to "English jokes." My screen flashed that whole "Address Not Found" deal. I checked the address that the link was connected to. Yep. They spelled English wrong.

Engish. Ha!

Also an amazing quote that I read yesterday in one of the Wave Fall 2009 manuscripts, "Happiness is for sissies."

Something that Makes Me Happy: Yodeling!

My New Years' Resolution is to be more optimistic, glass half-full nonsense. Part of this is to take care to write down and remind myself of all the things in this world that make me happy. Today at work, one of my regular customers, Peggy, was talking to me and Nicole about her childhood obsession with both punk rock and yodeling. After listening to her gush about yodeling for so long, I realized she's right. It is an amazing talent. It uses two distinct aspects of the human vocal chord and a system of echoes to create an almost unearthly noise. So I came home and looked up videos, eventually finding this gem:



I really and truly admire people like Kerry Christensen. Yodeling isn't that cool, and it is by no means popular anywhere really in America. For the first two minutest of this video, I was waiting for it to reveal itself as a SNL sketch, but it is this man's life, and he does it well. He perseveres in his knee high socks and laderhosen with held and larynx held high. It really is an astounding talent though. Really and truly. His jokes make me cringe, but my jaw is on the floor in amazement.