perhaps i found my cure.

so, with some of this relaxing-don't-wake-up-til-10-am-timeoff, i decided to organize all of my photos on the new mac, which became somewhat of a disaster. it actually kind of reminded me of work. i was like, trying to decide whether to organize my sometimes-frisky-sometimes-fugly photos by year or photo type when i realized digital archiving just isn't so good for my convenient tendency of forgetting those past good-times. hmm. and also. i was way hotter in 2006. :P 

in other news, i've been searching high and low for things to sell on craigslist &/or ebay. so far, i have one local listing for (as my subject line states) a 'retro' red shag rug. considering the 3 or whatever days it's been on the market, i've only received one offer that involved an alter ego smoking hookah in the middle of its fun-fun-funkiness. pass.

i will continue to search for other possible lightly-used treasures, but let me know if you pass by anything worthy. these small delights may serve more to the sad roast inside of my ribs than for any lame e-commerce.

why i did not go midnight sledding last night.

last night—in between sneaky grins and visions of sledding &/or snow angels—i cut my hand with a serrated knife. not on purpose, of course. i was actually cutting a tag off of my new snow pants. but i sliced my paw regardless.

four stitches later (my little physician-in-training patched me up) i am realizing my combat skills are sadly compromised. the gimpy "claw" just isn't capable of anything more sophisticated than a crocked thumbs up. 

sad times. 

so, in these one-to-two weeks of recovery, you will find a fantastic unicorn bandaide hugging my wound. 

yes, you can call me killah.

i hope the mad woman in stretchpants doesn't fall on the ice.

it's about 20-something degrees outside and we've got snow on the ground. winter looks great on seattle. 

as an update, on my first days off i:

planted two of my perky plants into their new homes. one of the plants i am particularly excited about is a christmas cactus. festive, yes. 

got a much-needed haircut.

bought a macbook. taxfree. woohoo!

got a full body massage. and if i wasn't feeling good enough after the grand purchase, i'm definitely feeling good now. (it's sad how excited i get when i buy things. but consumerism is so gratifying.)

made butterfinger popcorn balls and some other sweet treats. (ask mandi, i'm still not sure what we made. but it's a lot). 

last weekend we also picked out our tree. i named it bridgette, pearl, something spunky. we got a whole bunch of frisky ornaments. my most predictable choice was the t-rex. oh-so-cute. 

oh shoot, and i almost forgot to tell you i both read and watched twilight. shh. don't tell. 

on that note, i'm going to go back to doing normal-people-things. :P

2008, i'm over you.

it's december 16 and i'm sitting at work. this is the last time i'll sit on this non-ergo chair for the rest of the year. til january 5 to be exact. 

this year was like a very unappetizing meal—that you can't help but consume because you are forced—and after its been shoved down your throat, you have a nasty belly ache and your insides endure a so-not-worth it ride, like the gravitron. at the fair. that you used to love. 

oh, l-o-v-e.

and, to top my rebellious insides, i'm aging. yesterday i caught myself admitting that while i may look 12, in reality i am actually 42. or, like, 80. i joke that these three chunks of what-used-to-be platinum were actually my hair's way of fighting my anti-aging attempts. and when going into battle (that'd be my job), wear ass-kicking boots. high-yahhh. 

call it anxiety. call it depression. i'm over it. 

so. before you go this way, and i go that way, i wanted to tell you that i hope to let you in on a little more. soonsoon. once i have mental space to stretch. like, mental yoga poses. 

namaste. 

i have a confession.

so. for those of you who are blessed with my unusually sarcastic and half-glass-empty presence these days (okay, months), i've noticed something. it's sick and i don't really want to tell you--but i think i like you--so i'll let you in on my little somethin-somethin.

i think darkness is my fuel. sure sure, it's ugly and makes me not-so-nice of a person, but i've noticed it boosts my creativity. and i'm not talking about those garlic necklaces i've been stringing together, i'm talking about me. how i'll be pissed at my douche-of-a-supervisor and all of a sudden i am in the bathroom--thinking about the ugly tiles on the wall and how they must have been on sale when they were constructing the building--and i realize i should really be a cartoonist. how my snappy wit would be charming if accompanied by a nice doodle. stick figure. what-have-you.

so when i think about my game plan, that plan that has me, i worry about this. i don't want to lose my essence. i don't want to look over, and all of a sudden have my glass of starfruit juice be half-full.

perception is important to me. and i'm concerned about what that means for next year.

some things are just more important.

judge me, damnit.

so, i was talking to my friend cheryl from bay area the other day. and she mentioned how she's the minority down in her neck of the woods. (i grew up with white bread. lots and lots of white bread. don't get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with white bread. in fact, i prefer it.)

but anyway, she said when she goes to her local coffee shop (starbucks, is it?) they—the wheat/rye/sourdough-looking baristas across the counter—always spell her name with an 's.' as in [s]heryl rather than [c]heryl. 

cheryl, being a lovely thinker such as myself, came up with a theory that depending on what you look like or what the barista looks like (i'm talking bread type, people!), they will spell your name [s/cheryl] accordingly.

that said, i've decided to jump on the bandwagon and try out the s/cheryl challenge. i've been to tully's downtown by the workplace once so far, and damnit, they didn't ask for my name. but i'm excited. and cheryl says she is 75% sure they will spell my name with an 's.' 

i've asked a couple of other people and they all think they'll spell it with a 'c.' i figure it really depends 1) if you know a s/cheryl, and if you do, how they spell their name and 2) you got it, ethnicity. 

we'll see how seattle judges me. i personally think a sourdough-looking person such as myself would be spelled with a 'c.' 

perhaps you'd be interested in taking the s/cheryl challenge as well. 

oh, and, it is fair to note that when i tell those baristas my name is ty, they tooootally pause and judge me. i frequently hide the cup of my vanilla or peppermint latte with a hot-sleeve, as the "thai" or "tai" really offends me. :P 

i mean, come on, people. 

the rubbermaid on my floor is called revelations. i think that means something.

as usual, i'm sitting-dreaming-thinking, of you (collectively). and it seems through these bizarre and dark times of mine, i'm receiving messages in just about everything i do. films, dreams, songs. always a random fragment of a half forgotten memory that i once enjoyed, that doesn't really matter at all. all that matters is that i miss a lot of things/people/feelings. 

but, you know what, i'm done with feeling like shit about myself, or the things that i do or have done. and i'm over listening to those letters that form that tired word—s-o-r-r-y—spill across my tongue as i apologize once again for the something-or-other that happened. to you. to us. 

so, this morning, i woke up with this song in my head—it was your song—your ridiculous alter-ego song that really is no good at all. but it was in my head. and i was forced to pause and recount the odd menstrual dream i had as well, and thought about what the hell it all meant. 

i think it meant it's time to move on with these hard times. move on move onmoveonn. i've got exciting things happening to me. big great things that get wrapped up in small, sneaky boxes with bright crunchy purple ribbons. 

yeah, i'm feeling good today. my hair is not weighted, i'm wearing a warm scarf, and i'm looking forward to talking about the ballard hens and their condos tonight. so random, nothing really matters, let's just get on with our lives. our lovelylovelylives.