TGIF

Yes, I am very aware that this title is incredibly lame. It is the Friday before Labor Day weekend and I have absolutely no concrete plans. Scratch that, I am going to the Blackbird Bistro in about 15 minutes to enjoy a plate of breadcrumb-dusted macaroni and cheese. That is really all I have planned for the next 3 days.

After an endless afternoon spent writing about a zillion Tokyo events, I'm not sure how I can stand to write much more. I have learned more about Japan in the last 8 hours than I would if I actually visited there. So, please allow me to make the disclaimer that this post may suck because my brain is fried. I am tired, hungry, and I soon may be drunk.


What I intend to write (and who knows how far I'll get) is a scathing piece about women that model their lives after Sex and the City. Although it is one of my favorite shows, I've recently become aware of more and more women prancing down the street in skirts and high heels, clutching tiny purses like miniature Carrie Bradshaws.

Sex and the City is fictional, the characters are fictional, so whether you identify with Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, or Samantha, just remember that they don't exist. The so-called fabulous New York life is not reality. If it is, you must be very rich, in loads of debt, or living in Brooklyn.

I'll admit it, I've been seduced by the tall buildings and neon lights of the big city. I grew up in Chicago and before I relocated to Seattle, I thought that Chicago was the only city that every existed. When I moved, I felt like I left my long-time lover. As I soon started to love another, I realized one American city is just like the next. Even the view gets old after awhile.

And the fashion. One summer morning, I decided to pull a Carrie Bradshaw and slip on the velvet peep toe heels I just purchased from Nordstrom's Rack. Limping down the street towards the bus, I felt like I was playing dress-up in my mother's clothes. People stared. The outfit was cute, the black pencil skirt and hot-pink polka-dot wrap shirt coordinated beautifully and someone even gave me a seat on the bus. But mobility was definitely a problem and after a day spent sucking in my stomach, I decided never to try high fashion again.

Given that the extravagant lifestyle and ridiculous fashion is simply not REAL, it is only logical to assume that the character's sexual relationships are exaggerated. I think women can have/should have sex with whomever they want. But only if they enjoy it and are absolutely sure that the men aren't using them.

Having a lot of sex partners is dangerous to a woman's self-esteem if she feels at all cheapened by these encounters. Some women can handle having casual sex, but as I've observed many cannot. Sex should never be a way to establish your identity or gain power. It certaintly should not be modeled after a late 90's TV show.

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That is my rant of the day. Stay tuned for tales from my not-so glamorous life. I'll be describing my rebellious crooked tooth and mysterious rash.

Elwood - my dog

Elwood is sick today. I could tell as soon as I got home and let him out of his crate. He is super lathargic and just plain not himself.

I'm not the best person to deal with illness. It causes me to panic and I always think of the symptoms as much more serious than they actually are. Today, I got nervous, shaky, and almost rushed him to the E-VET.

My sister had a liver transplant six years ago. She has been through some very intense sugeries and illnesses. She is healthy now and I can't even put into words what a relief that is. Even though her health will always be a concern, I'm glad that things are finally OK.

Since then, I'm anxious about health issues, whether to do with me or my family. I may be a hypochondriac. When it comes to my dog, I don't mess around. He is a 15.4-pound living thing that I am responsible for and he can't tell me how he is feeling. Elwood is more work than I ever thought, but he gives me much more in return, the loyal little Boston Terrier he is.

His diagnosis? Nothing really. I find Vets don't often give an actual diagnosis. He had a fever, was given antibotics, and we were sent home. He is still sleeping and that really worries me, but I'm trying to trust the Vet even though he only saw El for about 15 minutes.

And here I sit, waiting for Jake to return and watching that Hulk Hogan reality show. I hope his son and anyone else involved in that accident pull through.

An introduction of sorts

Who am I?
Why is this question the hardest one to answer? I know myself. I've been creating and reforming my identity since I was in diapers. On the surface, I suppose I'm like a lot of other 26- year-old women. I live and work in Seattle. I work as a copywriter in Pioneer Square and write about everything from travel to toys. I have a dog, a husband, and an apartment.

I was raised on the South Side of Chicago. Before you are impressed, I'll admit it: I wasn't technically raised in Chicago, more like Merrionette Park, a suburb that is literally three blocks outside the city limits. An area best known for its proximity to faux Irish bars and Western Avenue. Being from a working-class family, I'm thrifty, hardworking, and proud.

I am an animal lover, an amateur photographer, and a feminist. Most people think I'm sweet. I'm loyal to my friends and though our lives continue on different paths, I continue to love and admire each one of them. I judge people too quickly and it is hard for me to find new friends, especially in this city because it is so different from Chicago.

Lately, I prefer quiet nights at home and long days on the beach to drinking at bars and clubs. You may find this boring, but this is my life and I see plenty of things every day that inspire me. I'm not fucking Carrie Bradshaw and will never pretnd to be. See me at 21 and you might find that type of girl. Although I LOVE that show, my married life with dog and husband is much different. This isn't a comment on the single lifestyle, it is a comment about my life.

I won't bore you with the details of everyday life though. I'm not going to talk about going to Wal-Mart and buying tampons like it is Homer's Odyssey. That would be an interesting take though, wouldn't it? A journey of epic proportions to the Renton Wal-Mart.

The most interesting encounters of my life occur on the bus. Taking the bus gives me the advantage of quietly observing people I normally wouldn't notice. Or maybe I would, but I would rush by them in my work heels, unable to truly capture the person's essence in my mind.

Lastly, I hate nothing more than pretentious people. As a writer, I encounter them all the time. This is my space to be real and believe me, I'm very honest about who I am.

Here are some real facts about me:

• I live in West Seattle. Yes, that is over the bridge. I'm not Capital Hill, I'm not even Ballard. So -- quit reading this if you think this is "Bright Lights, Big City." I should clarify that my address reads Seattle, if that matters (which it shouldn't).
  


• I like to travel. But limited funds have made this difficult. So yes, as of this date I've never even been to Europe (gasp). And I don't have a passport (double gasp). I am so unlike these well-traveled Seattlelites.
  


• I have 2 brothers and 2 sisters. I might write about them often, as they are very dear to them. I did mention I'm part Irish, right?
  


• If I did one thing right in my life, it was marrying Jake. I will probably mention him more often than anyone, but being married is only a small part of who I am. Keep that in mind before you pigeon-hole me as a boring, van-driving, nagging wife. This isn't a blog to complain about or compliment my husband. It is all about me and my life.
  


• I write a lot. It is more than a hobby, it is my passion and profession. I can be a bit wordy and long-winded. I also use passive-voice a lot.

There you go and off I go to the gym.