Compadre As Big Shot.

My Cat Is Looking At Things That Aren't Actually There.

Been toying with the idea of a new fragrance, and the glut of Comme des Garcons odors flooding the market has made it impossible to decide. Therefore, Penhaligon's Blenheim Bouquet has moved to the front of the line. Named after the famous home of the Dukes of Marlborough and the birthplace of Winston Churchill Blenheim Palace; the original recipe derives from flowers grown on the sprawling estate. Where oh where should you find it? South Willard, Lucky Scent, Shop London, and I'm sure there's more. There is a wide range of products as well. Including soap.

Just So Vulgar.

Well intentioned and kindly yet nonetheless loud, boorish and drunken hobos lumbered onto the number ten and made their way to the back right where I was puttin' the coy sly moves on this adorable homie in fresh New Era. Homie got off at the Nordstrom Rack (typical) leaving me pouting with these affable stink bags. They started talking about books, reading, the last time they read a book, the fact that they own a TV, they watch TV, the subject matter so remote it took me a while to realize they were possibly discussing me.

"Are you talking about me?" I suddenly turned and asked them pretending to be super annoyed.

"I haven't read a book in 2 years" He stuttered.

"Yes. I gathered." Curtly.

"What's the novel you're reading?" One of them asks.

"It's a biography." I say holding up the book so these bleary eyed winos could make out the rather bold words of, as one of them put it, "George Five."

Well gracious. I'm still conflicted about the wisdom of leaving home. Although I did walk past a furniture store this morning with the most delightful Chesterfield sofa in the window. Probably a bit to contemporary-ish for me, but I'm tempted just the same. The store next door is going out of business and selling $1200 Persian rugs for $99. Imagine the deals you can find in the economic wreckage of the Bush Adminstration.

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OK, so I seriously have a new office friend who keeps hooking me up with all the best sites. I can't keep quiet over some of these and am lucky I'm the only one in the office. Rubbin' the clit the way Wikipedia told you to honestly?

Is That Really Necessary?

A friend of mine at the office has introduced me to this site that is just keeping me in stitches. Sometimes it's the small things.

Textiles and Such.

I have to admit that sometimes I'm at a loss as to what people decide to get excited about, but a lot of people seem to be getting worked up about Burkman Brothers. Real life brothers presumably with the same last name Burkman. Otherwise, very cagey marketing. Their gear seems to be being scooped up having disappeared from Barney's in the last week or so. Emphasis on texture, textiles, materials, etc. A selection of shorts available from Ron Herman natch. While you're there check out the B'sbee, what I'm actually getting obsessed with. But not those lame scarves. I opted out on that one entirely.

Nothing Behind The Eyes.

Sunday morning I headed to the new Woody Allen movie Whatever Works. Although I'm not a huge fan of Woody Allen I just had to see Henry Cavill in just about anything. Like when I saw Casandra's Dream just for Colin Farrell.

On the way to the movie house, on the number 10 bus we stop at Seattle Central Community College. Always the worst tweakers on that stop. Crunchy hippie candy raver freegan intentional community flaunting whack jobs whose vocal chords have mercilessly not been removed. A couple of grubby punks hop on and make their way to back where I'm at enjoying my book on George V.

"Do you have a cigarette?" Homie on the left asks me although I don't realize that he's speaking to me. I assume he's talking to the other twat.
"Tell him to Fuck Off!" The dread lock rockin' dweeb in front of me says.
"I do not have a cigarette." I say to the dude on my left, but then I look back to my book because he's wearing (I shit you not) a white sun visor upside down. I bite my lip so hard it almost bleeds. They shuffle and mumble some more. I move my face toward the window to conceal my grin.
"Nah! We don't do nothin' We just sell weed. What you do?" Homie in front of me says.
"I smoke weed." I say acidly.
"Really?" He cocks his head back and looks at me askance. I have the benefit of sunglasses. His eyes are in no way red. He's holding a 20 of PBR wrapped in a plastic can. His clothes are filthy, and I can start to smell him a little and I feel a little vomit come up my throat.
"Man you must get all the bitches!" Homie without the sun visor says.
"This is Capitol Hill dude." Now I'm more annoyed with his obtuseness than his stench.
"We can hook you up with some weed." He chimes in.
"Does the buzz kill come included?" I retort. He has no concept. Must be his first time away from the mall parking lot in Kent.
He threatens to steal my sunglasses. I cock my head at him and stare at him coldly through my sunglasses remembering how much energy it took him to sit his ass down and say "Uh-huh."

They get off at the same stop and walk the other way. Thankfully the wind is blowing in their direction.

The movie was alright, and I laughed in some parts. Some uncivil cow made a spectacle of herself after the first three minutes. Marched up the aisle and flung the doors open. And left. Her sense of art was offended and she wanted the other 5 people in the theater to know about it.

Why people leave their homes is a fucking mystery to me.

Power Corruption & Lies.

It's actually what I happen to be listening to right now which is the bad thing about having to get up this early and go into work. I played God Save The Queen really really loud to start things off cause back in the day (like Booth) I would have rounded up all those tea hurling hooligans "and we'd all still be British." Throwing out perfectly good tea. Honestly. And besides, I don't even own a gun, have no desire to, and there is a long list I'm sure of grenadier guards that could pop in any time day or night and hear nary a peep of complaint out of little old me. They could quarter their asses off in my living room. It sure as hell beats trying to block my number from some douchebag on craigslist.

Anyway, not to sound unpatriotic and all. Just a little miffed at how the justice system apparently doesn't even take a break for it's own birthday. Prolly gonna watch some animal roasted over an open flame later. Then the explosives and drunkeness. Careful where you step tomorrow morning.

Completely removed from my inbox, and I don't see that changing any time soon.

Some cats were fighting outside my bedroom window this morning, but my flashlight and I were able to break up the furry madness. These were actual four legged felines not some burn outs with axes to grind. The tawny feral was puffed up to the size of a raccoon and he was just so precious. About knocked the fence down climbing over it. He has a home if he wants it.

While walking to work in the wee hours through Capitol Hill, up and over First Hill, and straight downtown via Madison and Marion I am always astounded at how every single tweaker has to stop and talk to you. Even if it's just to ask the time. Like they will never find companionship again deep down in that dark k-hole so they just have to reach out. Spasmodically.

Although some people have referred to me as a magnet. I just happen to be one of those warm and inviting people with kind and nurturing eyes that really pull people out of their shells. Kicking and screaming... In blind terror.

You Say Mega We Say Goo Goo.

It's far too early to be having a Federal Rules of Civil Procedure smack down with some twit that reads Ann Coulter in her spare time, but amazingly that's exactly where I found myself 10 minutes ago. And some mother fucker filed something in some court, but there's some corn fed school marm who can take care of that. Hopefully my email will just get buried and I won't be called on to explain, elucidate and expound on all the things this poor little soul doesn't understand. Something tells me that may not happen, and I may end up just fussing over my day off.

Homie that drives my bus seems to be convinced that I'm reading the Bible. He doesn't understand that I work 12 hours a day and the few moments I have on the bus are literally the only moments I set aside for reading (OK a couple pages in the bathtub). So confounded he was that I spent two weeks on a rather dense and dry biography of Queen Victoria (The second one I've read this year) he convinced himself I was reading and re-reading Psalms or something quite ridiculous. And there really is a limit of what you can accomplish with a smoldering stare, but then they started up on tithing and all that crap, and I just had to tune out. Hopefully I can get back on a normal schedule soon. But I've come to expect small things.

Speaking of that. Pony snagged a new IPhone last night and sent me a text. I should have gone with her to got one as well, but I'm a pussy. But... I'm a pussy with a new Ann Demeulemeester shirt!!

Always Digging Deeper.

So these delicious little punks who probably work in the skate shop by my work put up this billboard that looks square onto oncoming traffic on the viaduct. It was a totally killer faux-ad for Chase Manhattan that read "You Look Like You Could Use A Good Fuck."* I walked past it on Monday during my afternoon constitutional and I was just completely stunned. And impressed. It was offensive, crass, and aptly described my entire office. I swore that I would bring my camera the next day to snap a pic, and I told everyone at work (Ashley) of my intention to do so.

So as I sat at my desk yesterday, camera in hand, still grasping onto the last spare moments of pseudo-unconsciousness I realized that the sign may already have been taken down. But I motivated myself, and for very little reason. But it was awesome that the sign was up all night long. And the dude charged with taking down the offending signage was quite amused to have his pic taken, and posed a little for me. Such a ham. And a Capricorn.

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*If you click on the pic it goes huge.

Not Dealing In Quarters.

Courtyard. Look a little different since I took this picture. We have moved some things around. Tried to block out the oppressive sun.

Another sale! Table of wares.

This washing machine (or one very much like it) has been in every single garage sale we have had. Over the years the price has plummeted inversely proportional to the rate of inflation or something. I'm surprised someone hasn't just scooped up this latest machine.

Everyone talks about this machine, and their memories of getting their hands stuck in the ringer. It really does get tarsome. My mailman bought the box of jars on the right which I thought was weak since I only wanted one jar. One single jar, and it was snatched out from under me before I could say "Wait!" That is the trick with garage saleing, however, if you see something you want you need to grab it. Because these people are vultures.

The whole street was full of garage sales. I picked up some books on the Royal Family. All from the same lady. Fresh! But nothing else really screamed out for me. Spent hardly no time at Pride since I was at this stupid office assisting someone with their nervous breakdown. It was odious.

Not sure if you saw the Yankees sweep the Mets, but I did off and on, and I think I'm going to have to go back on my original assessment of Chompers (Mark Texeira). Slightly go back. He may not be entirely unfortunate. Deliberations regarding Nick Swisher are ongoing and heated.