I have a confession to make. Sometimes I get the urge to kiss Seattle goodbye.
Sometimes wearing rain boots and a jacket in June gets old.
Sometimes I don’t feel like driving 8 miles per hour on the freeway.
Sometimes I dream of buying a house that doesn’t cost $750,000.
Sometimes I just want to go to a restaurant, eat a cheeseburger, and not have to worry about sorting the remains into four different compost bins.
And sometimes I tire of pretending to like Pearl Jam.
I have another confession. Sometimes I dream of moving Tacoma.
Don’t hate. Congratulate.
It actually makes a lot of sense, as I grew up in Tacoma and my parents still live there. Technically we grew up in Parkland, which is even less desirable than Tacoma in the eyes of us snooty Seattle folk.
You see, Parkland be ghetto. But I love it just the same. It’s my ‘hood, after all.
And yes, if you’ve seen a blond girl in the Seattle/Tacoma area who screams “Paaaarklaaaaaaaaand” into the mic before each of her karaoke performances, it’s me. Or possibly my younger sister. We feel it is our civic duty.
Moving to Tacoma would mean we could afford a much larger, newer and generally nicer house than in Seattle. We would have free daycare for the “granddog” (and any of her future siblings, be they two-legged or four-legged) provided by my mother. Plus, my daily commute to Federal way would be significantly shorter. The best part? I would be free to wear my Victoria’s Secret pink rhinestone sweatpants around town without being judged by people who only wear gray, and think rhinestones are the spawn of Snookie.
Tacoma peeps love them some rhinestones.
But then I remember that I live across the street from Bastille, Starbucks, Horseshoe and Tractor. I think of how I can be at the Nordstrom flagship store on any given day within twenty minutes. And what would I do without the abundance of Ballard hipsters to make fun of? Plus, driving past Elliot Bay and the Space Needle on 99 every morning is pretty wonderful. Suddenly, composting my cheeseburger kind of seems worth it. So don’t worry Seattle, my doubts in you are fleeting.
On the other hand, Scott’s loyalty to the Emerald City is unwavering. He would never dream of living in the land of strip malls and chain restaurants. At least not anytime soon. Scott grew up in a town of 900 people in rural Nebraska — he waited twenty-eight years to get to the city and now that he’s here, he’s staying put.
Or so I thought.
What, you ask, could have possibly changed his mind?
He can deal with the weather and the traffic. He’s content with renting, loves to compost and could listen to Pearl Jam for hours.
I also have a sneaking suspicion that he longs to be a professional by day, hipster by night.
He could be the poster boy for Seattle, and he’s not going anywhere.
Unless you insult our dog.
When Scott picked me up from my Turbo Kick class at the U-District YMCA last night, he was visibly upset. Our conversation went something like this.
ME: What’s the matter?
SCOTT: I just want to get OUT of the city. Anywhere. I don’t care. Just get me to the boondocks. NOW.
ME: Whoa, whoa, whoa…what happened?
SCOTT: See that big, huge SUV over there?
ME: Yeah…
SCOTT: Yeah, well, you’re not gonna believe this. They asked me for gas money, and when I said no, they called Jolie ugly.
Blasphemy.
Jolie? Ugly? Never.
"You can see my beard from this angle."
OK, so maybe that’s not the best example.
Much better. The name Jolie means "beautiful" in French. And the French are NEVER wrong.
Apparently, a family of 6 rolled their massive SUV up next to our humble Toyota Corolla while Scott was waiting for me to finish my class. The first lesson of panhandling is that you probably shouldn’t ask someone for money when your car is nicer than theirs. Just saying.
The man in the driver’s seat explained that his dad had been drinking all day, and that they needed money for gas so he could get to his Aunt’s house.
Such a compelling argument.
The man further tried to convince Scott by explaining that he had his four kids with him. Interesting that he used the word “kids” as his children appeared to be in their thirties, complete with facial hair.
He then buttered him up by gushing about Jolie’s poise and beauty for a good thirty seconds. He had a clear view of her, as this is how Jolie was positioned:
This was on a five hour drive to Boston. She sat there the entire time. Cutest headrest ever.
It’s the only way she’ll sit if we’re driving. While I’m sure Jolie appreciated the compliment, it wasn’t enough to convince Scott to fork over the gas money. Even when the man suggested they meet at a gas station so Scott could pump the gas for him.
Yes, because that sounds perfectly safe.
I should clarify that Scott and I are not opposed to helping someone in a tough spot. I have taken many a homeless man into Starbucks with me for a hot cup of coffee and quick snack. We always offer up any food we have when we see a hungry person with a sign at the freeway exit. But when we’re talking cash, we prefer to donate to a credible organization. Not a man in a luxury SUV with four mustached children.
It is for these reasons that again, Scott politely explained he would not be able to pay for the man’s gas.
The man’s wife did not like this one bit. She proceeded to hoist her body halfway out the car window and scream at Scott for making her husband beg.
And then she called Jolie ugly.
This may have been due to the fact that Scott suggested they sell their massive vehicle and use the money to buy a bus ticket.
It was at this point that I walked outside and hopped into the car. The SUV quickly sped away, off to find someone with deeper pockets and a more attractive dog. Scott frantically drove home, sputtering the entire way about how city life just wasn’t for him anymore. He never wanted to deal with the people of Seattle again.
Two and a half hours (and one heck of a stair-master session) later he decided he didn’t actually want to move to the “boonies”.
But if you want the Taylor’s to stay in Seattle, you better not question Jolie’s delicate features and girlish figure.
Editor’s Note: While I love my dog, I have to be honest. Her tounge sticks out as her bottom front teeth were removed and can no longer keep it contained in her mouth. Her right ear is deformed from an injury as a puppy, she has a bald spot on her back thigh due to a fungus that needed to be scraped off, and she’s recently developed a wart problem. I’m not saying she’s ugly…but she’s certainly not “symmetrical”.
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