dad on nightlife.

"Your mom and I are thinking of moving to Seattle and getting more involved in the club scene."

-Dale Huysman, dusting off his "barking up the wrong tree" shoes

dad on class.

"She dressed her dog up in a pink tuxedo? Ohh, she's gonna regret that."

-Dale Huysman getting updated on Carrie Underwood's wedding

stockholm syndrome.

Weekend was a flurry of pink champagne, electropop and skipping sleep.  Woke up at 4 am in our hotel room at the Jupiter with ringing ears, throbbing feet and a throat scratchy from singing because

this girl. is. phenomenal.

We now measure time in B.R. and A.R.: Before Robyn and After Robyn.

Portland and our current girl crush plum tuckered us out, but once I come down from this high I might be able to put some words together about the whole unreal experience... life is so sweet.

twain wisdom.

image courtesy of http://thresca.tumblr.com

girls on the run.

There are two highly conflicting sides of me:

- the side that likes to drink wine until the wee hours with good people on any given night of the week (work nights be damned, that's why God invented espresso and toast)

- the side who thinks it's really important to spend time doing whatever possible to improve the lives of kids who need it, especially if they're in my hood

These two sides came to a brutal meeting yesterday afternoon, when I was just starting to shake the leftover haze from a late night with my dear Ecuadorian friend Ronald, who likes to debate the nature of art and fluidity of relationships and also make fun of people with me.  Ronald has my undying devotion because he tells me my Spanish accent is perfect, so if he says we're having more wine, we're having more wine. 

However, when one has already committed to volunteer with the amazing nonprofit Girls on the Run, which nobly aims to develop self-esteem in girls through teaching them how to properly take care of their body with exercise and healthy eating, and one must run a 5k with third graders to help them towards such an end, but one feels much less than noble due to the wine mentioned above, one feels silly.  All morning I caught myself muttering like a crotchety old lady, "Who the HELL thinks that RUNNING is a good idea for volunteer work?  These girls have been like, training.  I'm about to get shown up by an 8 year old, I'll have to crawl the last mile and embarrass myself in front of all the other 3rd graders, and in the end will only help develop their self esteem by making them feel super cool in comparison with me.  WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS?"

But alas, I only had myself to blame.  The best I could do was hope for a slow chatty girl and try not to panic.

By the time 5 pm rolled around, however, I had covered 3.1 miles around Mount Baker with my new friends Asia and Lauryn, and the three of us were feeling pretty on top of the world.  A lot can happen in a practice 5k-- we dodged killer pit bulls, they taught me how to count to ten in Chinese, I taught them how to say "More ice cream, please" in Spanish, we practiced pacing ourselves and mind-over-matter.  The girls thought carefully about our trio of initials, named our team ALL MOXIE, and invented a sassy cheer.  There wasn't a single thing about it that wasn't fun, to my astonishment.  Maybe running wasn't such a bad idea after all?

So I really might be able to reconcile my two conflicting wishes for how to spend my time.  But for the real 5k, I definitely think I'll skip the vino in favor of agua fresca the night before.

best friends.

Personal goal sheet for 11/20- 11/21:  Meet Robyn.  Become best friends.

salon of shame.

Here is what I'm doing with the beautiful and vibrant Kirsten Varg tomorrow night:

http://salonofshame.com/

I cannot wait.

tomosexuals.

The lure of Tomo Nakayama really knows no bounds these days. 

It was enough to drag us out of the CD last Monday, into the rain, to Patty Murray's pre-election concert at Neumo's, where a lineup of watered-down folk awaited us (btw, guys, I'm really gonna need more help with understanding the appeal of folk music.  Just, why?  Ashton tried to explain the story aspect, the way they use their voice, the way they blah blah blah, but all I know is that as soon as Scribes came on and a ray of hiphop sunshine broke through, I felt physically relieved). 

But Tomo, a short, chubby Japanese guy on whom we both have minor crushes and who I've mentioned after his band Grand Hallway played at Squeak and Squawk over the summer... well, the man is seriously, seriously talented.  To the point where mid-set, Ashton was overcome with emotion and cried at the stage, "I'M A TOMOSEXUAL!"

Heat of the moment and all.  We're making t-shirts, get on this before it gets too big.  This one's the gravy train to Pop Catchpraseville.

little bavarians.

Happy 27th, Marlo A. Hartung!  As usual, you are full of great ideas: escaping the rainy city for the vibrant leaves and peaceful fog of the mountains to celebrate your old age?  Sign me up.  A girl could really get used to sleeping in a beautiful cabin all snug as a bug and waking up to this view with her coffee:

Yes, PLEASE!

I would also not complain, not one bit, about drinking wine all night and espresso all day, wandering Leavenworth and practicing our German (but only amongst ourselves, let's not get too cocky here), visiting the cheesemonger and the antique vendors and spending autumn time with the laaaadies.  I don't ever want to leave, but someone must return to civilization to introduce lederhosen and 10 foot horns and Ricola to the unwashed masses.  Das sigh.

decisions decisions.

Our house has like 8 billion walls that need art and I'm in the market big time for another cool piece for the living room.  I think I'm leaning towards the infant checkers game, but I'd like an informal poll on which one you'd rather see every time you came to visit me?

and find even more at http://silhouettemasterpiecetheatre.com/

amy on survival of the fittest.

"Ok, seriously.  From an evolutionary standpoint, what is the purpose of pubic hair?  Also, I think in a couple hundred of years, we will NOT be growing armpit hair."

-My sister's deep thoughts, midnight on Tuesday

all hallows.

It's like he can see right through me... my secrets aren't safe with a piercing gaze like that!

I think it says a lot for modern technology that Dower could locate a mustache that matches his real hair color so perfectly.  It kind of creeps me out, however, especially since he spent like 70 minutes in the bathroom sticking it on juuuust riiiight and wound up looking exactly like the heavy-browed Dad from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.  AMIRIGHTORAMIRIGHT?  Here he is with the ubiquitous sailor ensemble, holding his first beer ever, feeling uncomfortable in the presence of a female:

 Pirate Avery celebrated her boo Tim's birthday by placing his face on a carpool lane cheating blowup doll and forcing him on unsuspecting individuals, such as my onesie-clad roommate.  Tim's currently in Afghanistan, lives on a boat, does triathlons, engages in all-around bad-assery and we really missed him on Halloween!  Hi Tim!

What the camera didn't catch this year were the actual parties and the actual homeland disaster that followed.  I woke up at the ungodly hour of 8 am to Ashton yelling curse words from the kitchen.  I was doing my own rendition of "Gilbert Godfried meets Joan Rivers" due to the fact that smoking always sounds sooo yummy after a handful of beers, the party we were at got shut down by the cops at 3 am (how youthful did we feel), and my bed was full of crumbs due to the fact that I BEGGED Ashton's boss Jeff to make me toast and bring it to me before I fell asleep.  Jeff: thanks buddy!  Cool moves all around.

I wandered downstairs to my beautiful new house flooded  STRAIGHT THROUGH TO THE GARAGE.  Like, waterfalling into the street.  Like, standing water on half our first floor.  And all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and curse All Hallows Eve (PS. the Latinos don't call it Dia de Muertos for nothing.  It comes right after the cursed White Man's Holiday.)  Our toilet, without appearing to have overflowed, got really uppity and leaked sewer water (clean, thank goodness) all up in our living space.  So there we were, scrambling the clean up beer bottles before our neat-freak, good-hearted landlord came over.  Pretty much exactly how we imagined the night ending.  Not.

So now we play the blame game: which one of our loser friends did this to us?  Was it the blonde pirate?  Was it the mustachioed sailor?  Was it Han Drum Solo?  I never trusted that guy.  Or was it the half-assed Frankenstein?  The cute cheerleader is out, but what about a menace closer to home: the hobo farmer that Ashton used as an excuse to drink vodka out of a spray-painted milk carton and wear an army surplus onesie?  Sweet mystery!  The world may never know, but I hereby BAN all visitors to our house unless they bring their own PortaPotty or ShePee.  Happy stupid Halloween Weekend everyone.