Seattle, A Ginormous Backpack A Purse Doesn't Make

This morning I rode the bus downtown for an early morning meeting. Because parking in downtown Seattle is a complete pain in the ass, not to mention expensive, I take the bus when I’m going into the heart of the concrete jungle.

This morning I noticed when a fashionable young woman, clearly a young professional, got on the bus and sat down across the aisle a few rows in front of me. Her outfit was super-cute and I nodded approvingly to myself, giving her a silent thumbs-up for such a fab ensemble. She was decked out, head-to-toe, dressed to the nines with a professional polish – fantastic leather high-heeled boots, a pretty gray pleated flared skirt and a nice wool coat. In Seattle it’s not unusual to see well-dressed women. The men, on the other hand, as a general rule – are a hot mess.

We’ll save them for another time.

What I did not approve of, was that this well-dressed young woman, instead of carrying a purse or a briefcase (something you don’t see enough of in Seattle) was hauling (and I mean hauling) a backpack the size of Jamaica. It wasn’t a purse in the style of a backpack, say in a nice black leather. Oh no, it was a ginormous, North Face ordeal that you would take on a camping trip with all of the doo-hickeys sticking out of it. It looked like it could carry a small family. And she had to position it so it wouldn’t fall off her lap, which it tried to do. It was awful and I had to divert my eyes.

What was this woman thinking, I wondered? And where are the fashion police when you need them? Seattle needs some serious help.

From riding the bus on occasion, I’ve learned that the backpack to purse ratio, among well dressed women in Seattle, is way too low. If a man is carrying anything more than his cell phone, he will most definitely be carrying a backpack. While not the most attractive look, you will never see a man purse in Seattle. We’ll let the guys get away with carrying their crap in a backpack. I don’t care about how they look – I’ve given up.

But the women? It’s shameful, really. Seattle women need to take a field trip to New York and realize that Seattle has a bizarre fashion sense all its own.

A friend of mine, who also grew up in Connecticut, recently relayed a disturbing fact to me. She said that it’s trendy in Seattle to shop at stores like REI and The North Face – all the places that sell camping gear – and buy the brand-named camping clothes, even if you’ve never camped a day in your life and aren’t ever planning to do so as a fashion statement.

You heard me. Some poor fool will spend their hard-earned dollars at Columbia or The North Face buying a fleece pull-over and waterproof hiking pants just to be cool. As if that’s an acceptable look. And most of them don’t buy the attractive versions of these clothing items or sizes that fit right. You should see these faux camping folk! They look terrible.

I’m sorry, but this isn’t just disturbing to me, it’s downright frightening.

Who knew that it would take me moving here to become a fashionista? I’m on a mission. Stay tuned…

Just Another Saturday

This past Thursday, my friend Debbie and I met at my new favorite Seattle restaurant Tavolata. From there we went to see “Limitless” with our Cinema meetup group. I arrived before Debbie did to take advantage of Tavolata’s fabulous happy hour and have dinner. Debbie arrived a bit later than me. She’s on a weird diet to determine whether or not she has food allergies. So, while I enjoyed my second glass of wine, she downed a bowl of watercress drizzled with olive oil.

We caught up, I filled her in on my week and she filled me in on hers. We had a good old time catching up and then walked a block and a half over to The Big Picture – one of the coolest places to watch a movie in Seattle. The Big Picture has private rooms and that’s where we met up with the meetup group. Debbie and I were drinking water while the rest of the people were enjoying their cocktails (The Big Picture has a full bar). I’m counting points and had already consumed all I could allow in good conscience at dinner, so it was on to water and lots of it. This would prove to be a mistake, when during the climax of the movie, I had to run out to pee.

One of the fun things about this venue is that there are several lounge areas with couches and oversized chairs on which to socialize. Before the movie started, we chatted with some of the other meetup folks. One guy who we’d been talking to, sat himself next to me in the theater. I found him to be extremely friendly and just a tad creepy. He told me he was sure this would prove to be my movie. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he seemed harmless enough and I didn’t feel the need to bolt.

On the other side of Debbie sat Michael. When we arrived, he was chomping on some pizza and we chatted with him. It turns out we’d both decided he was just delightful. We enjoyed the movie.

Tonight the cinema group is seeing “Jane Eyre” and I invited Debbie. She said yes. From a conversation I had with Debbie this morning, I learned that she has a crush on Michael. I could see why. He’s a cutie-patootie. And while, I admittedly also had a crush on him – was willing to sacrifice my crush and pimp for Debbie. I’m that kind of friend.

Yesterday I’d noticed that when Michael had rated the meetup, he’d also made a comment saying he had a great time at the movie with the people he saw the movie with; that would be me and Debbie. It looked like things were boding well for Debbie and Michael.

So, today, I decided to send Michael a note letting him know Debbie and I were going to the movies and invited him to join us. I made sure to mention in the email that I wasn’t stalking him (this is Seattle and I didn’t want to freak him out by being overly-friendly) and I also mentioned that he might already have plans and that “Jane Eyre” is kind of a chick-flick.

While I was emailing him, I still had the meetup page open on my computer and went back to his profile. That’s when I saw it – and got the biggest laugh I’ve had since arriving in Seattle.

Michael also belongs to another meetup group. Namely, the Another Gay Social Club!meetup group. After laughing my ass off, I wondered how I – such a huge fag hag – didn’t see this one coming. Maybe this is why I’m a fag hag, because I’m drawn to gay men even if it isn’t obvious. Our impression of Michael was that he was fabulous. He was cute, friendly and chatted us up. I shake my head in shame. How could I not have known? He isn’t obviously gay, so I had such high hopes for him and Debbie. He was dressed in sweats that night, but didn’t look sloppy. On the upside, he might just be the fabulous gay friend that Debbie and I are both looking for.

Now Steve, the guy who planted himself next to me at the movie is another story. While friendly and a bit out there, comes across as a mess, physically. When Debbie and I were talking this morning (Debbie is a native) and were comparing notes, she was being polite and laughed when I told her what I really thought of him.

Of course, Steve is interested in me. Isn’t that the case, when as a woman, you couldn’t be more disinterested yourself? Steve has been emailing me since yesterday. His initial email was, to say the least, interesting. He told me that I’m a Ferrari disguised as a Prius. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. He then made a reference to “Limitless,” which is about using full brain capacity in his opinion and drug addiction in mine, and it seemed to me was suggesting that I’m not reaching my full potential. Anyway, that’s how it came across and I found it annoying since he doesn’t know me. I asked him if he’s a life coach.

He’s not a life coach. He’s a self-proclaimed Metaphysician and follower of Tony Robbins. Um, puke. While I have nothing against Tony Robbins personally, people who are followers of anything other than themselves don’t bode well with me. And to introduce oneself as a Metaphysician, I find to be spiritually arrogant and somewhat fishy. People who are truly enlightened don’t advertise.

Hey, and I’m a Shaman. Let’s meet for drinks. Not.

I know this may sound a bit harsh, but have you noticed how almost all of the spiritual kooks out there are men?

Really, I’m not bashing men. I’m not a hater. I like men just fine. It’s just that in my observation, it seems that when some of them start off on a spiritual path or are well on their way (as in “My name is now Swami or Baba Whatever” since they’ve denounced their given name and have started wearing all white and a turban and they’re as white as their turban), combined with the male ego and hubris (often one and the same), they think they rule the world. As if it isn’t bad enough already.

Steve came on way too strong for my taste and I had to tell him to back off. Fortunately, he took it okay and is respecting my wishes to stay away.

Ah, just another day in the life of Yours Truly.

Aren't Yoga Teachers Supposed To Be Nice?

Is it just me, or isn't there an unwritten law that yoga teachers are supposed to be nice? While all may not be overly warm and fuzzy (I've been fortunate enough to have several who have been) yoga teachers tend to have that nice thing going on. The drill sergeant type usually isn't drawn to yoga, although I've never been to a Bikram class so I could be wrong.

After all, yoga is a practice based on the union of body and soul. There's spiritual stuff going on here is my point. While all yoga teachers aren't necessarily yogis - meaning that they embody what yoga is truly about (that union, once again), I've been fortunate to have been taught by some really special teachers. Recently I encountered a faux yoga teacher at the gym, but it's rare to find a true yogi or yogini in a class taught at the gym, but then again I've experienced that as well. Call me lucky.

Okay, so maybe I'm just spoiled. But hear me out on this rant of mine.

Most of the yoga teachers I've encountered have been lovely, gentle souls. Warm, nurturing people who make you feel good. A true yogi or yogini just makes the yogic experience that much better.

A couple of months ago I tried the Tuesday night class at my gym and was thrilled. It was a really good class. Again, you never know what you're going to get at the gym. The club I belong to also replaced the faux Monday night teacher and replaced her with someone truly fabulous. Things were going my way.

Then I couldn't make the Tuesday class for a couple of months due to my schedule.

Not a big deal - the class ended and it's back to yoga.

Today I noticed something in myself that worried me a little. I'm afraid that I'm slowly losing my friendly nature here in Seattle, where people (I've been told I've been hanging out in the wrong neighborhood) in my observation pretty much ignore those who they don't know. When I first got here I was still in super friendly mode and would on occasion strike up a conversation with a stranger. This, my friends, is radical in Seattle. It's just not done.

So, I started to worry that I'm becoming like them - the frozen Seattle-ites (reference to the "Seattle Freeze" - the state of unfriendliness in this city). It's a city founded by Swedes, so they're not the friendliest bunch to begin with. And then, I've heard, even the friendly people cave in and conform. I've been told they just can't bother to keep up the friendly game. Now, I have met some super-duper friendly people (and are friends with these people; I'm not stupid), but they are not the norm.

Okay, so back to yoga.

Tonight I got to my yoga class early and noticed that the teacher was sitting less than a foot away from me while the step class was finishing up. I decided to make a bold move and actually speak to her. Now, I'd taken her class once or twice before and she may or may not have recognized me. However, what I told her suggested that I'd taken her class before.

Brace yourselves when I tell you what I did. I decided to pay a compliment to a stranger.

Lord, what was I thinking?

At the risk of becoming like the rest of Seattle, I decided to actually open up my mouth and speak to someone, who's well - a stranger. I decided to tell the yoga teacher that I like her class. I even went so far to produce more than one sentence informing her that I couldn't attend for a while and was so glad to be back.

Can you imagine someone being so friendly, for no good reason?

Apparently, she couldn't. She didn't respond. No, she just looked at me - like I had two heads, sucked in some air and turned red in the face.

She's a friggin' yoga teacher! You would think she could squeak out a "thank you."

Okay, maybe I'm being hard on her and she's shy. But really? She couldn't even crack a smile. It would be a first, that I know of, if I've offended someone with a compliment. I'd really like to think that a yoga teacher, in a city other than Seattle, would have been happy to hear that someone likes her class.

Her class was good, and I'll go back. I just won't ever compliment her again.

What was I thinking? Saying something nice to a virtual stranger? That's just so southern California of me.

Okay, I Can Eat Crow

Yesterday I wrote a post making fun of my parents because they were disappointed with the way I treated a stranger who I’d written about in an earlier post. While it felt justified and quite okay doing what I did at the time, I can admit when I’ve been less than nice. If there wasn’t a kernel of truth to it, I wouldn’t have written a post lampooning my dear old parents in the first place.

Now let me be clear, I’m not apologizing for my behavior.

While I can’t undo it, or necessarily want to undo it, I’m not apologizing for it.

I had had a few drinks when I said what I said to the guy in the bar.

Could I have left him alone?

Sure, if I’d wanted to.

But I didn’t want to.

What I’ve since realized, is what the motivation was behind it. And as any good actor knows, that’s the important part.

I was coming from a place of contempt towards closeted gay men.

Am I proud of it?

No, not really. But I’m not losing sleep over it, either. I do believe, in part, that the anger was justified. Take all the women who are in sexless marriages with gay men who are being lied to on a daily basis. I had a friend who was married to a gay man and the repercussions were beyond devastatingly painful and sad. Is that right or fair? I don’t think so. I also don’t agree with protecting closeted gay men just for the sake of protecting them.

But, is it fair to take it out on some poor sap I don’t know?

Probably not. But if you know me well, you’ll know my bullying tactics go back years. Oh, all the way back to when I was about 5. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, nor bothered by. It’s just part of who I am and I’m okay with it. Am I trying to be a better person, day by day, and doing my best to evolve? Absolutely.

I’ll admit, the rant against me that was made on Facebook yesterday, by someone I’ve only met once, pissed me off. I felt that her long lashing of me was a bit much and obnoxious (maybe not that different from the way she perceived me to be?), so I de-friended her. It is, after all, a free country. And I am a Scorpio.

But I will also admit that I did have an epiphany yesterday. I realized, that for the work I’m doing (a book project), that it’s important to approach the subject of closeted gays with compassion, not contempt. Yes, unfairness abounds, but they can’t be happy where they are. They just can’t be.

So, while I’m not perfect, I can do my best to be kind. Grumble.

Why Can't Parents Behave?

You would think that as a grown adult that my parents wouldn’t get to me.

You would think.

But, no.

When I started this blog and named myself “Sassy in Seattle,” I thought it was clear the sassy part meant I have somewhat of an edge. Kind of badass. You know what I’m sayin’?

Isn’t it obvious that I’m not for the weary of heart?

Leave it to one’s parents (mine in this instance) to reprimand you for something you write about in your blog.

When we exiled my parents to Whidbey Island last summer, you would think there would be enough shenanigans going on on that island to keep them busy for the rest of their lives. But, no. They have to worm their way into my blog.

Hey, while I think it’s great that my elderly parents (you hear that Mom and Dad, I’m threatening you by calling you elderly?) read my blog, what I write about isn’t up for discussion, unless it’s a compliment. My ego just can’t take it. I should have made that clear from the beginning.

Yesterday I was in a fine mood. Great, in fact. I’d just found out I’d won a trip to Whistler, British Columbia and decided to share the news with good old Mom & Dad.

Dad answers the phone and semi-grumpily says hello and then wastes no time getting right to the point – that he didn’t like one of my blog posts.

“What?” I said. “Yeah,” he said, “I thought you were kind of mean.” What the heck was he talking about? He said that he thought I was mean to the guy in the bar that I accused of being gay. Why didn’t I just leave him alone, he said. “Why did you have to pick on him?” Excuse me, but when did my father become the defendant of seemingly closeted gay men? “You don’t understand” I said. “Oh, I know all about the gays” he said. “I’ve been around them for years,” he said, like that was supposed to make me feel better.

Then my mother gets on the phone. “Hello dearie,” she says in her super-duper British accent. “Hi, ” I said. “Dad’s been telling me how he didn’t like my blog post.” She didn’t even try and fluff it off. She agreed with him! So, she thinks I’m a meanie, too.

The nerve!

Remember how I mentioned they’re on an island? We should have put them on separate islands, with the two of them agreeing with each other! You do something nice for your elderly parents and they turn against you.

I suppose my parents have a right to their opinion, but they’re living in island paradise. First off, they’ve been married to each other forever. They have no idea what it’s like in the brutal, dating world.

What’s a girl to do?

Only what a sassy girl can do. I’m sticking to my guns. While I’ll still have a tough exterior, I just may have to give little gay guy a peck on the cheek (thanks for the guilt M & D) should he ever again cross my path.

Why I Won't Write a Screenplay & Interact With Strange, Random Men Who Troll the Internet

Recently a random guy read my blog and sent me a message on Facebook complimenting me on a recent post.

I had no idea how this guy had stumbled upon my blog. Because he contacted me on Facebook I thought perhaps we had a mutual Facebook friend so I checked it out. No mutual friends. I even went so far as to look through all his friends. I didn't know any of his friends and besides, he lives in Northern California. Nowhere near me. So, then I asked him how he'd come upon my blog and he said that he saw in on SheWrites.com where I re-post.

He also said that he had tried contacting someone on the SheWrites site because he was looking for a female collaborator for a book. I admit, it piqued my interest. So, I googled this random guy and he writes for a police website and is a former cop. He seemed legit.

For about a minute I thought I might be interested in writing with him. No one had ever approached me to co-write before and I thought it might be a cool idea. He suggested we write either a novel or a screenplay.

That's when I knew I was in trouble.

For one, I'm not a big fan of the novel. Unless it's really good and has been recommended by someone I know and who's taste I trust, when it comes to novel reading - I don't do it. I much prefer non-fiction. And when it comes to writing a novel, I wouldn't have the foggiest idea on what to do or where to begin. Oh, I know from English class you can add foreshadowing and you're supposed to have an arc and a beginning, middle and an end, but I wouldn't even know how to get started. But trust me when I tell you I'm not egotistical enough to think I have a best-selling novel in me.

Or screenplay, for that matter.

I remember years ago, when I thought I might want to someday write a screenplay. My mother introduced me to the sister of someone she knew who was a professional writer in Hollywood. I was living in L.A. and the woman was kind enough to meet me for lunch and allow me to pick her brain on screenwriting. She had managed to get to a place where she was successful and it had taken years. It took her writing seven scripts before she sold one. Did you hear me? I said seven.

To me, it also seems arrogant - and why don't we add stupid into the mix - to think I could collaborate with this random dude who has never sold a script and write a screenplay that would sell. I knew it was a bad idea when I mentioned to him that I was having misgivings about writing a screenplay and he didn't understand why. It's amazing how many people think they can write a script and sell it. I have friends who are writers and I know it isn't easy. And, I happen to know diddly about writing a script of any kind.

But a funny thing did happen, something that I did not see coming. From blogging and writing these posts, an idea for a non-fiction book has emerged, quite to my surprise. For now, I'm not sharing the idea. I'm just going to write the thing and see where it goes. The other day I was feeling inspired and wrote the preface and the first four chapters all in one fell swoop. The inspiration has seemed to have temporarily dried up. I'm hoping the rest of the book will come to me. I'm trying to be patient and trust the creative process that the rest of the book comes. But really, it's out of my control.

Today I was reading "The Funny Times" and came upon something particularly amusing by the humorist Dave Barry. I then looked for the article online to repost and it led me to his website, where I read something by a screenwriter. It made me realize that I did the right thing, turning down the offer to write a screenplay that is "sure to sell" with someone without a track record. It was written by a screenwriter named Josh Olson and it's called "I Will Not Read Your Fucking Script." If you want to read it, click here.

Incidentally, I mentioned this random guy approaching me to several friends and a few came back saying they had a bad feeling about him. Even my Dad said he thought something was fishy. Another friend went so far as to say she thought he could be harmful. Note to friends and family for future reference: please speak up and do so in a timely manner. If you think something bad could happen, don't wait a week to check in to see if I'm still alive. I'm just sayin.'

Way more than 10% of the population is gay

Thank you to my friend Zee for turning me onto this. This underscores my belief that way more than 10% of the population is gay. It just hasn't been properly documented and with all of those closet doors shut, how can it be?