Life’s a Beach…

In a little over a month, I’ll be on my way to Mexico where—hopefully—it will be nice and warm. For those math geeks out there:

Mexico + Warm Weather = BATHING SUITS

And, if you will:

Stephanie + Bathing Suit = GOOD GOD!

So am I concerned? Uh…YES. Enough to do anything about it? Weeeellll…

If by “anything” you mean dish out hundreds of dollars in membership fees to join a gym that I’ll stop going to after about a week—then, nope.

If you mean I’ll undergo some drastic liquid diet that will only serve to make me crap my brains out—then, nope.

If you mean head to the salon for a faux tan in the hopes of at least not blinding the locals with how white I am—yeah, I might do that.

Because the good people of Mexico deserve that much.

Love is a Many-Splendored Thing…

It happened almost by accident, on the #16 bus. After months of uneventful riding, suddenly out of nowhere there he was. A man of routine, innocently commuting to work just like the rest of us…except, he was beautiful. PERFECT, in fact. Take the head of Ben Folds (during the Ben Folds Five years) and stick it on David Tennant’s body, keeping the most staple elements of the Dr. Who wardrobe intact of course—suit, skinny tie, sneakers—shove a book in one hand and a travel mug of coffee in the other and that’s him.

Marcus.

I don’t know his real name because we’ve never spoken—you see, Marcus is a demi-god of sorts, hovering above the rest of us on an edgy cloud of uber cool. He’s completely unapproachable.

Even if I wanted to talk to him—even if just one of the possible conversation starters I’ve pondered in my head WEREN’T completely lame—I couldn’t talk to him. You must understand, the bus ride to work in the morning is a silent one; those folks who aren’t reading or plugged in to their headphones are still half asleep, and angry sideways stares await anyone who dares to break the cardinal rule of Seattle bus commuting: no talking to strangers (unless you’re a complete wackadoo). In fact, as a general rule, a person reading or listening to something in their headphones on a bus does NOT wish to be disturbed. For ANY reason.

So I’m left with nothing to do other than sit and stare, wondering about Marcus’ life off the #16 bus. But you’d be surprised what a person can deduce just from the powers of observation. In fact, I think I’ve discovered quite a bit:

For example, did you know that Marcus has an extensive vinyl collection? It’s true. He’s transferred most of it to his iPod, but still prefers the white noise in the background of vinyl playback to anything digitally re-mastered, restored, and packaged neatly in a pristine mp3 format. He’s pure like that.

Marcus is VERY tidy. He lives in a small one bedroom apartment with his cat. You take off your shoes at the door, and never see more than one bowl and one spoon on the dish drying rack at any given time. He’s a minimalist—but makes it look so COOL.

I mean, if that isn’t enough to make a girl fall immediately, I’m not sure what would… Wait, did I mention he wears sneakers with his suits? Super-fly.

After You…

I’m (still) a single gal living in Seattle—and unless I meet someone tomorrow, fall into a whirlwind “love at first sight” kind of romance which results in a quickie wedding in Vegas, chances are good that I’m going to be single for a while. Considering society has basically ceased vilifying single mothers and the fact that a gal can pretty much pick a baby-daddy from a catalogue these days, I’ve found myself recently contemplating whether or not I want to have kids. Sans spouse.

Sure, on the “Hell no!” side of the scale, there’s the financial strain that having a kid would put on a single-income household—not to mention the fact that, with no one to pick up the slack, I would probably just stop sleeping for 5 years. But on the other side of the scale, there’s the excitement that comes with the idea of raising another little person who would—hopefully—grow up to be a positive and contributing member of society. In fact, the more I interact with the ‘general population’, the stronger my desire becomes to raise a kid who would be better than most of the nit-wits you meet on the street.

Just last week, I had taken a break from work to go and pick up some lunch. Hands full with my soup and wallet, I approached the door to our building at the same time as another gentleman, a bit older than I, also heading back to work with his lunch. Our eyes met, I smiled thinking we were sharing a quick, silent moment of understanding…and then he yanked the door open, lumbered through it ahead of me, and let it fall heavily behind him in my face. Douche.

It’s moments like that I can’t help but think to myself “Man, I can’t wait until I have a kid.” Because if/when I do, I’d definitely take the time to explain some of the not-so-subtle points about what it takes to be a decent human being. And I’d start with this little tidbit:

Regardless of your race, sex, age, country of origin, or orientation it is NEVER insulting or rude to open or hold a door for someone. Or let them get on the bus before you. Or hold the elevator for them. Or give up your seat for someone. Or close/uncross your legs and scoot the *$@% over to make room next to you during rush hour when the bus is full and there are no single seats left. Even when you don’t wanna.