Anglo Adventure

Travel with a sense of humor


Is That a Sunset Or An Oil Painting Made By Angels?

Another round-up of Tuesday Three Things That Happened Last Week.


I don't know how to describe this

This is my sister’s chihuahau with a stuffed toy in it’s mouth & it makes me laugh so hard.

After a few months of freelancing, I have a new job. A dream job if you will. Freelance writing drove me a little too deep into my own head and working in pjs was fun until I woke up and realized I hadn’t worn actual clothes in a week.

Also, sporadic paychecks from writing gigs don’t really *work* anymore in Seattle, with our sky-high rents.

I’m a writer/editor for a cool company that helps bands and shows with ticketing and promotions.  The coolest thing about it that it embodies a Come As You Are mentality, so I could probably get a forehead tattoo and they wouldn’t blink an eye.

I’m working for the man in a creative capacity without actually working for The Man. Perfect. And this is a company that REALLY gives back to the community, so that makes me feel good, especially after my whole age-33-meaning-of-life crisis. I’m not bragging, I want other dream-followers to stick it out and find the job they really want.

I get a week off to volunteer and am already fantasizing about volunteer opportunities.

Should I: 

-Rescue/name/bottle feed orphaned baby monkeys in Costa Rica? (I’ll call this one Danger and this one Milly…)
-Volunteer to find out what happened to Lindsey Lohan?
-Work the cafeteria of some fancy writer’s conference? (Hey, Toni Morrison, I slipped you a copy of my latest. Hope you like these mashed potatoes).

I’m already enjoying perks like conversations with actual humans in the middle of the day, office dogs, and air conditioning.

II. It’s Not Goodbye, It’s Bon Voyage 

Street in Quebec

Bon voyage! (These are strangers, not my actual friends).

This is a bummer: I had to say goodbye to some really good friends of mine because they left our glorious state for another.

I am super happy for them because I know that moving long distances (thrice!) has made me a better, happier person because it’s incredibly frustrating and also fun.

As much as I would like to, I can’t be like:  “no stay and we can stay like this forever and nothing will change and then you’ll wake up at 80 and regret that you missed an opportunity because your friend got all emo about you leaving.”

It takes a lot for me to make friends (I’m a giant weirdo), especially here where the social scene is a maze of passive-aggressive invitations to happy hours followed by passive-aggressive refusals.

Sigh. Here we go again.


THIS does not do justice to the amazing sunset last night.

THIS low-res iphone photo does not do justice to the amazing sunset on Sunday.

Everyone and their brother is moving to Seattle and judging by Saturday’s packed summer fest, my neighborhood is the quartier du jour. It both pisses me off (I WAS HERE FIRST!! SECOND) and amuses me.

When I moved to Seattle eight years ago, this was the reaction from most of my friends:

I’d never leave Chicago. You know it rains there, every day right? And they don’t even have a basketball team. And the suicide risk is high. You might as well move straight into a mental hospital because those clouds are gonna drive you nuts. 

[Drops bags off, looks out window] OMG this place is amazing! Is that a sunset or is that God’s hand coming down to personally bless this place because it is the most.beautiful. in the whole world?

The view from my roof

Proof it’s not a fluke: last year’s winning sunset starring a rainbow ribbon cloud. 

Even with my awesome new job, I cannot afford rent that’s much higher than its current $1,600 a month for 700 sq.ft and I’m terrified I’m living in the next San Francisco.

And with all the new condos/traffic/pedestrians darting into the street, my neighborhood feels a little less like MY neighborhood.

I’ve lived here on and off since I first moved to the city, when it was uncool amongst my hip writerly coworkers who (then) lived on The Hill and thought White Center was too dangerous and West Seattle too suburban.  I live on a peninsula and get to hang out at the beach pretty much every day so, I’ve been pretty happy.

Does wanting to join an anti-development coalition make me old?



Now Hiring – Agency of Misunderstood Writer Weirdos


Would you hire her?

‘T was a long parting, but the time 

for interview had come  – Emily Dickinson

After suffering through another job rejection (so close!), I might start my own writing agency: The Agency of Misunderstood Writer Weirdos. Or something.

I would hire one or two sales guys or gals. And the rest of you would have to have demonstrated experience in things like getting last picked in gym class and being a running target for spitballs.

Things preventing me from getting a


  1. I can’t seem to muster the appropriate amount of enthusiasm in interviews. I am somewhere between screaming Yippee or staring blankly at the wall.
  2. My family banned bragging about accomplishments early on. No trophy case. All ribbons and awards were to be shoved into dresser drawers and forgotten about within seconds. Sure, there’s some fanfare, maybe a celebratory dinner if you graduated law school or something, but boasting is quickly met with: Whatdoyouthinkyou’rebetterthanme?
  3. I have trouble talking about my writing process. I sit down and um….write. And then I pet the dog. And then I Facebook stalk my old classmates. And then I edit whatever I wrote before.
  4. I can’t lie. So if you ask me about my interests, I am going to tell you I am obsessed with “Sister Wives,” I own at least four pairs of giant sunglasses, and that I could be a lipgloss hoarder.
  5. The Weakness question terrifies me. I have a weakness for salted-caramel anything. Post-its cover my desk. My handwriting is illegible.
  6. I haven’t figured out how to dress on interviews in fashion-unconscious Seattle. Last time I wore a power suit, a fedora gang made fun of me.
  7. I have two-thumbs-up Tourrettes. I hear Fonzie and Dave Coulier suffered the same aliment.

Brief Imagined Interview with Emily Dickinson

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog! ~ Emily Dickinson

Hopefully, for all you other unemployed but amazing, thumbs-up-giving weirdos, this will make you feel better (or maybe worse): Emily Dickinson would never get a job today.

Emily Dickinson rarely left her house and wore all white and was all kinds of crazy. Also brilliant. And yet, no company would hire Emily Dickinson to write their copy because Emily Dickinson could never get through the first interview. Marketing teams don’t want a Dickinson. Newspapers don’t want a Dickinson. She probably couldn’t even get my old dog-washing job.

“Tell me about your biggest accomplishment?”

“The pedigree of honey/does not concern the bee/A clover, any time, to him/is aristocracy”

“Uh – ok. I see you have some great references, but can you point to a time you’ve had to deal with criticism?

“The pretty people in the woods/Receive me cordially.”

“Thanks Emily, I think that’s it. We’ll let you know.”

Comment with your interview tips for Emily Dickinsons of the world.