“An innocent kiss right on the ear opening creates strong suction that tugs on the delicate eardrum, resulting in a recently recognized condition known as “cochlear ear-kiss injury.” Such a kiss can lead not only to permanent hearing loss, but a host of other troubling ear symptoms including ringing, sensitivity to sound, distortion and aural fullness.”—
Never ever kiss someone on their ear! As someone who suffers from permanent hearing loss and tinnitus, if you love someone, you’d never risk this. My doctors still believe my problems came from a loud weekend in Vegas, but perhaps it started earlier?
And just like that, it was time to go home. We spent our last morning walking around Pike Place, taking some more obligatory tourist pictures, and purchasing fresh crab and clams to cook for dinner that night, at home in LA. Oh the power of a cold pack.
“Oklahoma state. Sen. Constance Johnson in early February introduced a handwritten amendment to the Health and Human Services Committee which read, “Any action in which a man ejaculates or otherwise deposits semen anywhere but in a woman’s vagina shall be interpreted and construed as an action against an unborn child.”—
After braving Snowpocolypse, we were pretty wiped out. But it was our last night in the city, and we didn’t want it to go to waste. A few people had recommended The Walrus and The Carpenter, but we just weren’t sure. The menu looked different. It was far away from our hotel, and cabs weren’t really running. And after our disappointing night at Shiro’s, we thought about playing it safe. There was a lot of, “Should we do it?” “I dunno, what do you think?” “I dunno, whatever.” I’ll spare you. We did it. And it was WORTH IT. OH MY SHIT WAS IT WORTH IT. My crappy phone pictures don’t do it justice. The tangerine salad [not pictured] was simply spectacular.
The restaurant is tucked away in the back part of an industrial building. Equal parts creepy and fun and totally peculiar.
“Passengers onboard a JetBlue flight bound for Las Vegas on Tuesday tackled and restrained the plane’s captain after he was locked out of the cockpit by crew members, screamed ‘they’re going to take us down’ and ranted about al-Qaida and a possible bomb onboard, passengers said.”—
On Sunday we woke up to a complete blizzard. Everyone kept apologizing to us.
So sorry about the weather! What a bummer! This never happens!
But no one seemed to understand, snow is our jam! We weren’t going to let a little snow slow us down. We even decided to take a boat tour. In a white out. Which started off like maybe this was a bad idea and turned into this is unreal and so awesome.
Perfect day for a sightseeing cruise huh?
And then out of nowhere, there was a break in the weather. And everything was gorgeous.
Not so cute? Eyeliner running down your face. But it was too amazing to care what we looked like.
“Scorpio (October 23-November 21): The stars and moon can be yours now, if you reach a litter farther and make it happen. You are not just any lady and you know that dreams can come true, as long as you are willing to fight the fight. Sure, you have a few monumental obstacles standing in your way, but if anyone has that monster strength to lift it up and throw them to the side, it’s you, so don’t forget it.”—
By the time dinner rolled around, we were feeling much better.
Something you should know about J and me. We are serious about food. Eight years together, and we’re becoming a foodie couple. And we love, love, love sushi. Seriously, if you ever need a sushi recommendation in LA, ask us! We are very serious about sushi. Sushi snobs, if you will. And proud of it.
Of all the meals we were looking forward to in Seattle, I’d say a sushi dinner was pretty high on the list. So naturally, we asked everyone where to go. We consulted food blogs, emailed friends (and friends of friends), asked Adam the waiter at Matt’s, Eric the bartender at Zig Zag, and even a few strangers on the street. And universally, everyone came back with: Shiro’s.
In no particular order, we heard:
Shiro is the Godfather of sushi! You will never eat more traditional sushi than at Shiro’s. It’s incredible. You know it’s good when it’s all Japanese business men at the bar. Shiro doesn’t get the best fish from the market—Shiro has his own boats!
We were psyched. PSYCHED. Pre-dinner:
I’ll spare you any more anticipation. It was terrible. Okay, maybe not terrible. But just not great. The staff kept talking to us like we’d never had sushi before. They barked at us—No soy sauce! No spoons! No dipping! Which don’t get me wrong, if you’re going to serve me amazing food, I’ll follow all your rules. (We eat Sugarfish in LA maybe once a week, created by the “Sushi Nazi,” Nozawa…we get it.) But if the food is only so-so, this doesn’t fly with us. The cuts were fatty. The fish didn’t seem to be high quality. Everything was just eh.
We tried to be polite. We tried to smile. The best part of it all? Knowing each other so well you can communicate without words. With one look, I know he’s thinking, “What the hell?” And I’m all, “I know babe, this sucks.” And he’s all, “Totally sucks.” And then we smile at each other because at least we were in it together.
After we cleared the pipes, if you will, we finally were able to stomach food. Adam, the waiter at Matt’s, recommended we check out Serious Pie. Neither of us anticipated eating pizza in Washington, but Adam must have been psychic because after the day—and night—and day we had, pizza seemed perfect.
At the time, all we could remember was that it was a Tom Douglas restaurant, something about super hot ovens, and something about traveling the world to find the best recipe. Two words: Into it. Their website provides much more information.
Hair of the dog:
For the record, those last two pieces were eventually consumed. We couldn’t just leave them.
This is important. This is the first article I’ve read about the direct result of all these “laws” and “amendments” that are being tossed around in regards to abortion. It’s not about a hypothetical situation. It’s not someone’s opinion. It’s not about conservatives and women’s rights. This is one woman’s story of her wanted baby and her unwanted abortion and everything that falls in between.
I just don’t understand how anyone could be on the other side of this issue after reading her story.
And I am happy to share! For me, make-up must fulfill two basic requirements. I like it to be inexpensive, and the brand can NOT test on animals. It’s not too often these two go together. So I bend on the cheap and go with cheap-ish. I also justify it if I can buy it at Target because well, it’s Target. My blush is a combo of:
The next day we woke up, looked at each other, and mumbled something to the effect of, “Oh fuck. Shit. Balls. My head! I think I might puke. Too much wine. Too many shots. No, don’t say ‘shots’ ever again. I hate Zig Zag. Eric the bartender is the devil. This is it. This is really death. I’m dying. No, no, I died.”
But we knew it was a short trip, so we rallied. We decided a walk would do us a good. So we walked to the Space Needle. And by walked I mean, we held on to each other for balance, tried to stay hydrated, and probably made complete asses out of ourselves because we were so loopy.
Somehow a hangover at 605 feet didn’t seem like a bad idea prior to taking the elevator up. We were wrong.
But we made the best of it. It really was spectacular.
Not gonna lie, we both gave each other “the look” at separate times. You know, “Babe, I gotta go, and I gotta go now.” It was rough, but we prevailed!
After dinner, the boy and I were really, really tired. Slightly drunk, slightly hungover, slightly worn out from our transatlantic 2 hour flight, we almost went straight back to the Inn. But Adam recommended we check out this place called Zig Zag for a quick drink. It was a good call.
We were immediately ushered to two seats at the bar, which had a total speak-easy feel to it. Score. I was hiding the half of bottle of wine from dinner in my coat, fearing they were going to make me toss it. When the hostess realized I had it, she offered to put it in the fridge for me. Wait, what? We are not in Los Angeles anymore. I vaguely remember someone telling us that the best bartender in the city (?), US (?), world (?!) worked there and we had come to the right place. Quite frankly, the details are hazy. But seriously, two thumbs up for Eric.
Do you know what he made me? A Pisco Sour. With REAL egg. I normally drink Pisco Sours in only one of two places. At home if my mom makes them OR in the homeland, Chile. Never in a million years did I think I’d be drinking a Pisco Sour in some old fashioned bar in Washington! (I forgave him for putting it in a martini glass.) Things went down/up hill from there. There were shots.
And more shots. And other mixed drinks.
By the end of the night, I had debated the safety of flying with the dudes to our right. They were engineers for Boeing. They totally didn’t know what they were talking about. FLYING IS NOT SAFE. Pretty sure at one point we all fell off our stools. I think I gave my email out to half the bar and vaguely remember telling Eric if he and his girlfriend ever wanted to come to LA, they had a place to stay. We got invited to a welcome-home party for some dude’s sister. And hours later, somehow we only had a 16 dollar tab. SIXTEEN DOLLARS. And to top it off, the boy and I both woke up the next day with Seattle phone numbers in our phone. Apparently, we were on fi-ya.
Oh, but in case you are wondering, we have no idea where the bottle of wine went. I remember carrying it home, but it was not in the hotel room the next day. Fail.
“Over the past days I have discussed the specific language of the proposed legislation with other governors, physicians, attorneys, legislators, advocacy groups, and citizens. It is apparent that several amendments to the proposed legislation are needed to address various medical and legal issues which have arisen. It is clear that in the majority of cases, a routine external, transabdominal ultrasound is sufficient to meet the bills stated purpose, that is, to determine gestational age…I believe there is no need to direct by statute that further invasive ultrasound procedures be done. Mandating an invasive procedure in order to give informed consent is not a proper role for the state. No person should be directed to undergo an invasive procedure by the state, without their consent, as a precondition to another medical procedure.”—
Glad to see McDonnell backing off this ridiculous issue in Virginia. Only wish he had done his research FIRST before all this nonsense.
After we sobered woke up, we headed over to Matt’s in the Market for the start of an eventful night. We had the most perfect view and the most perfect waiter, Adam. He was so knowledgeable about Seattle and food and life. Seriously, if you ever find yourself in Seattle, go to Matt’s and ask for Adam. Just shoot the shit with him.
I ordered the seafood stew. I knew Seattle was going to have some killer seafood, and I love muscles, clams, oysters—you name it, I love almost anything that comes out of the ocean. Ladies and gents, I present to you (almost) without comment:
You guys. C’mon. I could not stop giggling. And I called professional Adam over and made some not so professional comments. Even he cracked a smile. Sorry to say, I couldn’t eat the little fella (lady?). But it provided hours of entertainment. And I will probably not be allowed back at Matt’s anytime soon.
It was amazing. We fell in love with Seattle. The people! The architecture! The food! Seattle, has got it going on. If I didn’t work in TV, I’d be plotting my move A-Sap. Yes, it was cold as shit & it snowed lots, but for 2 So Cal residents, it was fun.
To start, I balked on the shoes. I know, I know. I couldn’t get the Hunters delivered to me overnight, and I always wait til the very last minute for everything, so I went with Option C. Super cute Sperry Rain Clouds. I went with Navy, which I regret, but whateves. They are comfy, and it never rains in LA so it is what it is. I should have gone green. Sigh.
Back to the trip. Because I like to fly about as much as Bruley likes getting his anal glands expunged, I was really really scared.
But I drank a lot and took a lot of pills, which may not have been necessary for a 2 hour flight. But the ideal mindset is somewhere between Britney “the pink wig era” and a Real Housewife at 10am on a Tuesday, so by the time we landed, I was high as a kite. Success. We headed straight to the amazing Inn at the Market, and when we arrived in our room, the boy had a bottle of wine chilling, a bouquet of flowers, and a note for a massage. It looked a little something like this, minus the cheese (that part came later).
He gets me. He really gets me. We decided to take a stroll down to the market for an obligatory “LOOK, WE ARE ACTUALLY IN SEATTLE” picture.
Back to the cheese. I could probably live and die for cheese. Beechers was within walking distance of the hotel. This was dangerous. I opted for a gouda, the boy went for a goat. But oh the options!
But after 4 screwdrivers, a Xanax, and a block of cheese, I needed a nap. So we slept for a bit before waking up…to eat more. Warning you now, this is the start of a pattern. Stay tuned for Seattle Stories. Part 2.
Congratulations Rick. You just punished 130,000 low-income women. And all the doctors and nurses in your ERs who will have to treat these women when they are in desperate need of medical attention. And your taxpayers who will have to pay for those ER visits. And for the women who choose to use their limited funds on medical care? Pretty sure you’re going to see a rising number of families on welfare. Oh, and since you’ve previously been against taxing the rich and you have no funds to pay for all your rising costs, that’s going to make for one awkward conversation when you have to ask your rich friends to pony up. Oops.
That's the ONE thing I could do without - I love the snoring, I love the needyness/cuddlyness... but the god damned farting.
Ha, you and my roommate both. She’s convinced he walks over to her just to fart. It doesn’t bother me too much. When he eats fish or turkey, it’s not so bad. (He’s allergic to chicken and lamb.) But red meat? Forget it. All bets are off. Twenty six pounds and he can CLEAR A ROOM.