It was either a falling meteorite or a falling plane.

I'm going to break my habit of not blogging by blogging.

I've never seen a shooting star before. Ever. I've seen many a plane and satellites which I was convinced as a child was proof of a hostile alien takeover in the immanent future (I also believed all mountains were just dinosaurs covered with lots of dirt waiting to be reawakened from their centuries long slumber). Perhaps my friend is proof of some sort of clairvoyance as I found him at my apartment door not long after 10pm demanding I step into the car for an "adventure."

Well, after he used my computer to look up directions for the adventure. Directions we lost ten minutes into the adventure and still haven't been able to locate (he's convinced they're firmly stuck to my rear while I think his pocket ate them). We eventually found ourselves at Cougar Mountain which reminded me quite a bit of my hometown. So much in fact that the minute I stepped out of the car my small town girl instincts took over and asked the city boy if he had brought a flashlight.

City boy then asked me if I had brought a flashlight.

Let me tell you, three years of living in Seattle and using a DS as a reputable light source during power outages and general activity lulls has negated one's need of flashlights. While city boy certainly loves being in nature more than I do and has probably interacted with it more in the last three years than I have, I think it goes without saying that he did not, indeed, bring a flashlight.

Nor a blanket or something to place under our heads while laying across some very comfortable dirt and dry plant life.

So we trekked the dirt road to the top of Cougar Mountain with cell phones and a very dubious flashlight glare from a couple trailing behind us that decided to follow us up (if anything set off my serial killer horror movie alarms, this would be it) until we reached the anti-air zone. Sprawled on our backs becoming friends with the dirt, we watched the night sky, nearly as dark as it is back in my hometown since we were away from Seattle proper. He found a shooting star rather quickly. I found airplanes and more satellites.

Eventually, though, a slow trickle of dying meteors streaked through the skies. I think he was expecting something bigger, and I would have liked seeing a bit more of them myself, but I was satisfied with one. Happily content with two. And exponentially increasing as I began to see more shooting stars than airplanes as the night progressed.

To everyone out there looking up at the sky, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Also, beware of the aliens.

His name was Naked Lego Man

I've come to learn that I'm fairly awesome at not blogging. But, putting that aside: Halloween. I don't have much to share, mainly because mine wasn't super exciting, nor do I fully feel like disclosing much more as that would be more personal that I've decided this blog is allowed, but I will share that, yes, there was a guy roaming around the U District in a yellow box.

He looked more like a robot than anything, though he was supposed to be a naked Lego Man. He was often stopped for pictures and at one point he and I boogied our way around Dante's dance floor.

So, yes, he's real. He really does exist. The large amounts of pictures of him on Facebook do not lie.

I have to say, though, Tampax Box Girl and Quail Man Dude, you totally made my night.

As for me? I attached large rabbit ears on a white hoodie and crocheted a string of carrots to wear around my neck. Not the most awesome costume, but damn comfortable, and by the end of the night, while hopping around dismantled Naked Lego Man, that's all that really matters.

College life never leaves.

I suppose I should realize and accept the fact that it's hard to turn away from an undergrad lifestyle while still living in the U District. Regardless of only graduating in '09, I've found that I dislike noisy, crowded bars and much prefer the quieter ones where you can actually sit without knocking over someone else's drink. Most of my friends prefer this type of atmosphere nine times out of ten, so none of us were quite sure why we opted to go to Finn's on Thursday night, other than out of fours years of habit (well, for me, two).

Don't misunderstand, my friends and I still have a special place for Dante's as that's our college bar of choice. But more often than not we go to Rat and Raven, a newish English pub that took the place of the Irish Immigrant bastardization.

After about twenty minutes of screaming and being pushed along with the crowd (though I couldn't help but join in on Journey, it is Journey, after all), we opted to go to Rat and Raven to sit and tell some good stories.

Inevitably the undergrad life wasn't quite ready to let us free as at the end of the night there was a near bar brawl in our group, to put it simply. It's one of my favorite stories now, not only because of the sheer absurdity, but also because we escaped from Finn's for a more low key place and ended up with a guy lunging across a table at us-- something I've never witnessed during my undergrad bar hopping.

So does undergrad life ever end in the U District? I'm starting to think it doesn't, and maybe it's futile to resist. Or maybe I should just accept the fact that I'm 23 and not actually old enough to outgrow a young adult life style.

Woodland Park Hobo

I went to the Woodland Park Zoo the other day. Sure, I'm 23, and sure, I've been there a few times before. It's true that zoos don't change very much, it's still animals being confined into tiny areas, albeit the areas now are definitely much better than what they used to.

In short, you really don't expect change at a zoo, it's hard to justify to your mid twenties self why paying $16.50 to see something you already have is worth it. You go to see animals, and you see animals. Sometimes you see overpriced ice cream cones and the occasional child screaming in horror, the later sometimes being a plus.

And then you go to the orangutan exhibit.

Now, what is a natural habitat for an orangutan? Trees, surely. Some vine like constructions that they can climb with. Rock ledges for perching purposes.

And, oh yeah, burlap sacks that they can use to pull over their heads while smashing their face up against the viewing windows.


I CAN HAS SACK? (click for larger view)

It's debatable on whether or not $16.50 is worth paying to see an orangutan imitate a hobo, but it was surely the highlight of my day.

Everything I need to know in life I learned from Pike Place Market.

Working at Pike Place Market has taught me invaluable life lessons, more so than all the ones combined from watching every season of Boy Meets World (I'm convinced that Mr. Feeny probably setup shop here back in the 1700's, and thus how he learned all about life). Today I thought I would impart a bit of knowledge, a little glimpse into what surely takes a normal human being decades to learn-- if they're even lucky enough to do so.

Keep in mind that I sell fruit (mainly cherries right now, but moving into large, pitted fruits). This impacts the knowledge I'm about share with you somewhat, but that shouldn't matter too much.

1. Cherries have pits in them.
Boy did I not know that until I started selling these babies and a fellow mate in ignorance decided to try one in order to let me know whether or not cherries are pitted.

2. Different types of cherries are grown in Washington.
All of the cherries I sell come in boxes labeled "Washington Cherries." I figured that's what their name was, "Washington Cherries." Not "Bings," or "Rainiers," or "Vans," or whatever signs my employers ask me to put around the display boxes.

3. American money is hard to decipher because it isn't color coded.
I learned this from a European today. American paper money is really hard to count and confusing to use because it's all green, which means people actually have to look at and be able to read the number denomination in order to know the value, instead of being able to say, "Aha, pink is worth 500 dollars!" because the Euro is the currency of the entire world. It was invented before the Greeks.

4. Different types of cherries taste different.
So what if Rainiers are yellow and red, they're still cherries, so they must taste like Bings, right? In fact, all cherries taste like Bings. Even marcino cherries and cherry flavored Starbursts.

5. Just because it's a Farmer's Market in Seattle doesn't mean there aren't farmers selling from a foreign country.
When stating the name of the town or city your product is from, always make sure to say the location is within the state of Washington (example: "These cherries are from Cashmere, Washington"), otherwise consumers will rightly think your fruit came from Kashmir.

6. The best way to entertain a baby is to take multiple free samples.
Really, you just don't understand that hardships of child rearing and needing to steal handfuls of firm fruit in order to entertain your toothless baby by putting them in your own mouth.

7. It's important to know the prices of your competition states away from you.
Arizona is selling fruit cheaper than you? Make sure your lower your prices in order to sell competitively despite being several hours away!

8. The ONLY correct way to say "apricot" is "ah-pree-cot."
Not that the pronunciation isn't a regional dialect or anything. It's important to abide by the linguistic rules of the side of the state that doesn't grow apricots at all.

9. Always have a debit/credit card machine!
How dare a farmer's market be predominately cash only! I need to use my card for a $1 transaction that'll cost the local farmer at least 50 cents to process!

10. Always know where the nearest Japanese Animation and Comic Book store is located.
You never know when an otaku will need to get their fix outside of the International District.

FINALLY

11. Make sure you know what kind of fruit your selling.
Just because the box says they're cherries doesn't mean you aren't actually selling midget plums.