Capitol Hill's No Clothing Couple

There are so many things I could say right now about moving back to Seattle, the transition (or lack of) but..
I really just want to send a shout out to the "No Clothing" couple who live across from Greg and Jess. I've been camping out in their (Greg and Jess's of course) new condo for the last week or so and these kids have kept me occupied the entire time. Before Greg left for Baltimore, he gave me a heads up.
"Be sure to look out for the couple across the way. They're always missing one piece of clothing."
Sure thing, Greg.
The beauty about this totally wonderful due is that they were never fully clothed but always partly unclothed.
Mary and I spent a good hour just watching them put up a tapestry in their new apartment. He wasn't wearing a shirt and she wasn't wearing pants (a woman after my own heart.) They sort of absentmindedly roamed around the room, tapping on walls ("no sir, you don't actually need a stud to hang up a tapestry. News flash: it's fabric."), looking at the ceiling and genuinely trying to figure out the best place for their totally lame tapestry. This couple is completely out of that era that some of our parents are from. You know, the one where they were hippies with kids and lots of plants and their houses smelled like cumin? "No Clothing" couple is recalling those days for all of us. Thanks guys, you rock.

Strive

I'm spending time at Greg and Jess's posh, new apartment on Capitol Hill for the week. Not only is this place beautiful - deck, real bed, shower and if you wanna throw out your garbage, you walk down the hall, open a door and put it down a shoot and turns into a cube. No shit. This place is magic.
It's also centrally located. There are two bus lines that pick up right outside every few minutes. I can literally get to anywhere in the city quite easily from here. And I don't usually go far because between Capitol Hill, Downtown and Belltown, all my bases are covered.
It's becoming pretty obvious that living on Beacon Hill is going to be tough without a car. Doable but really tough. The Beacon Hill house is big and beautiful - my roommates are lovely - but I think I need to seriously look into getting my own place sooner than I anticipated. Luckily, I start working next week. That's good and bad because both of my jobs are in Ballard, also known as the other side of the moon. I'll be working on Capitol Hill at the beginning of the month. But bussing from Beacon Hill to Ballard is going to take a serious dose of patience. Not looking forward to it. Wish me luck!
Meanwhile, I'm really super duper enjoying not having a car in Seattle. I feel so much more connected to the city and aware of my surroundings. It's quickly becoming my biggest weapon against Seattle apathy (the weather does it. I swear.)
I'm going disco dancing tonight. I thought you should know. Did you hear that? Disco dancing.

It's better if you say it with a German accent.

The Move Story: Cycle Two

Guess who I sat next to on the plane to Houston? Crazy drunk lady and her boar in a bag. Girlfriend had a few squibbles with the flight attendant before finally squishing her boar (alright. On the plane I figured out that it was actually a long, black haired mini dog with bug eyes.) back into it's box. Then we take off. And she passes out. Full on, passes out, takes her shoes off, head bowing into the aisle, drooling and snoring. Unacceptable. Especially because her dog was barking and scratching the shit out of it's box. So I'm sitting, squished up next to the window - trying not to think about the cake. Still can't talk about the cake - with this shaking, whining box at my feet. For two hours. TWO HOURS. I felt bad for the dog. The box AND the drunk mommy? That's bad. Maybe that's why when he finally scratched a hole through the side of the box I just sat and sort of watched him birth himself out of the box and underneath the seat next to me. Let him run. I'm not gonna stop him. Besides, I had to pee so it was a good idea if Momsie woke up.
You know what though? The boar got about four rows back and this woman picked him up, walked him back to drunky and sort of tapped on her shoulder until she woke... "Madame, you dog broke out of it's...box." She sort of just lifted her head, took the dog and slipped it under the coat covering her and fell back asleep. But he was quiet until we landed.
Oh, then I missed my second plane. It had already taken off before I even landed. So that explains the two extra hours in the Houston airport.
Why is airport food so bad? And expensive. Like Ben says, you're grateful for the three week old chocolate croisant you eat standing by the bathrooms. It's the healthiest thing you can find in a mile radius.
So I landed in Seattle two and half hours later than I had planned. Bee and Ben were there to greet me. It was wonderful even though I smelled bad, had my glasses on and bbq sandwich on my shirt (I know how to make an entrance.).
Since then everything has been quite surreal and very normal all at the same time. I'm comfortable, at ease and excited. I feel safe and very ready to have my own place. Beyond that, there aren't words because I'm still figuring it all out by the minute.

The Move Story: Cycle One

Have you ever been drunk on a plane?
My last day in Manhattan. It’s all happening too fast - like when you’re hanging your head out a car window. I don’t do that very often, but when I do, I notice everything passing me very fast.
Let me say first that I’m in an airport bar at 7:40am. I’m eating my 45 dollar chicken Caesar wrap thingy and a gallon of coffee. I think it’s note worthy that there is a woman sitting at the bar drinking a Hiney and she’s got a cat or small dog or wild boar in at bag at her feet. Every few minutes she gets up to do something and the bag animal freaks out.
I worked a whopping 9 hours yesterday. It was the busiest day of the year at 88 Orchard - Pickle Fest. God bless Pickle Fest. Did you know that there’s a Caribbean pickle? Did you know that you can pickle just about anything? Even mushrooms? Did you know that there are people in the world who LIVE for pickles? It’s their life blood, their family tradition and their favorite thing all wrapped into one. So for one day of the year on the lower east side, all the pickle crazies gather together, shut down a city block and go hog wild. Coincidently, pregnant woman from all over the world are seemingly pulled toward this very block. I saw more preggies yesterday than should be legally possible. Really. I’m surprised the world didn’t tip to one side and all the pickles didn’t fall off the side of the world (the FLAT world. Duh.) and float off into the atmosphere. Those preggies were pickle crazed. I didn’t have the heart to tell them all that pickles are just cucumbers soaked in evil. I was afraid for my life. For now the secret will have to live in silence.
I was done with work after I collected my cash and said a hearty goodbye to my great boss, Erica and the crazy dog lady. I did NOT say a hearty goodbye to my shitty coworker Josh. I just want everyone to know that now that I’m done working there I feel ok about admitting that I THROUGHLY HATE JOSH. What a dick. He asked me on a date on my first day at work. Can you believe that? Ridiculous. After I let him down he turned on me and became Hairy Shitty Coworker Who Is Also Apparently Deaf. I will not miss Josh. Poop on Josh.
Josh still lives with his mother.
Take that.
So I left work and took the long way to the train, taking in Bowery for the last time (this time around anyway.) I got off the train in Brooklyn and met my new friend Ellie. She and I went to a cake shop called “The Cake Man.” But the catch is, he doesn’t really make cakes so much as gigantic sugar and flour expressions. (Side note: I like to call good art Expressions. Like at work, when I did chalk drawings on the sandwich board I’d call them “Creative Chalk Expressions.” It sort of reduces everything creative into something like those t-shirts that have clouds sprayed on them.)
The Bag Animal just flipped out again and it’s Mom made kissy noises at it. This whole experience is divine. That’s right Mommy, have another beer. Make your boar baby go away.
Ellie and I got a huge piece of red velvet cake, walked back to her brownstone and ate it on the stoop. It was still warm and - ok. I gotta make this story short because I still can’t talk about the cake. It was too good to be true, it seemed like a good idea at the time and has made me solidly nauseous ever since (it’s been over 10 hours.) Someday I’ll be able to talk about the cake. Today is NOT that day.
My good friends Kat and Jesse live in an apartment building near Ellie’s. There is an empty bar below their apartment - apparently the couple who owned it were big public fighters and fought their way out of the lease and got kicked out. The landlord is the same guy who owns 88 Orchard (and most of the lower east side for that matter). He’s William and he’s awesome point blank. Coolest landlord who ever lived.
Anyway, William gave Jesse and Kat the keys to the bar for one night. So last night we had an amazing time barbequing and laughing in a big ole abandoned bar. It was fun, like when one of your friend’s parents have a bar in the basement and you play with it when they’re at work. It was a great way to usher myself out. Damn that William though. He and his wife Lim Chee brought two big coolers with 12 different kinds of beer. Wasted. I’m not a beer drinker and I really became one last night. I took a car home. It cost me 40 dollars. Reason 88374982c to leave NYC.
Alright. What you’ve read so far was written early this morning at JFK airport (in the Shannon’s Lounge if I do say so myself). NOW I’m in Houston airport (missed my first plane, now I’m waiting on another.)
Where was I? I took a ridiculously expensive cab back to Harlem. I sat with Vonia and drew pictures of stealth bombers for awhile. The stealth bomber story is a really good one. Will someone remind me to tell it? The car was coming to pick me up at 5:30 and it was 2:30 when I fell asleep, drooling drunk. Thanks a lot to my responsibility gene. You totally let me down buddy.
I woke up at five with dreams of a shower in my head. I didn’t have the time though which is a shame because I had an unfortunate self tanning accident and I’m giving new meaning to the words “blotchy” - great word - and “orange”. Fortunately, I fit right in in the Houston airport. From where I’m sitting it looks like Texas has a love affair with self tanner.
I don’t though. I’m not going near the stuff for a long time. But I didn’t have the time to wash it off this morning - I had to stay orange. I packed the rest of my stuff and managed to clean a few surfaces before I left. I do remember having a fight with my tennis shoes as I tried in vain for 10 minutes to stuff them into them. Mostly I remember sweating pushing them under the zipper and muttering “Shoozies!”
…………….This entry was written on Sept. 18th 2006 in New York City, NY, Houston, Texas and Seattle, Washington. To Be Continued….

Punched in the Neck! (made you read)

I've been going blog crazy in the past few days. Bloggy.
Going over blog.
Takin it to the blog.
Blogs away!

Umkay. So read 'em all folks. My life is moving at the speed of light right now. I need you to keep up with me. For my friends who can't read - I'll have more pictures soon (other than ones that I just added of Burningman). Just work on the "reading" thing and I'll update you when I see you. I hope you learn to read. That's a bummer.

I don't know what happened last night but if feels like someone punched the back of my throat. Like if you could unhinge my jaw like a snake and then punch the back of my throat. That's what it feels like. I think my tonsils are bruised. Wha? How did I do that? I'm sort of proud of myself.

So my "going away" party was last night. I had to work but closed the restaurant early. At night, we only have some food, beer and wine. There was a party for the hat shop opening down the block and they were GIVING AWAY FOOD, BEER, AND WINE. Are you kidding me? So we closed at 10pm.

Obviously at 10, I'm like, "where's my party?" So I sat with the crazy dog lady and her dog on the front stoop of work for another hour. Reason 587, volume A, subparagraph B, why I should leave Manhattan.

What are you gonna be for Halloween?

I need ideas. I'm looking for a costume that fufills at least two of the following...

1. Bizarre
2. Not Sexy (or if it is, it's easy to wear)
3. Funny
4. Something I can make a project out of
5. People won't know who I am
6. Shoes that don't cause me to fall down
7. A costume that I can play tricks on people in
8. Makes other people uncomfortable
9. A costume part that detaches and I can leave as my dopelganger. I don't know how to spell dopelganger.
10. A costume that makes a political or social statement


If YOU'RE looking for a good costume, here's my suggestion. Out of pure genius, I decided to google image search my own name the other day. I call it "Finding Your Best Betsy" the winners are .... (!)

Betsy Morris is Comedy's Pamela De Barge

You know what? I think it would be cool to be a groupie. I like the idea of that (insert mom screaming here). I think it would be way more fun to be a groupie than a rock star. Cause a rock star has to work and sweat and, you know, all rock stars are fat kids on the inside. You know that right? But groupies. Now there's a concept. You all gross on the outside but you feel like a million bucks AND - no more fat kid on the inside for you. For the rest of your life you can say - and only at parties in a low voice. You know, that "I don't want to make a big deal out of it but.." voice. "I'm humble" voice. Love using that voice - once, I dated "rock star". How hot is that? But you gotta say "dated" cause "humped" or "screwed" doesn't sound right.
That's what I think.

I watched Dane Cook's comedy last night. OHMYGOD. This is where the whole "groupie" thing came up for me. I really can't see me falling for a guy in band. I'm too competitive and mean for that. I'm not an easy target. God bless the boy who walks up to me in a bar. It never works and I turn into some kind of Robo Bitch that chews men for dinner. That and shy boys. I run over shy boys like I'm a Mack truck. But you know what? I can completely see myself as the girl at Dane Cook's show, front row, screaming like a banchee and ripping my blouse off. And I don't even wear blouses but I would for him. I'd gladly turn into a Michael Bolton listening, blouse wearing, big haired milf if that's what he wanted. He's my new rock star. I would be the girl who told people she couldn't walk just to get wheelchair access to the good seats at a Dane Cook show. Yes I would. Hell yes.

Hey Seattle! Wanna date?

I'm sittin at home today, waiting for my UPS guy (What up! Maah North in the house!). He came this morning to pick up my stuff but didn't have enough room in the truck - I don't have much shit but whatever- so now I'm waiting for him to come back. It seems fitting that Maah brought my stuff to me in NYC and how he'll usher it out. He's my possessions' dulah.
I have a few more days before I return to the Emerald City. That's cool. I could leave now, I could hang out for another month. Whatever. What's that? I'm in denial? Wow. News Flash.
I'm really excited about doing some normal things. On the top of my list is practicing Nia again. Before I left for Manhattan I was practicing 4 to 5 days a week. I'm ready to get back into it (Nia in NYC proved to be one step past impossible. The only way to take classes is to join a 300 to 400 sports club). I'm worried because my feet are fucked up. I broke a toe in my right foot right after I got here and messed up my left foot wearing high heels on a booze cruise with Miss Kathy Kim. A guy at burningman told me it was because my metatarsal was separated or in the process of separating from the muscle. I don't know but it kinda feels like that. But are you really gonna believe some dude who was playing with your feet at Burningman? Humph.
I'm excited to get a hair cut. I'm excited to walk through the doors of a Grocery Outlet. I'm excited to rock it with DJ Valpack at the Bus Stop on Sunday afternoon. I wanna run around Greenlake. Ok. That's a lie. I'll probably walk/run.
Hey Seattle? Wanna date?

On Burningman, Being Alone and Going Home

Burningman was fantastic. You know, every year you learn something profound from the event. And I'm not talking about "if I don't drink enough water I get cranky." There's always a big break through to be found out there in the desert. For me, my fourth year at Burningman was full of indescribable pulling. Feelings that can't really be put into words. Like I could feel the polls pushing me in new and different directions.
I've mentioned that I'm going through the Artist's Way program before. As a result, I'm begining to redefine my notions about god. I've become more comfortable talking to the universe. I see signs that the universe lays out for me. So, perhaps, I'm more susceptible to guidance than I've been in recent years.
Morgan said, "We're all alone in life. The sooner we realize it, the better off we are. We are alone - which is empowering as much as it is sad. But once we accept it, we can better appreciate those in our life who love us." I think that's true. It also helps us let everyone around us be who they are instead of trying to mold them into a version that better suits us.
Carey and Benni both talked about choices. All we have are choices, it's up to us to realize this and then make the best choices for us. Like Carey said, "the funny thing about life right now is that we have a these choices - not many concrete people, places or things but choices about how to find them. It's radically freeing and horribly terrifying all at once." She's right. But then again, it's safe to say that Carey Christie is right about everything. In my world anyway.
So I came back to New York clearer about the fact that I'm alone, I act as a singular individual. It may seem simple to everyone else but I feel that I make decisions all the time that have nothing to do with me. I'm always trying to be what others expect me to be. I let them rule out of guilt. Where the mounds of guilt comes from - I'll leave that for next year. But after I left the playa I became really relieved of responsibility to others. It turns out that responsibility to ME is pretty easy so far.
And speaking of universal signs, when my cell phone finally came back in service (there's none in the desert) there were two messages:
1. Did you need a place to live? I've got a big house on Beacon Hill that you can live in while I'm gone. (this from two good friends who also escaped Manhattan)
2. Did you need a job? Just tell me when.

I'm coming home. The tides of relief are cresting - I've been sleeping up to 10 hours a night. My mind and my body are relaxing. I don't really feel the need to explain my reasons; they're mine. And I don't really need anyone's opinion. I'll just say that still waters run deep, especially this time around.