Reason 283

Parking karma. I must have done some remarkably kind act recently because my parking karma has been off the charts. I've been scoring free spots all over town and basking in the joy that comes with snagging a spot big enough for a station wagon in a city overcrowded with SUVs. A few weeks ago I got my mini-golf fix at Smash Putt, an apocalyptic art installation send up of putt putt in the SoDo district, which is notorious for its lack of street parking. To top it off, a Mariner's game was going on, which meant every lot in the area was charging a minimum of fifteen bucks and your first born child. Fate smiled upon me, though, and I found a free spot two blocks from the Smash Putt building, which was especially sweet since Seattle was experiencing a rare torrential downpour and my friend and I were without the appropriate rain gear. After golf, we decided to swing by a dessert cafe on Capitol Hill, a neighborhood known for its overabundance of disgruntled hipsters and dirth of parking spaces near the main drag. Once again, Gladys the parking goddess poured her love down on my Subaru, granting us a street spot right next to Dilettante. We chose a couple of decadent slices of chocolate cake and headed to my friend's house to watch Caddyshack (it was, afterall, a night of golf). He lives in a condo in a cul-de-sac in the heart of Seattle, which means there are about five parking spots on the street for people visiting one of a hundred people who live on that block. Lo and behold, a giant space was available directly across from his building! I was almost tempted to leave my car there and walk home so I wouldn't have to give up my six feet of concrete. As if those three parking experiences weren't satisfying enough, the next week the same friend and I went to the Puyallup Fair (more on that in another post) and found a free chunk of space practically inside the fairgrounds that was just perfect for his little Golf. Clearly, all of the times I have let drivers merge into my lane has finally paid off and I have been blessed with the gift of locating free parking in a city that prefers to charge an arm and a leg at the meter. You better get up here quick, Jason, before my karma runs out and it's back to circling the block twenty times. Maybe we should spend an afternoon driving from neighborhood to neighborhood just to take advantage of my luck before it disappears. I'll start making a playlist for my iPod and you start prepping your bum for endless stretches of sitting on squishy beige upholstery.

Reason 282

Coincidences. As I was driving over to my mother's tonight to mooch some pot roast and potatoes off her and watch TiVo, I realized that kismet had been running amock last night without me realizing it. The amazing and talented Jason Segel (um, that'd be you, sir) actually read my blog a little before 10pm yesterday and took the time to post a comment (which is more than I can say for a number of people I consider to be friends). While you were reading my charming ramblings I was wrapping up a first date, which sadly won't turn into a second. What's coincidental about that, you ask? Well, my date's name happened to be Jason and he was also 6'4", the exact height as a certain actor I am mildly obsessed with. The two of us took in a screening of The Princess Bride, one of your favorite movies. When Fezzick inquired if anyone wanted a peanut, I automatically thought of you, Jason, and perhaps you were thinking of me at that exact same moment. I know, it boggles the brain. As slightly insane as I sound, I do think the universe or some outside force is messing with us. I know you're a fairly literate person who appreciates the bizarre, so it's probably a safe bet to assume you've read Vonnegut's masterpiece "Cat's Cradle." In that book he purports the notion of a karass, which is basically a way of explaining all of the strange and unexpected moments that bring people in and out of our lives, forever changing the fabric of our existence. There are people who are destined to transform us, for better or for worse, and they are members of our karass. You, dear Jason, are obviously part of that crew, whether you want to be or not. The proof cannot be denied. Let me be the first to extend an official welcome. I'll laminate your membership card the next time I'm at the teacher supply store and teach you the secret handshake when we meet. I definitely think Vonnegut would approve.

Reason 281

Stress. I read an article recently (from an actual newspaper - how quaint!) about the top 10 most stressful places in the country to live and your hometown, Jason, topped the list at number two. You should move up north immediately before you develop an ulcer or suffer a stress-related heart attack. Seattle didn't make the list, probably because the constant rain lulls us into an apathetic stupor, rendering the actual emotion of stress useless. Besides, it's practically impossible to burst a blood vessel when you're surrounded by gorgeous snow-capped mountains, crisp blue water, and acres upon acres of lush greenery. The opportunity to mainline caffeine every few feet in any given neighborhood probably doesn't hurt either. If you do decide to throw off the shackles of L.A. living in pursuit of a healthier life and relocate to Seattle, Jason, I bet I could talk my mom into letting you crash at her place until you decompress and get your bearings. You'd have the entire basement to yourself, including access to the wrapping paper room and the largest collection of plastic Ziploc containers this side of the Mississippi. My mom also makes amazing lasagna and cookies that are almost as epic as mine. How can you resist? I bet you could get a lot of writing done in my childhood home - at least until I get off work and whisk you away for fun and excitement in the big city. If you do take advantage of my family's hospitality, though, you have to promise to stay away from the TiVo. One accidentally cancelled episode of "Project Runway" and my mom will kick you to the curb, my friend.

Reason 280

Irony. The first time I remember explicitly learning about irony was in a middle school english class, although I'm sure I had unknowingly been on the receiving end of the cruel literary device many times prior to that lesson. Mrs. Moeschler, my inspiring Language Arts teacher, confided to the twenty pubescent girls in my class that she had recently searched frantically in her purse for a pen to write out a check at the grocery store, but instead of pulling out a writing implement, she extracted a slender feminine hygiene product, completely mortifying the young male cashier. According to Mrs. M, irony was a result or occurence that was the opposite of what was expected - in her case, a tampon instead of a classic Bic. Not the best example, but it seemed to resonate in my 12 year-old brain. Since that day in 7th grade I've experienced my fair share of irony (and not in a puffy kitty cat t-shirt kind of way like all the hipsters hanging out in Seattle), cultivating almost an appreciation for those unexpected awkward moments. In fact, irony came knocking at my door just last night. Remember the man I mentioned I was dating a few posts ago? Well, we finally locked lips the other night and it was the complete opposite of sexy. Both of us were nervous and awkward and there was zero chemistry, despite the fact that our compatibility is off the charts. I had a sneaking suspicion that sparks wouldn't fly, but still held out hope I had found the lid to my pot as if my life was a cheesy sitcom or something. To ease some of the disappoint I assumed my date felt (because who wouldn't want to make out with me?!), I delivered a sweet card to his door two days later that contained a list titled "Things I Totally dig About You." Originally, I was going to call it "Things That Matter More Than Making Out With You" - this, in retrospect, probably should've tipped me off to the fact that I was completely ambivalent about doing unspeakable acts with this guy. Also, not a single item on the list reference physical traits; they were things I would appreciate about any cool friend. The night after the card delivery the boy and I went for a run around Greenlake, followed by a stop for frozen custard (gotta' replenish those lost calories!), and he confessed that, while he appreciated the card and thought it very sweet, his feelings for me weren't nearly as strong - he just didn't feel any physical connection. Ouch. And that, my friends, is what we call irony, the story of my life. So, Jason, you can definitely count on me to empathize when you step in a big ol' pile of irony or the unexpected smacks you in the face. I'll even tolerate a short pity party if it will make you feel better. Just promise me you won't attempt to write a song about it. The genius of Alanis can never be surpassed...don't you think?

Reason 279

Bumbershoot. Every year for the past forty years people from all over the area (and maybe even the country) have converged upon the Seattle Center (yep, where that bizarre Space Needle resides) for a three-day festival of music, comedy, literature and art. It's an apt name considering folks think my hometown sees a lot of precipitation. Ironically, almost nobody around here uses actual bumbershoots, which is slang for umbrellas. But I digress. The humongous event happened over Labor Day weekend with an eclectic lineup of musical acts ranging from zydeco to hip hop and spoken word to yodeling, and headliners included Courtney Love (who apparently played sober), Bob Dylan (everyone's favorite mumbler), and Weezer, a band that elevates nerdy hipness to a whole new level. I've chosen to skip the overpriced and overcrowded shindig the past few years because throngs of slightly drunk and sweaty people pretty much make me cringe, but if you really wanted to experience the mother of all music festivals, Jason, I think I could stomach an afternoon of subpar food, uncomfortable seats, and questionably dressed teenagers if it would make you happy. I'd even understand it if you wanted to buy a pair of sparkly fairy wings, down a couple of beers and join the drum circle that inevitably commandeers the south lawn each year. Just like Las vegas, what happens at Bumbershoot, stays at Bumbershoot (unless the press catches it on camera, of course). The organizers won't release next year's lineup until the spring, but when that day comes just give me a ring if a band or two catches your eye. I can only imagine the overwhelming joy and excitement I'll feel if the event planners finally realize they missed the NKOTB boat twenty years ago and book my favorite boys from Boston to play a set. I've been waiting ages for an excuse to throw on some neon leg warmers and rat my bangs up a foot off my forehead.

Reason 278

Patience. I'm not sure how my parents managed to cultivate a great deal of patience in me, but I am so glad they did. It probably also helps that I escaped the scourge of the generation nipping at my heels - ADHD. The ability to stand in line for eons without griping comes in quite handy at the bank, the grocery store and Disneyland, and patience serves me well every single day at work. Trying to explain to 32 sixth graders how to fold a giant piece of poster paper into twenty-four squares would be even more painful than it already is if my patience level was at rock bottom before the school day even began. I have also discovered in the last two weeks that I have the patience of a saint when it comes to dating. Two Thursdays ago I went on my first date with a wonderful man who turned out to be funny, intelligent, attractive, and just as dorky as I am - qualities that had been woefully absent in the other rejects I'd gone out with this past year. Fast forward to ten days later when I am looking forward to our fifth date. In fact, he should be en route to my house at this very moment so we can gorge ourselves on beef curry stew over rice and hold a marathon session of Super Mario Bros. on the original NES. See, I told you we were dorks. Anyway, you'd think by the fifth date this girl would have seen some action, but the closest I've gotten to hanky panky are a few tepid hugs and sitting about a centimeter away from my boyfriend candidate on the couch two nights ago while we watched a gloriously terrible 70's disco flick called "Thank God It's Friday." I'm beginning to think shaving my legs before every date is a complete waste of time. Since I am a patient lady, however, I will continue to hang out with Mr. (Possibly) Right, shooting him smoldering looks over Asian food and scooching ever closer to him on the couch until his personal boundaries are finally breached and he has his way with me (sorry mom and dad). It turns out patience really is a virtue, Jason, and I this is one virtuous person who doesn't mind waiting for things, whether they be a ride on Big Thunder Mountain or the man of my dreams.

Reason 277

Your sister. The internet is a marvellous tool for connecting to other people, finding out what's going on halfway around the world, and watching short videos of stupid people doing ridiculous things and monkeys sniffing their own butts. It also comes in handy when a certain person, who shall remain unidentified, wants to stalk a certain other nameless person and find out every inconsequential tidbit of information about him or her. Since I have a world of information at my fingertips it should come as no surprise to you, Jason, that during my quest for your friendship I've learned a bit about your family, as well. I know, for example, that your dad is a hotshot lawyer, your mom is a domestic engineer, and your older brother lives on the east coast doing God knows what. You also have a younger sister who still lives in southern California and has chosen to work in the educational trenches for nothing but sweet letters from grateful children and a pittance from the government. Since I'm a teacher, too, it makes sense that your little sis and I would get along swimmingly. Educators share a common language and can empathize with each other when a student throws up all over their shoes or a parent barges into the classroom demanding to know why little Jimmy wasn't chosen for the lead role of molar in the play about dental health. Normal folks just don't quite get our jobs, even if they pretend they do. It also helps that all teachers are mildly insane. So, if your sister and I are ever in LA at the same time and you feel obligated to entertain us both, know that we'll be more than happy to entertain ourselves. In fact, you could run some errands, do a quick interview and pick up some tasty Thai takeout and we probably won't even notice you're gone. We'll be lost in animated conversation about differentiated instruction, state standards, how exhausted we always feel, and what to do with the kid who won't stop picking his nose in class.