CLUB OVICH

Carla and I started out the night at Cowgirlz Inc. (ok, it really doesn't have a "z" in it....). After my wonderful idea to walk there from the ferry-- which started out as a "two block" walk (according to me) and ended up being an eight block walk--we were ready to start the night off right: lots of alcohol.

The music wasn't so great. Your booty can only take so much Shania Twain before it starts to crave Beyonce and Aguilera. I got sick of all the old men in cowboy hats with western shirts barely covering their protruding guts. WORST OF ALL: no one was on the dance floor! Well, no one besides us and three other girls who danced worse than white men. Oh yeah, there was that lesbian chick who tried to get up in Carla's business.......Enough of the amateur stuff, I was ready for some serious booty shaking!

Carla and I caught a cab to a club called Venom--we had heard of a full three minutes earlier. It was dark and shady on the outside, edgy and pulsating on the inside- my kind of place! I took a look at the boring, foot shuffling girls on the dance floor and knew it was my defining moment in history. This was my chance to make a difference in the world-- by throwing some booty in it! I always like to think of myself as the dance floor pioneer (like Christopher Columbus without all the indigenous murder and sailing stuff). Even when the night is early and no one is making that first bold mood to get the party started- it takes me about thirty seconds to walk into a club, throw my stuff in a corner and get out on the floor. Soon after, the floor is usually full of people moving like Michael Jackson on stereoids- coincidence? I like to assume not! Maybe its my lack of a sense of decency, my insensitivity to looking like a fool, or the shots of rum I pounded ten second earlier......

Calra and I danced for three hours straight before passing out, chugging water, and stealing a "reserved" seating sign.

"Return to Sender"

Dear Seahawks,

Congratulations on going to the Super Bowl. AWESOME! You rock. You're the pride of Seattle (for at least a week!). Even though today I think you're one of the most spectacular phenomenons in the Pacific Northwest, I have a confession to make. I haven't watched a single Seahawks game on tv until this past month (now that you mention it, I don't think I have ever watched a full game in my life). Until recently I didn't even know Seahawks were football..... but aside from all that....

Watching the green and blue team (that's you right?) advance across the field (its called a "field" in football, correct?) was inspiring. Mean panthers kept trying to push you and knock into you (wow, they're so aggressive) time and time again- but you wouldn't give them an inch! From my own personal box-seats on the couch in the living room of my home (except for that whole third quarter where I got bored and went to the gym), you gave me the courage to hope. The courage to believe that a SEATTLE sports team can actually win sometimes (wow, I thought that was contrary to the law of physics...). See, you changed the law of physics!

Maybe it was the immense heart, strength and hours of training. Maybe it was the bagillion dollars in Paul Allen's bank account, maybe it was all the Starbucks. One thing is for sure: eight inches of Seattle rain in a month helps to grow a strong, successful football team!

Ok, so maybe I don't know what a so called "down" is. And maybe I find the weird colored arrows on the screen annoying. And maybe I don't get why you have to stick your asses out before you charge each other. Maybe I don't know what "hut, hut, hike" means. But I know one thing. I know good talent when I see it- and Shaun Alexander's ass is some pretty good talent....

Yeah, some people might call me a "fair-weather" fan- but I call some teams (cough-Seahawks-cough) fair-weather teams. So you can't blame me for cheering louder at the people pouring beer over their heads than I did when Jackson made a touchdown. You can't blame me for hoping that the mascotts will get more play time. You can't blame me for not yelling at the umpires or for not being able to find the dugout. I'm still new to this.

But you CAN expect me to be cheering at the SuperBowl game! As long as football= big hunky men in butt padding, I'll be there.

Oh yeah, and If Shaun Alexander is reading this... (censored)

Love,
Your biggest fan-ever, Christy

Office Space

I often take for granted the beauty of my office building. With glass as the main feature of the building (at least on this side), how could it not be breathtaking. The windows reflect glorious orange morning sunrises, calm blue skies, overwhelmingly bright white clouds, and soft moody greys.

Night is when the building is most beautiful. As the world around the building darkens, light from within magestically lights it up. It's the night light of Bremerton.

In fact, they should make Norm Dicks Government Center nightlights. They could be dark plastic covers in the shape of this building with glass windows shining light from the bulb behind them.

No matter how beautiful the building is, I'm always happy to leave it at the end of the day (especially if that day happens to be a Friday!).

Just Because

Things I learned I can do with a little help from Morgan (oh captain, my captain):

play my forearm as if it were a fiddle
speak spanish (ay sexito el bano, donde esta mi sombrero?)
open a twist off cap with my teeth
lose articles of clothing (it was just a sock.....no worries)
I can fake swim and drown pretty well (drunk friends are incapable of performing CPR though)

Newz York

Overheard in New York is one of my favorite websites. Maybe it's my infatuation with random nonsense taken out of context, maybe its because I'm easily amused, maybe it's because I suffer from self-ridicule everyday.....

I used to ride the el all the time when I lived in Chicago. I often found myself trying to remember or write down weird conversations that I overheard. I guess the unclever, odd, Napoleon Dynamite-esque humor is what I love the most.

The reason reality TV is so hot: everyday people are the best source of humor because they are so ridiculous and stupidly entertaining.

Actually heard on the streets of New York:

Girl #1: Marilyn Monroe is, like, one of my idols.
Girl #2: Wait, isn't he that guy with the glass eye?
Girl #1: Um...no.
_______________________________________

Woman: Yo, my cousin is going to be on American Idol.
Guy: Wow, she any good?
Woman: No, she's terrible, she sounds like a dying seal.
_______________________________________

Guy: I should call her. She's probably taking off her pants right now.

For Donation: one pair of measley, disease infected balls

This car is four-door sex on wheels.

I've been on an ecstatice high since last night.

I drove by the Suquamish Park and Ride- i.e., the weekend car sales-lot for rich Bainbridge Islanders. When neighbor Steve decides to sell his ten year old Beemer because he suddenly realizes he doesn't need two Beemers, an SUV, and a Honda commuter car- he drops it off at the Park and Ride for the weekend with a reasonable price tag.

I've been keeping my eyes on the Park and Ride since July, knowing that I desperately need a car. A car for me means: my freedom, independence, a tool to defy my God-crazed mother, a more reliable me, and a ticket to the open roads of the West coast. The current situation in which I have to be granted permission to go anywhere in order to use my mom's sexy Aerostar Van is NOT working. If my mom decides that where I want to go, or what I want to do does not live up to her high purity standards, all she has to do is say "no" and my freedom is crippled for the weekend/night/entire existence at home. (I know it's depressing and sad when you need to pollute the earth and add to urban sprawl in order to feel "emancipated")

I'm 21~! I lived in big-city, crime ridden, Chicago for three years under my own supervision. I do not need to be treated like my 17 year old sister at home! I am given more responsibility by my boss than my own mother.

Ok, so- I found the car of my dreams last night at the Park and Ride. A '93 Volvo Sedan- the mileage was decent, the price was a steal. The car is super safe and a VOLVO! I was so SO excited. I gave the guy a call last night and arranged to test drive it with my dad today. My dad is the one who needs to be won over in order for me to get a car. He is really my only obstacle to car-ownership. If dad doesn't think it's safe/reliable/decent- then I will never be able to purchase it (and he has very high standards). With the Volvo- my dad was completely won over.

Last night, my head was filled with dancing, sugar plum Volvo's- those sexy, boxy machines!

So we get to the Park and Ride for our pre-arranged appointment with the seller this morning. Oh, the car isn't there- he must be taking it for a spin. . . wait a sec. A bastardly-looking man starts to walk towards us.

"I just sold the car two minutes ago- they just drove away. They offered me asking price, so I let them take it."

BASTARD!!That miserably blighted, rudely nefarious, urine reeking peice of man ! I was so angry- I wanted to punch him in the face. He could have let us look at it first- we DID have an appointment, the buyers did NOT.

Excuse me now, I have to make a quick call to donate his balls to Fear Factor. . . Man-bitch!

2006 Boat Show

*all photos are of the same boat which has been dubbed the "Christine Marie" in some circles

January- means for the Lubovich family that inevitable time of year to recoup a long standing, and uniquely odd family tradition.

The magic of the Christmas season fades into our mundane daily routines as quickly as our convictions to uphold outstanding New Year's resolutions. But, this magic is regained for a few, short glorious hours at the great Seattle Boat Show.

When it comes to the holiday season- we really aren't dedication to any traditions-- we used to have the annual trip to Grandma's Christmas tree farm which recently happened to be massacred by my parents' purchase of an artificial Christmas tree. Pull the tree out of the box, bend the plastic branches down, and wa-la! Mom calls it "convenient", Dad calls it "an investment", you don't want to know what I call it.

The Boat Show is sadly, the closest thing we have to an annual tradition. I remember accompanying my dad on many occasions. We used to wind our way through a maze of shiny, fiberglass-smelling boats of all shapes and sizes. Our minds-- full from scheming up wild adventures during their expansive journey to the outer limits of our imaginations.

I really can't capture the awe and excitement that the Seattle Boat Show conjured within us every year. I would like to think that attending the Boat Show makes me a little less pathetic than the red-neck, flannel shirt wearing, RV Show attendees- but I am close to accepting the harsh truth that it does not.

• Seattle Boat Show ticket: $10
• Batteries for digital camera: $ 3.50
• Roundtrip ferry fare: $6.10
• Walking away from the event with a free floating key chain, the smell of fiberglass overwhelming my senses, and a hundred different speed boat pamphletes: priceless!

Affordable Housing or Bust

I understand Frank Chopp's concerns regarding what community renewal and economic redevelopment may do to the affordable housing world. His worry that the entire Seattle area is facing gentrification is valid.

I have been wondering myself what will happen in Bremerton. A renewal agency needs to be able to cooperate with the providers of affordable housing in any city. They should be able to work together since each manages a key ingredients for healthy communities.

Preserving and maintaining affordable housing should be a key component to any revitalization plan. And any agency that administers affordable housing needs to be comprehensive about providing services and opportunities to its constituents that will allow them to stabilize and grow financially.

Recipe for Healthy Community
from the kitchen of KCCHA:

A dash of entrepreneurial risk-taking mixed with a heaping dallop of vision. Stir continuosly with a flow of private investment. Add generous spoonfuls of public educational programs, services, and government subsidies. Combine mixture with innovative draft legislation- let rise in a warm place- preferrably the desks of high profile public officials. Don't forget a dallop of expertise provided by long-time professionals and plenty of public service spirit and good will. Top off with beautifully designed buildings

Grey is hypnotic, rythmic

It has rained in the Seattle-area for four weeks straight.

Pacific Northwest rain is an entirely different breed. Rain is often undetected from glances out grey tinted windows. It can be raining and you wouldn't even know it. That's because northwest rain can be soft and constant. It can fall to the earth in slow, plump raindrops. It can fall to the earth in long strands of suspended mist. It can torrent and plummel the soft, rich earth- building up in puddles and drains until it runs back into the puget sound.

Rain is more of a noun than a verb in Seattle. Most of the time when skies are grey and overcast, the rain exists- like a stationary sheet of thin water being held in the air. Most of the time it doesn't fall violently. To the eye, it looks like it's just hanging, motionless- and I would believe that to be the case if it wasn't for its rhythmic tapping upon roofs, sidewalks, and car hoods.

I dont mind walking in the rain 24/7. I don't mind having to cover my head to keep it dry- it has now become a habitual act. I love to see the showery days turn into our famous greens and rich browns. The rain is peaceful, calming and hypnotic here. We are caught in the hypotism of our unyielding weather.

TEA-ed Off

Yes, that is a 100-count box of Lipton Tea on the back of that bad-ass, leather-clad biker's hog.

Maybe he's British, or is late for great auntie's tea party. Maybe tonight the local biker-bar is BYOT, or maybe he just has an intense tea- fixation. . . the lonely road is cold when its all you got.