Sassy is busy being cheap....

Hi kids!

While I'm going to do my sassiest best to keep this blog going (I know, I know...I've treated it like a red-headed stepchild over the past year), I'm finding that I'm acting like a REAL blogger (read: blogging frequently, with purpose) on my new site: theseattlecheapskate.com.

Come check it out if you want great tips on saving a buck here and there!

Sassily (and thriftily) yours,
Sassy Glasses Girl

Connections... (and Psychic Tendencies?)

Ever have one of those moments when you're sure the universe is sending pulses to you ahead of actual events?

I know this sounds wacky, but I've been having them a lot lately. Like the morning in October when I was on a trail ride with my riding instructor. As we were making our way up a hill through wet, green forest, I suddenly had the most random flash. For whatever reason, I imagined my ex-boyfriend (the most recent ex) calling me that day and wondered what I would say to him. As it turns out, he did call late that afternoon--for the first some in some months--for no apparent reason. He left a voice mail, but I never called him back. Strange....

And then this evening I was driving to the East Side to meet my brother and some of his co-workers for drinks and appetizers. Geoff, my brother, lives in Florida where the company he owns is headquartered, but he does a lot of business out here in Seattle and has an employee manning an office in the area. That employee, whom I'd never met, had put together a little reception of sorts, for Geoff, his wife, etc. On the way there, I suddenly remembered a movie I'd seen at the Seattle International Film Festival a couple of years ago, an Iranian film called "The Lizard." A supremely hilarious flick, it had been a cult hit in Iran until the government shut it down, I've been told. (The plot: A petty thief escapes a hospital dressed as a mullah; he jumps a train, gets off in the first village it arrives in, and is actually mistaken for that village's long-awaited new cleric. Naturally, hijinks ensue. You know the story--the old "conservative-Muslim-culture-meets-mullah; mullah-is-a-lovable-crook plot." Won't they ever think of anything new?) Anyhoo, long story short, the man and his family hosting the reception are Persian. They knew the film. They have a copy.

How random is that??

And, with that, goodnight dear readers...

--SassyGlassesGirl

After the catnip...

Comes the PARANOIA!!!!

She's baaaaack...

Soooooo, I just realized I haven't posted for something like six months. Yikes! That's AWFULLY lazy of me. In my defense, I've moved once, to the apartment next door to my oh-so-cute-but-noisy corner unit, which was situated directly downstairs from an evidently morbidly obese flat-footed guy who liked to get up at 4:30 a.m. and move heavy furniture. Enough said about that.

I've also been house hunting (looking to buy), traveling home to Florida, traveling to San Francisco (pictures are next!), riding great big horses over tiny little jumps, swing dancing, and, um, dating my dance teacher (sooooo cliché, I know--I feel like one of those old ladies who swoons over the tightly-panted, suspiciously effeminate ballroom-dance instructor at the Senior Community Center. Except, the guy I like is smokin' hot on the dance floor, wears size-appropriate pants, and does not call me his "special lady").

Anyhooo, busy, busy, busy. Back now. Except I can't write much as it's 9:30 p.m., and I'm bleary eyed and ready to collapse into bed. (Yes, yes, I'll be sure to take out my teeth and put on my hair net first.)

Goodnight all...

Another posting about my cats (and, um, my underwear)...

So I just came home to find that my cats have, evidently, busted into the catnip drawer again.

My sweet, innocent Buttercup (the tiniest, cute-as-a-bug's-ear Siamese you've ever seen) was writhing on the bathroom floor, with a pair of my underwear wrapped around her head.

Yep, it's a big ol' cat party at my house, kids.

So, tonight I was on the phone with an old pal of mine. Let’s just call him Tim.* And he tells me that, after something like 11 years, he’s finally getting rid of his trusty Geo Metro. Because, he says, he’s recently come to realize that it’s just not a chick magnet.

“WHAT????????” I replied incredulously. “SURELY, YOU GEST? Do you honestly mean to tell me that YOUR car—perhaps the FINEST automotive machine ever to vibrate violently and make a persistent whiney noise as it approaches 30 MPH—is NOT the stuff that makes women simply place their heels on the dashboard, manually recline the passenger seat, slide a little Barry White into the cassette player, and throw their heads back in sweet, sweet surrender????”

(Well then, don’t I feel silly.)

He then proceeded to tell me, in an entirely sober tone, that, in fact, his car—which he once shamelessly drove around town for something like an ENTIRE YEAR with tiny bits of HAM on the hood (discarded by a neighbor over the balcony of his apartment building)—is just not doing it when it comes to scoring love from the ladies.

“So,” I asked, placing a cool glass of water to my temple, “What will you drive?”

“Probably a Mercedes,” he said flatly.

At which point my frontal lobe exploded.

Who goes form a 1996 Geo Metro to a MERCEDES?? I mean, what sort of evolution is that??? Isn’t that sort of like Neanderthal man rising up one day, sliding on a strappy pair of sandals, and a heading out to the spa for a Brazilian and a brow wax? If you’ve been driving a Geo Metro—no power steering, only one door works—for 11 years, will they even LET you test drive a Mercedes? Are they even allowed???

Oh, this is all very, very confusing.


*Not his real name. Well, OK, yes it is.

Do NOT give this cat money. He will only buy drugs...