Sassy Glasses Girl

Sassy is busy being cheap....

2008-11-20T16:04:00.000-08:00

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?)

2008-11-17T20:53:00.001-08:00

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...

2008-05-22T10:26:00.000-07:00

Comes the PARANOIA!!!!

She's baaaaack...

2008-05-19T21:24:00.001-07:00

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)...

2007-11-21T11:25:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-07-02T21:54:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-06-29T22:12:00.000-07:00

My cat has a monkey on his back...

2007-06-29T21:58:00.000-07:00

I've recently bought my cat an overpriced, cardboard, honeycombed scratching thingie with catnip (organic, at that—those goddamn hippies at the pet store!) embedded in it.

He is presently sprawled belly up on the living room floor, high as a kite and trying to EAT said scratching thingie.

I think he has a catnip problem. I'm just waiting to come home and find him playing Grateful Dead albums and smoking a bong.

It comes to this: My life, ruled by the pernicious will of an orange cat.

My underwear...

2007-06-27T18:30:00.001-07:00

So, Monday morning I woke up late and decided to go to my favorite corner coffee shop, just down the street from my place, to enjoy the sun, have a much-needed cup of brew, and do a little work on my laptop.

I didn't bother with a shower (I work at home these days—and, OK, yes, I'll admit it, my personal grooming habits have fallen by the wayside). I just put on the clothes I'd had on a couple of days before, the jeans and shirt sitting on the top of my laundry basket. Why the hell not? Who's gonna see me?

Well, as it turns out, everyone I've ever met. Seriously, I think ran into everybody but my third-grade music teacher in that goddamn coffee shop—it was like a bad dream. But that's not the worst part, kids. Because, when I got home two hours later I stepped into my bathroom and quite by chance discovered that somehow, through the cruel forces of extraordinarily bad luck, I HAD A PAIR OF DIRTY UNDERWEAR HANGING OUT OF THE BACK OF MY PANTS.

Ohhhhhhhh, the humanity!!!!!

They were wedged between my belt and my waist, wrong side out, tag displayed. Everyone now knows my underpants come from JC Penny. I am so humiliated, I think I might have to move.

Foul ball!

2007-06-24T11:33:00.000-07:00

OK, so for those of you who haven't been updated, Sassy Glasses Girl is going through a break up, kids. Not a "you'd better run 'cause I'm gonna boil water and throw it on you, you deceitful bastard/don't let the door hit ya where God split ya" kind of break up or anything like that. This one isn't nasty. It's more of a "Goddammit, I love you tenderly, but we just see the world too differently" kind of break up. In other words, it's a sad one, campers—a real kick in the heart.

So, in an attempt to anesthetize myself I have decided to sign up for a .... wait for it ... wait for it ... Softball Team. You know: Get out of the house. Meet new people. Get some sun and exercise. Maybe even take a shower and change out of my PJs.

Now, for those of you who have not met Sassy Glasses Girl in person, let me just bring you up to speed: I look kinda fit, but that's just because I have the metabolism of a hummingbird on meth. In truth, I'm about as athletic as John Goodman with an iron lung. Sometimes, when I run, blood comes out.

They told me to show up early today, to pick my position. Trouble is, I can't even name a position in softball. Goalie? Quarterback? Democrat? Against it?

Crap, kids. This is going to be embarrassing. Pray for rain, people. Pray for rain!