One year ago today ...

One year ago today I was saying my final goodbyes to all my friends. A bouquet of bright yellow flowers sat on the dining room table. Usually when someone left the restaurant, my co-workers would cover the person’s car in saran wrap or attack them with whipped cream at the end of their shift. For me, they all pitched in and got me flowers and a card.

“Good luck in Seattle,” Jeremy wrote. “Don’t kill yourself.” Jeremy and I had come a long way since our first shift together when we were yelling at each other.

“Have fun in Seattle,” wrote Evan, the sixteen-year-old busser who reminded me of Sam. “I’ll visit you in two weeks.”

“You, my dear, are one of a kind,” said Mel, my manager.

“I’m going to miss my Sunshine!” Kelly wrote.

I kept the card, of course, but I’m quoting these from memory. I read it over and over again my first week in Seattle.

In a way it felt crazy to walk away from such an awesome group of people. I was happy there, and I had no guarantee I’d be happy in Seattle. But I knew, deep down, that I needed to push myself beyond the boundaries of my hometown, and home state.

And I’m really, really glad I did.


Author's note: More to come on the big one-year anniversary...

Saturday night at The Dub

It’s getting close to closing time at The Dubliner, a dark-wood panelled bar with emerald-green interior walls. A flock of animals enters the bar … well, 20-somethings dressed as a variety of creatures ranging from an eagle to a giraffe and/or cow.

“I'm so bummed I forgot my alligator costume."

My friend Matt chats up a girl in a penguin costume and finds out she and her friends are doing this as their own, unusual way to celebrate Mardi Gras.
“What would possess a girl to walk into a bar dressed as a penguin?” I ask.
“Well, she got my attention,” Matt says.

The bartender, a pretty girl with a booming, throaty voice saunters over and asks us what we think of the barnyard dance going on around us. (Two more penguins have started slow-dancing on the stage that is usually reserved for karaoke and open mic).

“I'm so bummed I forgot my alligator costume,” Matt says.

“Yeah, then maybe you could’ve gotten Zebra girl over there,” says our bartender, gesturing to the stripey girl who is shimmying to the beat of a nameless song.

“Only if she gets too close to the water,” Matt replies.

The eagle, who appears to be the leader of the pack, has just bought $80 worth of shots. The bartender pours a dark, purple liquid into ten, tiny gleaming glasses. Her friends help cart the shots over to their table because even a predator can’t carry ten glasses in two hands. They whoop and holler and I can’t understand what they’re toasting.

I take a gulp of my own beer. Here’s to Fat Tuesday.

Homesick

I know it's wishful thinking, but it seems like just 15 minutes in the hot, Arizona sun would beat all my worries out of my troubled head. We all know how brutal it can be, maybe I could put it to good use. My stomach is grumbling and Mexican food seems like the answer, although I didn't even eat much of it while I lived down there.

It's not just the weather and the food I'm missing ... it's the people. I think I need a coffee break with Eli more than ever right now. Sure, Seattle has the best coffee in the world but I'm getting tired of drinking it by myself. I'd happily take a Vanilla Bean Frappuccino over a Caffe Vita Americano if it meant I could sit and talk with my big brother again. He's not the only one ... I miss you all.