Paint choices are hard.

Remember this handsome mint suite?

As seen in the real estate listing.

Well I thought I had an idea…and then this happened.

This cell phone picture I just took is poorly-lit and in no way reflects any accurate colors.

You see the big beige wall was an experiment (Benjamin Moore – Shaker Beige – heralded for its versatility and neutrality), and it proved that green everywhere makes neutral brownish look pinky. And that I don’t think I like beige. Who knew?

Then there was an impulse dark color from Home Depot (Behr – ?something? Creek) which is too dark for the squashy space and cheapy streaky.

Then I decided grey was going to be my ally in neutralizing the green carpet (which stays for now), so Benjamin Moore – Harbor Gray (left) and Stonington Gray (right) are now drying on the walls, looking very similar and waiting for me to choose one and go wild on all that green mess.

Then there is the matter of the following decisions:

Trim will be white, but what do I do with the built-in bookshelves by the window, built-in drawers and closet door? The brass hardware is coming off, but do they go grey like the wall? White like the trim? A little of both? Zebra stripes? Hire a decorator and go out drinking (!)?

In conclusion, I have food, water and shelter. This is a definite whiny baby situation. But I do have only two weeks or so until I ship off for Alasky again (yiiiiipes) , and I would like to get this malarkey sorted out before that. All signs are pointing toward me being underqualified for these refined decisions.

Anyone still awake after all that?

Ye gawds, friends. Things have been  insaner than usual as of late. Christmas, home closing, new keys, friend visits, moving, housewarming party, impending Alaska work, oh my. And now I fear I may become an insane-o home improvement web logger. Mostly this may happen because I have no effing clue what I’m doing.

All I know is this mint green:

(decor of previous owner)

and this stinky pink:

(please note pearlescent toilet seat)

…shall NOT stand.

Here are my newly-researched thoughts.

Bedroom:

Walls – The greenish carpet stays for now, so I’m thinking neutral boring beigy on the walls.

Ceiling – Bright-ish off-white-ish

Built-in drawer fronts on the sides of the room – ? color

Built-in bedside bookshelves – ? color

Bedding and curtainry – shiiiiit. I don’t know.

Bathroom:

Walls – All bright-ish off-white-ish to minimize the long hallway, except the far window wall. I’m thinking a dark greyish (with blue tones?).

Good gourd, this home design sorcery is complicated.

Any ideas, gang?

Benjamin Moore tabbies

The new frontier

***2007***

Minimalist but heartfelt. Very easy clean up.

***2008***
‘Twas the year of my Fantastic Zip Tie Christmas Bush.

Beautiful and festive.

And really a 2-Dimensional bouquet of sticks in a bucket.

***2009***
I traveled all December, so no tree for me.
:*(

Traveling cheer at El Paseo bar in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Celebrating a very Navajo Christmas with cousin in front of the fireplace at the Navajo Room in Boise, Idaho.

***2010***
Kristaf and I set out on an urban tree hunt in Sitka. It was very barely illegal as we harvested our wee spruce from beside a not-our-property chain-link fence where it eventually would have been  cut down anyway.

Nestled snugly in a flowerpot.

Looking deceptively handsome despite its razor-sharp spruce spines which left us scratched and bleeding after our decorating party.

***2011***
I broke down and went to the tree lot as I was passing by one recent afternoon. I asked for a tiny pine, but they didn’t have any less than five feet tall. They did have a pile of branches with a free sign. Hmmmm.

I am the MacGyver of holiday foliage.

Ta-daaaaa!

Happy Christmas, everyone.

Descending from the clouds, my first glimpse of the Technicolor fields of Holland’s famous tulips reminded me of Dorothy arriving in Oz. Unexpected but enjoyable, which would aptly describe most of my surreal overnight layover in Amsterdam, Netherlands. It began like that – before the plane ever touched down.

Before I wandered the streets, following winding canals to elaborate boat homes in the harbor. Before I admired the vast repertoire of strange and wonderful street art. Before I explored some narrower alleys and fine local shops. And long before my lack of advanced planning would combine with my ignorance of British vacation holidays, leaving me with zero hostel or hotel room vacancies in my price range, despite appealing to several impatient desk clerks.

It was an uncomfortable night, huddled on the sidewalk outside the train station (having been rousted out of an open-air metal bench in the train station proper). A privileged life I lead that this was the one night of all mine when I could find no option but to sleep on the street. Unlike a real homeless night – I knew I was relatively safe, I only had 10 hours to pass before my warm, comfortable bus departed, I wouldn’t freeze to death this late in spring, I would have a hot meal and coffee to look forward to as soon as shops opened up in the morning.

It did give me the very tiniest taste of panic, desperation, sleeplessness and deep cold that thousands of people fight against every day. For someone whose personality tends toward cynicism, sympathy is a strong teacher.

So my advice: If you fly to Amsterdam, try for a window seat on the plane.
You should probably book a room in advance of your arrival.
And if you can, donate some goods, money or time to a place that helps people sleep through the night.

*You become a yellow belt dragon-slaying crafty ass bastard.
*Also, if you are me, it probably won’t look quite as nice as the example. But it will look better than this: origami fail.
*And your friend Hillz will presumably be very impressed.

Simple, visual-heavy origami star tutorial here: annekata by way of maya*made
My Pinterest boards here: Pins
(If they are still doing the weird invite-only thing, I can send one. Just leave me a comment.)

Sunday morning we woke plucky, hungry and, upon dumping all the receipts and moths from our change pouches, …poorer.

A brisk long walk to Dirty Oscar’s Annex (2309 6th Avenue), and they filled our bellies for $5 each. Two eggs (yum), potatoes (great but salty), a biscuit (dry and meh, but I hope we just caught them on an off day. I love me some damn biscuits.) and really damn good homemade jam. They have an extensive menu (I’m trying the Cap’n Crunch-crusted French toast next) and make their own moonshine (badass), so I shall return once my change pouch is fat again.

On the walk home, we stopped by Bluebeard Coffee (2201 6th Avenue), whose logo should be enough to sell anyone. Their coffee is tasty and simply-prepared, and their giant tables are asking to be covered with spread out books and notebooks.

I think I have a crush on my coffee cup.

A leisurely walk home, a shower, a rest, and your indefatigable explorers were ready for more. A path through Wright Park (S. 4th St. & S. G St.) led to the W.W. Seymour Botanical Conservatory. For a $5 suggested donation, we browsed the Halloweeny “Wicked Plants” exhibit of dangerous and deadly growing things, mixed in with their standard crop of exotics, peeling off layers of clothing as the delightfully sticky 80F temperature caught up with us.

I don’t remember if this was a “wicked” plant. Just in case, don’t eat it, OK?

After our tropical adventure, we made for Gibson’s Frozen Yogurt Shoppe (8 N. Tacoma Avenue) to acclimate. I know I’m late to the game, having been in the frozen Alaska pioneer lands until recently, but I love this business style. You choose how much and what flavors, add on whichever of the 30+ toppings you please (why not almonds, rainbow sprinkles and bacon?) and pay for the whole shebang by the ounce. Genius.

.

Ice cream lunch finished, we poked around the outskirts of Stadium High School ((111 N. E St.) you may recognize it from “Ten Things I Hate About You.”) and settled on a pint at the Harmon Tap Room (St. Helens Avenue & S. 2nd St.). Little did we know that every damn thing at the Tap Room is 50% off clearance bargain price on Sundays. Dear lord, it is dangerous. After a few rounds of ½ price pints, dinner time had sprung up, and we couldn’t deny the siren song of pesto and potato pizza. On subsequent visits, we have tested their menu to be pretty solid throughout.

Don’t pretend you’re not impressed by these prices, T-Pain.

In conclusion, we walked, drank, ate, spent, danced and enjoyed ourselves…quite a lot in 75 hours. But you might not come to Tacoma and see what I saw at first glance. There are hobos, box stores, prostitutes, grit and train noise. There are also artists and chefs,  beautiful historic buildings, loving renovations and lots of new construction. It is a dynamic little city where people don’t seem to take themselves too seriously but are proud to be Tacomans. I think I’ll stick around a while.

***

Ye knowledgeable Tacomans/Tacomaphiles, all suggestions for continued exploration warmly welcomed…

***Saturday (Hour 36 – 58)***

Slowly spooling back up to speed after a big night on the town, we made it out of the house by lunchtime and boldly chose to eat raw fish.

Two Koi (1552 Commerce St.) gave us nice people and beautiful rolls at fair prices (The nice people weren’t at fair prices. They were employees and presumably not for sale. Had they been, I’m sure the price would have been agreeable.). Days later we would return for their $20 all-you-can-eat lunch feast special, but that’s a different adventure. My $12 Rainbow Roll (not pictured) was superb, but they didn’t seem to have the orange ika (squid) salad I miss so much from Little Tokyo in Sitka.

The fish seemed not to fight too violently with Friday’s residual booze, so we topped it all off with cake and frosting at Hello Cupcake (1740 Pacific Avenue).

I’m no dessert fiend, so I can’t comment on comparative quality, but I like cake. Cake is good. And they have assorted teensy wee ones. Back in my Barbie-hoarding days, however, I would have given my left, lacy, fold-over sock to celebrate a birthday in their a-god-damn-dorable back room.

Continuing down Pacific Avenue, we browsed the cherry-picked thrift treasures at Urban Xchange (1932 Pacific Avenue) and the brand-spanking screen printed goods at Bleach (1934 Pacific Avenue). Bleach’s Tacoma anchor hoodie went straightaway on to my birthday wish list.

Oops. Birthday passed, hoodie received. Why do I look so guilty?

We ended our Pac. Ave. tour at the Harmon Brewing Co. (1938 Pacific Avenue) where you can get a $6 brew ski (heh) sampler of their micro beers, killer nachos ($5 at happy hour) and clams (in case our stomachs weren’t puzzled enough).

Brew. Ski.

The world’s most adorable clam

And to compensate for the day of worthy indulgences, we walked hard. First, we crossed the Bridge of Glass, filled with strange, fantastical glass thingies (and yes, that’s the best word I can think of).

Strolling along the romantic waterfront, we peeped into the glamorous condos and lofts. We jagged up to Broadway where storefront windows of empty and in-construction buildings are being used as low-cost display space for local art (coordinated by Spaceworks Tacoma).

Audra Laymon print

Our exertions ended at the Tempest Lounge (913 MLK Jr. Way) where we refueled with beer but mostly sat slack-jawed, watching “Cujo” for the first time ever on the teevee over the bar. The sound was off, but it didn’t matter. Holy crap. The movie ended, loud but friendly strangers shared cookies with us, the DJ began to play moody electronic music, and we continued our journey.

Again we stopped at 1022 South (1022 South J St.) and, feeling adventurous, ordered the Apothecary’s Cup (bartender’s choice). With such a vast selection, it’s a brilliant idea, but going forward, I think I will request mine by flavors – not by liquors. We had a remarkable drink, served in a martini glass, that tasted like creamy, liquor-y Earl Grey tea. A request for a gin base came back as a gin/coffee flavor mix that didn’t work no matter how many chances we gave it. But that is precisely the fun of it. Tens of established drinks are printed on the menu for the less daring.

As the small room filled up and became intolerably loud, we slooooowwwlllyyyyy closed our tabs (Seriously. Bring cash or patience here.), doffed our caps and made a surprise move toward home.

Sometimes even original gangsters need to rest.

Presented in chronological order

Friday morning came and went as we slept like little baby beach angels. By the time we folded up the soiled linens, scraped off the crust and layered on more eyeliner, it was time for brunch with a very patient man near his workplace in Fife, WA.

Photo: Peter Andrijeski, Project K-Bar

Poodle Dog [Good Food] Restaurant (1522 54th Avenue East) - The giant neon sign is my favorite thing about this place which is the type where the waitress calls you “sweetheart” and refills your coffee before it ever runs out. It’s a bit greasy and definitely a diner, but that means they know what they’re doing when it comes to hangover food. My breakfast burrito could have fed three of us plus, as I started to chip away at it, I found it was eclipsing a bed of crispy hashbrowns.

Ruston Way to Point Defiance Park (drive along the water until you get to the end of the houses) – Breakfast in place, we went for a Friday family drive. It’s so odd to drive through such a residential part of town then, a few seconds later, be surrounded by the original Tacoma landscape of old-ass forests. We did the driving circuit around the park, stopping at the pullout viewpoints to gaze at the ocean majesty. Every ½ mile or so, these little dudes were standing watch, clasping their weird little hands.

Y’all got some leftover crispy hashbrowns?

Yard Sale (drive out of the park and back into the houses) – I almost forgot what yard sales are like in the lower 48. Without having to battle every single early morning grandma in town (Sitka), I got two things I actually needed…in good condition…at a fair price! Whoa. This could be dangerous.

Art fruit

Tacoma Boys (5602 6th Avenue) - I knew I would like this place, but I couldn’t predict how much. It’s like if Trader Joe’s was everything I wanted it to be – more relevant, simple foods from closer farms at better prices (which I like to hope is a reflection of less transport costs…and I would really like to hope that a better cut of that price goes to the food producers). There was so much amazingness there that the three of us branched off, coming back together periodically to share found treasures and to weep softly in joy.

I think we creeped out the cashier.

We spent the rest of the evening consuming a stunning feast of wine, cheese, bread, vegetables and fruit created from our Tacoma Boys spoils. After much eating, drinking and subsequent rolling around on the ground praying for the sweet release of swift digestion, we decided high-energy party rocking might be the best cure.

Rapture

The Swiss (1904 Jefferson Avenue) – Who knows what stars aligned to make our night at the Swiss so fantastic. Though I really like the bar itself – it’s all old and wooden and the barkeeps are friendly – this night was a little different. There was much drinking and dancing and maniacal laughter and somehow by busting out moves like awful LMFAO impersonations, the (invented) “Party Rock Carlton” and squat-kick Russian dancing, we became the belles of a very strange ball.

It was incredibly fun…and unexpected…and oh gawd, I hope no one has video evidence. It could not have been pretty.

Sometime in the early morning we shuffled home – sweaty, giggling and exhausted and crawled back into our nests to rest up for the official weekend.

***

Question for Tacomans – where else can I embarrass myself dancing?

Despite living in Tacoma, WA for two months (exactly today!), my fish shipping summer schedule of 100-hour work weeks meant all of my T-town observations came from the windows of my home office. I could have been on house arrest with an ankle tracker without noticing any real change to my schedule.

If you don’t think this sounds like the adventurer you know, it’s because this time of year is the wang to my chung. Ebb and flow, boom and bust, hustle then flow.

But last weekend, a hurricane of hobo couch drifters swept into town, promptly ending my recluse season with unforeseen fervor. Thus I present to you – the 75 hours (Thursday afternoon – Sunday night) that made this gritty little city feel like home.

Portrait of some couch drifters

***Thursday (Hour 1 – 11)***

Presented in chronological order

*Tacomans* – Unlike other places I have frequented, not everyone is a transplant. And thus far, people seem to be non-snotty, helpful and hard-working – all things I admire very much.

Galanga Thai (1129 Broadway) – So far, so delicious on everything I have ordered (which, to be fair, is only green curry and drunken noodles), and I am kind of infatuated with their appetizer fresh/spring/salad rolls (super fresh mint/basil/cilantro and a peanutty dipping sauce? Yes. F yes.).

1022 South (1022 South J St.) – Much ballyhooed and rightly so. It looks like a dark chemistry lab library, and the food and cocktail flavors are unequaled. I had feelings for my cheese sandwich that are probably illegal. On Thursday lady night & daily happy hours, select cocktails are $5 which is a bargain for the quality. On this crowded night, we shared a table with some Tacomans who befriended us and entertained us the rest of the night.

Fancy booze

Parkway Tavern (313 North I St.) – Beautiful old wooden furnishings, a fine beer selection and ceiling beams decorated with tap handles all in what looks, at first, to be a neon-bejeweled home on a residential street. If I were not so rich in sweatshirts, I would buy their tree zip-front hoodie.

 Hank’s Tavern perhaps also called Corner Bar (?) (524 North K St.) – for some reason (booze), we started calling it Shank’s Stabbern, but it was neither shanky nor stabby…at all. With a friendly barkeep, 50-cent pool and cold beer – we had no choice but to drink our appreciation then stumble home merrily at last call.

~In the next installation – more food, more bars (Come on. What did you expect?), a super market, raccoons and more!~

I took this picture (and three thousand nearly identical others) sitting on the edge of a warm concrete sidewalk at the beach in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Every evening, a few people from the hostel gathered and walked the couple blocks to watch the sunset. On the walk down, we stopped at the Oxxo convenience store, lingering a few minutes in the rare air conditioning. I bought a caguama (which is basically a forty) of Pacifico, my favorite Mexican beer, brewed a few hours north in Mazatlan. Stepping out of the cool dry air of the store into the evening heat, I felt the salty humidity of the ocean and smelled steaming spices from a little food cart on the corner mixed with ripe garbage bins waiting to be picked up the next morning.

I knew Alaska summer salmon work was just around the river bend and that life would be hectic as soon as I flew home. On the curb at the beach, condensation from my ice-cold bottle of beer crusted with sand every time I set it back down. I watched the waves roll in and felt content.