On Sunday, I went to a professional bull riding event...and after just having been to my first drag queen show, this kind of felt that part in a Monty Python episode when there is a pause and then you hear Eric Idle say, "And now, for something COMPLETELY different...."

A "PBR" (Professional Bull Riding) event is kind of like NASCAR meets... professional wrestling... but it is one hundred percent real.  The energy is infectious.  And if you are like I was, on your maiden voyage, it doesn't matter... you catch on very quickly.  I mean, each time a rider gets on a bull, it only lasts 8 seconds, if he's lucky.  If he stays on the whole 8 seconds, he gets a score.  If he doesn't, he hopefully gets to stay in tact.  Personally, I think bull riders have to be certifiable.   There was at least one broken "something" during the course of the afternoon.  But I was impressed to see that helmets are allowed... but not required.  They definitely don't look as cool as a cowboy hat, but at least they stay on.

What I didn't realize about this sport is, the bull himself is just as much of a star as the rider.  Oh yeah.  If there were such a thing as bull riding "cards," they would have their own.   And they totally run the show.  Half of whether a "ride" gets a high score is totally up to the bull's performance during those 8 seconds.  And after the ride, well, the bull decides when he's good and ready to get back into his enclosure.  There is a guy on a horse who tries to lasso the bull to help convince him he needs to leave the ring, but honestly, I think the horse and the bull are in cahoots. 

You know you are at a drag queen show when:

• Your "rack" is openly coveted.
  
• You realize that your makeup application skills are severely limited.
  
• Same goes for your ability to handle stiletto heels.
  
• You get your picture taken with Liza Minelli.
  

You know it is a great ski day when:

• The lift rides seem entirely too long... why are they necessary at all? Can't the slope just go on forever?

• You can't stop screaming in elation as you blow through the powder.

• The snow is falling so hard, it leaves a continuous coating on you so that it is no longer obvious what color your ski outfit is.

• The powder is so deep, if you stop, you sink to the point of getting stuck.
  

I've posted before about people riding their bikes to the symphony. I thought that was a *little* odd, but very PNW. Recently, I saw something that I think that might just top that. I saw a road cyclist at Costco. Complete with cleats and biking shorts, so I know he rode his bike there. The question I have is, what exactly, can you buy at costco that will easily be transported by bike?? When I realized that he was headed towards the cleaning and paper products section, I nearly stopped my shopping to follow him. But without a camera to provide proof that he was able to strap 18 rolls of toilet paper to the back of his bike, I figured there was no point.

For a year, I've been waiting for the return of the Rat City Roller Girls. I was disappointed to miss them when they were skating last year. I mean, how can you not get excited about an all female, full impact roller derby? It was totally worth the wait.



Essentially, the concept is two teams of skaters racing around a track, clocking points by passing each other. The "impact" of this sport comes in when skaters try to stop each other from passing by "checking" them. While wearing key equipment like...helmets, fishnet stockings... you know, the usual.



Keeping score at a roller girl bout is challenging, so not only is there a massive scoreboard overhead (left over from the Sonics), but there is a "scoreboard girl" in a wedding dress, who circumvents the perimeter of the track carrying a dry erase board with the score on it. You might think that she might be in danger of getting hit by a falling roller girl, and you would be correct.



Because this sport is so complicated, there are as many refs in the track as there are on a football field. Only difference is, roller girl refs are on skates and some, in kilts. First time i've ever seen a ref in a kilt. But this is Seattle, and men here love their kilts.

When somebody asks you to help them move their boat from its slip to the mechanic's slip so that its engine can be repaired... no matter how tempting this experience might sound, it would be advisable to pay attention to the red flag there. The red flag being, "so that its engine can be repaired." I'll be honest, that red flag went unheeded by me because I was wooed by the prospect of having the chance to see what it is like to be in a boat as it goes through a lock. Pretty nifty stuff.

And it was - even more so after our engine died right before going through it.

In hindsight, this wasn't entirely unforeseeable. We were very fortunate that a tiny research boat with a very powerful engine just happened to be in the area and was able to tow us through the locks. I don't have pictures of this because, well, I was holding a fending stick and was on guard to make sure the boat didn't hit the wall of the lock. But I do have pictures of other stuff from that day, which was beautiful, if not cold.

Have you ever been contra dancing? I recently had my very first exposure to this kind of dance. It is somewhat similar to square dancing. The difference being, in my opinion, that it requires considerably more energy. This caught me by surprise. I also was unaware that contra dancing is noticeably less stuffy than square dancing (didn't know square dancing was stuffy, did you?). I was impressed by the demographic range of people who were in attendance. It is refreshing to go to a dance where absolutely everybody is not only welcome, but also fits in. I danced with octogenarians, as well as teenagers. Men in skirts as well as kilts (and yes, there is a difference). Guys who could easily begin careers as Rasputin impersonators as well as those who looked like they just came from having drinks at a private golf club.

The wonderful part of this experience (in addition to the surprising amount of exercise) is that you really could never tell who was going to be a good partner and who was not. You can imagine my surprise when the best partner of the evening was a man in a kilt and heavy combat boots with a shaved head and a bandana.

Seattle never ceases to amaze me.

Here is an example of how NOT to fix a drawer for which the face has broken off:


Can you see the nails that have been driven through? That are now exposed?



I am very proud to say that this is not my handy work. I am surprised however, that it took me a whole year and a half to discover it.

On the west coast, Trader Joe's is kind of a religion. For those of you who are not familiar, "TJs" is a boutiquey grocery store in which you can get some seriously evil and delish stuff. TJs peanut butter is bar none, the best I've ever had and I've had to cut myself off. I cook up stuff in their "Thai Yellow Curry Sauce" so often for dinner guests, I think they might think it is actually my own recipe. And of course, there is the legendary, "3 buck Chuck," referring to TJs own wine, that is sold for $3 a bottle. Don't knock it till you try it.

I knew about TJs while living in NJ, but there aren't many stores in NJ and driving to one involved a full hour round trip at least, so I went rarely. Out here, they are a lot more prevalent. I have one that is easily walkable from my apartment, something that has proven to be a little dangerous (see previous comment about peanut butter).

When a new TJs opens up in Seattle, people get SO excited. Word spreads like wildfire, regardless of how far you live from the new store. One is opening a little farther from me than the one I already visit, but from the looks of it, it promises to be HUGE. So of COURSE I can't wait to check it out. Yesterday, it was on my way home from running an errand and I was so excited to get a parking spot right in front! That NEVER happens when going to TJs! I pulled into my spot next to another TJ shopper. We looked at each other with stupid grins of intense anticipation. I got out of my car and walked toward the door only to be stunned by a huge "Opening Soon" sign that was clearly so big, I missed it. The funny part is, this obviously wasn't a blond thing, because I was not the only person who didn't register the sign. Somebody else had also just turned away from the door in shocked disappointment. I mean, the red neon Trader Joe sign was ON, after all. Don't have the sign on and the store's lights on if you aren't OPEN....*sigh*