Spontaneous Apple Cup Road Trip to Pullman!

HOW IT ALL STARTED

Our road trip to Apple Cup started in the same way as all our spontaneous adventures -- with good friends and one craaaaaaaazzzzzy idea!

Like all crazy ideas -- (e.g. Greenlake in January) -- this one was alcohol-induced and fueled by plenty of smack-talking. It all started Friday night at Kona Kitchen (surprise, surprise), where a bunch of us gathered for drinks with out-of-towners Aaron and Deven. Initially, our mundane and safe Saturday plan was to watch the Apple Cup at a sports bar in Seattle. However, after several Mac & Jack pitchers and Washington Apple (Cup) shots, our plan morphed into a spontaneous road trip to Pullman, five hours away.

As our road trip excitement grew, the smack-talk heightened. Several key players guaranteed that they were in it for the long-haul. The boys, (of course), pushed in their chips and proclaimed "ALL IN!" while Amy and Yee Ning -- the token party girls -- were right behind them. In very Jerry MacGuire-esque form, the five of them turned to the rest of us with hopeful "WHO'S COMING WITH ME" eyes.

Court, Naomi and I paused slightly, stealing confused glances at each other, trying to determine if they were really serious, or if this was just another "talk the talk, walk the walk" challenge.

When the roadtrip idea started to materialize into a real plan, we frazzled few still on the fence got skittish and started spitting out conditional clauses:

Naomi: "I'll go if Court goes."
Court: "I'll go if Liz goes."
Naomi (whispering to me, in a last-ditch effort to form an alliance): "You're not going to go, are you?"
Liz (whispering back): "I don't think I have a choice!! Amy and Yee Ning are sleeping over!"

Finally, as our Friday night wound down, the realness of the road trip settled in and we all prepared for an early morning start. We made plans to be on the road by 8 a.m.

And here's where the picture story begins, at 8 a.m. on an Apple Cup Saturday. Enjoy the 46 shots of our 18-hour journey across I-90, through a streak of "nothing," down to Pullman, and into Cougar territory.
[Our "Before" picture, taken at 8 a.m. Saturday morning, after we loaded our sporty Buick Rendezvous with clothes, snacks and water. We six were in it for the long haul.]

[Can't go to the Apple Cup without a Husky foam hat! This puppy led the way.]

THE GORGE

Despite some of Amy's questionable facts (like the purpose of the pole on the boat), she never disappoints when it comes to unveiling simply GORGEous Washington scenery.

TAILGATING

Before parking at WSU, we stocked up on beer and brown bags for the tailgating portion of our road trip. We layered up and cracked open the alcohol to keep us warm. The weather outside was mighty cold at 37 degrees Farenheit.

With not much else to do in the parking lot but drink, we huddled in a circle and played drinking games. We started with the name game, then moved on to Categories. After a few hysterical, yet halted rounds of Categories, we decided to move on to something faster: Rhyme. The Rhyme game starts when one person says a word that starts the rhyme chain. Everyone else has to say a different word that rhymes with the first but doesn't repeat any previous words. Yee Ning threw out the first word.

Yee Ning: "Boat"

Amy: "Moat"

Matt: "Uhhh....Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay?"

All: "Huh?"

Apparently, Matt never got the memo that we were playing Rhyme (he heard "Wine") and thought we were still playing Categories. He thought "moat" was "Moet."

(IF this story's not funny to you, then you just had to be there. A story like this one is why I packed extra panties.)

Buzzed, happy and ready to see the Huskies kick some Cougar ass, we started to make our way to the stadium. As we meandered about the parking lot, we realized that there was no road or stairs down from where we parked. We asked a friendly Coug how to get down.

GAME TIME

"Just hold the fence," he said.

"Whaaaat?" we replied, quizzically and suspiciously, wondering if he was trying to dupe us.

"You've gotta hold the fence down the hill" he said, pointing toward a mud-sodden trail next to a flimsy wire fence.

FUUUUUCKKK, I thought, as I held a full Bud Light and realized I'd have to throw it away so I could cling to the fence.

Step-by-step we descended down that damn hill, passing a woman in the brush who wandered to a trail less traveled so she could pee in privacy.

[Holding on for dear life as we skidded down through the mud to get to the game. (But look how happy we were!!) This was another pee-in-the-pants moment for me. FREAKING fantastic.]

THE DRIVE HOME

There are no pics or stories from the drive home, because as you can imagine, after a 4.5 "mile" trip to Pullman, three hours of tailgating and a 4-hour game, we were exhausted. The ride home was pitch black and pretty quiet.

Huge chocolate KUDOS to Deven, Matt and Aaron for driving us to Pullmn and back. It was an insane drive for them, but the trip in its entirety was well worth the journey.

THE END

Eighteen hours and nearly 600 miles later, the six of us made it home safe, sound and happily exhausted. No maimed roadkill, very few bug splats on the windshield, no injuries or carsick follies, no food poisoning or pants-peeing. (Thank goodness.)

This trip just proves that spontaneity pays off when in excellent company. I haven't had so much genuine fun with these old friends in a long time. Definitely looking forward to the next whimsical trip. :)

Halloween and the Red Feather Boa

The morning after any social event is crucial when evaluating the level of fun and sobriety from the night before. My standard "morning after" protocol is as follows:

After waking up -- preferably hangover-free -- I immediately start gathering evidence. I hit up the usual suspects.

1) My trusty cell phone: It's the quickest way to figure out if I drunk-dialed or texted someone. If I'm lucky, my Call Log will read "Empty" and the text messages that I inevitably sent -- (I'm an addict) -- are G-rated and friendly.

2) My camera: If a picture tells a thousand words, a 256 MB memory card tells millions. I like how a sequence of photos truly reflects the progression of intoxication throughout the night.

Check out the following sequence of SHOTS (there's a double meaning, here), and see for yourself our level of fun and sobriety.

Here starts the story of the red feather boa. Much like the Red Violin (that film that leads viewers through the life of a single violin -- can't really remember the plot because I was bored and fell asleep), this picture sequence will lead you through the drunk half of my night.

The red feather boa made its debut around the neck of Superstar Spanish Eyes Angela, with Superstar Olivia and the Kokxx Cable guy.

The red feather boa found a green feathered friend to hang with.

Jenn pummelled the red feather boa and separated it from its green feather friend.

I finally got the red feather boa all to myself, and like the Mask did to Jim Carrey, the red feather boa did to me. It transformed into a whole new person.

..and finally ends, with me sporting the red feather boa on my head like the red comb of a rooster, and crowing out my "mating call" to anyone who'd listen.

Sidekick 3 LE Event in LA

Work took me to Los Angeles last week. This trip (like most of my trips) started out with pics of my hotel room.

BEVERLY HILTON

MELROSE

My Angeleno brother David picked me up Thursday afternoon to shop for a shirt for him to wear to Mr. Chow's. We spent the day walking up and down Melrose Ave.

We shared chocolates from Jin Patisserie on our way to Melrose Ave, where my heels took a beating from walking up and down a 10 block-range.

SIDEKICK 3 LE Event at Mr. Chow's

[Posing in the LRG section.]

Debbie Harry of Blondie performed. (Blondie became popular at the same time that Diane von Fursterburg did, circa the 1970's.) During the show, I called my mom and dad, who immediately recognized Debbie Harry's music. (I was clueless.)

AREA

After the SK3 LE event, we went to Area nightclub, where we saw Jamie Foxx, Dennis Rodman, Pamela Anderson and a stumbling Paris Hilton. LC and the Hills crew were also there, filming at the table next to ours.

Check out video from Area at the link below. (Don't blink, or you'll miss David and me!)

http://us.video.aol.com/video.index.adp?mode=1&pmmsid=1739979

(Look who's in the background! That's me sporting an ultra-cool hairband on my wrist. I always wear a hairband no matter where I am. It's a tell-tale sign of a non-fashionista.)

Andrew's June Visit to Seattle

My friend Drew planned a June trip to Europe. He needed a few weeks in a foreign place to unwind and explore before he nestled back into med school mode. Ever eager to rattle the cage of bleary-eyed corporate drudgery, I immediately put in a request for vacation and hopped on the Euro-bandwagon.

As I floated on Cloud Nueve and scoured through Rick Steves' recommendations on Portugal, the realities of my job pulled me back to the sad world of responsibility. I grudgingly cancelled my trip for the sake of doing "the right thing" for my team (I was transitioning roles at the time). Although disappointed by our foiled plans, I was happy that Drew still planned to make the trip without me.

A few days before Drew was scheduled to fly out, I got a call from a hoarse, half-conscious Drew, who said he pushed out his medical boards and cancelled his Euro-trip so he could have the optimal amount of study time. "Nerd Alert," I thought, as I simultaneously consoled him and cheered him on for making the "right" decision. ("Right decisions" bite, by the way.)

This story could go on forever the way I'm writing, so I'll fast forward to the part where I convince Drew to visit me in Seattle for a week in lieu of the standard, hackneyed (and fabulous!) Euro-trip that everyone (but us) seems to take.

Here's the story in pics:
Drew arrived late Tuesday afternoon armed with sweets, as he is the sweet tooth king / culinary extraordinaire.Me and my dirty mind thought one thing when I saw the white frosted cupcakes with circle candies in the middle... GOOGLY EYES!!

Chris, Drew and I hit up the Driftwood Bar (one of my fave drinking / reading spots). Not your typical bar, the Driftwood is a great place to read OR play Scrabble!

One day, Drew picked me up from work, only to deliver news that he bought me a pet! Ecstatic, I rushed into my apartment waiting to find a furry little thing or at least a slippery little thing with gills. Instead, I found THIS in my bathtub.
I named him Dinner. :)


Since Europe didn't work out, we thought we'd at least venture out to the San Juan Islands to somewhat satisfy our thirst for exploration.


We "raced" unaware kayakers and high-fived each other as we passed EVERYONE, though no one was really racing with us.
We slalomed through tangles of dense seaweed (the looong, green kind with bulbs), shifting our weight this way and that to maneuver through the mess. One close-call capsize later, we threw out our slalom idea and went back to "racing" 60-year-old birdwatchers.
All in all, a fun week with my friend Drew. Forget Paris, we'll always have the San Juan Islands!!!

[I swear some of these aren't words.]

[View from the ferry.]

Finally on the San Juan Islands we jumped in a kayak, ready to see some Orca whales up close and personal!

During our day-long kayaking trip, punctuated by only a few fleeting moments of bald eagle and seal sightings (THOUGH NO ORCA WHALES), Drew and I found interesting ways to entertain ourselves.

Living alone sometimes requires a MacGyver-like ingenuity...

Living alone sometimes requires a MacGyver-like ingenuity that I secretly believe I have. I've scaled kitchen counters to reach the wine at the top of the cabinet; I've hammered in nails with sturdy flashlights; and I've sprayed unwelcome spiders with Costco-sized bottles of 409.

Single, self-sufficient, and above all, resourceful, I thought I had conquered all the trials and tribulations of living alone. But just as I started to congratulate myself on my unabashed independence, a run-in with my sneaky, sliding screen door halted my self-adoration.

Like any pale-skinned Seattleite starved for the sun, I jumped at the chance to bask in the warmth of the city's first sunny day. So I threw on my suit, slid on my shades and sprawled my towel out on to the balcony to sunbathe and read.
After an hour of reading about the incestuous antics of the ancient Greeks - whose careless oofing had generated the abnormal hermaphrodite gene (at least according to the book I was reading) - I scooped up my towel and headed back inside.

I jostled the handle of my screen door to slide it open. At the first unsuccessful tug, I knew I was screwed. I pulled at it a few more times before giving into the fact that I was undoubtedly LOCKED out.

But ever the cool detective, I followed my MacGyver like instincts and scoured the balcony for something to jimmy the lock. With nothing metal, long and skinny in sight, I picked up a twig from my half-dead Hyacinth plant. Determined and calm, I stuck that twig somewhere between the door and the wall. Two seconds later, as my twig snapped in half, PANIC struck.

I jolted suddenly back and forth across my balcony, like a rat on crack in a small space. I paced erratically, sneaking peaks at the sidewalk four floors down. Head in my hands and muttering to myself, I cursed the sun for shining and my stupid, sliding screen door for locking me out.

[The Enemy]

I thought about calling out for help, or beckoning someone below to hold out their arms and catch. I even toyed with the idea of tying together my clothes and rappelling down the rainwater pipe; however, the realities of my own coordination got the best of me, and I opted for the less agile solution.

[The rainwater pipe]

After 25 minutes of rash, erratic panic, I soothed my nerves and faced that screen door with a Zen determination. Calm and cool like Karate Kid, I stared down that sliding door, raised my fist, stuck out my nails, and jabbed.

(Ever see Kill Bill II where Uma Thurman punched her way out of the hardwood coffin buried in the ground? Picture that EXACT same scene, but instead of Uma Thurman, think of me; and instead of a hardwood coffin six feet under, imagine a thin, net-like screen.) I stabbed that screen door until I punctured it with my nail. Then I poked my finger through the tiny opening and flipped up the latch that had locked me out in the first place.

[The Wound]

I was SAVED, and after only an hour of plotting and executing my escape. I immediately called Angela to tell her of my harrowing, near-death experience.

Since every story supposedly has a moral, here's what Ive learned from this ordeal:

1. Never lock yourself out on a balcony.
2. ALWAYS give a friend your extra set of keys, especially when you live alone, and despite your alleged MacGyver-like instinct.

While I'm single, young, independent and "resourceful," I've learned that I can't do it all alone. I'll always need someone to tell my stories to, even if my stories are slightly ridiculous and about evil screen doors.