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Dear jerkface,
I have no idea who you are or what your life is like or what kind of situation you’re in, but I can’t imagine that any human being with any microscopic level of compassion could abandon a young dog the way you did today. You may have thought that leaving a ripped-open bag of food in the back of his rusted-out dog kennel would suffice, but he had no water and no place to relieve himself and today was a HOT DAY.
You’re lucky that a teenage girl happened to walk through the small neighborhood park where you left him. You’re lucky that she cared enough to rescue him from wallowing in his own feces. And you’re lucky that she ran into someone who had a car and could help find someplace to take a 5-month-old scared but loving puppy, so that he’ll actually have a decent shot at a happy life. We’re all lucky that someone at the vet’s office immediately stepped forward to say that she’d take him in. He’s going to be a very good dog and he’s going to have a wonderful life with a loving family and a canine companion. But all that is no thanks to you.
A part of me wishes someone would lock you in a small, dirty cage and leave you in the heat of the middle of day in a park that’s infrequently walked through. I would say that’s fair. But I also don’t wish those awful circumstances on any living creature. So, I suppose I hope that you have a roof over your head and food to eat and a decent life. But I also hope you never own a dog again. There was no reason you couldn’t have taken that dog somewhere else. An animal shelter. The Humane Society. A vet’s office.
Take care, of yourself and all living things,
Leah
Today, I learned that The Seattle Times won a Pulitzer Prize for its breaking news reporting on the shooting deaths of four Lakewood Police officers and the manhunt for the suspect, back in November of last year.
First of all, it’s sad that so many tragedies have to happen in order for quality journalism to a) take place and b) be recognized (Hurricane Katrina coverage, for example). That said, the Times staff did an amazing job on this story. They followed every lead and every angle and reported the hell out of the story. I imagine that everyone in the newsroom and even outside of the newsroom contributed in some way. And that kind of collaboration and teamwork and kick-ass reporting is what I miss about working there.
Which brings me to the ellipses portion of my blog title. My first reaction to the Pulitzer news was pure delight. The Times deserves this. The staff hasn’t often been recognized for its breaking-news coverage, but this proves what the Times can do. But I can’t help but feel a little sad. I want to be there with my former colleagues. Not just today, as they bask in the well-deserved glory. Every day. I miss the excitement, the energy, the feeling that the work matters. I don’t need to be a part of this particular honor to know that the time I spent at the Times was meaningful and that the work I did helped make a difference. I am proud to have been a part of a family-owned, prize-winning newspaper. I believe I would still be there today if I had been given a choice.
On a related note, I wrote a silly little spring home maintenance article for MSN Real Estate, and so far nearly a quarter-million people have at least clicked on it. Not bad.
I’m in a yearlong contract at work and it’s ’bout to be over — my last day is April 19. I decided to venture out into the world of self-employment and start my own little editing business. Writing, too. I’m nervous about it, but also very excited. I think I’ll enjoy the flexibility of working for myself, and I’m really hoping there will be enough work that I can support myself.
I got my business licenses in the mail this past week (one for the state and one for the city). Oh and I’m doing business as Culler Copy. Culler is me and copy (writing and editing of it) is what I do. 
So if any of you need some work done, or know anyone who does, send ‘em my way. Please. I hope to have a website up soon.
In 2005, when little Wheezy dog was adopted, no one knew when she was born. It was May when she got her new home and she was about 2 months old. I decided that this cute little furball and I could share a birthday. It’s been a nonstop party ever since. (OK, that’s an exaggeration.) But she’s 5 today and I’m just a little older than that. And we both wanted to share a trick with our blog audience.
 Like she says, she is 5. |
 Not such a hard trick, really. |
Back in November 2005, I got my first Washington driver’s license. It only took me a day or two to notice that the eye color on my license said BRN instead of BLU. As soon as I noticed, I made a plan to go into the licensing office and get that changed. Immediately! I’m blue-eyed and PROUD!
Flash-forward to this week. I pulled out my license for something and noticed that it was set to expire on my birthday. And that my address is still the first address I ever lived at in Washington. (I have moved at least 8 times since then) And, yes, my eye color was still BRN. Good intentions can only get you so far.
So, today, I took an afternoon break and hopped on light rail to go to the licensing department. I can’t renew online because my address is wrong. And I can’t prove what color my eyes REALLY are unless I go in person. I could renew my license, update my address and get my eye color right, all in one visit. I worked all morning, took a quick shower and headed out.
The wait wasn’t bad. My number was called within 20 minutes or so. But wait, they don’t take VISA for payment? Whew, I have another credit card buried in the back of my wallet, just in case. Then the guy says, “Just wait a minute or two and we’ll take your picture.” PICTURE? If you recall, I “took a quick shower and headed out.” That didn’t involve preparing myself to be photographed. That didn’t even involve LOOKING IN A MIRROR. Ack. Oh well, license photos are supposed to be terrible. And it was. Oh it was.
So I’m done. Temporary license in hand. Hike back up the hill to catch light rail home. Glance down at the license to check out that awesome photo again. Wait, what does that say? Eye color: BRN. Well, phoooey. Luckily, I noticed it within a block or two, was able to go back and have the guy redo it. He said it was his only void today, unless you count the one between his ears. HA! He had to take another picture, this one even worse than the first. As I head out the door, he says, “Have a nice day, blue-eyed Leah.”
Tee hee.
Dear neighborhood Girl Scouts,
I’ve spent the last week hearing people talk about Girl Scout cookies. Thin Mint this and Samoa that. And I LOVE Thin Mints. I’ve stopped at various grocery stores over the last few days hoping to run into some of you and give you some of my hard-earned money in exchange for crack in cookie form. No luck. Early this evening, I had a couple of hours to kill and decided I would not rest until I had Thin Mints in hand. Google helped me find a Girl Scout cookie locator, and a quick input of my ZIP code confirmed that the Safeway down the road should have what I was looking for. Perfect. I figured the dog and I would walk there, and that the three-mile round-trip trek would make those cookies practically calorie-free. And off we went. I could almost taste those Thin Mints.
Upon arrival, we walked past the entrance and didn’t see a table set up for cookie sales. But I wasn’t going to give up hope. Perhaps you Girl Scouts are selling your wares somewhere other than the entrance. In the produce department? Over the pharmacy counter? Since I couldn’t take the mutt inside, I plopped down on a bench, Wheezy hopped up in my lap, and I made a quick phone call to the Safeway. I learned that you Girl Scouts hadn’t been there today to sell cookies. Were you there yesterday? Yup, two separate groups of ya. And last week? Of course. But on the day I want cookies, you’re nowhere to be found. That’s just great.
So we turned around and headed back. As a consolation prize, I got an ice-cream cone at the neighborhood ice-cream parlor — but not before nearly being hit by a car! (Hey driver of red car pulling out of parking lot next to the library, pay attention!!!) My ice-cream cone — chocolate ginger — was divine. Almost worth three miles, near death and a big ol’ blister.
I’ll find you, Girl Scouts. I will get my Thin Mints. Be prepared. (Isn’t that your motto, anyway?)
See you soon,
Leah
Dear barista,
You had no way of knowing that the latte you made for me on Friday afternoon was a rare treat for me. That I usually just drink normal ol’ cheap (and often free) black coffee. That I used to be a two-espresso-beverage-a-day girl, but these days I rarely partake of such indulgences. You didn’t know that I’ve become more frugal (and sensible, really). But shouldn’t every latte you make be a treat? Isn’t that the point of fancy coffee from the fancy neighborhood bakery? (On a side note, every other coffee beverage I have ever had from this establishment has been phenomenal.)
I tried to drink that latte. I was several blocks away when I took my first sip. It was the most bitter, disgusting latte I have ever tasted, and I’ve had a few bad ones in my day. I took a few deep breaths, talked myself into having another taste. Even worse. As soon as I got to the light-rail station, that full latte went into the trash. Three dollars I will never get back. And yeah, it sucks to waste a few bucks. But I had been looking forward to sipping that latte on the light rail ALL DAY LONG. You broke my heart.
I hope this was an anomaly.
Better luck next time,
Leah
Dear co-worker whose name I don’t recall,
I’ll be brief. Instoppable is not a word. Your work ethic is admirable, I’m sure. I’m fairly certain that when you said “I’m instoppable,” you meant you are kicking ass at whatever it is your job is and that, perhaps, you’re unstoppable. Good for you.
Thanks,
Leah
P.S. This may be part of the reason I wear headphones at work. I’d rather listen to Pearl Jam and Tori Amos and, yes, even Coldplay (Pandora did it) than hear my co-workers (who write things and edit things as part of their jobs) incessantly use words that don’t exist.
Last year, for the weekend preceding my 30th birthday, we headed to Portland on the train. (We being Man Candy, our dear friend Mary and myself.) A few other friends from Seattle were planning to come down in a couple of days to hang out and celebrate. That first night, after we watched a movie in the hotel room, Tim and Mary handed me a magazine featuring Portland breakfast spots and told me to figure out where we should go for breakfast the next day.  The front of the first clue in my scavenger hunt.  The inside of the first of 7 clues in my birthday scavenger hunt. I flipped through, completely overlooking the “clue” they had sneakily hidden among the magazine’s pages.
This clue was the first of many I would find the next day during a birthday scavenger hunt all over Portland.
That first clue took us to breakfast the next morning, where the waitress brought me my second clue.
The coordinates on that second clue took us to a toy store, where my prize was “Newlywed Ken and Barbie.” I was confused by this, because I am not, and never really have been, a fan of Barbie. I wandered around the store for a bit, completely ignoring someone trying to get my attention from behind one of the toy racks.
It turns out, my good pal Reann, whom I have been friends with since before junior high, and her new husband Greg (whom I adore) had flown up from New Mexico as part of my birthday surprise. Wowee was I excited.
My next clue took us to the Portland Saturday Market.  Reann, Greg, Leah and Mary at the Portland outdoor market
Other clues took us for donuts (where my Seattle friends met up with us), to a museum and then to dinner at this awesome Peruvian place that Man Candy and I had discovered in one of our other Portland excursions.
As we’re waiting to be seated for dinner, one of my friends asked Man Candy if there were still 11 people on the reservation. I looked around, counted 9 of us.
Just then, I turned around and saw my friends Cami and Mike from Logan, Utah. Cami and I worked on the college paper together.
They happened to be celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary and decided to come to the Pacific Northwest so they could spend an evening of their vacation with me. I was so giddy.
So the 11 of us had an amazing dinner.  Our dinner party in Portland
After dinner was done, I was surprised with the most awesome birthday cake ever, a gift from Amber. Thanks, Amber, for the best cake a girl could ever hope for. It’s a maple bacon donut cake from Voodoo Donuts in Portland. Yum.  Best cake ever Like I said in my last post, no birthday celebration could ever top last year. Man Candy knew that the best gift to give me would be spending time with the people I love. Thank you all for being there.
And I would highly recommend the birthday scavenger hunt to anyone who wants a fun way to celebrate. I also highly recommend taking the train to Portland. Best way to travel EVER.
The first countdown I refer to is the 20 days remaining until I turn 31. This seems significant to me because it will feel more like I’m “in my 30s.” Turning 30 was more of a “completion of my 20s” milestone and was the best birthday ever, so I didn’t really have to think too much about the whole new decade of age thing. And I just realized I ought to share the awesomeness of that birthday here. It’s nearly a year late, but that’s OK. That will be my next post. Promise.
Anyway, this year’s birthday festivities, if there are any, will never be able to compete with last year. But there’s something about that number — 31 — that makes me think I ought to be all growed up and have a life plan and a solid career.
Which brings me to the second countdown. I’m just a couple of months (in fact, exactly 2 months) from being unemployed again. I’m in a yearlong contract and, once it’s done, I can’t come back to work for The Big Ol’ Company as a contractor until I take a 100-day break. It’s an odd setup, but I’m actually looking forward to being done. I’m really hoping to get some freelance work lined up, get an actual little business of my own started up and perhaps do some soul-searching to figure out what it is I really want to do with my life. And I want to walk the Earth. Perhaps not literally walk it, since it’s big and I’ve got the ol’ lady knees. But I do want to spend some time just roaming or visiting people I don’t get to see often or taking Man Candy on a fun birthday trip or kickin’ it with my nephew.
I have no life plan. No career plan. No plans. I’m planless. Sometimes that bothers me. I often wish someone would have told me what I had to do with my life. But, the thing is, I can do almost anything I want. I can start a new career. And I’m fairly certain I will, at some point. I just have to pick one. And that is where that new dartboard I got for Christmas will come in handy. I can just write each career I’m interested in on a separate little piece of paper and put all the little pieces of paper on the dartboard and throw darts until I actually hit the dartboard somewhere (no, my new career will not be a professional dart player) and wherever the dart lands will be my new life!
Stay tuned …
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