Junk Thief always laughs at people in San Francisco who say the weather is "cold," "frigid," "
freezing," even "arctic". (He doubles over in convulsive howls at that one.)
"Freezing" = temperatures of 32 Fahrenheit and below. It never gets below 33 in San Francisco.
It's 28 in Seattle and going down the scale. Fantastic! Junk Thief loves winter and winter clothes. He wishes they'd design more tropical weight charcoal linen for the horrid summer months. Taking a quick break between appointments, Junk Thief breezed into University Village Shopping Center to kill 15 minutes. He'd not walked into a J. Crew in ages. They say the Gap is out of touch, but what's up with J. Crew these days.? The clerks freaked when they heard Junk Thief let out a slight shriek when he saw a display of tropical fruit ice cream rugby shirts. "They are a bit...gaudy," one of the clerks offered.
Why can't everyone wear gray, black, brown and subdued blues year-round? It would be a much happier world. Pastels and tropical colors are always so depressing.
Did Junk Thief mention that he recently called it off with a 28-year-0ld? There wasn't that much going on, and the 28-year-old was not that much to talk about
and lived in Benecia. The bridge and tunnel trade was mildly amusing in the 1990s but downright ridiculous in this 21st Century. The main thing is the satisfaction of being able to tell a 28-year-old thanks but no thanks.
Twenty-eight
was the Junk Thief's age when he bought his first house around this time of this year...in that year...he bought his first house. You can do the math yourself to figure out the exact year.
Twenty-eight was the gate where Junk Thief caught the plane to Seattle at 6:30 a.m. (urgh). It was supposed to be at gate 22, but there was never an announcement. When Junk Thief asked if they were still boarding, the 60ish agent muttered, "Yes...yes..." and then, like a mantra. "It's crashing, crashing. It's going down, all the way down to the ground."
"Excuse me," Junk Thief asked, awake enough to need just a tad of clarity on this somewhat disconcerting announcement.
"The stock market. It's crashing. I'll be working at this dead end job for another 25 years!"
(Photos from the trip to come, we hope, when the days are a little less packed than today and tomorrow.)
Labels: airports, San Francisco, Seattle, travel
It's just above 22 degrees in Kalamazoo, and come Saturday morning, a certain someone with a golden-red coat will be making her way to San Francisco from Kalamazoo via Chicago O'Hare. I am so excited and also so nervous. I have no idea how she will react to me, California, or the trip. But after having nearly a month without a four pawed companion for the first time in nearly 20 years, I am very anxious to be able to go to the special handling window of American Airlines at SFO Saturday evening. Fingers crossed, baby gates back up in the back yard, and lots of Natural Balance treats and Gouda cheese to welcome her. I plan to shower her with all the attention and support she deserves.
