Would you kindly shut up?

You know what I am really good at?

Telling people to shut the eff up.

I am often forced to do in coffee shops, when people are blabbing on cell phones (AT MY TABLE AFTER I HAVE CONSENTED TO SHARE IT WITH THEM, NO LESS).

Or when, like today, they are simply clueless (and perhaps crazy) and talking in a very LOUD voice about NAZIs and HOMOSEXUALS.

I made one pointless attempt to ask the help at Peets to kindly ask this guy to shut the eff up, since I didn't want to antagonize him (as I am wont to do in these situations). But this being Seattle, the barista said yes she would do it, then didn't; nor did any of the other patrons who kept staring at him and wishing he would shut up or at least lower his damn voice but of course, would not say anything because they are from SEATTLE, LAND OF WUSSES.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I said "SIR EXCUSE ME CAN YOU PLEASE LOWER YOUR VOICE?" And to my surprise, he politely apologized, and then did lower his voice. For about seven minutes.

Sigh.

I am also known for telling loud people in campgrounds to shut up; for example, when they are playing guitar loudly (and badly) in the next campsite. Two weeks ago, however, there was a big group of hunters camped next to me in the north Cascades blasting country music well into the night.

But I had seen their guns and I was afraid. So I kept my own mouth shut (for once.)

Basket-tastic Household

After sleeping in to an obscene hour today and and making several feeble attempts to be productive, I give up. I simply have no interest in any of the ten million projects I should be working on.

I'm just too worn out after a weekend of camping and hiking with some friends of mine who are frighteningly fit and formidable. After bumbling along in their wake for two days on ice and snow-covered trails, I need a rest! Apparently my brain does too, because it simply won't function.

The North Cascades scenery was stunning - as you can see-- despite much of the fall foliage being covered in an early dump of snow. And it was especially soothing, while freezing my a** off in the tent on Saturday night, to be lulled to sleep by the sound of hunters in the next campsite blasting country music and getting increasingly drunk.

I'm usually the one in any campground scenario to tell people to shut the f*ck up, but these guys, had really big guns. So I kept my trap shut, cinched the sleeping bag as tight around my balaclava-encased head as it would go, broke out the handwarmers, and eventually fell asleep. (Although the old Breakup Babe part of me briefly contemplated going over and joining the party. You know, in the spirit of bipartisanship, with the goal of eventually getting them to vote for Obama).

Harmony has returned to my household - in case you were worried because of last week's melodramatic post. Now I'm ready to share my latest home-decorating fetish with you. Are you ready?

Baskets! That's right. I have "discovered" the art of decorating with baskets and oh, boy, my house has never looked better. How did I fail to discover them before? Not only are they attractive and cheap, they let you organize things without really organizing them.

A little mess here? Throw it in a basket A little mess there? Throw it another (matching!) basket! Soon you've got one organized and delightfully Cost-Plussy household. I now have no less than eight baskets in my new house and I don't intend to stop anytime soon.

So there.

Me and Blogger -- Headed to Couples Therapy

Sigh.

Look how early I'm posting today. You can always tell I've had a bad night if I'm posting before 8 a.m. in the morning.

You know, I wish I could blog like in the old days. If I could, I would tell all: from how sexy my boyfriend is when he's playing the guitar to how we got in a stupid fight about (insert mundane household item here) last night that has extended into the wee hours of this rain-lashed morning.

I would have delved more deeply into the relationship dynamics that played out in Alaska. What happened, exactly, as we piloted a kayak over too-big waves and got stranded on beaches that we couldn't get off? Who took charge? Who panicked? Who spotted the first grizzly (And the second? And who was ready to pack the kayak up and flee and who insisted we stand our ground?)

Hell, I would tell you the most private details of our s*x life if I could. Because God knows, I don't have anyone to talk to about that now my best girlfriends have dispersed to far-flung corners of the world.

I would share our thoughts on having kids and adoption (who's pro, who's con?) and that I think he would be great dad but that the thought of kids still terrifies me. I would talk about how my niece gets a googly, lovestruck look in her eyes every time he appears.

I might even talk about how I saw my most recent ex-boyfriend last week for the first time since our breakup more than 2 years ago and how bittersweet (but mostly sweet) that was.

I would talk about how I worry I'm emotionally shut down and might never be able to open up except to people I can't trust because they can't hurt me as much. But then I might say how that's stupid psychobabble and I should just shut the f*ck up.

But no. I don't talk about those things anymore. And, therefore, I don't really blog anymore, because nothing engaged me like talking about love and sex and dating and boys.

There I was, talking to a blogging class at Write on the Sound yesterday, telling them how the #1 thing they needed for a successful blog was PASSION.

And here I am, blogging day after day without passion anymore.

Me and Blogger need to go into some serious therapy.