The thing most people asked about with me moving to Seattle was, “Doesn’t it rain a lot there?”  Tonight I can verify that it does. At least it feels like it. I’ve been walking for an hour in what I flippantly said was not-rain when I still lived in Memphis. Even not-rain adds up to a whole lotta wet after an hour. I stopped at the Streamline before home because if I’m getting home wet, at least I’ll be tipsy.

Tonight’s date was a fresh change from the last few.  Imported from Canada by Amazon I got a chance to test the waters with someone that’s compulsively polite.  You haven’t experienced erotic until someone’s told you how delightfully slutty your breasts are.  I get what he means, but the intent is still questionable.  I felt like a very high class prostitute with this guy.  I mean the kind that doesn’t even have to fuck you to get paid.  In some ways, it’s nice because I’m usually treated like a much lower class whore.  He wants to see me again.  It’s not an objectionable prospect but he’d better buy me a much nicer meal if he expects to get past second base.

Oh! and I’ve discovered a really disturbing phenomenon.  This Amazonite yuppie lives in one of the new apartment developments in Eastlake.  They are pretty much hotels.  I mean, the rooms at the Boron Motel had more warmth and charm.  The kitchen and bathroom are disproportionately large for a one-bedroom apartment.  The hallways and furnishings match.  Don’t get me wrong, they are very nice places that I would be happy to move into but my shitty little apartment is even more valuable to me now.  I hope all these signs I’ve seen for rezoning into residential units have better architects than Amazon uses.