After this one course of events happened to me over last weekend, I’m ready to talk some serious trash.



Here’s what happened:



I decided to dedicate my last Sunday to a task I’ve been putting off for far too long: cleaning out my garage.



Unfortunately, the people who owned the house before me left behind a bunch of crap in the garage for little old me to deal with.



So on Sunday I decided I was going to get rid of it once and for all.



I loaded everything up all by myself and hauled it off only to experience a feeling of bliss that I’d never had before.



I know this might sound crazy, but I’ve never been to the dump before. Growing up, my father always took care of that stuff, and as an adult, I’ve always lived in smaller spaces with very little room for junk.



But as I was pulling up, my landfill virginity got the best of me. I got a little nervous because I wasn’t sure if everything that I’d packed was acceptable, I didn’t know how the process worked or what the final cost would be.



In spite of all of that, the staff at the station kindly explained everything to the spoiled brat that I am.



I had no idea that trash would bring me such joy. Well, actually, it was the art of unloading it.



I got a true sense of liberation as I stood on the bed of that truck, absolutely hucking all of those unwanted items that I’d built up so much animosity toward onto the hard concrete, watching most of it crumble to pieces. Then, such an overwhelming feeling of relief followed as I just simply drove away from it all.



Best of all, the total cost was just $30. I never knew that it was that cheap or easy.

I’m sure several of you think I’m a whack job because you consider the dump to be no big deal. However, I think you should try looking at it a different way.



Now, as I sit here pitter pattering away on my computer, I’m sore as all get out because I really should’ve asked for help in loading and unloading that stuff, but I have the cleanest garage in the world, half of which is in the process of becoming a home gym.



And I owe it all to Tacoma’s landfill transfer station.



Like I said, that’s some serious trash talkin’.

Oktoberfest Northwest cleanliness

Before I cleaned the garage, on Friday I hung out with a guy that I cleared the air with: Costra Rica Ryan. He and I previously had a gigantor misunderstanding, but he has now returned to the spot where he belongs as my favorite Costa Rican ever.



He was sweet enough to accompany me to Ocktoberfest Northwest at the Puyallup Fairgrounds, and right when we got there until we left, we couldn’t stop laughing. The event felt like a huge high school cafeteria, but it was way better because they had beer. I kept trying to get Ryan to do the chicken dance but he wouldn’t. The people-watching was awesome because, after all, we were in Puyallup. Probably the funniest thing at the function was watching a group of big guys on stage fail at playing one of those huge Ricola horns.



After all of the German goodies, we headed back to T-Town to close the night with Cob and Jacey at Doyle’s.



Oi! Oi! Oi!

Orderly Owl N Thistle

Saturday I took the Carmen Jones show on the road and headed to Burien to catch dinner with BFFs Ashley, Josh and little baby Wyatt. After, I promised Best Friend Colin that I’d stop into the Owl N. Thistle in Seattle since I hadn’t seen him in a while. In typical orderly fashion, upon entry I was surrounded by so many of the boys that I miss and love: Col, Ian, Steve, The Dago and Tommy. The Dago was telling me that if I had sex with him for three seconds, he’d make me the best French toast ever. He also offered a convincing smile while saying, "You like French toast, don’t you?!" Somehow, I managed to turn him down, and after a wonderful night with some of my favorite guys, I ventured home.