I love to show people how just organizing a simple charity activity can bring wealth to not only the organization, but to the participants & the recipients! Originally published on Valentine’s Day Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day and no, I am not going to inundate you with romance, gift ideas and other fluffy notions that probably won’t live up to your expectations, much like the day itself. Sure, I celebrate it. Even when I was single I enjoyed giving treats to my pals as I enjoyed the nostalgic aspect of it from my childhood. I decided to give in and enjoy it, regardless of the commercial aspects of it. We’re in America, for crying out loud. Consumerism is the way, like it or not. And now more than ever, I need to do my part to keep the economy on an upswing, right? Well, I have taken that concept and exploded it by also giving back. For the third year in a row, I have rallied a group of my fellow employees (we call ourselves Peeps for Pets) and created a CandyGram campaign for the big February 14th day. Bags of candy and conversation heart cookies are wrapped & tagged and delivered in the office to the delight of our staff. This year’s success equaled the previous two with about $1000 raised for the Seattle Humane Society. It’s not just about candy, it’s not just about Valentine’s Day, it’s not just about giving back to the community… it really has given a boost to morale, especially in these uncertain times. One thing that is certain, I still have faith in people and their philanthropic hearts. What are you doing to show your love today? featured image credit: Beverly &...

When Ernessa first asked me to be a contributor to Fierce and Nerdy at its inception, I was thrilled to have an outlet to hone my writing skills, show off some cute ideas and be part of an active blogging community. The thrill is not gone, but it has definitely changed. In the years since I began writing for FaN, I’ve added more to my plate including volunteering, an active social life, a new business venture and still wanting to spend ample amounts of time with my boyfriend and my furry kids. Oh, and I have a 40-hour work week at a day job that keeps me on my toes all day. I get up at 5:15 to work out Monday through Friday and then I do all that other stuff until sometimes 10 at night. I really am somewhat exhausted just thinking about it all, but to perfectly honest, I really don’t know any other way to function. I’m one of those people who seem to thrive on chaos. I will be in the middle of several projects at one time and then decide I should stop by the humane society where I volunteer and pick up a foster dog. I think there are just too many things that I want to do in my life, and that I want to do them all at the same time. I’m notoriously impatient, but I am beginning to put things in check…therefore, I’m taking a Fierce break.  I will guest blog for “FIERCE ANTICIPATION” in the future, and when I do, I know it will be a blogumn that I will be able to give my full focus to.  I am writing my own blog to promote my new event planning venture. I also have...

I was not prepared. It really snuck up on me. And I’ve known about it for at least a year. I’m talking about the end. Of Oprah. She continues to tell us that she will focus on OWN, the Oprah Winfrey Network, as well as O Magazine. But nothing can even touch the greatness of The Oprah Winfrey Show.  Ernessa talked about it here and many things she said resonated with me. Oprah being something of an everywoman and a superwoman simultaneously. A good 15 years or so ago, my best gay and I attended a taping of the Oprah show. Women with gambling addictions was the topic. Hardly relatable material for me considering I hadn’t even managed a trip to Las Vegas at that point in my life. Nevertheless, it was electric to be in that audience. You knew you were in the presence of greatness. Not only were we attending the show as audience, but we had an assignment from my friend’s mom. His mother had been a guest a year prior, discussing getting out of the rat race and moving from the suburbs of Chicago to the quiet and warmth of the Arizona dessert. Apparently, O had mentioned something about Aunt Bee from The Andy Griffith Show. This prompted my pal’s mom to arm us with Aunt Bee’s Mayberry Cookbook and told us we needed to give it to Oprah. Sure, OK. Now this was back in the day when Oprah used to shake every audience member’s hand as they exited. So not only would we make pleasantries with a handshake, but manipulate her for a few extra seconds by gifting her with something she surely would treasure for a lifetime. Oprah said something cute like “Oh my, who knew Aunt...

It’s here. Almost. Forty. And really, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Well, other than I am inviting some of my best pals to a house I rented on the South Kona coast for a week. No big deal. I do think it is a rite of passage and I feel mostly well-prepared to cross it. There are a lot of unnecessary pressures that I have put on myself to have a number of things accomplished in my life by this point, but oops, guess they didn’t get done…and maybe they will when I have a few more years under my belt. Even my healthcare provider just sent me a note to remind me to “register for infertility treatment today!” I’m sure this is the letter sent to all of their members prior to turning 40. And while I appreciate the nudge, I am not interested in being a parent to a human child. But thanks, United Healthcare, for the options. There are plenty of things I have wanted to accomplish by now…or things I thought I wanted to. But who is to say that age is a factor in accomplishing anything? You hear about senior citizens going to back to college, retirees starting new businesses, and marathon runners reaching their 70th birthdays. I think that the knowledge that I gain over the years can only help me in those endeavors even more. I’ve often let blind faith lead my way in life with the theory “if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.” While it has proven itself more often than I could have imagined, it hasn’t been without its struggles. The theory I am now adopting is “make it so.” It leaves a little bit more room for...

I am one of those freaks that apparently thrives on chaos. Why else would I work a full time job, be an active volunteer, write for 2 blogs (and about to start a daily third one), and now start my own business on the side? Normal folks don’t do this stuff. But then, I am certain I will never be considered “normal,” nor do I want to be.  And this is why I have decided to begin my own freelance event production company.  It is exhilarating, exciting and exhausting.  But I signed up for this. I’m about to turn 40 and now it seems I’m taking those risks that I was never confident enough to take 10 years ago, or even 2 years ago, for that matter. This isn’t my first time starting a small business and I’m sure it won’t be my last.  One thing that has changed since my last effort is not only the explosion of social networking but my ability to network live in person. Back when I was an actor in LA I hated, hated, hated networking, or as we called it then, “schmoozing.”  I had pals who excelled at this form of human communication, but I would often freeze up and be very quiet, would leave early and basically not be myself.  I always felt like I was forcing people to talk to me and felt that speaking to me was not worthy of their time, that I was completely exposed & naked. Self esteem = zero points. Fast forward over a decade later, minus some bad habits, moving to a different city, becoming active in philanthropy, falling in love, and other major life changes…somehow the confidence worked itself out.  And it couldn’t have happened at a better...

I just spent 6 hours cleaning my house. I am only about 1/3 through it. I should mention it’s only 625 square feet. I haven’t even dusted or cleaned the bathroom yet. I re-organized my closet for the 4th time in the last 12 months & hope this one sticks. I have about 8 bags of crap. Crap, crap, crappity crap. I can hardly even tell you what most of it is. Some of it I will attempt to sell at Buffalo Exchange, whatever doesn’t reward me in riches will go to Goodwill. I’m not sure how I acquired so much stuff and honestly, I feel some shame about it.  I have a washer & dryer, so why do I need almost 20 pair of black socks, at least 3 grey skirts, about 6 black cardigans…yeah, it’s embarrassing. Organizing experts, like my pal Elyse with Life Simplified,  will tell you that in order to bring more good things into your life, you need to get rid of what’s holding you back, and in particular – clutter.  I’m launching my freelance event consulting business and in order for it to be successful and to bring that good into my life, I need an office-type space to work–for starters. This wasn’t just as simple as buying a desk.  When you live in what is just a few feet shy of studio space, you have to get creative.  A dresser in the living room, lidded baskets galore, using the top of the refrigerator as a shelf of sorts, are the only options I sometimes have.  Oh, and the other option –get rid of junk. It’s been liberating letting go of some of the things from my past including a gorgeous pair of Lucchese cowboy boots, weird little...

I don’t know, maybe it’s a sign of getting older but I think most people are rude. Sure, it was my own fault to suggest to my boyfriend on Sunday “Hey, let’s go to IKEA!” Did I forget that it’s the weekend Disneyland for the after 30 yipster set? We passed through the first parking lot, then the second, and finally found a spot in the third section. I’m fine with securing my vehicle far from the actual store. Plus, I have legs that work so why not use them? Parking near an entrance of any building is usually where most accidents and screaming matches take place, anyway. I’ll stick to the back forty, thanks. Once we arrive inside, it’s butts to nuts. Forget that it’s raining with impending snow in Renton, WA — people need their Billy bookcases! And because no one goes to IKEA solo, it’s couples and families and extended families, each with the Costco-sized shopping carts in hand…and in the aisle. Just leave that thing anywhere, OK?! What happened to moving your cart out of the way and putting it to the side while you take a closer inspection of that Trollsta? And the aisles are akin to freeway lanes that seem to go but one way: the way you aren’t going. No one says “Excuse me” or “I’m sorry” if they happen to be in your way or accidentally bump into you. It reminds me of the 7 years working at Universal Studios Hollywood (yes, where you can ride the movies!) and I learned what I call “The Tourist Two-Step.” This slick move is one that requires, at times, cat-like reflexes to avoid the super-slow walkers, the wobbly weavers you can’t get around or the temper tantrum in check...

Most of you are traveling for the impending holiday season. You are planning your pet sitters, delaying your mail pick up, frantically finishing projects at work to take some time off. Once you are ready to traverse, you have a schedule to follow including a ride to the airport, traffic, 3-ounce containers, oversized carry-on bags, $10 snack packs, germ-infested aisle mates, stale air and the never-ending quest to get there as soon as you can. Shortly after deplaning, you await your baggage with the rest of the herd where you are then swooped up by Auntie So And So and delivered to your familial destination. Upon arrival, you assist in the final preparations for the meals, the gift exchanges, the recitals, the visits after visits after visits. By the time the trip has come to an end, you are exhausted with a scratchy throat, some intestinal distress, and you are ruminating over some unsettled squabble with your sister as you settle into your middle seat in Row 26 next to a toddler who has an issue with potty training. Your home and your bed cannot bring comfort to you any sooner. None of the above sounds fun to me. I have a good relationship with my family in Illinois. It’s so good that they are completely supportive of me not making the trek from Seattle to the bitter cold for a few brief days to run around from here to there and everywhere, trying to see family and friends who already have other plans with their own family and other friends. Instead, I usually travel before or after the holidays anytime I visit anyone anywhere, if I can help it. I am currently on a short LA vacay and am especially loving today. It’s...

Kelli Bielema has some thoughts about that (and more importantly, recipes!) at her awesome vegetarian blog, VEG OUT AND ABOUT. Click on the Tofurkey to go there...

As a kid, I was very dramatic and would scream at my mother “I hate you!” My mother, calm as still water, would reply, “hate is a very strong word. You had best be sure you mean it and all of its implications.” I apply this principle to how I feel about using hate in my vernacular. Okay, I don’t hate olives, but I just don’t enjoy their flavor. Fine, I don’t hate math, but my strong suits have always been in the creative arts. And yes, I hate Michael Vick. I am not coming down from that one. One thing I have decided to no longer hate, but rather, make amends with, is going to the dentist. Regardless of the varied techniques to manage their care, my genes usurp any fancy toothpaste or gum stimulators. Thanks, dad! My childhood doctor gave me at least 4 fillings, a couple of caps, cleaning treatments that were either flavored bubble gum or butterscotch. Butterscotch? Really? That might work on an 80 year-old but not an 8 year-old, Doc. As I grew into adulthood I was a struggling actor in Chicago with occasional dental insurance. This resulted in my first root canal, crown, and foray into dental debt. In an effort to save a few pennies, I went back to the hometown Barber of Seville who pulled one of my wisdom teeth under local anesthetic. Which did not work. I have this predisposition where my body is basically immune to Novocain. In the wisdom tooth incident, I was injected up to 8 shots in one area and was still able to sense the pain. After years of researching this on my own with several DDS practitioners, I discovered that I need one of the following combinations: 1....

I’m looking soooo forward to the 32 CANDLES Q&A at Writing Pad tonight. And I’ve been really good with the Weight Watchers points this week, so salted caramel cupcakes will be eaten without guilt. This I decree! But before all that, let’s get our procrastination on, shall we? 1. Our own Ryan Dixon not only gave the best quote in a Wall Street Journal article about the legendary McDonald’s McRib (“It has a ghostly quality […] You don’t know when it will appear. It’s the girl who you are in love with who has always been a tease to you.”), he’ll also be talking about on NPR this Saturday for “All Things Considered,” so do tune in. For those of you who haven’t met Ryan IRL, he talks just like he writes. Don’t believe that’s even possible? Dudes, tune in…. [WSJ.com] 2. A preview of the upcoming SWEET VALLEY HIGH sequel (drop date: April, 2011), which will feature the twins all grown up. Elizabeth and Jessica have fallen out because of an unnamed betrayal. I can tell myself I’m too grown to read this, but we all pretty much know that I’m going to be pre-ordering it on Amazon. Nostalgia is a hell of a drug, ya’ll. [Jezebel] 3. Apparently, 92% of babies have a social networking presence. My bigger question is about the 8% that don’t. I mean if a baby is born and you don’t post her or his picture on your blog or Facebook page, does that baby actually exist? [ValleyWag] 4. I likes me both some meat and some seafood, but I imagine this article from our own Kelli Bielema (“Fierce in Seattle”) about how to navigate being a vegetarian at a seafood restaurant might be very helpful to someone...

It’s a wonder I don’t weigh 400 pounds. I love food. I love not only eating it, I love talking about it, reading about and shopping for it. You don’t want to be with me on a visit to Whole Foods. Well, unless you want to kick it for an hour or two. It’s really quite obnoxious. I become a bit agitated when a store staffer asks “can I help you find anything?” I really want to tell them the truth, which is “no, because I’m going to take my sweet-ass time looking at every shelf on every aisle.” I’m semi-obsessed with learning about new products, restaurants, poring over websites, cookbooks, I dive in to absorb it all. Since adopting a vegetarian lifestyle a few years ago, I have dug into my adoration even deeper. I want to discover everything there is to know and share it with the world. Living a life free of meat has enriched my health and spirit exponentially. I recently created a new blog, Veg Out and About, as a way to connect to not only the vegetarian community at large, but to share thoughts and ideas to those who don’t know where to start.  While my reasons for adopting such a lifestyle are rooted in animal welfare, the health benefits have been quite impressive on how I feel.  This is what I want to share.  I realize that creating a blog is just a small cog in the wheel on the interwebs, but ultimately, I would like my little kernel to grow and expand. With our American diets and lifestyles creating nothing short of a health crisis, I want to be part of the machine creating influence and change with positive, accessible methods. My biggest influence is Jamie...

, a favorite blogumn by Kelli Bielema Kelli Says: I think this blogumn is probably fitting because I just killed a tomato plant. It was starting to blossom some fruit, but needed to be staked. I bought the stake on a Saturday eve, with full intent to pound into the dirt Sunday morning. Come sunrise, the poor thing took a dive and lopsided. Produce is for buying at the market. Not for me planting in the soil. From June 15, 2009 I’ve never been outdoorsy or even possessed a mild proclivity to nature. I really don’t know what’s happened to me since I moved to Seattle. Living in Los Angeles’ Los Feliz neighborhood I would hike Griffith Park frequently, and I liked to get fresh flowers occasionally. That was the extent of it. I regularly killed houseplants, including succulents, which I was told were the easiest to grow. It wouldn’t surprise me if I were till annihilate a plastic fern. I moved into a lovely rental home here in Seattle near the end of November 2008. The house was built at the turn of the century (as in the 20th) to provide lodging for the pastor of the neighborhood church. It’s barely 600 square feet, boasts cathedral ceiling (keepin’ the faith, yo), and has a sleeping loft which I utilize as a guest room/storage area. The kitchen is open, with ample counter space and stainless steel appliances. Super fun to cook and entertain in. The bedroom is small and I have significantly edited all the junk in my life. I just need clothes, cookware, artsy things and some bric-a-brac and I am homesteaded. I have a small patio, which I recently adorned with a couple of cushy seats and potted plants (poor suckers don’t...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I want to be lazy. Lay on the couch in fat pants watching reality TV eating Cheddar Jalapeno Cheetos for an entire day kind of lazy. I know I can do it. For about 3 hours anyway. After that, I at least will change the channel or move onto a pint of Haagen Dazs Caramel Cone ice cream. Wash it all down with a Diet Cherry Coke and maybe move to an upright chair. Thing is, I have too much to do all the time. And it’s my own fault as I generally am too much of a yes man. It’s not that I’m coerced into doing things I don’t want to, it’s more that I want to do everything and it all happens right around the same time. This weekend I not only needed to complete my blog assignment, I was meeting a girlfriend for brunch, coordinating another friend’s wedding (including the wedding, the rehearsal & rehearsal dinner), taking the mutt to the dog park, and giving her a bath, doing laundry, washing dishes, vacuuming, mowing the lawn, giving myself a pedicure (or at least taking off the month-old chipping polish), working on my new blog site, reviewing logistical plans for Seattle Humane Society’s Walk for the Animals, continuing writing the script for a video project, creating an annual plan for a friend with a new puppy, grocery shopping, payng bills, and spending time with my boyfriend other than by catching Zs together. So far I’ve completed about 3 of these tasks, and really can’t be too sure the rest of them will be done—mostly because I’m multi-tasking this blog writing whilst the Travel Channel is showing a program about ice cream. The cutest old dude is...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema Really? 39? How did this happen? Age ain’t nothin’ but a number, you’re only as old as you feel, and so it goes with the clichés about not acting your age. I subscribe to all of these notions. It’s also probably why most people I meet first think I’m about 10 years younger than my actual date of birth. My face has never touched sheep jiz injections or been hacked open with an Exacto knife. I don’t smoke and I don’t get angry and yell at people. I’m vegetarian and I breathe deeply when confronted with anxiety. I work out hard and play at a pace that doesn’t hit blackout mode. It took me a good 10 years to get to this place and it only keeps getting better. 40 is the new 30! (And orange is the new black, optimism is the new cynicism! Ick!) I was a teenager when the show THIRTYSOMETHING premiered. They all seemed like a bunch of whiny yuppies, but now I am thinking about adding it to my Netflix queue just to make sure. I recall how the turning-40 Samantha was considered the old coot (or cootch, as it were) in the early days of “Sex and the City.” She consistently fibbed on her real age and always made an effort to cover her tracks…and her crow’s feet. What’s up with that? I think there’s something honorable about aging gracefully. And women that aren’t even aging are messing with their faces. Heidi Montag is 23 and she looks at least a few years older than me. Blog refresher: I’m 39. And because I’m 39, I’ve also come to terms with the fact that nature takes its course. I am never going to...

Who doesn’t love a good bargain? I used to be one of those grocery shoppers who drove to 4 different markets to scoop up all the best deals, ultimately guzzling gas that would likely balance the savings at the stores. I was a coupon clipper. A rebate refunder. A Ziploc bag re-user. OK, I’ll admit, I still do some of those things, but nothing in recent memory has given me such spending and saving joy as Groupon. Serving about 40 metropolitan areas, Groupon claims to have sold over 4 million of the things, saving over $177 million dollars to consumers. And what in the name of Mike is a Groupon you ask? Merely something fun to do, eat, drink or participate in at roughly half off. An additional awesome Groupon factoid is that it was started by creative, progressive entrepreneurs. And you just know that their office is probably a super cool place to work like Google where you can bring your dog and beer pong is an afternoon team-building session. Other than saving bucks, Groupon is a great way to support local businesses. Extra awesome while our economy is still in the shitter. I’m happy to do my part to pump it back up by eating crepes, drinking at a local brewpub or having a photography session. I’ve found myself interested in things that I otherwise wouldn’t have considered purchasing such as a flying trapeze class. I always thought that the trapeze looked fun. Mostly the swinging-like-a-monkey part.  So I bought the Groupon for Emerald City Trapeze with a few girlfriends. For 2 hours we climbed a wobbly, skinny ladder to reach a wobbly, skinny platform and swing hanging from a heavy bar that would ultimately blister my hands. Suffice it to say,...

Whatta fierce and nerdy week! Here are my thoughts: 1. I just love that France requires a chest x-ray from its would-be citizens. I wonder why… 2. Poor Robin actually asked me if it was okay to self-promote on the blog, and I answered something along the lines of “Absolutely not, b/c I don’t believe in it — especially when it comes to my own projects.” Then she profusely apologized and rewrote her piece before I could tell her that I was just kidding. Luckily, she had the original saved, but I really do wish there was a a way to indicate sarcasm in email.  I think it would be cool to just be able to indicate sarcasm with a ~ mark after the sentence that you don’t really mean. What do you think? Anywho, if you have a second, use it to help Robin and her fiance get a free wedding from Crate & Barrel. 3. Monique’s piece on David Patterson got me to thinking about how so few of us have good back-up plans for anything b/c we just don’t think we’ll ever need them. I guess one good result of being cynical, morbid, and anxious is that I have (at the very least mental) back-up plans for just about everything. That’s the only way I can function day-to-day. 4. What’s funny is that Amy has never struck me as particularly shy. But then again, so many people, including my sister and BFF, have accused me of not being shy, even though I often proclaim that I am. My BFF is not shy and my sister is much shyer than I am. But I do wonder if we all just have a general inability to recognize shyness in others. I feel that...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I’ve never associated myself with one segment of a cultural population (save for being fierce and nerdy). I’m something of a theatre dork, an animal activist, a comedy crusader. Recently, however, I was accused of being a yipster. Yikes. The general definition of yipster exceeds cool, urban wealth. This is hardly me. I’m employed in a day job earning a nice wage, but the role itself certainly does not scream yuppie. I drive a 10-year old Toyota. I rent. As far as being a hipster, my wardrobe is more H & M than Value Village thrift couture. I haven’t been to Neumo’s in two years. I smile. And somewhere in the long history of the word evolution of yuppie is hippie. OK, I’ll cop to some hippie elements. I shop for my vegetarian diet at the local co-op and yes, I am a member. I transport my organic tofu, nutritional yeast and bulk lentils home in canvas bags. I recycle, re-use, repurpose. I volunteer. Homeopathic remedies are always my first attempt at healing what ails me. Western medicine is a last resort. Most of this has become my life in part to living in Seattle. Goddamn hippie. I cannot escape the appeal of Pike Place Market (yes, locals really go there!), the plentiful, beautiful parks, and stopping to ooh and aww at every dog on the street. It has seeped into my soul. It has brought me to consider a vegetable garden in my backyard, regardless that I can hardly keep a cactus alive. It has developed my palate for a really good cup of black coffee. It has expanded my music library to think outside of the Fleet Fox. It has opened me up to discover who...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I’ve never considered myself messy. Organized chaos is a phrase I like to use in my admission of carefully displayed clutter. It’s an axiom that makes me sound like my clutter and my life are one big, cute party! Ah, who am I kidding? I’m a mess! Since moving from LA to Seattle in the fall of 2006, I had to downsize my life considerably. I lost about 600 square feet, a garage and 5, yeah, cinco, closets. All walk-ins. Not of Mariah Carey proportions, but none the less, you could step inside them. I never had an abundance of clothes, just stuff. I remember my mom always warning me about becoming a pack rat while I was a kid. She told me it was gross. I don’t want to be gross, mom, I just like these kitty figurines and this commemorative 1980 Olympics Coca-Cola bottle and this movie stub from E.T. After a big fat purge, a garage sale and packing up the moving truck in Los Feliz, I still managed to take some junk with me, of which I can’t explain. Blank artist canvases (I don’t paint much anymore), board games I never play, empty Tiffany & Co boxes (where are all the diamonds that were in there? Hmmm.) and strangest of all, Michael Jackson puffy stickers circa 1983. Over the course of this past year, I have started to rid my life of these unnecessary things. The blank canvas I used when I commissioned my friend’s 6 year-old daughter, a budding artist, to paint on it for me. It’s now hanging in my office and people often ask where I got it. The board games were donated to Goodwill, those charming blue boxes…I think I...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema This week marks the end of my free lunch era. My pal, Jon, will be leaving his Seattle food critic job to be the lead critic at a weekly in San Francisco. He was my neighbor in my first Seattle apartment. I remember meeting him after I signed my lease and being very excited that I had a cute new gay-bor. And one that wrote about food. We were going to get along just fine. Jon invited me to several of his reviews and they were always exciting. I was so nervous the first time. I didn’t want to blurt out “OH MY GOD HE’S A FOOD CRITIC AND WE ARE JUDGING YOU ON EVERYTHING! NOW!” I managed to keep my cool and received further requests to join him dining. It became much easier as it was just a great opportunity to get together while he was on the job. It simply meant meeting him at his office of the day, be it Tilth, Café Juanita, Spring Hill. Sure beats my daily grind. But the thing I did learn was that reviewing was a job, and one that could take a toll on your waistline. Again, tough job, but somebody haaaaad to do it. Another thing I learned was that I have, apparently, a discernible palate. According to my critic friend, I would make a great sommelier. If only I could pronounce Cotes du Rhone like a Frenchman, I may have found my calling. Regardless, I have opened my taste buds to new combinations and discovered  foods that I thought I hated (beets, mushrooms, brussel sprouts) to be my new cooking obsessions. Being vegetarian definitely challenged my repertoire when I first ditched animal products and continues to give...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I’m entering my fourth winter in Seattle. I’m surprised I don’t want to kill myself after living in Los Angeles for nearly 10 years. But really, I’m one of those people who is not a big fan of the heat. I also get really bad headaches from too much sunlight. Seattle has been a great fit for my climate preferences but my diet and lifestyle have come up against my preferred level of comfort. Growing up in the Midwest was clearly a good primer for the cold malaise that is the Pacific Northwest. The advantage LA has over Seattle’s weather is the ability to go outside for exercise, run errands or simply take out the trash. Hibernation is in full effect. With three years experience, I feel the need to tackle it head on with a strategy that will keep me active, social and away from the refrigerator. Thanksgiving usually presents a major fail in this plan. Every time I sit down to give thanks, I actually give way to too many carbs, too much wine and just too much. I promised myself that this winter would be different. But so far, I’m off to a rotten start. This kick-off to the holiday season started with brie en croute, pinot gris, chocolate chip cookies (yes, before dinner) followed up by stuffing, prosecco, mashed potatoes, dinner rolls, brussel sprouts (green stuff! Yay!), pinot noir, and covered in sweetness–yams, brussel sprouts and the grand finale – a chocolate martini. I just about threw up reading all of that. The morning after the big feast I was hungover from the booze for sure, but mostly puffy from the salt. Coffee, toast, and reheated stuffing surely are the cure-all, no? A mid-day...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema A few months ago, I wrote about going to my 20th high school reunion.  It’s still incredibly difficult for me to fathom that I graduated twenty years ago. Regardless of my disbelief, it is reality and was celebrated a few weeks ago in my hometown of Prophetstown, Illinois. I flew into Chicago and picked up my rental car. Morgan, my Enterprise service agent, offered me the upgrade from the crappy compact car to the less crappy sedan. Included in this VIP experience was Sirius radio. Seriously cool. Once I stepped inside the vehicle, I noticed the audio was pre-set to the 80s station. Classic. As I drove the expressways that eventually veer to Route 88, I felt as though for one of those few moments in my life that I was exactly where I needed to be at that moment.  Kismet? Serendipity? It felt kinda good. The Friday night prior to the actual reunion was a pre-reunion party. A pre-union, if you will. The establishment known as “The Jailhouse” is a bar/restaurant that used to occupy a bowling alley. The lanes have been replaced with your standard boring floor, a couple of seating areas, fluorescent lighting and a pool table. The juke box that sits where the gutters once lived includes a catalog of such small town anthems as “Pink Houses” and the entire Molly Hatchet oeuvre. You just know I put in 5 bones and punched in 20 songs from the 80s.  With that soundtrack underscoring the evening, it definitely felt like I was in touch with my youth. Chatting with my former classmates had a tinge of familiarity.  Mostly the faces, but certainly, we have all changed.  Marriage, family, divorce, death, unemployment, success, failure.  This stuff...

Is it just me or was this a really crazy week at (1-year) ole Fierce and Nerdy. We had placenta bears, religion, and cemeteries and it ain’t even Halloween yet! But here are the best of the best comments from the week. HELLO FRIDAY re: Guess the Random Lyric [Friday], in which guest lyric-giver CH tried to win the week with “Brown Sugar” by the Rolling Stones. Joshua: Arg, I’m awful at these, so rather than simply try to guess it I’m going to, by process of elimination help the rest of you by saying with some hesitation that I’m RELATIVELY sure this song isn’t from Slayer :p PHILOSOPHICAL MONDAY re: Fierce in Seattle: That Time of the Year, in which Kelli Bielema encouraged all women to get an annual mammogram — even if you’re under 40. All of the comments were great, but I chose this one, b/c she used the word “boobies.” Peg: very cool. I had a mammo b/c I was having pain in my boobies and they thought there may have been abnormalities so I had to have an MRI. It was very scary but everything came back ok. We kind of decided it was due to an increase in caffeine as I had just started drinking “water joe”. I don’t drink coffee or soda so I think my body was just freaking a bit.  Anyhoo, now I drink green tea and my boobs don’t hurt anymore but I’m still scared. OH, IT’S TUESDAY re: Book Simple: The Perfect Short Story for Office Drones, in which our newest blogger, Amy Brown admits she doesn’t like short stories, but then goes on to explain why Melville’s “Bartleby, the Scrivener” just might be the perfect short story for office workers everywhere. JWR:...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I’m not the best candidate to step on a political soap box, and especially when the topic is healthcare reform. I’ve worked in the industry and have seen people be turned away for the medical support they need. It’s super gross. I feel incredibly fortunate and privileged to have a current employer who grants me exceptional benefits. The thought of making an appointment for my annual exam isn’t even much of a big to-do. What is a big to-do is getting those test results. My first year in Seattle I received a call from my doctor telling me the results of my recent pap test were negative. I had never received a call like that before and didn’t really know what it meant, but refused to panic. Abnormal cells were found. They used to call these “pre-cancerous.” You can imagine why they no longer say that. Once in my doctor’s office she told me we would need to do a procedure which was a little poke here, a little scrape there and we call it a day, right? The Loop Electrosurgical Excision Procedure, or LEEP, is fairly disgusting, a bit uncomfortable, but really was not that big of a deal. Following this I was to have a pap every quarter, then every six months and now I am happy to say, annually.  It’s annual time.  I’m not necessarily freaked, but I can’t help but wonder what will happen this time.  The only control I have over the situation is my attitude and worrying about any of this would not benefit me in any fashion. I don’t think any of us remain naïve about cancer at a young age. While actress Christina Applegate has brought this reality to the public eye when she...

I’m super dooper excited to announce that I am starting my own blog! While I will continue to be a contributor to this here outstanding Fierce and Nerdy site, I am dedicating myself to a journal of mad, crazy love for Seattle. While writing for FaN I have discovered that I enjoy the process of telling a story, sharing an opinion or just spewing forth my brain diarrhea. A naturally expressive individual, an over-sharer at times, I can’t contain my exuberance for stuff I like. While I often prefer to keep my favorite things close to the vest for fear that I will be forced to tell of the greatest dive bar, most muy delicioso taco truck, or richest and sprinkliest cupcake, here I am giving away all my secrets. It usually seems these places that get discovered will then incur an hour wait for something as small or fabulous as a donut. For those of you in LA, think Pinkberry 2006. The security officer at the door to control the line….in WeHo. I put my petty grievances about mass appeal aside and will impart my diligent research and scientific findings on what is sure to be a small, but mighty, readership. A friend asked the other day “what is the point of blogging?” And I said, “good question!” It made me wonder why I desire to do such a thing. Sure, it’s part narcissistic, but in this day of social networking sites and sharing everything about ourselves it seems we all have a lot of self-love. So, in continuing that embrace, it’s all about what I like, but how I hope you like it too. Without further ado, here is God I Love This Fucking...

Guys, I’m SO sorry, but we’re at serious sixes and sevens today, so we’ll once again have limited content. But Monday, we’ll totally (okay somewhat) have it together. I super-promise! That all vowed, here are the best comments and quotes of the week: HELLO FRIDAY re: FIERCE ANTICIPATION: August 21-23, in which guest-blogger Michael Gutenplan tells us about his solo trip to Vegas. CH: I agree that it’s fun to gamble but what makes Vegas great is all the other things “restaurants, Broadway shows, etc.” It’s what separates it from the Indian casino’s. PHILOSOPHICAL MONDAY Quote from a post you should’ve read: “For now, I want to hold summer’s hand a little longer.” – Kelli Bielema, Fierce in Seattle: Summertime and the Living Is … Over? OH, IT’S TUESDAY re: Political Physics: Ain’t I a Woman? The Story of Sojourner Truth and Caster Semenya, in Monique King-Viehland, explained why the gender testing of Caster Semenya is so very offensive. katrina: Every time I read anything about this I get so angry. Monique, thank you for writing this. The violation of her body and her privacy is enough to infuriate me. I also appreciate you drawing attention to how black women, particularly, are often masculinized. Our sexuality and gender are often twisted into some type of stereotype hyper-sexed, under-sexed, mammy, superwoman, manly, etc… Gender and sex are both so ambiguous that any effort to squeeze either into some norm seems ridiculous to me. WOW! IT’S WEDNESDAY re: Wonderfully Awful: Public Service Awesomeness, in which Robin Rosenzweig celebrates the awfulness of PSAs from the 80s and invited you to share your favorite wonderfully awful PSAs. Constance: I still catch myself singing this sometimes: Meth! OOOO, Meth! DEAR THURSDAY Thanks to everyone that commented and Facebooked about...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema The end of summer. Sure, it’s a bit cliché to mention that it creeps up on you, but in Seattle, it feels apocalyptic. Summer in Seattle is really only about 30 days, and while I am not one to complain about this (I abhor being hot almost as much as I despise freezing), it’s the change in daylight hours that inspires hari kari. Since about late May, I have been able to rise with minimal hassle. It’s not easy, but the subtle streaks of sunlight gently throttle my eyelids in addition to the wet nose of the dog and the hungry cry of the cat. I rise at 5:15 a.m. for outdoor boot camp.  But now, in the last 2 weeks, the rays that facilitate my internal alarm are packing up for hibernation. The bed is warm, cozy and ahhhhh….. And then, the bed is warm and cozy again around 9:30 p.m. But come Daylight Savings switcheroo, the bed is warm and cozy closer to dinner time. For now, I want to hold summer’s hand a little longer. Just a few more walks around Greenlake park, down Golden Gardens beach or through the Pike/Pine corridor. It’s this time of year when we mourn the barbecues, music festivals, block parties, beer gardens, sun-filled Mariners games and begin to lock down for the impending darkness. Nightfall will soon rear its nasty self just shy of 4 p.m. I’ll leave work at 5:00 and it will feel as though it’s midnight. But with 3 years now as a Seattle resident, I finally feel prepared to meet the beast head on. Armed with my Vitamin D supplement (5,000 IU daily!), an exercise regimen, a boyfriend, a cat, a dog, a social calendar...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema Last week I received an invitation to my high school reunion. Twenty years ago I graduated Prophetstown Community High School. Gulp. Twenty. Sometimes I can’t seem to wrap my brain around that. Twenty years. In 1989 I tossed a cap in the air and said good-bye to everything I ever knew. I have one friend that I have known since I was minutes old as we were born in the same hospital. I always make a stop into the store she manages in town anytime I go back for a visit. I understand another classmate is now a grandmother. I’m not quite ready for another dog, and certainly beyond comprehending becoming a grandparent. One fellow alumand I have managed to maintain a friendship and regular contact since graduation. Now, with the advent of Facebook, I’m in touch with more of them than I have been since leaving Prophetstown. Graduates have come out of the closet, gone to Jesus, gotten married, gotten divorced, had kids, had cancer, seen war, seen the world. To think of what all of them have been up to alarms my curiosity tenfold. The “whatever happened to” concept is my preferred angle of VH1 programming, but I’m about to live it…80s style! A questionnaire arrived with this invitation. In reviewing the obvious career/marital status/family/hobbies inquiries, I started thinking about whatever happened to me since then. What has been filling my days, nights, and life? I began to look through old photo boxes to give the memory a juggle. I thumbed through my senior yearbook. I was captain of the cheerleaders, Student Council president, regional finalist on the speech team. I think I always wanted to fit some ideal of the All-American girl. I was a...

Whatta week. CH got an Emmy nomination, and of course the comments were off the hook. Check ’em out: HELLO FRIDAY re: Fierce Anticipation: July 10-12, in which Ryan Dixon made a case for Sheetz being the best convenience store in the history of ever. One reader/former employee agreed: Laura: I now live in CA, but used to live in Northern VA and worked for Sheetz for 3 years as an assistant manager. They were the best convenience store around at that time, and have only gotten better from what I can tell. (Side note, there were also a pretty decent company to work for!) Nobody out here knows about Sheetz, and when I try to explain, some people go ‘Oh! Like am/pm.’ or Jersey transplants go ‘like WaWas’ and the answer is NO. There is nothing like Sheetz. End of story. PHILOSOPHICAL MONDAY re: Tall Drink of Nerd: Father Time, in which Amy Robinson struggled with her father’s recent diagnosis of leukemia. jenny: My grandfather had leukemia, and sadly pasted away this year due to stomach cancer. It’s hard being far away from family. Every moment is precious. This thanksgiving I went home to spend the last holiday with him, and it was wonderful. I would curl up in a chair a drift off to sleep with him, just being close was a comfort. Oddly enough, he was more comfortable with the fact of his time left, yet none of us were. My grandparents had 6 kids, and I know that it was great for them to all be together and a space of support. But I do want to tell you, my grandfather did overcome leukemia, and at the age of 83 without any major surgeries, etc. OH, IT’S TUESDAY   re:...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I was recently asked, “Do you ever think you will move back to L.A.?” And my response “unequivocally, without question, that’s a big fat No.” That’s not to say Hollywood wasn’t good to me at times, but more often than not, it was a place that was always waiting for something better to come along. That city can romance you with year-round sunshine, a busy social life, a feeling of importance within the entertainment industry and ultimately, the world at large. But the tease can often fall short of the reality. An L.A.  neighbor once told me “Kelli, you don’t have to love L.A, because it doesn’t love you.” And I couldn’t make L.A. love me if she don’t. But I miss her on occasion. Mexican food, Koreatown, hikes in Griffith Park, movies on the lawn at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, Sunset Junction and oh, of course, my friends. The one thing I don’t miss about L.A. is the drama. It had reached its climax last week with Michael Jackson’s funeral. First, let’s remember that someone died. And he was super famous and sold a lot of records and influenced some artists etcetera, etcetera. But, we should also remember that he was accused of child molestation, in financial dire straits, had a compulsion with plastic surgery, lived in a theme park, had a locked hidden closet in his bedroom and once wore pajamas to court. Come on, the guy was weird. I’m not about to discount any of his contributions to music. I know the entire “Thriller” album backwards and forwards and still dance in my underpants to “Off the Wall.” I see that honoring someone so influential is key, but shutting down 2 freeways and in turn asking...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I just celebrated my 38th birthday and I realized that I enjoy aging. Notwithstanding of this process would be my slowed metabolism (an entire sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies can no longer be a “snack”), decreased ability to bounce back after a night of binge drinking (which I now consider 2 drinks), and the fact that my doctor recently reminded me that I am peri-menopausal (ok, I’ll admit the “no periods” part really is exciting!). Fun times! What I have discovered is that I am more comfortable with myself than I ever have been. I care less and less about what others may think of me and care more about what I think about myself. Am I good? Decent? Honest? Caring? Giving? In years past I would ask myself if I was cute enough? Thin enough? Funny enough? Worthy? The sorts of insecurities about physical appearance and social acceptance I have left behind. And strangely enough, it has come to fruition at a time when I am in top physical shape and I have a network of friends that goes from Seattle to Sydney. When I ponder back on what I thought I wanted with my life when I was 5, 16, 30, it amazes me how experiences can alter those ideals. I have a good overarching theme of what I want for my life now, but I like to be surprised to a degree. I’ve got a free spirit, a creative mind, a willing attitude and total blind faith that everything will work out the way it’s meant to be. As the adage goes, with age comes wisdom. I’m certainly not Mensa-smart (and am somewhat obsessing on whether or not that hyphen belongs there), but...

Oh, man, I’m leaving you in the more than capable hands of slpc next week, but I’m like already missing you guys super big time. But let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about all these awesome comments. HELLO FRIDAY re: Fierce Anticipation: June 12-14, in which Ryan Dixon puts forth the theory that you can predict how whether an Eddie Murphy movie will flop by looking at the movie poster — basically if it doesn’t feature children, animals, or a morbidly obese person along with red font, it will flop . He predicted that Imagine That would flop, according to his poster code theory, and lo and behold it only netted 5.2 million dollars its opening weekend. If Eddie ever gets work again, hopefully the marketing people will listen to Ryan this time. KaseyB: The Murphy Code…wow! I never noticed. Of course my disdain for children, grotesquely fat people, and red fonts have been keeping me away from Murphy films for years. PHILOSOPHICAL MONDAY re: Fierce in Seattle: Indoorsy goes Outdoorsy, in which Kelli Bielema applies her black thumb to her back yard garden. Josh G: Use ladybugs for pest control, they eat many types of bugs, mostly aphids. Also if you have bug problems plant some marigolds and the bugs will eat them instead of everything else. We planted our first garden this year also and these seemed to help. OH, IT’S TUESDAY re: Political Physics: Are Hate Crimes a Form of Domestic Terrorism?, in which Monique King-Viehland argues that the answer to that question is yes. Yolanda: Yeah, they may have just developed the term “hate crimes” in the last few years but a lynching in 1960 was still a crime of hate. I haven’t looked at the statistics but I’m...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I’ve never been outdoorsy or even possessed a mild proclivity to nature. I really don’t know what’s happened to me since I moved to Seattle. Living in Los Angeles’ Los Feliz neighborhood I would hike Griffith Park frequently, and I liked to get fresh flowers occasionally. That was the extent of it. I regularly killed houseplants, including succulents, which I was told were the easiest to grow. It wouldn’t surprise me if I were till annihilate a plastic fern. I moved into a lovely rental home here in Seattle near the end of November 2008. The house was built at the turn of the century (as in the 20th) to provide lodging for the pastor of the neighborhood church. It’s barely 600 square feet, boasts cathedral ceiling (keepin’ the faith, yo), and has a sleeping loft which I utilize as a guest room/storage area. The kitchen is open, with ample counter space and stainless steel appliances. Super fun to cook and entertain in. The bedroom is small and I have significantly edited all the junk in my life. I just need clothes, cookware, artsy things and some bric-a-brac and I am homesteaded. I have a small patio, which I recently adorned with a couple of cushy seats and potted plants (poor suckers don’t know what’s comin’). In the back of the house is a mini-courtyard of sorts. It slopes, but it’s quaint. If quaint’s your thing. There’s some sort of flowers & garden-y stuff that I’m pretty sure need some attention. Indifference is all I can offer them, at best. I have no idea how to give them what they need or how to administer such a practice. I can mow the lawn and trim the weeds (and...

Chinese English-speakers! North Korea! Pregnant Fish! And that’s just the stuff that didn’t make our “best of” comments. What a crazy week… HELLO FRIDAY re: Fierce OR Nerdy, in which slpc asked us to choose between movie soldiers and movie dinosaurs. (Thought) Chuck: G.I. JOE – four words: “Channing Tatum in leather.” Umm, hello people, the choice of soldiers is now obvious! PHILOSOPHICAL MONDAY re: Fierce in Seattle: Dog Days, in which Kelli Bielema exposes the sad reality of puppy mills. Basically, if you love dogs, don’t buy them from a pet store and support your local humane society. They’re doing amazing work. Justin_Time: It’s no wonder that so many of the dogs that people buy at pet stores have bad temperaments after growing up in these kinds of conditions. I hope all these dogs find happy homes. OH, IT’S TUESDAY re: If You Ask Me: BBQ Etiquette, in which Travis Randall declares that no matter how bad the host is messing up your barbecue, you should never, ever touch his or her grill. BabySmiling: Once I was at a birthday party BBQ where a bunch of guys (they were all physicians, actually) argued for 20 minutes about the best way to get the coals lit. One guy’s stance was “More lighter fluid! More! More!” He grabbed the bottle and kept spraying, so he won the debate through sheer force. My mushrooms tasted like they’d been marinated in lighter fluid. Everything was gross — and toxic. The only people who could really eat were the vegans who’d brought their own corn wrapped in foil to keep it safe from meat residue (and by extension, lighter fluid). We all ended up eating a lot of birthday cake to make up for our lack of BBQ...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema There’s nothing like a purr or a wagging tail to remind you that someone, no matter its life form, will be there for you, always. Kitty cats and puppy dogs give the best advice: love. Just love. Because pets want nothing but love and to give love (not necessarily true of all cats I’ve known!) I cannot fathom why anyone could ever be cruel to animals. While some pet parents feed their canines & felines better than entire third world nations, the polar opposite is happening at puppy mills. The individuals who run these operations have no regard for life whatsoever, including any respect for the people looking to adopt a new member into their family. We’ve become a disposable society—it’s come down to making a buck and not really about having this great addition in your life. I’ve been volunteering with the Seattle Humane Society for about 6 months and it’s been incredibly rewarding and fun to work with dogs who were found as strays, owner-surrendered, or puppy mill victims. I fall in love with a different mutt that I would love to take home about every week. While that’s a challenge of my own, a new one has arrived for the entire animal-loving community. Last week, the Humane Society of the United States conducted a raid on a Kennewick, WA puppy mill full of about 400 miniature American Eskimo dogs. The conditions were some of the worst this rescue group has seen, and I challenge you to watch the video here without crying. While at the Seattle shelter for my shift this past weekend I visited the kennels containing up to 100 of the dogs from the seizure. For the first time since coming to SHS,...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema If you were to ask me a few years ago if I would ever go camping, I likely would have answered with the question “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” I’m not a glamourpuss, a neatnik, or a priss, but I am also not the country girl of my youth. Having grown up in the sticks of Prophetstown, Illinois, I was often one with the dirt, snow, other assorted elements. I was also highly adept at distinguishing bovine and swine manure. These talents notwithstanding, I always yearned for the city. Now the town of Prophets was hardly a metropolitan mecca, but when you are 10 years old, you want cable TV and a quick trip to the dime store for Gobstoppers. When I finally left my hometown for college I truly never looked back. I went from one bigger Illinois cornfield to another starting with DeKalb then Chicago. Really going for the gusto, I wound up in Los Angeles for nearly a decade where I think the farm girl began shedding her ways. I wouldn’t say I have ever become cosmopolitan — clearly I’m too much of a quirkball to be defined in that way. But I’d definitely classify myself as urban, and I suppose what’s now known as a yipster (a yuppie/hipster hybrid). So, the camping. My man-panion and I were invited to a night at Deception Pass State Park, near Anacortes for his friend’s birthday. It’s April and that doesn’t stop people in Seattle from sleeping outdoors. I called my friend Jaime who basically has an REI store in her condo (sans rock wall). I borrowed her tent, sleeping bag and most important of all – thermal underthings. I felt as prepared as I could...

Today marks the one-year anniversary of the death of my friend, John Altieri. I really shouldn’t even be writing about this as we are all supposed to die of old age and not at 38 years from pneumonia. Especially when you are referring to someone as healthy, active and happy-go-lucky as John. When people say this shit ain’t fair, this is what they’re talkin’ about. John was a friend that I knew for most of my years in Los Angeles. And while we spent most of our friendship seeing each other at parties, plays and other get-togethers, it wasn’t until he stayed with me for a spell in Seattle that I really got to know him. He was on the national Broadway tour of “Jersey Boys,” playing the part of Bob Crewe, the affable manager character. It could not have been better cast. Goofy, light-hearted, and undeniably talented — very much like John (okay, but a little extra gay). It was during that month in December of 2007 that we cooked together, spent Christmas together, and best of all, laughed together. John was someone who could always make you laugh, but best of all, he would laugh at your stupid shit, even if it wasn’t funny. And he had the best laugh when he did find something funny. It was the kind of laugh that made you laugh. It was that infectious. And so was he. John’s dear friend Laura said at his L.A. memorial that “he was here to teach us lessons.” He had a great ease about him as well as a joie de vivre that made you kinda wanna copycat him. He was philanthropic, had a great love of his family and was adored by his cat Goose and dog Spyder,...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema Sisters! At one time or another in my life I’ve been referred to as a fag hag. This really isn’t that true considering the earliest definitions of fag hag gives that connotation that the hag in question actually believes that her fag will want to be with her romantically. I am not such a disillusioned soul, realizing that all the fags in my life like the mens like I do. So, I like to think of myself as more of a fruit fly—fluttering about gay boys who share my common interests and generally adore me. And who doesn’t like to be adored? While I typically do not segregate my friends, there is an aspect to the gay community that I generally share strictly with my gays—drag queens. I can’t say when I first fell in love with them, but drag queens somehow mystify and enchant me. They are larger than life, over the top, and always armed with quick wit. Here are just a few of my loves…. The drag diva who has recently received my tireless devotion is Dina Martina. Dina is a Seattle legend who can best be described as a rotund, hairy Liza-esqe mess in a dress. She is ridiculous, wrong and sheer genius. Her shows return on a regular basis at Re-bar on Boren Ave and always delight the sell-out crowds. Next on my list is Jackie Beat, an LA treasure. I once attended an event at FuBar in WeHo that Ms. Beat called “Poo Bar.” She did a cabaret act in which all of the tunes were themed to, you guessed, it, dookie. “Smooth Operator” was not an obvious enough title, so Jackie took it a step further and sang “then he asked,...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema Yeah, I’m not starting any major revolutions when I proclaim “change is good.” It’s not one lick original, but if nothing else it’s a statement that stands the test of time.  And our times are certainly being tested right now.  A handful of co-workers who have become friends to me in my two years at my job here in Seattle were recently terminated. Oh, sorry, “let go.” Crap, sorry again, “realigned.”  As if adopting the corporate vernacular softens the blow. I don’t know how to change anything with this economic clusterfuck , but I know how I am going to react to it.  I have decided to deflect the downtrodden potential with adjusting my mind, body and spirit. I inaugurated this trifecta of change by first turning off the news – that includes crap like The Insider and Entertainment Tonight (look, it was my news in L.A.).  I really don’t want to hear about Octo-Mom in addition to the local Seattle reports about layoffs at Boeing, Microsoft, and shootings outside clubs in the Capitol Hill area.  It’s all overwhelmingly awful, so I just avoid it. I’d rather be ill-informed, a sort of ignorance-is-bliss approach. But on the regular ignorance front, I’m certain to get my fill of it by watching “Rock of Love Bus.”  I need to supplant those viewing hours somehow, right? I’m also – gulp- reading more than I have in years. Books and not just Entertainment Weekly!  Writing this blog also helps jar the noodle.  When my brain is active and focused, it informs the rest of my physiological attitude and suddenly I actually want to do things like exercise. The next change is a physical one.  I started running Greenlake park in the last...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema People come into your life for a reason. They are either there to teach you how to do stuff, about what not to do in life or they open you up to new possibilities.  Let me introduce you to someone who recently floated  into my world, Kelly Rae Roberts.  Kelly describes herself as an “author, artist, possibiltarian.” I’ll  start by admitting that I adore cute new words and those who vocabularize as such. And that’s not the only reason to generate an immediate talent crush on Kelly Rae. Kelly moved to Seattle with her husband John almost 6 months ago.  Her sister-in-law and I are friends.  As I’ve mentioned ad nauseum, it’s hard to meet people here, so when new blood is in town, I am always eager to say hello and welcome them in the spirit of tarnishing that anti-social rep Seattle has. A few years back, with a career in social work, Ms. Kelly found her true passion as an artist when she and her husband quit their jobs and packed up the Subaru for a road trip. It was on this adventure she was inspired by the work she saw at galleries in the California seaside towns along their route.  She hadn’t really done any painting before, but decided to not let her lack of experience keep her from something she describes as “an awakening.”   She picked up a brush. After taking a few stabs and creating some “truly amateur”  scrapbook-crafty projects, Kelly realized the process was really making her happy, even if the end result looked a little crappy.  She decided to blog about her day-to-day experimentations , developing her writing talents in tandem with her creations.  Continuing to receive encouragement from friends, and...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I am a loser. I don’t have an iPhone. I live in the most wired city in America, so you can understand the pressure to fit in and have that sleek little packet of apps (which are fancy phone/computer applications, not appetizers, much to my chagrin).  You can listen to music, look at photos, watch fucking movies!!!…oh, and the ability to make telephone calls. I have the poor man’s iPhone, a Samsung—uh, I don’t know what it is. I can’t be bothered with that kind of crap.  I call it my robot computer phone.  I’m so incredibly technologically void that it’s a wonder I can even turn the thing on. It makes super-annoying rings with every appointment that is synced to my calendar.  It keeps reminding you until you hit “dismiss.” And you can’t hit “dismiss” until you unlock it. FUCK!  It won’t accept photos even though I pay for this feature. Yeah, I keep forgetting to call Verizon about it. In essence, technology and I aren’t such BFFs. The cool thing about Seattle and technology is that Wi-Fi is everywhere. It’s not only in cafés and bars but it’s also on the stinking bus, yo! And you can get more than a wireless internet connection at a coffee house, you can actually get coffee! Seattle, home of Starbucks, Tully’s and uh, doy, Seattle’s Best, is astoundingly number 2 on the Most Caffeinated City list, having been beat out by Tampa, Florida. Tampa? Hot coffee and muggy Florida sound like an awful combination if you ask me.  I am delighted to admit I enjoy a soy latte in addition to my daily drip, but now there is an entire cult of cuppers. Cupping is coffee’s wine-tasting cousin and...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema A decade in L.A. without possession of a motor vehicle is a thought that would send most Angelenos barreling off the Ventura Highway. There are a few options to travel using the local Metro system, but it is unreliable at best. As if traffic isn’t bad enough for cars, imagine a big ass bus in the middle of it. The subway system goes nowhere essential other than the Staples Center or Universal Studios, so good luck on that 90 minute bus-cum-train-cum-bus trip to LAX. I could never do it. Like, ever. By no means is Seattle the bastion of expeditious travel, but the Metro bus system is generally simple to navigate and there are a number of ways to get to any destination in the city and the ‘burbs. There are express and local routes, ride free zones in the downtown area and many employers provide subsidies to their staff members. I know quite a few residents who don’t own a car as it’s not necessary with such consistent service. But I will say the service is sometimes without its smile or even without its service. Some of those moments are after the jump… Smells. Among them I’ve sniffed: urine, pizza, cigarette smoke, Dior J’adore, dog, salami, root beer, regular beer. This morning it was an incredibly fragrant flatulent fellow stinkin’ up my ride. I could have been wrong about him farting, as he may have actually shit his britches. Idiots. Bus riding would be so much more pleasant if I were the only passenger aboard. Loud cell phone talkers, headphones blaring in the seat next to me, elbows poking me, bags hitting me in the face, super chatty dumb asses who didn’t realize the bus was an...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I feel STOOOOOPID! And CONTAGIOUS! … those lyrics not quite as gentle as something Cole Porter may have penned, but nonetheless, defined the music and attitude of an era. In case you have never turned on a radio or prefer Wagner to Wolfmother, the tune I quote is Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and the period is grunge.  The epicenter of this revolution was Seattle.  I was in college when this music scene took off, and it was electrifying how it captured my generation.  I’m loathe to admit I had an active wardrobe of dresses, flannels and Doc Marten boots and would freshen my angst with a dab of patchouli—but I did shower and clean my long, purposefully unkempt mane.  I rocked out to Mudhoney, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Hole, as well as L.A. bad ass chick rockers, L7. Whenever I hear “Alive” by Pearl Jam I recall drinking pitchers of Leinenkugel Red in DeKalb, IL and singing along to Eddie Vedder in the key of Cher (listen closely—they kinda sound alike sometimes!).   I remember how I used to think Seattle was so cool. Everyone there is in a band, intense, and bound for stardom with no potential of selling out.  I never could have imagined then that I would live here now.  I also never woulda thunk I now want to be in a band!  After dedicating my post-high school life to the dream of being a working actor, I came to terms with my dissipating desire about 4 years ago.  While I love to perform onstage, I found work in front of the camera tedious and less than spontaneous and the business to be aggravating at best.  The only creativity I felt I had left was...

. a blogumn by Kelli Bielema I’ve been called a dreamer, a go-getter, a spaz, impulsive, ambitious. While some of these labels garner validity, I think I’m just mostly impatient.  This would explain just one of several reasons why I could never live the rest of my life in my hometown of Prophetstown, Illinois. After a week-long visit to celebrate my niece’s 6th birthday, I return to Seattle feeling like I’ve been gone for a month.  When I’m in P-town, as the locals dub it, life slows considerably.  There’s one grocery store, one bank, one Laundromat.  There are no stop lights in town, merely stop signs. The highest speed limit is 30, which nary a pick-up truck ever seems to reach cruising down Main Street.  I can’t recall this ever bothering me in my youth. My brother and I were raised by two, uh, ambitious parents in the country. As a kid I always wanted to live in town, population 1700.  You could walk to the dime store, rent a video, buy a fountain pop! The possibilities were limitless for excitement in town!  Now when I return I feel stymied by the early closure of the Mini-Mart since it won’t be able to fulfill my 1 a.m. hankering for a jo-jo potato.  And what if I needed to suddenly drive far, far away, just how will I get my gas tank filled at midnight? This could likely explain the uncanny preparedness of the town folk to always have an acre of rock salt and 6 gallons of milk ready for The Big One…or Sunday. I don’t ever discount my feelings for my upbringing or diss the town that many of my family members and childhood friends still call home.  There’s something about Prophetstown that...

. A blogumn by Kelli Bielema I was raised on meat, potatoes and more meat. This is what you feed on for 3 squares daily in the Midwest.  Living in Los Angeles I didn’t stop the carnivorous mayhem: hot dogs wrapped in bacon at the non-regulated food carts in the Fashion District, carne asada marinated over two days from the carnicero in Eagle Rock, Zankou Chicken with extra garlic sauce.  While I have claimed my charcoal-grilled baby back ribs were the best in the land, I made them for the last time in Seattle nearly 2 years ago.  That’s right, I am now a……vegetarian! It all started a year ago January, not as any sort of resolution but prompted by reading Skinny Bitch, perusing the internet and talking to friends.  I initially became vegan.  I simply wanted to see if I could do it for 30 days and quite honestly, it was relatively simple. Vegans do not eat or consume any animal products. Naturally the list includes meat, dairy, eggs, seafood, and goes as far as honey in most vegan schools of thought. Now granted, I live in one of the crunchiest cities on earth, so access to organic, plant-based food in Seattle is a lot simpler than say, Prophetstown, Illinois, where I grew up. When I shared with my family that I was now eating this way, well, you can only imagine the confusion.  My dad thinks that this means I still eat fish—I’ve never really eaten fish.  So, I usually explain to the fam, as well as others who are boggled by the mere thought of not gnawing on flesh of another being at a meal.  “Where will you get your protein?…your calcium? …your _____ — fill in random necessary nutritional element.” ...

. A blogumn by Kelli Bielema Because they say Christmas is for children, I’m gonna to act like one this year.  For the first time in I can’t remember how long, I’m reverting back to my youth, partly due to the weather.  Snow for Christmas… in Seattle? It has happened. In spades. It really has made me feel like a kid again.  I’ve been having snow days due to office closure.  The city itself has pretty much shut down.  I’m staying outside on purpose until I no longer have sensation in my toes.  I consider myself to be indoorsy in this outdoorsy region, but I LOVE THE SNOW!!! I’m wearing layers, and boots, often like my winters in the Midwest, but sans the Wonder Bread bags on my feet between sock layers—very grateful that footwear insulation has made progress.  I’m shoveling snow, except nowadays,  my back hurts from it.  I’m eating too much candy—well, some things will never change.  I used to sneak a peek at my gifts under the tree and slowly pick away at the tedious tape so that no one could tell I had opened it  — but au contrare, my mother was the clever one to never wrap anything in its original package.  Now I get my gifts shipped to me and this year am having a difficult time restraining the urge to open them all! Who will see?  My family is not here!  While I do miss them this time of year I prefer to see them just before or after the holidays, so I will be visiting them in January (ideal weather conditions in Illinois, of course). But while I’m in the Northwest and feeling like a kid again because of all this snow, I’m gonna  watch at...

. A blogumn by Kelli Bielema I moved to Seattle in September of 2006. I was asked why I would move at the end of the summer when that time of year was the best to experience the city. Eh, logistics.  I was also told it was hard to meet friends here and would encounter something known as “The Seattle Freeze.”  This had nothing to do with the weather, but rather the chilly attitude and “freezing out” that people do in not only the winter months, but often year-round. Well, doesn’t that make you want to run to the church social and start a conversation?  While I knew exactly 2 people when I moved up here, I wasn’t about to latch on to all their friends. Clearly, I would need to meet some co-workers.  That first job garnered one friendship, but I haven’t seen her in over a year. What happens with the Freeze is that you meet someone, for the sake of this story, let’s say at work.  This person, let’s call him/her Chris to keep it ambiguous, is charming, very friendly and courteous. Chris is someone who probably knows people since he/she is a native Seattleite.   You run into Chris at the market today. Chris:  Well, hello, what a surprise! You:  Oh, hi Chris. What’s happening? Chris: Oh, just getting some organic produce for my juicing. What are you up to? How are you liking Seattle? You: Oh, it’s great. A little difficult to meet people, though. Chris: Yeah, I hear it can be rough. You:  Maybe we could grab a drink or catch a movie sometime. Chris: That would be fun, I’d be up for that anytime! You: Super! And scene. Of course, you would surmise that a little email to...

. A blogumn by Kelli Bielema I moved from LA to Seattle in September 2006. This weekend I am moving to my third residence in this fair city.  3 moves in 2 years. Someone kill me. My first ‘hood here was Capitol Hill. Cap Hill, Crap Hill, Tha Hill is a neighborhood that is like a SoHo meets WeHo. The queers, the artists, the musicians and the yippies all congregate in this area just a little gay skip from the heart of downtown. I could not have picked a better place to be closer to the action of the Pike/Pine corridor which houses scads of live music venues, restaurants, coffee shops (er, duh), and funky clothing shops.  I could walk to a show, grab some dinner, get sloppy drunk & walk it off on the way home.  Ah, convenience. As my loyal readers/trusty fan club may know, I moved from Capitol Hill to a small rental house in Ballard to fulfill my dream of once again being a dog parent.  The house would offer me the space that a dog would require, and also get me to an area of Seattle that gave me a homey feel, without losing any edge (‘cuz that’s me—sooooo edgy).  Recognized for its Scandanavian heritage and roots, Ballard is like a West Coast Midwest. You hear “yah, sure, you betchya” in this part of town as much as in Fargo. Ballard is also a progressive arts community, with openings and art walks galore.  What I like best about Ballard is the neighborhood feel. I have seriously borrowed a cup of sugar from the couple next door.  Beyond that, this couple has become dear friends to me. My other neighbor and I swap dog-sitting duties, and another neighbor helps me...

. A Special Edition blogumn by Kelli Bielema Living in Seattle, everyone is prone to a political discussion, oh, just about every 5 minutes.  This town loves to talk about foreign policy, local measures and state leaders. I’d rather chat about that cute J Crew outfit Michelle Obama wore on the Tonight Show.  It was just darling! On November 5th, while the country was talking about change and a new path for our nation, the conversation in the west shifted to the Proposition 8 ban in California (as well as those passed in Arizona & Florida), which outlaws gay marriage.  Stupid, if you ask me.  Do these people who voted to approve the ban not realize that gay marriage can actually save the U.S. economy?  This may sound like hyperbole, but caterers, florists, photographers, make-up artists, musical entertainers…what percentage of those professions employ homosexuals? I’m guessing a sweet-ass chunk. This is why I think the Los Angeles Times columnist, Joel Stein was onto something with his “No Gays for a Day” on December 10th. He suggested that gays across the nation stay home from work, much in the spirit of “A Day Without A Mexican.” And now the idea seems to be catching on. Go here for the Facebook Invite for “Day Without A Gay.” Would something like this be effective? I don’t know. What I do know is that a few of my friends, gay and straight, marched in support of marriage and equality for all this past Saturday across the country.  In Seattle, we were 6,000 strong.  While this march was in response to a ban that was not even proposed in our state, it nonetheless effects our family, our friends and all people who want a basic human right. Really. It...

. A blogumn by Kelli Bielema Living in Los Angeles could challenge my self-esteem at any given moment in a variety of ways.  The obstacle I was most commonly faced with during my near decade was the pressure to be thin.  Even as a character actress my physique was not portly enough to be the jovial best friend, but also not rail thin enough to be the comedic lead.  Because in our life and times, fat ugly folks should be heard and not seen.  Or this was my perception.  Once I decided to leave LA and the entertainment biz behind, I felt this pressure lift a bit. Oh, it’s still present, just not omnipresent.  I’ve gained about 15 pounds, which I loathe to admit.  I would be more likely to pass on another pint and a round of tater tots were I at the Ye Rustic Inn in Los Feliz, but while in Seattle, bring on the beer and fried treats! On Taco Tuesday last week, also known as election night, my gal pals and I were chugging the pale ale for Obama.  We were also chomping on the nachos for Governor Gregoire and for our Californian pals that Proposition 8 was defeated and Prop Number 2 was approved– we threw back some fried potatoes in their honor. Food is communal as we all know, but there is something about tater tots & beer in Seattle.  Yeah, I’m talkin’ tots. Those little starchy nuggets that would be on your cafeteria tray complimenting the slop o’ the day.  And as if those tiny devils weren’t tempting enough, there’s poutine. Poutine, French for “oh my sweet sassy Jesus, I can die now.”  Being so close to Canada, there is just a tad of their influence in...

. A blogumn by Kelli Bielema I could hardly wait to get a dog once I moved to Seattle. In L.A., I had a rent-controlled apartment for about 7 years in Los Feliz  that did not allow mutts.  A 900 square-foot 2-bedroom with carport and garage trumped my canine jones, but I was ready to get a Fido of my own. And did I mention rent control? My $1100 2 bedroom I hear now goes for $1700.  Zoinks.  About a year after arriving in the Pacific Northwest, and living in another cat-only apartment, I eventually found a pet-friendly rental house in the Ballard neighborhood. Within a few days of my move, I picked up my Australian Shepherd puppy. At 10 weeks old she was about 8 pounds of fluffy fur and insane amounts of cuteness.  Between unpacking and laying down piddle pads, I was suddenly overwhelmed with my new responsibility. Not only did I need to make sure she knows that rugs are not to be chewed or used as bathrooms, I needed to feed her, exercise her, socialize her, groom her, and first of all, name her. After a list that included Olive, Agent Clarice Starling, Rhoda, Phyllis, Pickle, Pentacostal (that one was not in the top 10, but a suggestion nonetheless), I picked the perfect moniker. Everyone has a comment when you mention you’re getting a dog, but if you are getting a working dog, like an Aussie, everyone’s an authority on how you need to get that dog a job, and keep it busy. Australian Shepherds are bred for herding cattle, sheep, or other farm animals that travel in, well, herds.  If you don’t keep these dogs busy they can become nervous wrecks, whiney stressballs, destructive obsessive compulsives or worse, can...

.  A blogumn by Kelli Bielema Relationships don’t last forever, but tattoos… “It’s a mile to your first, and a minute to your second.”  This is the wisdom my tattoo artist shared with me upon completion of my first inking.  That was a good indication of what would be an intermittent thought of how to mark my second rendezvous with the needle.  What will the next body art I create be? My lower back tattoo (yes, ahem, a tramp stamp) was not something I merely picked out of a catalog at a late night studio, but rather a Chinese symbol (yeah, how original) that meant laughter. I was certain to research it heavily to be confident that my new body bumper sticker would not translate to “monkey dildo” or “Satan’s wet nurse.”  Laughter was a saving grace at that period of my life as I had gone through a break-up that riddled me into anxiety and what my therapist referred to as a “depressive episode.” No kidding.  It goes without saying that laughter was a much needed tool in that dark time. I wanted my tat to be something meaningful to me, but not too dramatic.  In theatre school there was a graduate student with a tattoo of the comedy/tragedy masks on his left inner thigh.  I remember him saying “every time I look at that, I think of my art.”  I also remember thinking that every time he sees it is every day on the crapper.  Ew. I have yet to make that second appointment in the 7 years or so since my inaugural bitch license plate. My last couple of years in LA, I never gave it much thought.  Living in Seattle, I am surrounded by badass mo-fos with full sleeves, or...

So, Kelli Bielema, one our Fierce and Nerdy contributors, sent me the following urgent message yesterday: . Ugh. Who is the gal who did the To Google or not To Google article? This is upsetting!!! A site that can let you know who is Googling you. YIKES!!!!!!!! —— Well, Kelli, that gal was actually me. Read the original article here. . The link that she sent directs you to a local new story about a Ziggs.com, a social networking site, that allows you to see not only who googles you, but also where they live (complete with satellite pics) and what time they looked you up. . But before you panic, and decide to stop looking up your ex every month or so, try www.11mm.info. This is a site that allows you to anonymously use the Google search engine. So it’s pretty easy to foil Ziggs. Let cyber-stalking continue. . That all said, lots of Wow! Nerd Culture for you today. And make double-sure to catch Roya’s macoroni & cheese recipe at 1pm. Totally worth coming back for — unless you’re lactose intolerant. In that case, you might want to skip that...

. A blogumn by Kelli Bielema While our fearless Fierce and Nerdy leader Ernessa encourages a new daily habit of reading 20 minutes a day. I’m going to assume she’s talking about reading books–those things with pages that have harder pages covering them.  I do admit that I enjoy reading, but a certain kind of book—the instructional kind. This is peculiar considering I don’t like people telling me what to do. I also am, like most thirtysomething girls with a gaggle of gays in her life, a big David Sedaris fan.  And cookbooks–most of which will never see the grease flying towards an open page.  Otherwise, you can catch me reading a magazine. Oh, how I love my sweet periodicals.  I am not one to turn down a good subscription rate, so I have a stacks of issues of Vogue, Domino, Real Simple, Entertainment Weekly, Food & Wine, Seattle Metropolitan,  and…I am stopping there to protect myself from further embarrassment of the increasingly massive list.  I always take two mags with me every day on my bus trip to work (hey, it’s actually cool to ride the bus in Seattle, so suck it!).  One for the ride to work, the other for the return. Thrilled to be learning about the powers of seitan as I thumb through my comfort food issue of Vegetarian Times, I suddenly become overwhelmed with shame. Surrounding me are my fellow commuters engulfed in The Fountainhead, Harry Potter or the latest Cormac McCarthy or recent Oprah pick.  Even those who choose to slum with a magazine are poring over The Economist or the Utne Reader.  So, in the most literate city in the country (okay, 2nd since Minneapolis stole the title for 2007, don’t think there won’t be a throw...

. A blogumn by Kelli Bielema You can take the girl outta L.A., but can you take L.A. outta the girl? What first drew me to Seattle was that it was not Los Angeles. After 10 years in the Land of Fruits and Nuts, as my father adorably calls it, I was in need of a change.  I call myself a “recovering actor,” simply meaning I stopped pursuing my dream of becoming a comedic screen legend.  A departure from the entertainment world meant to me escaping the planet known as Hollywood. I no longer wanted to spend half of my life in a car and the other half of it being consumed with weighing 4 pounds. So now I’ve come to Seattle. Clean in environment, diverse in culture (eh, it’s getting better but it’s pretty Caucasian around here), and dynamic in arts and technology (nerds everywhere! Yay!). This town has quelled my allergies (no smog!), satisfied my cravings for good food (one of my new BFFs is a food critic!), and entertained me without end (a new band forms every 3 minutes here!), Seattle is the perfect fit for me.  Well, in some ways. And in some other ways, I feel like a complete outsider. I’m Fierce & Nerdy in a way that has yet to be fully realized in this city.  A fish out of water for sure, there are some things where I am clueless in Seattle.  And some of these ways I will explore as I begin my page here.  These things are (but not limited to): REI Membership Multiple tattoos & piercings Voracious appetite for reading Voracious appetite for music Voracious appetite for sushi NPR listening Camping Biking Sailing or anything boat-related (ferry rides excluded) Gardening Political discussions with random...