Oh MATT. I can’t say I blame him. We felt exactly the same way when we left Portland for San Francisco and now I understand the look in Matt and Sue’s eyes when we met them for drinks one night after moving back. It was a look that said “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS COMPLETELY RETARDED?” Also Dane had lost 60 pounds so that was part of it somehow too.

I wonder if everyone who trades one urban city for a larger, more legitimate metropolis feels the same way: liberated, disgusted, angry, excited, relieved, trepidatious, terrified, etc. ? Probably.

Dane and I talk about San Francisco all the time and we haven’t ruled out the possibility of moving back some day. After all, we know where we would want to live this time (near the Whole Foods). We know how the muni works (stinky but pretty convenient) and we know how the medical marijuana works (DELIVERED TO YOUR DOOR LIKE PIZZA OMG).

But we moved back to Portland because we missed seasons. We like the rain. We generally never complain about it unless it’s that mean, spitting kind of rain which makes me homicidal. And we missed our friends. it takes a long time to build a network of friends and I had just found Melissa only to leave her. It made me sad every day. I missed the comfy relationship I had with the Mercury. Whether I wrote for them often or not at all, they’ve always kept their door opened a crack for me and I will be forever grateful for that- especially as Dane and I’ve been through so many ups and downs over the past few years, my follow through rate on things has been pretty terrible. I will never know why they still listen to my ideas with an open mind and a willing ear but they do. I’m assuming it’s my hair. It’s pretty powerful stuff.

So. Matt. I don’t like that he took a shot at Backfence before leaving. It was unnecessary and mean, not to mention ungrateful. Or maybe I misunderstood what he said. In any case, I do understand the impetus to write what he wrote. Basically it’s something like “GAH hipsters, passive aggressive people, Portland has no idea what a real city is like, competition in [insert field of your choosing] here is non existent, allergies are bullshit, everything is too clean, I’m sick of food carts and all food cart related news, etc..” At least that’s what it was for me.

I think New Orleans will be amazing for Matt. I’m a little scared he’s going to piss off the wrong people and find himself chopped up in a pot of gumbo but that is his decision. I just hope his disillusionment with his new city doesn’t come as fast and as hard (or ever, really) as ours did with San Francisco. I doubt it will. We’re insular people and not prone to putting ourselves out there. And yet, right when we left I was working for the SFWeekly as their Tech Reporter, hanging out at City Hall, eating free Google cupcakes (heh) and introducing myself to the mayor like it was a normal thing for me to do and not TOTALLY OUTSIDE MY COMFORT ZONE. San Francisco was good for me. It was good for Dane. I think Portland is good for us right now. New Orleans will be great for Matt and Sue.

I don’t know…I guess what I’m saying is I hated Portland when we left and loved it when we moved back. I’m still happy here. Mostly I’ve transferred all my hate to Washington County and their bullshit broken system of DUI reform but that is another post for another day. Or never.

Oh and the food really is better here than anywhere else. Matt was wrong about that. EVEN THE BURRITOS. The burritos in San Francisco were really kind of upsetting in their crappiness. I know I’m going against the grain here but really…just not very good. I wish I could explain why I’m the only person in the world who prefers Portland burritos to San Francisco burritos but I can’t. Or, at least, I can’t without using my smart words and I’m sick of all my smart words right now. Suggestions for new smart words welcome in the comments.

Moving used to be much harder.

FIRST! On Friday I wrote this post for Blogtown which omg yes included a shit ton of “I” statements but that was the particular nature of that particular post. Also now I can be stalked in a more convenient manner. You’re welcome!

SECOND! We saw Henry Rollins Saturday night. The first hour was super entertaining. The last twelve were not so much. Ugh.

THIRD! I have been playing Alan Wake non stop for the past three days. It is scary. Every time one of those axe wielding boogie men jumps out of the darkness I do the equivalent of dropping my gun with the XBox controller. I am that asshole in a horror film who stumbles while they run straight into the arms of the killer. Ugh again.

FOURTH! Seriously, no more whiskey shots at karaoke. For reals this time you guys. Puke ugh.

FIFTH! I need this explained to me. Slowly. Like I’m a five year old. Fugh.

In remembrance of our fallen soldiers or whatever

None of these people are wearing underpants

Click on the pic for a couple more. Dane was in charge of the camera and even though he was the only sober person at the party, he took a total of five pictures -two of which were extra terrible. Trust me, Ned. I am doing you a favor not posting these. YOU DO NOT LOOK LIKE THAT.

Well.

Things have finally settled down here at the O’ Hesselbees and I feel like we can FINALLY get back to business as usual on FOTC – i.e., hating things.

On today’s agenda of hating things is people at the dog park who do not want their dogs to play with other dogs.

Um.

WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE CRAZYTOWN DOG OWNER?

Seriously, I get that your tiny little teacup whatever is afeared of big dogs and my dogs CAN be assholes most of the time but they were not assholes today so why did you bring your little tiny bullshit dog to the giant dog park and then AND THEN throw a ball around for your tiny little fragile dog to chase after and expect EVERYONE ELSE TO FUCKING HOLD THEIR DOGS BACK BECAUSE YOUR TINY LITTLE ENTITLED DOG IS SO GODDAMN SENSITIVE?

I am just asking.

Tiny dog: Maybe put it in a hamster bubble next time

Something Wicked This Way Comes indeed.

10 facts about Ray Bradbury I learned from my brief encounter with him at the San Juan Capistrano Library in 1990.

1. He is hard of hearing.

2. He can’t spell*.

3. He likes to draw pumpkins.

4. He thinks I am developmentally disabled.

5. He likes my mother. This is creepy.

6. His assistant was a very young man. I am just saying.

7. When pressed, no he will not sign your boobs.

8. Just because R is for Rocket is your favorite book of his does not mean he wants to talk about space for 45 minutes with a 16 year old girl who has trouble making eye contact with male authority figures.

9. He lets his young male assistants call him Ray. I am just saying.

10. He does not care if you named your cat Will Holloway. Not even if you show him pictures.

*My name. What.

Except, you know… I AM CRYING INSIDE. Sigh.

Happy now? Grumble.

(Edited to add) Let’s face it – this one is really more in my comfort zone.

I totally forgot I have a blog.

Anyway, we’re back in Portland! Not Beaverton but Portland! In a bougie loft downtown! You guys have no idea how happy this makes me.

I’m going to tell you something I told Charley last night – I think I was super depressed living out in the suburbs. I was sleeping all the time, eating too much, and not exercising as often as I should. I found a good therapy type doctor (through the help of Zoomcare) and began quickly recovering from Beaverton (along with some serious personal shit that went down) and setting the wheels in motion to get the fux out of there.

We’ve moved a lot over the last four years and I can’t promise we’ll stay put this time, but we both really want to – we even threw away the moving boxes. I mean RECYCLED them. Or whatever it’s called when you put them in the bin closest to the door.

I’m still writing over at Heartless Doll and GeekWeek and I’ve picked up a copy writing/social media gig which is not as sexy as writing for Slate or Salon or The Awl but I believe in the company wholeheartedly and feel lucky to have been asked to do it.

Having said this, I WOULD LIKE TO WRITE FOR YOU SALON AND SLATE AND THE AWL SO PLEASE CALL ME OKTHXBYE.

Also, our new apartment sits between four different homeless shelters so the hobo watching is excellent. Yesterday, a man with a hand sewn stuffed tiger talked to the crosswalk signal for a few minutes before sitting down on the ground to drink a “rock star” and do some stretching. He and the tiger were wearing matching outfits. This pleased me greatly.

No it’s true! Look here and here. Let me draw you an internet picture of how this makes me feel.