Category — arbitrary lines will be drawn.

He totally sleep eats.

Not the kind of sleep eating where he gets up in the middle of the night all hopped up on Ambien goofballs and stands in front of the open fridge stuffing brownies and sausages in his mouth – although that sounds FANTASTIC doesn’t it?

No, Dane mimes chewing food while he’s sleeping.

Chew, chew, chew, chew. Smack. Chomp. Chew chew chew chew. Chomp. Snore.

All. Night. Long.

Now, anyone who knows me well knows how much I HATE the sound of people eating. It’s a thing I have. And I realize my annoyance about mouth sounds is just as annoying to the people making the annoying sounds but WHATEVER – I have the moral high ground because I JUST DO.

(I learned that line of reasoning from our friend Ann Coulter this morning…she’s a gem isn’t she?)

Anyfrak, the chewy chewy chomp snore has got to stop, so I’m thinking about sneaking some arsenic Advil pm into Dane’s evening diet root beer. Is that even legal? I have no idea.

In other news, I cannot believe you people don’t know who Chuck Bass is. I just….I….I need a moment to think about what this means about the future of our relationship. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.

You can buy this AT THE STORE here.

Officially….I love San Francisco.

Unofficially…I miss Portland.

Officially…my mouth is on fire.

Unofficially…I’m lazy.

Officially…I’m a hiphopapotamus.

Unofficially…I’m a rhymenocerous.

Uh…I lost my train of thought.

I woke up this morning and lo! there were clouds and it was Good.

The San Francisco sunshine was KILLING me. It is November, people, and I suffered through summer in Oregon with a smile on my face because I had waited 9 long months for some sun and also because I could actually fit into my skirts and things again (post-divorce weight GONE) but now it is November and I want blustery leaves and rain on my face and scarves and tights and boots.

Yesterday, I wore flip flops and a skirt to walk the dog. It felt so wrong and evil. I mean, okay, it felt good but WORNG. I know I spelled that incorrectly but I am making a point about how not right it was.

This past weekend, Dane and I took the Muni light rail together so I would know how to use it without looking like a total potard. It seems easy enough. We also took the bus which was like every other bus experience I’ve ever had in my life – dirty and weird and bumpy. We took the 38 down (up?) Geary to Japantown to see Quantum of Solace at the Sundance Theater where they serve alcohol. I looked around and did not see one single Japan – not one. Ffft. Japantown. LIARS.

Anyway, this was the exchange we had with the bartender/server lady at the theater.

Us: So, the guy downstairs told us we can order food and then not have it delivered until the movie starts, is that right?

“Lady”: I don’t even know what time it is. What time is it?

Us: (searching in my bag for my phone) Um….I’m not sure

“Lady”: So you don’t want to order anything then? (over our shoulders) Can I help whoever’s next?

Us: No, wait! (me seething) We would like a Grey Goose and tonic and a margarita.

“Whore” “Lady”: (Long sigh) OKaaay. That it?

Dane: Actually, would it be too much trouble to order a margarita instead? That sounds delicious.

“Lady”: PAY ATTENTION DANIEL (other bartender) THESE ARE OUR NUMBER ONE TROUBLE CUSTOMERS OF THE DAY.

And then she slapped me across the face.

No, she didn’t, but that’s what it felt like.

So I gave her the death stare, which is surprisingly similar to me looking at the floor and mumbling thank you.

Other than that I would highly recommend the Japantown Sundance Theater as long as your expectations for any actual Japans and customer service are non-existent.

Is gay.

Now, I realize all of San Francisco is gay, but we live right on the corner of Gay and Gayer Streets. Melissa Lion insists we live in Noe Valley and not the Castro but really, we live one block away from Castro St. and one block away from Noe. What this means is we are surrounded by millions of men named Michael and Timothy and Patrick with a small sprinkling of young families with babies in strollers.

I love the gays. The babies, on the other hand, are just meh.

Our first night here, after a terrifying, hellish, 14 hour drive from Portland (let’s just say God was either telling us to get the hell out of Portland or to stay the hell out of San Francisco…I still don’t know which…also I don’t believe in God) we parked the moving truck and immediately went on a hunt for beer.

I don’t know if any of you have ever been to the Castro on a Saturday night but it was a little overwhelming – overwhelming in an ohmygodweliveinarealcitywithamillionpeopleandwecoulddietonight kind of way. And we had ZZ with us because we didn’t want to leave her in an empty new apartment for even a minute. You can imagine how well she took to the street trannies and hustlers touching her. Not well.

Anyway, we survived and although Dane was a little mindblown from the culture shock, he has quickly adjusted to our new gay lifestyle. Embraced it, even. Honestly, I think he’s really enjoying all the attention and has winkled out that he’s probably a bear, but like a smaller one – more BooBoo than Yogi, more  Koala than Grizzly. And if this means we get free pastries at Tartine, so be it.

Yay gays!

I can’t hold it in anymore. I don’t want to be a message board for blog hatred but Healthy Food Blogging has really been getting under my skin lately. Or stuck in my craw. Or some such colloquialism. And I don’t mean you Arielle. Not much anyway, because your writing is tremendously funny, but seriously…this shit about blogging every single thing young women with access to laptops put in their mouths? It’s wrong. It’s harmful. It’s OBSESSIVE.

And I am totally guilty of reading these blogs every single goddamn day. That’s right. I am admitting I used to be a regular commenter on Kath Eats but I just can’t participate in a practice which purports to help “people” (women in their early twenties with borderline eating disorders) make healthy choices in their daily eating habits but in reality is taking what is already an obsessive pastime for modern girls to a nuclear level.

I mean, I can totally get behind teaching Americans about nutrition and portion size, etc and sometimes I waffle (get it? WAFFLE) and think, “Well, Kath and Jenna and Whoeverelse really are showing people a realistic way to eat three meals a day with snacks and stay at a healthy weight” and then my brain kicks in and I’m all, “WTF? What is wrong with America? Isn’t this another way to keep women in a tiny little box of conformity and unhappiness? Isn’t there enough pressure on girls to be perfect? Do we really need this? A blog telling us exactly what and how to eat all the time?”

I’d really like to know what your thoughts are on this. Mine are a bit muddled but my gut feeling (get it? GUT?) is that this is the opposite of healthy. It’s orthorexia. Its an obsession with never putting anything in your mouth that isn’t nutrional GOLD. It’s women living a deprived, bare, wasp-y existence in an effort to exert control over every part of their lives. It’s like living inside Real Simple magazine. (But not Domino because I would love to live inside of Domino magazine.)

It freaks me the frak out.

Tell me your feelings internet.

Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without that Intern Meagan. She’s been a part of our lives for such a short time but her impact has been tremendous, am I right?

And tomorrow I finally get to meet her and buy her a beverage at Backfence PDX! And Intern Nathalie too! Woot1!!1 or whatever.

I’m very excited for this installment of BFPDX because our friend Matt Davis is telling stories and he has some kind of accent or something which seems both thrilling and cosmopolitan. I don’t know. It makes him sound real smart. And hopefully his wife, Sue, will be there as well. She’s super and I haven’t seen either of them in too long for reasons I can’t think of right now other than general laziness.

Here is the pretty Backfence flyer for tomorrow’s event~

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And now on to IRRITATING things.

A woman who goes by the name of Ste. Goldie™ is annoyed with my Pearl District attitude about cab drivers who don’t want to go to Taco Bell.

I’m not sure why I offend her sensibilities so much but I’ve been told people who attend Clark County Community College are very sensitive souls who need much hand holding and emo music and passive aggressive Taco Bell references to soothe their overwrought nerves. Poor Ste. Goldie™. It must be so dark in there, alone with your Sylvia Plath poetry and Pablo Neruda postcards. Er, or something. I have no idea. It’s all very romantic.

Yesterday, it was nice out (until about 3pm when the humidity made everything totally shitty) and we needed bananas and blueberries and booze so I walked down to Whole Foods. I was pretty hanged from Melissa’s Booty Call (I’m not getting into that today other than to say that boys on bikes who call our group of girls out for no reason at all had better be prepared to be SMACKED DOWN) and having the Hangzieties on an epic scale, so I thought to myself, “Self, let’s do some calming, frilly, browsing at Anthropologie. Let’s touch all the appliquéd cardigans and fondle glass bed knobs. Let’s unfold folded things. Let’s.”

On my way inside, I noticed a tall blonde woman dressed like a mall detective (and, okay, I’ll say it – a power lesbian) follow me inside. Then I kind of lost track of her because the Anthropologie smell hit me full force and I sneezed all over a stack of silk shirtdresses. When I looked up, she was standing nearby pretending to admire some aprons.

Look, I worked in retail for ten years. I am not proud of this, I’m just saying I know what security guards look like and they look like that. What I don’t get was why I had been targeted on my way in? Was it my iced tea? Was my iced tea suspicious? Was it my tote bag? It’s not like I was wandering around Anthropolgie “dropping” my bag and then “dropping” piles of jeans onto “the floor”. I was just looking around. I wasn’t wearing a coat on a hot day or sunglasses inside. I wasn’t drunk. WTF?

I was so mad. SOOO MAD. I decided to do a few laps around the store to make sure I wasn’t being paranoid but no, at every turn, every new display, the power lesbian/mall detective was on my tail.

And here’s the part where I got really pissed. Even though I knew, I KNEW I should have asked to speak to a manager and gently let her know that her new security person was making a customer, THIS customer (yes, I wasn’t going to buy anything that day but I was planning on it, in the future – the future where I make enough money to afford two hundred dollar underwear), very uncomfortable and I was insulted and would probably never be back in again – I didn’t say anything.

I left and went to Whole Foods. I am a gigantic doormat. It’s very disappointing. So I think I should go back today and with my camera. Don’t you all agree?

Shit. Sorry about yesterday internet. I was too weak from my newfound veganness to type. And too superior, I might add.

No, no, no….actually, things just got a little, really, super crazy in freelance writing world and I needed to take care of some minutiae (thanks Sy!) before my new vegan world goes vegan insane – or vegansane. Right? RIGHT?

What I am saying is I had to get a haircut.

Things are a little tight in the funds department here at the Hesselwedonotenslavebees as of this moment so luckily, I had been holding onto a gift certificate to Aveda for a few months. It was worth it. The nice Aveda lady gave me a scalp massage and I almost had an orgasm. That’s not cheating, is it? Sorry Dane!

Afterwards, I felt all relaxed and smelled delicious and cruelty free and it was beautiful outside and thanks to all the beans and vegetables I’ve been eating, my pants fit me again and ladies..we all know what a magical and wondrous feeling that is.

So, I went to Trader Joe’s and suddenly my world was FUCKED. It took me 20 minutes to find bread. Goddamn you bees! And as Stoogepie noted in his comment on yesterday’s post, by the time I had found three things to put in my basket I was ready to just give up on eating in general. This is why vegans are so slender. That and all the vegan cocaine they do.

But I ran into my friend Kenny who told me all about vegan things and promised to send me a really good mac and cheese recipe and also he has this incredibly good idea that vegan Portland hipsters are going to freak the fuck out over. Seriously, they are going to pee their fixies. I can’t tell you what it is, but I’m giving him 3 months to do something about it, or else I will. He’s a drummer anyway. He’ll probably explode or something before he makes it happen.

And today I’m going to a screening. Something about sexy teenagers. My job is HARD. And I have to take the stupid bus up to NE Portland. I’m going to try not to touch anything. Or anyone. Unless, they give me money because did I mention things are a little strained financially?

Also! I need to get some kind of badge or shirt or tote bag so I can lord my veganity over the peoples of my city. I want it to say, “Vegans Against Airlocking” or something equally as nerdy.

I’m still working on it.

I’m eating this – it’s half a veggie sausage on a whole grain ezekiel english muffin with spinach, avocado and jalapenos. I’m very healthy all the time.

Lunch: Not this one but one very much like it and soon.

So last night Dane proposed something to me. He said that I could take over his nutrition for a month (although, ominously, “not on weekends” he said) if he could take over my writing career. What he means is getting me to pitch stories to people who might say no to me which makes me cry mad and not the actual writing because I am a genius and he, sadly, is not.

What do you think, internet…should I let him and also, do I really want to force Dane to eat vegetables for a month? Doesn’t that seem like a lot of work?