Hm.

Well.

Okay, here’s what happened, you guys.

I took – let’s call it a challenging – yoga class last week and the very next day came down with something that made me sleep for twenty three hours every day afterward. Has this ever happened to any of you?

So, I investigated my sicky-ness on the intertrons and it seems as if I maybe released some toxins or some such dark magicks and given myself a flu thing. Oopie! This did not, however, stop me from continuing to do the yogas every day anyway because I really, really like it and I am bored to tears with the stupid elliptical machine and it is summer all the time in San Francisco apparently so I feel like I need some kind of abominable muscles. Is that right? Did I say that right?

So that is where I’ve been. Oh! Also I am waiting for Dane to be done working on his super secret website project for one of the coolest girls in the WORLD so that he can work on MY project involving a tee shirt for one Mr. Ferik Penrickson. I would do it on my own but I do not know how the XBox works, let alone Photoshop. Never fear, Ferik, I will (continue to) withhold sex from Dane until he gets it done.

And finally we are having an all day orgasm in the Hesselbee household because tonight is the series premiere of Battlefrak Gorramifrak Battlebots Gatatertots and, as I have previously mentioned to both Ferik and Justin Stanley, I am fairly certain that the final cylon is Wall-E. I know I’m right about this because I read it on Gawker and Gawker would never lie to me about anything. It is my bible, my best friend, and my teacher. It is my first love, my father, and my mother. It is what I read in the bathroom. It is, in other words, everything to me.

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.

It’s up to you, kids.

Cooking Healthy with Dane from Dane Hesseldahl on Vimeo.

The problem is…the problem is…THE PROBLEM IS…I am more than a little bit socially retarded right now.

You mean, you weren’t retarded before, you say? Very funny, mister and missus Zach Galifinakasnuffalupagus, but while yes, I was mildly socially downsy before, I am now a full blown, helmet wearing, special needs, social misfit.

I spend DAYS talking to no one other than Dane and maybe Sam, the guy who supports my Diet Coke addiction by selling it to me. What an asshole.

I mean, guys seriously, you should have heard me attempting to talk to Roxy, my new hair stylist about um…okay we talked about cats. WHAT?

Oh my God. I talked about cats to my hair stylist for well over an hour. I am so ashamed.

I’ve lost all perspective on what it means to be a good conversationalist and honestly, if we aren’t talking about YouTube videos of girls doing their hair (it’s my new fetish) or the upcoming Battlestar Galactica Season Premier (OMFG) then I probably will stop listening to you and commence staring at the wall and thinking about eyeliner and/or burritos.

And my main problem (besides being wholly self-involved and a little boring right now) is that I can’t drink anymore. After one and a half drinks, the headache sets in and I start whining under my breath about wanting to go home. I’m a wicked awesome good time, yes.

I hate the new social Kiala. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go into my bedroom, cut myself and put a video of it up on the YouTube because NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME.

I’m really glad I went because I won’t get many opportunities to see Melissa, Barb, Alison, Zoe, Intern Meagan™, or Intern Nathalie™ before we leave for SF. Dane went with me, because he is supportive and because he really likes those girls. And they like him. And now I feel sad, thinking about all of the friends we’ve made in the last year who we will probably NEVER SEE AGAIN.

Excuse me.

BOOHOOOHOO *Blows nose* BOOOHOOHOOO *shakes fist at “God” or whatever* BOOHOOHOOOOOO

Moving on….

The brightest, sparkliest, moment in my Backfence evening was getting to meet Beth Lisick who wrote Everybody into the Pool and Helping Me Help Myself. She was just terrific. And incredibly gracious to me – a shy, goofy, awkward, shiny haired stranger asking for her help in a new city (she lives in SF). Plus, I thought her jacket was super rad. I wanted to touch it. Well, fondle it. I wanted to caress it. KEEP IT TOGETHER KIALA.

Did I mention that I was sober at this thing? Well, I was. And it turned out just fine. Not, you know, awesome, but fine. And no hangzieties. The Effexor still makes me feel sedated so I’m not sure this really, truly qualifies as being sober, parfait.

Finally, last night, the stupid Effexor kept me from going to a fun thing at our friend Erik’s. (I am keeping a list of these offenses, Effexor, and when it gets to ten I am KICKING YOU TO THE CURB) Instead I stayed on the couch, not drinking wine, and watched Stylista on the CW. It was not as much fun as going over to Erik’s. Meh.

I reserved the moving truck yesterday. I can’t believe this is really happening.

Dane and I have to give him an IV of subcutaneous fluids everyday and so far, we’re pretty bad at it, but it seems to be working. He’s definitely feeling well enough now to yell at us every time we stick him with the  needle – which is often because as I mentioned up there in that sentence, we’re not very good at it.

And we are both TERRIFIED we’re going to hit a vein and accidentally inject his blood stream with lactate whatever-it’s-called . This is why I make Dane do it and then nag at him the whole time. It’s a pretty good system.

This is the triage IV thingy Dane MacGyvered over the weekend. He’s tremendously proud of it.

And I bailed out on an assignment for The Mercury and put my editor/friend in a bind and feel terrible about it, but when this all went down, it went down fast and I was such a blubbery stupid weepy mess on Friday that I couldn’t even decide what to do so Dane had to make the decision for me. Because I am 8 years old and can’t get on the effing IM like a big girl and deal with shit.

He also took the call from the Vet for me because I just didn’t want to hear what I knew she was going to say.

It’s not as if any of this came as a big surprise. I’ve been preparing myself for years, but it’s still ridiculously painful.

So now we just wait, I guess. I apologize for not being funny this Monday morning but look at it this way…at least you don’t have to sit here and watch with horrified embarrassment as I sing Arthur’s favorite songs from Gigi and Singing in the Rain while I sob and blow my nose. Count yourselves lucky you’re not Dane – I’m going to make him sing the harmonies with me when he gets home tonight. Come to think of it, we’re not very good at that either.

One

Two

Three

And then decided I should dance with the kids on stage – a decision I regretted almost immediately.

(Justin took this picture.)

And now I’m lying around watching Israeli movies about Hebrew lesbians. Don’t ask.

He’s a champ, my Dane.

We went to dinner at Le Happy (I had a salad because I am a delicate flower…a delicate flower who ate a bunch of Taco Bell later that night) and then cabbed it over to Urban Grind near the Mercury Offices for the Backfence event.

It was kind of overwhelming to see so many people I know at once and I’m afraid I was a little…did I already say overwhelmed? What’s another word for that? Meagan! The Google! Get on it!

Oh! So I finally met Intern Meagan last night. She was okay.

I’m kidding! OMG, she’s adorable (and so was Intern Nathalie but whatever this is about MY intern) and funny and was wearing the best Christian Dior Grace Kelly/Lauren Conrad glasses I’ve ever seen. Ever. Also, today is Intern Meagan’s 22nd birthday! Holla! or whatever the kids say now.

She was altogether too sober though and so I did my best to make her feel bad and guilty about it. Especially while she was holding my hair and saying soothing things to me as I crouched over the toilet spewing sangria.

I’m kidding again. I did have a sangria though. It was excellent. I have a headache now.

The storytelling was good, some more compelling than others (I’m looking at you Adam Arnold) but the real standout – and I am in no way biased by my friendship with him and his hot wife Sue – was Matt Davis.

He really put himself out there in a scary, hilarious way and I will tell you something people – THAT is what makes a good story. Make people a little or a lot uncomfortable. It’s necessary. And it was brilliant.

I’m a little all over the place today – I blame the drink (that was for you Sue) – because we did end up going to Club 21 after the event with Matt, Sue, Alison, Jenn, and Autumn. I had a gigantic makers and ginger ale served with an extra side of surliness and then proceeded to pretend like I was thoughtful and demure when really I was just a little drunk. Maybe. I don’t know.

And then we went to the Taco Bell. Sue and Matt got some too so stop with the judging already. And for the record, our Radio Cab driver was the BEST about it.

Oh and Melissa Lion and I are both up in The Merc this week! It’s like some kind of heaven, isn’t it?

Anyway, lucky for me I have Ferik Penrickson to kick me in the ass when I need it (he doesn’t so much kick me in the ass as he gently uses our safe word – Piers Anthony – and then explains why I am babbling incoherently for 400 words) and so this interview managed to come out all right.

I’ll be all fine next week, I promise. I just need a few days where I don’t think about everything all the time. I would also like some ice cream.

What I’m saying is I’m sorry I haven’t been responding to comments or emails (sorry Melissa!) or blogging much. Give me a few days. And a few cocktails. And some nachos. And some GODDAMN CHEESE.

That is all.

Here goes…

I’ve written here before about how much passive aggressive shit we get for living in the Pearl District, which I LOVE because we’ve only lived here for a little under a year and before that we lived in SE and before that NW and before THAT SE again for almost TEN YEARS but whatever. People will judge.

JUDGE AWAY JUDGIES.

So, let me tell you all a few things about my neighborhood – things you may or may not have heard about via Neighborhood Notes or The Snoregonian.

Underneath every LEEDS certified, sustainable, eco friendly building in The Pearl District is a dungeon room where we keep the riffraff (i.e. the HOMELESS PEOPLE) in individualized holding cells – or “street lofts”. Now before you knee jerk liberals get all up in arms about this and start shouting words such as “marginalized” or “personal liberties”, these street lofts are temperate, humane, and filled with activities homeless people enjoy. In each loft you will find a garbage can filled with plastic bags, paper bags, and half empty bottles of soda and booze. Each can is large enough to accommodate an average to larger than average homeless person in such cases where a person might want to really get in there and root around. These cases happen often and hourly.

The lofts have also been sound proofed for hassle free obscenity shouting.

Do they have these sorts of amenities on the Eastside? NO THEY DO NOT. We take care of our displaced here. Even if we did not displace them ourselves.

Another secret of The Pearl is the golden bowl of drinking water in every loft/condo/apartment NOT located in a government subsidized building. The drinking water keeps us youthful, hydrated, and caucasian.

And lastly (I should probably not even mention this but I’m going to) The Pearl District is actually made up of millions upon million of ones and zeros configured to look and feel exactly like a real neighborhood. And we all know Kung Fu.

That is all. Discuss! I’m going to a movie about dolls.

Don’t ask. Just blame Ferik Penrickson.