Category — feelings

Ok, no not really.

But Dane is in Utah until later tonight so I’m watching some Jane Austen thing on OPB and catching up on ANTM (in this episode they are “putting a spotlight on homeless youth” with a high fashion spread in Not a Real Magazine Magazine) and I made this for dinner…

mmm…salmony.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the apartment was painted in pink glitter and decorated with unicorn bean bag chairs by the time he comes home.

Don’t judge me. DON’T YOU DARE JUDGE ME.

It’s nostalgia Tuesday!

Side note: Sy stole bought me a Beanie Baby Bully from Meier and Frank when we were oh, about 19 years old, and that is why she is my best friend to this day.

Dane’s parents came to visit us today and while I scored this awesome shawl

and a bunch of other great vintage-y things, Dane was reunited with his comic book collection

and I was taught the proper way to hold the precious, precious comic books, “You’re bending them. HONEY. YOU ARE BENDING THEM.”

I can’t wait to see what his reaction will be when I take them into the bathtub with me.

Tonight Dane, Megan, Justin, and I are going to The Press Club for a dj thing Dave Allen is, um, spinning? Is that right?

I think what he does is he pushes a button and music comes on - kind of like how our microwave works only less complicated.

Before we go to The Press Club we’re going to The Nightlight Lounge which is a few blocks down on Clinton. Dane and I used to host a Trivia Night there every other Sunday until we got rid of our car and moved to the other side of town. It was really fun but a lot of work that I would basically make Dane do, because I don’t have a full time job like he does so it makes sense that he should do it. It’s purely logical and if you like, I can work it out for you with math and science. I just need an etch a sketch and a sextant.

Soooo, we are going to vegan bike messenger central and in an effort to fit in, Dane and I have decided to become “Public Vegans” and maybe also “Public Bike Messengers”. A few hours of internet research and a stop at American Apparel is all we need. I’m practicing hating everything right now. It’s not that bad.

I mean, it just sucks. IT BLOWS.

I don’t even care if you read this. I’m only doing it for my band anyway.

First, a few things I should clear up.

One, I do not - excuse me, we do not - have kids. We are not planning on having kids either….ever. We think your kids are great, especially the way they stay at your house and don’t live with us. That is adorable.

Two, I would never feed chocolate to a dog or cat. Normally, I just give them apples or yogurt if they’re really jonesing for something sweet after a bong hit. That’s just how I do it. You do it your way.

And three, I exercise. All the goddamn time. It’s annoying, but I do it. Also, we don’t have a car so I really have no other choice but to walk everywhere. I don’t mind this. I’m just letting you know before you all get together and form some kind of intervention where you come into my living room and make me get off the couch because my inactivity is causing grief and hearttache to my friends and family.

I do sit on the couch for the better part of most days but THAT IS MY JOB. I just make sure and get up every 15 minutes or so and do a couple hundred push ups followed by a line of cocaine. My body is my temple, people. I treat it as such.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that ugly business out of the way, I have a favor to ask you all. I have spent an inordinate amount of time searching the Web for really good, interesting Portland blogs. Thank Jesus, I found Melissa Lion’s blog right away, otherwise I probably would’ve given up, eaten a whole pie and gone to sleep depressed and angry. She is an excellent writer and uses all her describing words, which is something I’m not so good at. Yet.

So please, if any of you can point me to some well written, personal, funny, or just interesting blogs, I will buy you a pony.

And by “buy you a pony” I mean “not buy you a pony”.

I guess 3 is too many when it comes to margaritas. I am a little hungover this morning.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

I used to be able to drink 3 margaritas before breakfast AND THEN get up and drive the kids to school.

ANNNYYYYWAYYY…we went to Acapulco’s Gold last night for VDay and had delicious mexican food and the aforementioned ritas. I actually had chicken fajitas which are tex mex and not strictly mexican so this makes me a Mexican’t. Honorarily.

Halfway through the Mexican’t fajitas this group of youngsters sat down and loudly broadcasted to the world that they were, I don’t know if you know, IN A BAND.

Mostly, it was this guy who did all the talking. He knew a lot about Marshall half stacks.

We wanted them to spontaneously combust.

And here we are….

Now, internet, I’ve got to go dowstairs to the gym, sweat out my tequila, put together my interview notes, clean the apartment, clean myself, and get downtown. Dane’s friend Jesse (my friend too) is visiting us tonight so I also should vacuum the tortilla chip crumbs from the couch. I guess.

Good day.

I said GOOD DAY.

So this is what I found in the tea cabinet this morning

and I eated it.

And then maybe some frosting ended up on Arthur’s tail…don’t look at me.

And then romance blossomed. Kind of.

Happy doin’ it day, everyone.

Right now I am busy busy busy like a bee (if a bee were easily distracted by youtube videos and sandwiches) doing research on the interthings about the people I am going to interview on Friday.

See how I wrote that sentence in a calm, rational manner? That is because I am high as a kite on Klonopin right now. Ok, no I’m not, but God I wish I were. Instead, I’m drinking some herbal tea and attempting to educate my way through my panic.

I’ve never interviewed anyone before and frankly, I’m terrified. In Middle School they made us interview a grandparent about their lives and how much milk cost in pennies and what it was like to, I don’t know, whittle their own pets out of the the sacred oak tree to appease the pagan gods - and I couldn’t do that either and it was MY OWN FAMILY. Granted, my grandmother kind of terrified me, too. She called pants “slacks” and would only buy me jeans from The Goodwill. Come to think of it, maybe my Nana was a hipster. That would explain a lot, especially the record collecting.

Anyway, there will be beer present at the interview if anyone wants some and we’ll play a little Guitar Hero on the XBox and Dane will be in the next room, telegraphing moral support, so I’m sure it will be fine. I’m just afraid no matter how much I prepare, I still won’t feel prepared and also, what if I get all excited with the talking and I accidentally spit on one of them? And don’t pretend this hasn’t happened to you guys, because I know it has and it was just as mortifying for you as I imagine it’s going to be for me when I forget what my questions are and instead of looking at my notes I just start yelling obscenities like a crazy person.

Yesterday was beautiful!

BUT when ZZ and I were going for our afternoon walk, two guys (I was going to say “douchebags” here but I think it’s time to retire that word for a couple of infinities) on fixed gear bikes - NO I DON”T KNOW THAT THEY WERE FIXED GEAR BUT C”MON - rode around us and one was saying to the other, “yeah and we can just get a rail pass and stay at hostels and it will be totally sweet” and the other one was all, “Serious?” and then I looked down at ZZ and said, “It is okay to bite them.”

I just…GOD. The thing I can’t stand (and here I almost said “hate” but the internet will jump all over me for having extreme feelings which may lead to hipster bashing which in turn will lead to a world without cocaine and Art Schools) is how rampant this sort of thing is with the kids of this city. I don’t know if it’s just sheer arrogance or what but it seems like everyone between the ages of 18-30 believes they are the only people to read Henry Miller or Charles Bukowski or watch Withnail and I or knit or whatever it is they think they are doing first. And I suppose that makes me sound like an old man but I’ve felt this way since I was an 18-30 year old. If an indie rocker regurgitates an idea in an empty forest and another, less attractive, indie rocker is not there to say, “awesome” at him then did it ever happen and were they listening to Ratatat at the time?

This guy is what I’m talking about.

And I am totally aware this argument has been argumented before…I’m just irritated. And mostly, I wouldn’t mind this rediscovery process so much if it wasn’t done with such a seething disdain for people like me or people like Dane because we don’t, excuse me, adhere to whatever dress code they’ve established as a means of identifying each other on the street or in foreign countries. I’m pretty sure there is some kind of hipster mafia or maybe a terrorist organization which will help you out if you get into a jam anywhere outside of the continental US but only if you are able to say, “I hate The Beatles” sincerely and with a straight face. Also, no laughing at funny things.

GAH. I am too old to still be mad about this. Move on, Kiala, would you?

Speaking of not adhering to social norms, Dane took a picture of me with our new camera and I took one look at it and thought, “Oh my God, who let that chubby girl into our apartment?” and then realized it was me. So this set off the I’m fat/body acceptance/who gives a crap war in my brain and what I resent about that is how little I’m able to get done of the stuff I really like when I’m busy obsessing about exercise, nutrition, and that picture, OH MY GOD THAT FAT PICTURE. (In the interest of full disclosure, when Dane and I first started dating we put on weight in that way people do when they’re nesting and when they make that nest out of nachos and vodka and chocolate. But then, last summer, we put the brakes on a little and took up tennis and joined a gym again and lost most of it. Or half of it. I don’t know, but basically I’ve still got 10 pounds to lose which is nothing to whine about but I’m whining anyway).

So there you have it. And here’s the picture. Because the I don’t give a crap won.

I only had 2 cocktails and half a beer…okay and a few sips of wine….but I just can’t drink like I did back in 1935 when I was a young Irishman working for The New Yorker.

Le Happy was good, but loud last night. For some reason, they had the stereo cranked up to eleven with Journey. I’m not sure what sort of mood they were going for with that. I mean, Journey is not ironic anymore - not since they played Don’t Stop Believin’ in that one episode of Laguna Beach where Steven took Lauren out on a date right before they went away to college and then 6 months later came running back home because reality stars don’t stay famous in San Francisco for very long.

But we had a good time anyway, and Megan had on the prettiest dress and shoes. Her ability to wear heels is something I totally admire and respect. I love them, personally, but never wear them because Dane is only an inch or so taller than me. I’m slowly just getting the f***k over it - thanks to Megan’s heeling. Get it? HEELING?! Awesome, right? Let’s move on.

The air hockey (sorry, no pictures - I think the overwhelming pee smell and frigid temperature at Slabtown both confused and upset me enough to forget important promises made to the internet) was really fun but only for me, I think. Dane won 2 games and I won the last. Obviously, I need to practice more and if that means I have to go to a bar every single night for the next two weeks and drink delicious Jubelales by the gods I will do it. (Oh. Sigh. The Gods. I miss you Battlestar Galactica so very very much.)

I still got up early this morning and ate my oatmeal and cleaned the house and took the dog for a walk until forever o’clock because she would not do her business. And by business, I mean updating her stock portfolio and checking her online banking. IT IS SO MAD MAKING. I’m assuming it’s her new food. Either that, or she’s anxious about future employers seeing her Myspace page. I told her to make it private, already.

Anyway, I’m thinking seriously about either posting here or creating a new blog about my attempts to change Dane’s diet for the better. We’re getting worried he might have adult-onset diabetes or at least is well on his way towards it (thank you America!) and even though I’m not an expert on, well, anything ever really, I do know what he’s doing wrong and what he could be doing so, sooo much better and he’s agreed to let me help. Sort of. He came home the other night and I was chopping peppers and red onions and sweet potatoes and broccoli and then throwing them all in a roasting pan together and all I can say is that the look of fear on his face was so intense I thought there was a man standing behind me and maybe the call was coming from inside the house. But then he ate it (with some chicken sausage and a whole hell of a lot of chipotle mayo - we’ll get there, baby steps) and he was happy.

So what do you all think? This blog? A new blog? A different page on the cookie? Let me know your thinking thoughts that you have with your mind.

Oh also! Here is my review for Then She Found Me in the Mercury. Just scroll down alphabetically. It’s under the Portland International Film Festival reviews.