Category — frenz

Last night we went over to Megan and Justin’s totally beautiful jealous making house (they have a room entirely dedicated to foosball which made Dane weep quietly to himself for a little while in a corner of the room, gently stroking the table with one hand and drinking a beer with the other) to play some Guitar Hero and watch Lost. And naturally, since they are people we like tremendously and we care what they think about us and I had vodka in my hand - I decided to talk about poop.

Look, anyone who has ever known me for more than five minutes knows I have always had stomach issues. Everyone in my family has them and we all blame my Grandmother whose idea of a salad was iceburg lettuce sprinkled with sugar. And I think, most girls put their anxieties into their gastrointestinal area rather than into their fist and then through a wall like men do. I’m not saying one is better than the other but I don’t know if it’s possible to spackle an ulcer.

Megan did not, of course, talk about her stomach things because she’s a lady but I am a 79 year old woman in a nursing home and cannot help myself and went on and on at length about the virtues of fiber and yogurt (the real kind, not the pie kind) and oatmeal. Mostly the oatmeal though because honestly people, it has changed my life. I am no longer a prisoner of my willful innards.

So, internet, here is the oatmeal I eat every morning which makes life worth living because I am no longer afraid that eating lunch will result in me lying curled up in the fetal postion under a blanket unable to talk or move or watch reality tv. AND IF THEY TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME I WILL COME DOWN WITH THE WASTING DISEASE.

This is half a cup of regular rolled oats from Whole Foods, one ounce of sliced almonds, half a cup of blueberries (I know, I know, they’re not in season and they’re not local but fuck you Michael Pollan, you explain that to my belly), cinnamon, vanilla and almond extract (why not? we all need a little luxury in life), half a tablespoon of peanut butter, and a packet of stevia.

Judge me if you will, but we all poop. Except Eva Green. She probably just glows a little brighter for about sixty seconds and then rides away on her pet unicorn to her silver castle in Rivendell.

I think I’ve got my finger in too many pies. Or at least, my fictional finger in too many very real, very important to me to not let down people, pies. I haven’t written anything for Pampelmoose in two weeks, just one post for Engamer, and still NOTHING besides the About Us section of Geektoob. I went to a screening for the Mercury on Friday at Cinema 21 and then another screening on Monday at the Whitsell (for the Merc too) Auditorium inside the Art Museum.

I don’t know if any of you have ever been to a Silver Screen Club screening before, but let me tell you it’s like watching a movie with the entire cast of Cocoon sitting next to you and gumming their popcorn. Except you’re not allowed to bring any food into the new renovated fancy pants theater so I suppose they’re just gumming some prunes or Centrum Silver they somehow snuck into a tote bag or a fanny pack.

Anyway, I spent most of Monday writing about the movie for Friday and all of yesterday writing the one for Monday. I just wonder if I maybe don’t have a knack for journalism. Sometimes I can spit out a review or a post in 15 minutes and sometimes it takes me an hour or two, but it always breaks my brain. If I write more than one post in a day, I feel like I’ve just run a smartypants marathon and need to carbo load again by reading the internet for a few hours (Seriously, will that walrus ever get his bucket back?!!!?) and then sleeping until next month o’clock.

I’m actually reading a real book right now - the kind I can take into the bathtub without getting electrocuted. It’s The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollingurst (you can see it over there…a little to your right) and it’s about a GAY. I didn’t know this when I picked it up or surely I would have set it on fire immediately lest the gay get on me. This book is so good. It’s like a panacea for all wayward english lit majors searching for a lost Henry James novel. It makes me happy. Correction: It makes me GAY.

Wait, where was I? Oh! My inability to focus (see what I did there?), yes.

Dane will tell you all about my problem with multi-tasking. Seriously, just ask him, he could go on for HOURS. Basically, if I have to do more than one thing in a day besides the normal cleaning the house things, the overwhelmingness of it bullies me into a panic which then becomes a kind of lethargic neurotic coma. I’m like a dog who’s been kept inside too much and starts to scratch itself really, really hard in one place (I can’t believe I just compared myself to a dog. With fleas.) Too many things to do short circuits my action taking ability. I know this would be helped with some medication (I love you klonopin), but I am so resistant to putting my liver and kidneys through any more trauma than I already have (Vodka + Advil = oh my god DIALYSIS), I’d just rather learn to manage it on my own. Like our ancestors did when they had to hunt and gather in JESUS CHRIST KIALA THE SAME GODDAMN DAY AND NO ONE BLOGGED ABOUT IT.

So now I make to do lists and I breathe deeply and one day when I’m old I hope to be able to go to a Silver Screen Club movie and remember to sneak in my prunes and my Centrum Silver and then go to my bridge club without freaking the fuck out.

Dane was not so impressed with the butternut squash. Then again, I don’t think he’d be impressed by anything not made entirely out of Frank’s Red Hot. Or soy sauce. In fact, if science could discover some kind of soy sauce/hot sauce vegetable, I would buy science a shot of Jagermeister. Or Goldschlager. Science is totally a drunk sorority girl. You heard it here first.

Today I have to go across town on the Burnside Bus (sticky) to the Mercury Offices in NE Portland. I’ve been there twice now and I think the office manager is beginning to warm up to me. The first time I came in, I made the mistake of looking him directly in the eyes, which as we all know, is an invitation to THE THUNDERDOME.

But the second time he greeted me with a delicate lift of one eyebrow and an almost imperceptible nod of the head.

Have you ever been hit with a Care Bear Stare? It was just like that. Only with more love.

I think today instead of saying hello, I’ll just wrestle him to the ground and lick his face. No, no, don’t try to stop me. I’m going with my gut on this one.

I’m not very good at Role Playing Games.

We went over to Sy and Liam’s this weekend for an afternoon/evening of Dungeons and Dragons.

I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS.

Dane used to play it all the time as a kid, but despite my childhood love of all things Slurpee/Nachos…I had never played it before. I love sci-fi and fantasy (like they were one of my OWN) and I also love sitting on the couch for long periods of time so this seemed like a no brainer.

But I just can’t get into it. At least not like this kid…

It’s totally not Liam’s fault, or Sy’s, or the fault of their funny friends. Or the chili they made for everyone. (DELICIOUS). It’s my fault. I kind of forgot about how when I’m reading say a George RR Martin or a Jack Whyte, I skip over the battle scenes. All of them. I just want to read about the political intrigue (a cunning dwarf! Oooooh!), the character development (anti-hero turns pro!), the costumes (leathery), and the incest (Yay! I mean eeewwwww).

Mostly the incest.

What?

I still love Whit Stillman!

Anyway, more importantly….

Where the hell have I been?

I’ll tell you. I’ve been drinking….mostly with our new friends of the Pampelmoosery. And now my liver is angry at me. I mean, it hasn’t sent me any nasty emails or anything, but it’s been a little distant and just, you know, weird in general.

Like, I had a glass of wine last night and it was all, “Oh hey.” And I was all, “Hi!” (big hug) and then it just sat there awkwardly, not doing anything, leaving me feeling a little cold and lonely. So instead of confronting it, I thought I’d just give it some space for a few days and see where we’re at on say, Wednesday.

Well you know what? Fuck that. I don’t even need that organ. All a girl really needs is her kidneys, heart and brain. You hear me liver? You can be replaced.

So, yes, I had quite a few nights out last week and they were super fun but this week is going to be about the Work. And by Work I mean shopping for new school clothes! That’s right….I’m going to school! Well, I’m taking a class anyway. I’m taking a class at The Attic which is supposed to help me “get in touch with my writing voice” or some nonsense. But judging from my lack of posts in the last few months I think we can all agree I really need someone to kick me in the ass. And I would prefer to pay someone to do it, so please don’t volunteer for the job, Interweb.

Oh, but I hate writing classes - with so much hate. I just don’t want to hear about the first time these people saw a flower and how it invoked the innocent, unearthly beauty of children. Or how the 39 year old bartender is really getting into Henry Miller for the first time. Or recitations of Seamus Heany.

Oh God, I really don’t.

This is why I think a fun, kicky new school outfit would help me wade through the river of crap to which I’m about to be subjected.

I’m thinking something like this…