The Flowers, the Bacon and the Tooth

This story is completely true and yes, I'm alright. I wrote this just before Christmas. 

The man I'd just started dating went home to Cleveland for Christmas, and the morning after I was preparing breakfast for myself at my apartment. We'd been spending a lot of time together, and a marathon 48 hours straight before he brought himself to the bus station. You're probably not surprised that I'm seeing someone new... but it seems to be going reasonably well, although we're both slightly terrified that we're going to do something to screw things up. This could be a good sign? Anyway, eggs in the skillet and a mix he made for me blasting, when there was a frantic banging on the door. I tried to ignore it; it might've been my landlord hammering upstairs. It continued. My upstairs neighbors are from Australia, and in the midst of their shotgun Portland wedding two months ago, they were getting a lot of packages and flowers. Everyone else in the building has normal jobs, and I'm usually the only person around to sign. I was really irritated to have my tomato, spinach, feta scramble with a side of bacon interrupted. The man banging on the door was holding a gigantic bouquet of flowers. I rolled my eyes.

"Hi! Guess that knocking really paid off! Amanda?" I almost fainted and vomited, simultaneously. I'm not even sure if I thanked the delivery man. The card read something sort of romantic about him being gone and me being here blah blah blah. I sat in front of my breakfast, basking in the glow of how thoughtful Cleveland was and how lucky I am to have him in my life (not just saying that because I know he's reading; also, HI!) I was already thinking about how I could turn this into a story about romance not being dead and how men seriously underestimate the effectiveness of sending flowers to a women. There wasn't much time before I had to leave for work, and so after texting Mandy and talking to Rebecca briefly, I started hoovering my breakfast. A huge bite including a well-done, thick cut slice of bacon...  and I felt a molar crack in half.  It started bleeding, and I couldn't close my mouth because the loose piece was jabbing into my gum... and I started flipping out. I called Janna in a panic and she found someone to cover for me. I felt my gum bleeding. My old Portland dentist was going to charge $70 to just look at it, and the sliding-scale place wasn't returning my call. I don't have health insurance, let alone dental. This being the holiday season, despite my best efforts to abstain... there isn't a lot of extra money in my checking right now... what if it was going to be expensive, what if I couldn't pay for it? I remembered a friend just got an awesome new job and said domestic partners were covered in her new benefits package. How much time would it take for that to go into effect and would she be into the idea of switching teams for the cause of my tooth? Completely overwhelmed, I started crying. Once I became hysterical, I called Angela. She's one of the many people in my life who won't freak out if I called them crying so hard I can't breathe. I explained that it was like a (bacon) earthquake hit my mouth. Part of my tooth was like California, sinking into the ocean, only my gums wouldn't let it. She talked me off the edge and I decided to walk to the store for a bottle of wine, a pint of  ice cream, and some cotton balls. Eventually, the clinic returned my call and said they saw emergency patients at 8 a.m. and 1 p.m.

It was awful. I couldn't eat. What about Christmas dinner, and why is it that terrible things always happen to me around the holidays? This year I was hoping to go to Mexico and skip Christmas, but then I lost my job. Was this the Ghost of Christmas Past, besmirching me? Has my negative attitude about the holiday season created a self-fulfilling prophecy? What about the fact that this happened less than ten minutes into sharing this really romantic moment with Cleveland? It's hard not to ignore the fact that I was eating a piece of bacon and he's a vegetarian, my least favorite of all his amazing qualities. He made pizza the other day and I said, "It'd be better if it had bacon." Seriously. Maybe it's not just karma from me focusing on his vegetarianism, maybe it's karma from all the slaughtered pigs in all the world?! The timing was so incredibly unfortunate. Quick, who has a copy of Omnivore's Dilema to loan me?

I called Cleveland from Rite Aid, and broke the bad news. After explaining that I wasn't in any serious pain and the panic attack was over, he joked that he was upset with me for managing to overshadow the flowers. I agreed, and he asked me to please cross out everything he'd written on the card and rewrite, "Get Well."

This isn't the first dental issue I've had. My dentist growing up was an awesome guy. Dr. James Davis, not to be confused with Jim Davis, the guy who writes Garfield. I know they're not the same guy because I asked him when I was 7. I had a lot of cavities over the years, so I was in there every few months, between six-month cleanings and subsequent fillings. Between the deep grooves in my teeth and my infatuation with Bubblicious gum, we joked that we were funding the new renovations at his practice. It also meant that he made exceptions for me, like taking out my wisdom teeth instead of referring me to an oral surgeon. He did my first root canal, and let me tell you- there was an abscess in my tooth once, and since I don't plan on bearing children, I know that this is the worst pain I've ever felt/will ever feel in my life. Even so, the dentist office was never a scary place for me. It was always just the place I went to get my teeth taken care of. But teeth are little bitches and after yesterday, I'm never going to trust another dentist ever again.

http://sketchedout.files.wordpress.com/

The night of the break, I had preemptively taken some pain killers before I gave my mouth the chance to experience pain, not realizing the tooth was already dead from a root canal a year before. I'd had insurance back then, and the cause of the root canal a chipped tooth, neglected for too long. (The tooth Dr. Davis did the root canal on is still fine, despite it being ten years and me still not getting a crown. He's that good.) Then I made some sangria out of a whole bottle of wine and drank it. For dinner, I had more painkillers, all of the sangria, and a pint of Haagen Daas ice cream. Ben and Jerry's was my first choice, but they all had too many things I'd have to chew. (Disclaimer: this was a special circumstance. I was alone, broken tooth, days before Christmas, unsure if I would be able to fix it or sleep, about to fall into a bottomless pit of despair. My drinking has been very responsible these days... apparently the holidays and broken teeth bring out my Catholic guilt, as well.) I rolled out of bed the next morning in low spirits, put on my boots, coat, and left for the clinic.

The woman who took my x-ray asked me twenty times if there was any chance I could be pregnant. Apparently x-rays are really dangerous to your unborn child. I wouldn't know this, because I do the mental version of plugging my ears and humming when someone said unborn child. I assure here that there is NO WAY. She made a joke about the Wise Men, commenting on the unlikelyhood of there being another immaculate conception, seemingly because she was relating her sexless life with my own. But I'm really just on the pill! Not pregnant! But if someone asks you twenty times in one day if you're positive of something, it's normal to question yourself. So I had a brief panic attack, lasting only until the dentist walked over...

I'm still wearing my coat and scarf. The dentist does not introduce herself, but she's a petite Indian woman in her mid-thirties, about three months pregnant. Hopefully she wasn't around when the x-rays happened. She asks me how long ago I had the root canal, I said either one year or ten, because I don't know which tooth is which. She looks at me like I'm insane. She does not sit, she does not ask me how I'm feeling, if I'm in any pain or discomfort. The broken tooth needed to be extracted, but they couldn't do it. But she didn't explain why, until I asked. I needed to see an oral surgeon, and then starts telling me about the other cavities that I had which needed to be filled. It's not specified where the oral surgeon is, if the sliding scale is going to apply, or even who the oral surgeon is. She calls to see how soon then can take me, but they're closed until Monday. I start sobbing uncontrollably in the chair. There is a loose, broken tooth in my mouth. It's loose like your baby teeth got loose. This was also not going to help my recurring nightmare, the one where all of my teeth fall out. I can't close my mouth and I can't chew, and she's telling me it was going to stay like that until at least Monday? I flipped out and started crying hysterically, wearing my coat, reclined in the exam chair.

The nurse/hygienist comes over. I don't know who she is, because she doesn't tell me. She's about 50, Asian, with some sort pouffy 80's hairdo. Apparently this place is big on Affirmative Action. She asks me if I have insurance. No. Not even Maine Care? No. One would think these people would understand that not everyone qualifies for Maine Care, not everyone is approved, and homeless people and teen moms would take priority over me. She makes me feel guilty for my broken tooth and for not getting a crown and not taking better care of my teeth. She makes me feel guilty for making the dentist feel bad when I started crying.  This makes me cry even more because none of these things were my fault or within my control. In the next room over, I could hear a man talking to a young girl and her parents about her teeth. The man, presumably another dentist, was cordial and friendly and very helpful in explaining thouroughly everything he noticed about little girl's teeth. This assured me that it was possible to get quality care at Community Dental, and that it wasn't a company-wide policy to treat their patients with disregard.

The dentist comes back and tells me she can remove the broken piece and give me a filling- a temporary fix. This is the best news I've heard all day, but she doesn't tell me how much it'll cost. At that moment there was $140 dollars in my checking account, and if it was more than that, I'd probably just have to run away.

Usually, when a patient needs to be injected with Novocaine, they put an orajel-like substance on the gums, leave it for a moment to numb the area, and put the needle in. She puts the orajel on, but immediately goes in with the needle. Luckily, I'm not freaked out by needles. She takes the broken piece out and removes the old filling. There was a sharp edge to be filed. They rinsed and suctioned, but did not put in a new filling and didn't explain why, not that I was even sure why it was necessary in the first place. Some of the water sprayed onto my hand, jacket and the floor... this has never happened to me before (sounds like my first time!) When she was done, she put some paper towels on the water and told me to be careful. She handed me the paperwork to give the oral surgeon and walked away. She did not tell me when the novacane would wear off. She didn't tell me if I should expect bleeding or swelling. She did not tell me if I couldn't eat for a certain amount of time, or if I should avoid hot or cold beverages. She also didn't tell me a time frame to be sure to see the oral surgeon. She just walked away.

I get in line to check out, and the nurse walked by me three times, ignoring me all three times. The line took forever, which gave me a lot of time to think about how completely awful my experience was. The receptionist tells me it's going to be $75, but doesn't explain the sliding scale or ask for proof of income, which I had. I hand her my debit card and start crying, again. All I wanted to do was get out of there.

My friend Brandon said he saw me walking down Brighton Avenue, which is a weird place for me to be walking, especially so early in the morning. The bus came right away, but I decided to not get on. I was hysterical and everyone on the bus would've thought I was insane. Brandon pointed out that most of the other people on the bus were also insane, and they would've just assumed that I was learning to speak Homeless. I told him it was too bad he didn't beep and wave, because I could've thrown myself in front of his car.

If this was an episode of Seinfeld, I would chalk it up to the fact that dentists aren't real doctors so they were never taught bedside manner. It's not their fault, they just don't know. But I do think dentists are real doctors! Okay, so these people work in at a non-profit practice that sees a lot of low-income people. They probably don't make a lot of money in comparison to other people in their field, overworked and underpaid... but that does not give them the right to treat me with disregard, disrespect and all kinds of other words that start with un and dis. Not that it should make a difference, but I've asked other dentists to tell me about the worst mouths they've seen. There are meth addicts who's teeth were crumbling out of their mouths and people who'd never brushed their teeth in their entire lives. My cavities and one stupid broken tooth are far from the worst they've ever seen, but all of their patients should be treated with care. 

Love Sex Magic: A Dance Mix

I'm not sure if I mentioned this, but I'm back at my old coffeeshop job. I'm lucky because I didn't have to learn a whole new job, and Janna has been really accomodating with the schedule/carpool. Customers have been, on the whole, pretty happy to see me. The bottomless cup of coffee is great, too.

The other day, I was on the register. A young woman came in and gave me an inexplicable sort of look (just hang on- I'm going somewhere with this.) I'm a pretty good barista. I'm friendly. I pause after I ask someone how they are so they can actually give me an answer, if they so choose. I smile. I go along with jokes. This young woman was a normal, chatty customer. She got two coffees, one with room, one black, and two scones. She tells me that it was her turn to get the coffee. I look at her like, "Yeah, the give and take nature of a relationship can be SO TOUGH!" She understands my look and responds with, "I actually work at a coffeeshop in Portland, just trying to spread the love!" Then she makes a motion over the counter, as if she was a magician about to make the register vanish. The inexplicable look that she gave me when she walked in was a knowing look- a look that said, "I know customers can be dumb and sometimes you have to fake being nice, but isn't coffee just amazing??"

My response to all of this was, "Oh, that's great," and not, "Oh, that's great, where do you work?" I didn't care. Wherever it is she works, if it's on the peninsula, I've either applied for a job there, spent hours upon hours there or had close friends work there. When you've lived in Portland for five years (five??), in just about every neighborhood East to West, and don't drive, you get to know your coffeeshops. Maybe I'm taking this a little far. Although she was trying to be friendly, it was almost condescending, like Portland is where you go to really make it in the world of coffee and I hadn't. What I wanted to say was (and is also the premise for this post), "Don't you know who I am??" Here's the reason:

Looking for something to do immediately after the State Theatre and Greendrinks winter bash of 2010? Join us for for an after-party featuring dance beats by way of Jamie O'Sullivan and a handful of guest DJ's and local celebrity playlists. Your tiny cover charge gives you a warm feeling in your tummy knowing all proceeds go to Prepare Maine (http://www.preparemaine.org/), an education initiative designed to make sure that education remains a top priority on the state level.

This is this Facebook event description for this thing Slush my friend Alex Steed is putting on Tuesday. I'm one of the local celebrities making a playlist, and it was tongue-in-cheek and mostly for my own enjoyment that I thought to myself, "Don't you know who I am??" I'm flattered by the invite, and it's you, my readers, who have made this possible. You are all awesome, unique little snowflakes. Thank you for being reading this silly thing. (Note: I'm not really a celebrity; hopefully you all get that I'm joking here. Seriously, though, thanks for reading.)

When Alex asked me, I was riding the wave of positive feedback from the Breakup Mix post and really excited to help. A lot of thought went into the mix. I wanted to find the perfect balance of dance hits, my favorite songs, my favorite dance hits, and songs that you like. I spent hours and hours on my MGMT and Lady Gaga  Pandora stations, as well as purchasing new songs on iTunes. Highlights include iTunes Essentials "Indie Electronic" collection, half of which is already on my computer, with the description, "Believe it or not, cool kids everywhere have finally uncrossed their arms and started dancing." I also previewed a lot of songs from a Best of Gossip Girl list on Ping. Ping is something I still don't completely understand and it always sounds like Jerry Seinfeld is saying it in my head.

I made a rough draft and listened to it over and over. There were some songs that I really loved, but couldn't quite fit in. George Harrison "Awaiting on You All," White Town "Your Woman," and Michael Jackson, "P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)," did not make the cut. Harrison was not dancy enough, White Town was too slow, and this is the text message conversation I had with a friend, re: the mix, re: MJ.

Me: I think MJ's gotta go.
Friend: I think the world is still recovering from the postdeath overkill.
Me: I just said the same thing to my roommate and poured one out.
Friend: Poured one out?
Me: To pour an alcoholic drink on the ground in tribute, typically to pay respect to a dead or incarcerated friend. The drink symbolizes one which should have been enjoyed by the absent person.
Friend: Did you just urban dictionary me?

Yes. The track list:

"Walking on Sunshine" You all know that High Fidelity is still the most influential movie of my life. I love the scene where Barry (Jack Black) does this ridiculous dance. This song always perks me up and makes me want to do my own leg kicking, finger snapping, crazy dance.

"A Sweet Summernight on Hammer Hill" Jens Lekman is sort of new in my life, and this song also makes me incredibly happy. The claps and brass section make it a nice transition piece from "Walking on Sunshine" to "American Girl."

"American Girl" I used to despise Tom Petty as part of my all time top five most despised musicians. But then a friend performed this song at karaoke at Flask, and I realized that not only is this a great song, but that I might not hate Tom Petty afterall. I chose this song not just for it's dancability, but also for the idea that Miley Cyrus is like, THE American Girl. 

"Party in the USA" Initially, I was going to put this on repeat for 45 minutes, and have that be the mix. When my roommates aren't home, I do that sort of thing all the time. But then it was decided that it would make my playlist more of a performance piece and less of a dance party. I love this song and I still can't get over this video:

"Nothing to Worry About" I heard this song for the first time back in the days when I was hanging out at the Downtown Lounge four times a week. If you haven't already heard this, it's by Peter, Bjorn and John, the band that did that song "Young Folks," you know, the one with the whistling. I recognized it's booty-shaking potential almost immediately. 

"Say it Right" What kind of a dance mix would be complete without a little Timberland? Nelly Furtado's "I'm Like a Bird," was always mildly irritating, but I was pleasantly surprised when she threw that out and turned up the beats. I was having a difficult time with some of the transitions here, and scoured iTunes for the right song for this spot on the mix, and this is where I ended up. Sure, this song is kind of a sleeper from 2006, but I challenge you to stay seated when this song comes on.

"Cameras" At some point while compliling this mix, I wanted to try and cater to my audience as nuch as possible, which means people who generally hang out at Space. Matt & Kim definitely fit the bill, but I'll admit  the only Matt & Kim song I knew was "Daylight." I was psyched to find this super catchy track from the same album.

"Time to Pretend" It was hard to decide which MGMT song to use, which was also the case with Phoenix. Sometimes at Retro Night at the Asylum on Thursdays, they hit us with MIA, MGMT and The Knife in a row, and it always gets us going, but they always play "Kids," and I thought "Time to Pretned" fit better than "Electric Feel." We'll see...

"Lasso" Today, I was studying for an exam at the Hilltop Coffeeshop. I went next door to Rosemont Market for a sandwich, and both Hilltop and Rosemont were playing Phoenix. This means one, possibly two things. We all really like Phoenix, and it might be a little overplayed. Consider this track a breather before you throw your back out dancing to the next song...

"Hypnotize" There is a scene from 10 Things I Hate About You which adequitely sums up my love for this song:

At a time in my life when I'd never been to a raging house party or had one taste of alcohol, I was convinced that it was Biggie himself inspiring Kat to jump up on the table and let lose. 

"Love Sex Magic" Much like Timberland, I think no dance mix is complete without a little Justin Timberlake. Mandy and I used to listen to Justified in Bull Moose all the time, clapping in unison, in time with the song, from across the store. Dick in a Box wasn't quite dancy enough. I'm not sure about everyone who frequents this 51 Wharf and Oasis circles, but this song is seriously underplayed as far as I'm concerned. Yes, I believe in love and sex and magic.

"Heartbeats" New dancefloor staple. Hands down. Enough said.

"My Head" Arguably the least dancable song on the mix, but it had to be included for all of my friends who have been going into Cult Maze withdrawal since they broke up.

Virginia Woolf: Apparently not a fan

I think I have permission to write about this because Dan, my editor, forwarded it to me and told me I should blog about it. 

 

This is an anonymous letter Dan received at the Free Press, with the subject line "A complaint from beyond the grave."

 

 

Dear Mr. MacLeod, 

A writer of yours has so grotesquely abused the english language that I was roused from my grave to take a stand against this most contemptible offense. On the whole, Ms. Pleau's writing severely lacks in content, purpose and technical coherence. Without proper identification of place and time her articles are unbearable to read, and utterly insulting to anybody that struggles with making meaning out of the everyday. I understand the difficulty, as I took on the daunting task of writing a book entirely composed of a single day in a woman's life. 

Let us take a look at her article dated September 13, titled "My New Intended Major: Not Sucking at Life". This reads as a diary entry more than it does a column affiliated with a university and meant to be read by others.  How the writing of last week's column makes a worthy subject for this week's column baffles my victorian mind. The point of having a column shouldn't be to smugly remind others of said column.  

Grammatically the article is a nightmare. The first sentence alone is redundant and poorly constructed. Her misuse of commas is not only enraging but obstructive to the reader. She writes vague and nondescript lists of seemingly arbitrary daily tasks, with no singular cohesive thought to tie them together. And to top it all off, the banality of the lists even lacks a hipster slash of irony. 

Even more infuriating, Ms. Pleau appears to have forgotten that the ability to pursue higher education was not always granted to women.  Her comment about "hoping for a sugar daddy" to fund her leisurely lifestyle, so she may continue "having a really good time" is degrading.  

I refuse to believe that in this university of nearly 10,000 students you can not find someone capable of writing with competence, imagination and integrity. 

By continuing to publish her dribble you are doing a disservice to both the university, and her by perpetuating the delusion that she has even the remotest ability to write. 

Thoughtfully, 

Virgina Woolf

 

Alright. First I should aknowledge that Virginia Woolf isn't completely wrong, and I'm deeply regretful for offending a literary icon. I don't know what I'm doing, really, and I write like I talk. Really. I'm not an English major, I'm not a writing major, or a literature or classics major. I've never read a Shakespeare play, but I once heard an episode of RadioLab that talked about him a lot. I'm a student and I'm learning (that's the whole point, right?) Writing a column on deadline every week is a lot different than writing this blog; it's so much more difficult. The Free Press does a great job, but they don't micro-manage, so don't blame them, if, my, commas, are, out of place,,. 

 

But wait! USM offers a class called Writing Opinion: Editorials and Columns. So far, I've received As or Bs on all of the papers I've submitted for grades in the classes I've taken at USM. Virginia, don't give up on me just yet!

 

"She writes vague and nondescript lists of seemingly arbitrary daily tasks, with no singular cohesive thought to tie them together. And to top it all off, the banality of the lists even lacks a hipster slash of irony. "

This might need to be the new Misadventures in Portland tagline...  but I can't help but wonder: Virginia Woolf has been dead since 1941, so how would she know what a hipster is?

"How the writing of last week's column makes a worthy subject for this week's column baffles my victorian mind. The point of having a column shouldn't be to smugly remind others of said column."

Why not? I have a column and you don't. I have almost 2,000 view a month on my blog and regularly receive compliments from complete strangers on how awesome it is (I am.) I'm contributing a celebrity guest playlist at an event at Space and I'm the celebrity! It's all self-motivated. There's no money, no reward, no grade for this, I get to do it because I love it and you guys seem to dig it, too.

How about this? "Even more infuriating, Ms. Pleau appears to have forgotten that the ability to pursue higher education was not always granted to women.  Her comment about "hoping for a sugar daddy" to fund her leisurely lifestyle, so she may continue "having a really good time" is degrading." 

Every time I make a comment about something like this, it seems to get a lot of heat. So this is what I really mean: There are really women who are like this. There are actual women who marry rich old guys for financial security. I don't want to judge them, because they were probably more popular in high school than I was and probably have more expensive clothing. It's said with the sarcastic roll of an eye, and it's not meant to be degrading to the integrity of women. It's this thing that's been around since the 1500s called sarcasm. The quote from the column was actually this: "Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a sugar daddy and endure terrible wrinkly old guy bunny rabbit sex so I can see the world at my leisure," and I was touching on the hopelessness of the job market in the paragraph before that. It seems odd that my intentions were misconceived by such a forward-thinking, influential, lyrical writer as Virgina. But, then again, she was actually married, so who is she to judge.  

My lifestyle seems leisurely, because that's how I choose to portray it. There are plenty of deep seeded issues dating all the way back to my childhood, as well as current problems that range from finances, drinking-related decision making issues, roommates, and my right eyeball not working properly, that I could also write about that would make my life sound anything but leisurely. I've always worked at least 30 hours a week while taking classes full time.

I don't want to disrespect the legacy of Virginia Woolf. But if she was going to rise from the grave to say anything, it would probably be about how much she regrets taking her own life, burning in hell (just kidding, I hear there's beer there), and missing out on innovative depression treatments and subsequently being able to experience all of the beauty in the world. Her husband remarried a woman name Trekkie. Maybe she'd have something to say about the choice of Nicole Kidman's portrayal of Virginia in the Hours. If Virginia was still alive, she would also be able to comment on all of this stuff: "Recently, studies of Virginia Woolf have focused on feminist and lesbian themes in her work, such as in the 1997 collection of critical essays, Virginia Woolf: Lesbian Readings, edited by Eileen Barrett and Patricia Cramer. Controversially, Louise A. DeSalvo reads most of Woolf's life and career through the lens of the incestuous sexual abuse Woolf suffered as a young woman in her 1989 book Virginia Woolf: The Impact of Childhood Sexual Abuse on her Life and Work." Which isn't to say that those theories are incorrect or do not have merit, but over time, Virginia herself might've further explored these aspects of her life in her own writing.

 

Next time someone writes a letter to the editor about how much my column sucks, I hope it's Tucker Max. His tagline is, "My name is Tucker Max, and I'm an asshole." 

 

Also, Virginia Woolf, maybe kind of hot?

True Love Will Find You in the End

This is a message of hope. 


And heartache.


And a large amount of bullshit. About a week ago I noticed that my old roommate, Julia, posted on Facebook, "know any good breakup songs?" I, having been through a breakup or two myself, and a lover of pop music know all about the breakup songs. She received a lot of responses on this post, but other than Cee Lo Green's Fuck You, I didn't think that there were all that many appropriate breakup songs, mostly songs that were too obtuse or angry for her to actually be interested in listening to. So I decided to make a mix. I love an excuse to make a good mix. 


Breakup songs. To understand what makes a good breakup song, or the criteria of what makes a song appropriate for this list, it's important to think about the various different states of emotions and various circumstances of a breakup...  sorrow, despair, loneliness, regret, rejection, vengeance, loss, triumph, joy, relief, guilt, hope, solace, grief,  disbelief, denial, depression, bitterness... and the list could go on and on. Lots of stand up comedians (and movies producers) make their living trying to somehow relate to some of these feelings. For this breakup mix, even though I had no idea what Julia's situation was, how long they were together, who initiated the breakup, I tried to cover all the bases. 


After scouring my iTunes for days, I also used my mad Google skills to find this site, a comprehensive top-100 list in which to compare my rough draft list. There were a couple of songs there that either I did't have or thought couldn't quite fit into my mix. Some notable exclusions, Careless Whisper, Against All Odds, Popular (Nada Surf- three important rules for breaking up... should've been my opener), I Fall to Pieces, I Will Survive... Then there were all of those songs Johnny Cash put out after June Carter passed away... death. The ultimate breakup. I might need to make a volume two.  


I believe I titled it, "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry so Fuck You."

I Think I Need a New Heart - "Time stands still, all I can feel is the time standing still, as you put down your keys, and say don't call me please... You've lied too, but let's assume that I can't tell the truth, unless I put it in a song... I'll never stay to say Happy Anniversary, so I think I need a new heart." I guess this guy is talking about his own insecurities about not being able to truly love someone like they (and let's face it, everyone who has love to give) deserve. There are probably a lot of songs from the double disc monster 69 Love Songs that could be included on this list, and I picked the one that was featured in a fucking cat food commercial. 


5 Years Time - This song is deceptively joyous with the claps and whistling and ukuleles...  in reality, at some point in a relationship, you realize that it might not last forever. "And though really all these moments are just in my head, I'll be thinking about them as I'm lying in bed... In five years time, I might not know you, in five years' time, we might not speak a word." Lying in bed, thinking... yeah. This is, for me, the period of time before reality sets in, before you give the stuff back or run into each other in passing. Kind of a, "Did this really happen?" moment. 


I and Love and You - In a way, all songs about love can also be about a breakup- the idea of revisiting that moment that you realized you felt it- and mourning the loss. For me, this song is about realizing you've fallen out of love with someone."My hands they shake, my head it spins, oh Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in. Three words that became hard to say, 'I and Love and You.'"


I See a Darkness - Tim and I have fought about this song. I would say that it's the most depressing song I've ever heard, and he would argue that in the rest of the album it gets better and that I just need to take it off repeat, or whatever. When I first moved to Portland, I would sit in the living room of the teeny tiny Market Street apartment Mandy and I shared, with this song on repeat and sob uncontrollably. "Then I see a darkness, did you know how much I love you? Is a hope that somehow you can save me from this darkness." Like maybe if somehow you could convince them of how much you love them, seriously, they'd reconsider. This is a song for the breakupee.


I Found a Reason - This Cat Power cover is so sad in comparison to the original by the Velvet Underground. "I do believe, in all the things you say, what comes is better than what came before." We've all heard this line before in a breakup talk, "You can deserve better, you can do better." And yes, it's probably true if that person has the audacity to undermine your judgement in who you decide to give your love to. These lyrics strike me as both hopeful and disheartening. Hopeful that you'll find someone new who will make you happy, but also disheartening in that you're now burdened with the incredible task of finding that new person.


Ain't it Strange - "Ain't it strange, cause I'm always thinking of you, I need you here... Baby I don't mind, but I know how soon you'll forget me." Yeah. It stings to think about other person in your relationship moving on, like all of the time you spent together was insignificant, or something. I'm always the last one to get over it.


Crown of Love - This was an important change in tone in the mix, and if I understand the crown of love has fallen from him because he screwed up somewhere, and he's trying to get his lover back, because he's still incredibly in love with her. Arcade Fire's Funeral is also arguably my favorite record of all time (yup, going there, saying it, don't care what you think,) and I usually try and sneak a track onto most mixes.


I'm Not Crying - "You can't break my heart, because it's liquid, it melted when I met you. I'm not crying... it's just been raining... on my face." Awesome. 


Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again - Josh and I used to make mixes together all the time, and I think this song came up on a "Rainy Day" mix that he was working on. "Here comes that rainy day feeling again, and soon my tears they will be falling like rain." 


You Just Keep Me Hanging On - Thank you, Diana Ross, for showing us what empowered women look like.  The male love interest in this song is such a manipulative bastard and will not leave her alone. We've all had those times, in a moment of weakness, sometimes there's alcohol involved, where we send a text, write an email, sometimes even *gasp* call. Don't be like the guy she's singin' about here. Let it go.


You Can Go Your Own Way - We're clearly arriving at the "I want to get over you" part of the mix. "Loving you isn't the right thing to do," then later repeated like a dozen times, "You can go your own way." The love hexagon in this band made for some crazy awesome songwriting. Of course, they were all on tour together, so there was no way to go their own way.


These Arms of Mine - Oh, wait, and we're back to sad. I picked James Carr's version because it's slightly more heartbreaking Otis Redding's version, and I also wanted to use a different Otis Redding song later... This is an incredible song, regardless of who sings it, and takes one completely different meanings to people who are in love and out of love.  "These arms of mine, they are lonely, lonely and feeling blue. These arms of mine, they are wanting, wanting to hold you." You know the feeling of being used to sleeping next to someone, then all of a sudden they aren't there anymore. What was once their side of the bed is like a black hole, or that cavern that guy falls in then has to cut his forearm off to save himself in "Between a Rock and a Hard Place, " now a major motion picture starring James Franco. 


About Today - When I think about the National, I think about this song. "How close am I to losing you... Tonight you just close your eyes and I just watch you slip away." It's got to be the violins that make this song so heartbreaking for me. But it also seems like the singer has no idea what he's done to be put in this situation where he's losing something he loves. 


I've Been Loving You Too Long - I decided to include this song after seeing it on that top 100 breakup song list. I'd say more, but I'm still so sad from listening to that National clip.


Your Ex-Lover is Dead - Two ex-lovers are at a party and they're introduced by some mutual friends who didn't know they were once lovers. (Welcome to Portland.) 


Kiss Off - This is for those moments in the breakup process when you're really angry and bitter, a how could you do this to me!? sort of thing. I seem to remember turning this up extremely loud, on repeat and jumping on my bed and yelling "TEN TEN TEN TEN FOR EVERYTHING EVERYTHING EVERYTHING!!"


Why Bother - "Why bother, it's gonna hurt me, it's gonna kill when you desert me," Like, I've been through this, I know how it ends, I might as well just stop while I'm ahead. Pinkerton is another one of my all time favorite albums, which is how this song made it to this mix.


Since U Been Gone - Although there's never a situation in which I approve of the use of U instead of You, this song does an excellent job narrating a relationship from beginning to end in less than four minutes. Darcy and I have had a number of maximum volume sing alongs to this song. Thank you, Kelly Clarkson, for reminding us that more often than not, things eventually get a lot better after ending an unhappy relationship.


Fuck You - Cee Lo says what we're all seriously thinking, but the brilliance of this song is that the swear is so misplaced in the song itself. You expect the f-bomb in certain kinds of songs, but this isn't one of them, "I guess the change in my pocket wasn't enough, I'm like fuck you, and fuck her too." A cynic would've ended the mix here.


True Love Will Find You in the End - I honestly believe if you work hard to be happy in life, to be a good person, don't give up on yourself, open your heart and let love in (oh gosh I'm going to stop here before I accidentally vomit on my keyboard), true love will find you in the end. 


 

AT&T vs. Christo and Jeanne-Claude

I am an At&t customer. I like my iPhone. Despite the ridiculously high bill I get every month, and the lack of service in my apartment, I'm happy with my cell phone provider. I was just watching Glee* on Hulu, one of my favorite passtimes, when this commercial for At&t kept playing. At the end, there's a disclaimer saying that the artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude have no direct or indirect affiliation with At&t. 

For some reason, I find this incredibly irritating, and I thought maybe I'd share with you to make a judgement for yourself. Maybe I just think that Christo and Jeanne-Claude are incredible artists and shouldn't be touched with a ten-foot pole. It also helps make me really excited for my modern art history class next semester.

 

Christo and Jeanne-Claude
The Pont Neuf Wrapped, Paris 1975-85
Photo: Wolfgang Volz
©1985 Christo

\

Christo and Jeanne-Claude
The Gates, Central Park,
New York City, 1979-2005
Photo: Wolfgang Volz
©2005 Christo and Jeanne-Claude

*I had no idea that Cee Lo Green's song featured on the show was actually an edited version until way later.

Harry Potter and the Super Big Gulp

Today was really uneventful but I'm going to tell you about it anyway.

Class this morning was marine biology. We finally watched a video of a tiger shark destroying a sea turtle. I got a C on my exam, then went to meet Micaela in the Woodbury Campus Center. We caught up a bit, it was nice to see her, but I had to get to my eye exam. It was a follow-up appointment for my contact fitting, and listened to the Moth podcast the whole way there. Although I was at Maine Eye Center for an entire hour, only ten minutes was with the doctor. Totally worth the wait, right? During my ridiculously long wait, I did find out that in a survey of Travel and Leisure readers, Portland, Maine ranked in the top five cities in the country for safest and best beer, though something seems a little off that those two categories are together. 

I left the Maine Eye Center, which is over by Denny's. I chose this optometrist due to it's proximity to my old apartment in the St. John Valley. Normally, when I go back to that neighborhood, I get a pint and a sub from Pizza Villa. But, since I'm trying to cut back on that sort of behavior (drinking alone, during the day), I decide to skip it. But it's almost 2, I've only had coffee all day and am totally starving. Other than the Villa, I think there are two options, McDonald's, or Kim's. Joe Ricchio indicates that Kim's is one of the top ten things to eat in Portland, but sometimes I get minor anxiety going to a new place for the first time. But why I never made it there the eight months I was living two blocks away- still a mystery.

There's little deliberation. I get a McChicken, a cheeseburger, and a small order of french fries. This is similar to an order that I make at Wendy's, sub the cheeseburger for the jr. bacon cheeseburger, and the McChicken for the cripsy chicken sandwich. The price is about the same for both of these orders, but the Wendy's experience is much better. 

So, I'm walking down St. John Street, McDonald's in hand, on my way to the bus, and someone beeps and waves to me from a black Subaru. I don't know who was in the passenger seat waving, but I believe the only two people I know who own that car happen to be the two owners of a certain bowling alley I recently stopped working at. Great, so it looks like I'm unemployed,and eating fast food between turning tricks on St. John Street. 

The bus is on time,  I get home pretty quick, and alternate between reading blogs and gchatting for the next few hours. I was feeling compelled to see a movie on my very limited budget, since it's Super Bargain Tuesday. I couldn't decide between the new Zach Galifinakis, but I also couldn't ignore the nagging desire to see the new Harry Potter. So I went to 7-Eleven and picked up SUPER Big Gulp:

When I Google imaged the Super Big Gulp, I also learned that there in a Super Big Gulp there is: Sugars, total: 128g, Calories, total: 512, Calories from sugar: 512 (38 oz soda + 6 oz ice) source, http://womenonwellness.com/sweet-poison/. I, of course, knew this, and got diet. Heh heh.

So I decide to go to Due Date, it's alright, I laugh a few times. It was mostly forgettable, and my bladder was busting, so I waited in line at the bathroom. On my way down, I walked into a busy lobby, and open doors to the Harry Potter movie.... and I snuck in. Oh, and as my foot crossed the threshold, I reverted to my 17 year old self.

Do I need to get out more?

Damn you autocorrect!

This image came from damnyouautocorrect.com, which might only be funny to iPhone people... I don't know. But Mandy and I were texting, as we often do, and this is an autocorrect error that she made to me. This is her phone, I'm 'panda.'

Blog Love

There is this new Portland fashion blog called Fore Front Fashion. I'm on board with a lot of things they do, feature local shops, stop random people on the street and say hey! you look great! But recently, I had to step in because their post on local Etsy shops was a bit lackluster. I made some contributions and they gave me some credit here.

I like contributing to things like that, since I wouldn't exactly call me and my L.L. Bean boat and tote bag on the cutting edge of fashion. It's usually either jeans and a tshirt, jeans and an oversized wool sweater, or the 'just rolled out of bed' look. Maybe someday...

While we're on the subject, though, here are some things I wouldn't mind living without:

I've made some sort of name for myself?

My former coworker and current friend Michaela and I had this conversation about a month ago, around 1 a.m. I had finished work early that night, bowled a little bit, and was home before last call.

Michaela: I was outside and someone said I love Amanda.  Bahahahahaha!

M: They were talking about you. I asked then laughed at them.

(the next morning)

Amanda: What?? Was is Kill the Karaoke people? I don't even know most of the people who were hanging out last night.

M: No it was random bowlers haha

A: Oh, that's so weird! How'd they know who I was? I have a bowling name!

M: Umm maybe you served them?

A: I stopped serving at 11.

A: WEIRD

Grocery Store Juggling Party

Here's another short video of me doing something silly in a grocery store:



When life hands you lemons... just try juggling.

This is my "Bah, Humbug" post

Let me tell you, I've grown to pretty seriously despise the Holiday Season. I'm terrible at giving gifts and I'm terrible at receiving gifts. And, I know that it's rare for me to get serious here on Misadventures, but I think it's time for a real-life update.

It all started here, when I became a National Public Radio story in 2008 for my Christmas Movie Madness. Here is what people had to say about me:

"Unfortunately all the x-mas movies in the world won't bring her 'rents back together. It is a reality she needs to accept. All she can really do it try to make the best of the situation. My heart goes out to her but if we all lived our lives by what we saw in the movies we would lead a rather sad existence."


" The lesson that still needs to be imparted is that the spirit of Christmas is not about what's in it for you (her) --- it's about the joy we create get when we give to others. I hoped for a minute that in her talking with family, the word SHARING would enter into the dialogue, either as spoken by the young lady or by the writer. The sharing of feelings, good and bad, is on the right track. Perhaps she might have learned that she was not the only one struggling with broken fairy tale memories. Hopefully, Miss Pleau can get past her needs and start to view the holidays as opportunities where she can explore what she can do for others, and not just what others - or movies – should be doing for her. I can guarantee that in the giving, she will get back so very much more."

If that's not a mood-killer, I don't know what is. Furthermore, I believe I spent the majority of Christmas Day alone that year, until the White Heart opened at 9 or whatever.  Christmas Movie Madness was just a way for me to get Josh to watch all of my favorite Christmas movies, sort of, amp up the spirit for a change. But in order to turn it into NPR fodder, he needed an angle. I became a sad, shallow, lonely child of a divorce.

Last year, I was in a car accident on December 13, the Sunday before finals week and less than two weeks before Christmas Day. The airbag hit my eyeball and I totaled my car. It was unclear whether I was going to ever see 100% in my right eye or if I was going to have to go home with a maimed face. I postponed most of my tests. My face healed pretty quickly, but there are still times when I struggle with seeing/reading things. The other day my friend Stephen said that he got a black eye from hitting his face on the car door, and I misread it as cat door. I went home for Christmas that year, but I spent most of the day in bed instead of spending quality time with my family.

This coming year, still single and counting, I was pretty psyched that I had the opportunity to work on both Thanksgiving and Christmas. It gave me complete control over when I would see my family and make the holidays more like normal days that we get to spend together, with good food and maybe some presents. But I was let go for a serious act of misconduct. I've never been fired before. I'm not looking for sympathy, god no, I deserved to be fired. I couldn't be more guilt-ridden and ashamed. If I could take back any day in my life, and there are a lot to choose from, it would choose that day, without a doubt. It's not every day you find a job you really enjoy and pays well. But of all the things that are going to change as a result of my new employment status, I might've ruined Christmas again. 


There are some positive changes, though. Instead of spending my afternoons in restaurants (bars) killing time after class and before work, I'm rediscovering my love for fresh-brewed iced tea and cooking. I can now officially say that I'm supporting myself solely on my writing (Thank you, Free Press!). Oh, and recently I discovered that my Music Seen pieces for the Phoenix are actually available online here. I'll get to go home for multiple days at Christmas and I have a lot of time on my hands to think about what kind of awesome presents to make/buy for everyone.

In an attempt to sort of get in the spirit, since all of the stores are covered in decorations, I've been listening to this song by Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo'ole, which I'm sure you're heard before. It's the What a Wonderful World/Somewhere Over the Rainbow ukulele mash-up. I think I get like, money if you click on the link over there <- and buy the Fred Claus soundtrack, which is the only place to get this song. Yes, I have it.

Anyway, like I said, there will be more updates soon, more ridiculous stories about online dating and my cat Baby, etc. But I just had to get this other stuff off my chest to move forward.

BRB!

Kind of a crazy weekend, paired with quite a few deadlines and exams this week, and I haven't had much time for an update. Stay tuned for another story about my cat, and some videos of me looking sort of awkward doing random things while being video recorded. Until then, here is a column I just wrote for the Free Press.

Post Election Blues

Another Night at the Front Room

I love going to the Front Room. Their happy hour is awesome, you can eat for really cheap (giant BLT for $6,) or you can eat reasonably fancy. They have a great happy hour and they're approximately three blocks from my house. A few months ago I had some terrible service there, but it was Sunday morning brunch, and it's possible to get bad service anywhere on Sunday morning. Josh and I used to live like, next door and I wrote about this night in 2008 and the other morning I ran into this guy at brunch. He asked me if I worked at Bayside Bowl. I just about yelled: I KNOW YOU SLEPT WITH A STUDENT YOU CREEPER LEAVE ME ALONE. I'm low maintenance and I tip well- occasionally when I'm at a table I feel like I'm inconveniencing the server, but maybe that's because their entire job is inconvenient. Or I'm over sensitive about pleasing my server, when it should obviously be the other way around.

Bob, one of the bartenders, Angela and I, have an inside joke: Angela was explaining how this cruise ship looked like it was trying to mount the City of Portland and I said that everything was always about sex with her. Bob pipes in and says, no talking about sex at the bar (though mostly stoic and never smiles, he's a good bartender and this proves yes, he has a sense of humor.) A few minutes later, our mussels come out, and a few minutes after that, he asked us how the mussels were. Except... that's what he meant to say. My mouth was full so I just nodded and gave a thumbs up, Angela and Bob exchanged a what just happened look... He actually asked us how the sex was. I change my answer from thumbs up, to non-existent. Now every time he sees us it's, "How's the sex, ladies?"

Tonight, I went by for a hot toddie and some soup. I was travelling for 30 hours, then went out when I got home I went out... and last night my throat started tickling. I set out on this rainy Thursday evening in leggings and Bean boots, a giant sweater which I pulled over my pajama shirt last from last night, meaning, no bra. My hair wasn't washed, frizzy from the rain, and pulled back in a bun. But I planned on keeping my head down at the bar, eating and leaving, plus it was cold and rainy. Once it starts snowing I'll practically live in this outfit. The meal, grilled cheese and red pepper-fennel bisque, was satisfying. Partway through, I moved over to make two open seats next to me on my left, and met some bros who started talking to me about the bowling alley... not uncommon. On my right was now a man in his late 60s-ish, having dinner with a younger guy. When I first look over, I think the younger guy is pretty hot, but then I took a closer look and was less impressed. I heard him recounting this ridiculous story about how when he was 21 and working as some sort of laborer, he would walk around the building with no shirt on, carrying 2x4s, getting in the elevator with men in suits, how he couldn't imagine behaving that way now. Maybe he could tell I was listening... I also heard him say something about his students, so he's a teacher of some sort. Could be karate for all I know.

It's pretty close quarters in there when the dining room is full, and I hung up my wet, yellow raincoat. On my way out, I push my some people, grab my jacket, go back to the bar to get my phone and my purse, and make my way to the door. There are people waiting for a table, blocking the exit and I stand patiently for a second, until they'll notice me and get the fuck out of my way, when I hear, "Excuse me." I'm shocked, my pulse quickens and if someone tries to push passed me to get out the door they'd better be on fire or in labor- otherwise they're getting a big healthy dose of "Go Fuck Yourself." I'm out the door when I hear it again, and I'm about ready to thank that person for chasing me to return my wallet/cellphone/whatever I've left at the bar, and it's that guy. The shirtless at 21 guy, and he's leaning into the door at me. He's taller than I expected. "Would you like to come back here and have drinks and some dinner with me?" Holy shit! This stuff actually happens to people. Maybe my new contacts are working? I wonder what the 60 year old had to say about this. I look him in the eye, look away, look again, smile, and tell him that I usually work nights, and that maybe I'd see him there again sometime.

Road Trip Update: Homestretch

Vegas to Los Angeles, and LA to San Francisco was really fun. We decided to skip the entirety of Route 1 up the coast, for the sake of time, but it was worth it at Santa Cruz... some truly breathtaking coastal views.

Anyway, I'm not going to bother with details about the last days in LA and SF- Some things are better left unsaid. Except, that it was so great seeing Craig, and not just because I beat him at bowling (cough, ahem, first game).

Kate and I got a little crazy watching game three of the World Series two nights later. I wake up somewhere in San Francisco, ridculously hungover, aftermath of some party, safe, but without Kate. Not only do I not know where I am, but I don't know how to get to the airport. Iknow there are busses, so I ask a busdriver where to go. I left at 7 a.m. to catch a flight I thought left at 10 a.m. I look at my confirmation email again at the subway and nope, not leaving until noon. Good thing I woke up so early.

Upon arrival at the airport, I follow signs to United. I go to the self-check in kiosk... And my name does not pop up. I pull out the confirmation email again, to check the flight number, and realize I'm actually flying Delta. There are a few important things you need to know when you're flying, where you're flying out of, what time and what airline. I'd already gotten two out of three wrong, thank goodness San Francisco only has one airport. I attempted to help the hangover with a minosa/steak/eggs breakfast, to no avail.

I'm excited to be on the aisle and not sandwiched in the middle. But we left the Tarmac an hour late due to some fueling issue. Now, I've missed flights before, lost luggage, had to run for a gate and I'm still here, in one piece. It was out of my control- so I chose not to worry about it until I had to. I watched the new Twilight movie and I might be on Team Jacob. I also watched this movie called the A-Team, with Bradley Cooper. Not a bad lineup for a three and a half hour flight.

The delay left me only twenty minutes until the next plane left. I arrived at Gate E and decided to run for it- all the way to Gate B. That's a lot of ground to cover, and if I wasn't such a state of panic, I probably would have realized there's a shuttle. (I implore you, if you're on an escolater or one of those moving sidewalk things, step aside. There's probably someone in a hurry, especially in someplace like Atlanta, the biggest fucking airport ever.) Before my mom took her first plane ride last year, her worst fear of flying wasn't claustrophobia, hijackers or crashing, but that in the same vein as Home Alone, she'd have to haul ass through an airport to make her flight.

I ran. I ran with my giant Portmanteau Nana bag. I ran until I couldn't breathe. My teeth hurt and my heels hurt and I ran. I remember from a science class in middle school that if your body doesn't get enough oxygen, some sort of acid takes over or something. That was happening. Over these moments, I was thinking to myself a few eloquent, poetic things, like, Get the fuck outta my way, I should be in better shape, This never would've happened on JetBlue,  People who run for fun are insane goddamn masocists, This is probably the worst possible time to be hungover. I almost vomited on the man at the gate and can barely get out between gasps for air- Did it leave? The plane was scheduled to depart at 8:40 and I arrived at 8:37. No joke. I missed it.

There's nothing I can do except wait until I get to the bathroom to start sobbing uncontrollably. I pull myself together as some woman said,"Honey, I don't know what's wrong, but I'm sure it'll be okay." I said, "I missed my plane." It was the last plane to Maine for the night.

I go to the help desk. Other people from my San Francisco flight are there, and I'm irritated to be directed to a phone and not a person. I find another woman trying to get to Maine, and I try to listen in to see what they offer her. I'm told to get back to the front of the line.

In a moment of desparation, I try to fly to Boston. The woman at the help desk is definitely neither listening nor helpful. She tells me I'm going to need to hurry to make the Boston flight, and I nearly tell her to go fuck herself. I get to the gate and realize that there isn't going to be a bus leaving Boston for Portland at midnight. So I go to the help desk.

Yolande is really helpful, and gives me food and hotel vouchers. I'm staying at the Comfort Inn, there's a shuttle, and I'll have a bed, shower and be back in time to take my Marine Biology Lab quiz at 12. I take my food voucher to the Chili's, because who knows if there's a bar  food at the Comfort Inn. I meet a guy from Tampa, who looks like he's got some great stories, but I'm too tired, hungover, dehydrated, hungry and under-caffinated to care. I have half a turkey club, two margaritas, and make my way to the shuttle.

At 11 p.m. I'm in my hotel room. It's clean and inoffensive. I'd been in transit since 7 a.m. and I find on my ticket itenernary that Yolande is sending me to the wrong Portland. I call Delta. Apparently it's right Portland on my ticket, but not my itenerary. I get barely four hours of sleep, because I need to get on a shuttle at 4:30. In the morning.


My flights from both Atlanta to Laguardia and Laguardia to Portland are delayed,and I just about lost it- just about everything that could've gone wrong did. Luckily I make both flights, arrive in town at 12, and despite missing my biology quiz, I was happy to be home. 

Road Trip Update: Vegas, baby!

There's something really amazing about watching the sun set over the mountains/desert of Nevada.  Kate and I sang Jenny Lewis songs at the top of our lungs (sidenote about the movie of my life: at one point, all the the influential women in my life will come to me in a dream and give me advice in their own words and they will all actually guest star in the move: Chrissie Hynde, Oprah, Jenny Lewis, Terry Gross, Sarah Jessica Parker. I would like to be played by Zooey Deshanel. Ah! I digress... ) After a weird stop at the Hoover Dam, it was dark and the visitor center was closed, it was a very short drive to Vegas. Quotes from Kate: "If this wasn't the Hoover Dam, I'd think those people were smoking pot." "They need some Stadium lights up in this bitch."

Las Vegas is in valley in the desert, and when you approach the city at night, the entire city's lights glitter for miles. It glitters. It got me thinking about how a city can function solely on the tourism industry... schools, grocery stores, doctors, lawyers, government agencies, landscapers, vendors for things like food, clothing, napkins and shit. It's not just people working in the hotels, or strippers. Kate had been to Vegas a number of times before, but I decided to take charge booking the hotel. I decided on the Monte Carlo, because they had an advertisement for Mini Kiss on their website. Mini Kiss is a Kiss cover band comprised of midgets. As for Walter, we snuck her in a zippered L.L. Bean boat and tote bag, and I put a disposable kitty litter pan in my own giant bag. It was pretty seamless. On our way out the next morning, the cleaning ladies were in the hall- we just dropped the kitty pan in their cart and no one was the wiser.

My fantasies about Vegas were probably formed from watching an infinite number of sitcom television shows and romantic comedies- I've always wanted to elope in Vegas, and to be wed by an Elvis impersonator. This is seriously, not a joke. One of my other fantasies included walking down the strip in either a glitter dress, or stretch pants. But our plan was more like, get dressed in reasonably normal clothes (actually, I did end up wearing leggings.) Kate and I got ready to the new episode of Modern Family, and I was excited for a hot shower, then head out. The view of the Strip from our room was awesome.

Upon leaving the hotel, I realized two things: 1) People in Vegas are relentless. There are all these people trying to push things on you, like crazy Mexican men trying to give you cards with the phone numbers of prostitutes (I wonder who pays these guys? The pimps? A temp agency? Plus, I'm not gay!) 2) Kate and I were among the most attractive women walking around the Strip that Wednesday night- everyone else was either old, part of a touristy looking couple, or both. We came to this realization because of all the crazy people trying to get us in their club, enticing us with cheap drinks or free admission, and because some wicked scary voice from behind asked, "You ladies goin' clubbin?" I literally ran down the stairs, faster than a speeding bullet. My feet have never moved that fast- I was like Fred Astaire. Get it!? This freaked out Kate because of the size of the heel on my boot. Close call, creepy dude. (I just asked Kate if she saw his face and she said she did and it was so scary she doesn't want to talk about it, that those were some empty eyes.)

We hit some hotels and shopping centers and settle on the Ballagio. I say settle like it wasn't the setting for Ocean's 11 and I didn't know that the rooms were insanely expensive and out of our price range. My mom taught me how to play Black Jack during the Ice Storm of '98, so I bellied up and bought in to the table like it was no big deal. Kate said that I should only order bottled beer from the cocktail waitresses (drinks are free when you gamble), because everything else is watered down. Well! I got a vodka-soda, sucked it down, then a bourbon on the rocks and sucked it down, to prove that they were, in fact, not watered down. Surprise! I lost my winnings, got drunk, and the Epic Meltdown of 20-10 happened.

We walked across the street to a bar/casino called O'Shea, or O'Shay's or something. It was an Irish bar, and Kate immediately says she doesn't like it because she doesn't like Boston. Although I can't quite articulate why this made me so incredibly angry, and I'm not going to go into detail about the ridiculous things I said at that time or try and explain myself and the logic behind the crazy things I said. But I will defend Boston and my Beantown pride, though I'm not actually from there, now, because I'm sober.

In elementary school, field trips to the aquarium were always really exiting. Boston was the place we always had to drive to in high school to see the best bands. Boston was the place we all dreamed about going to college in- the big city, and they are a serious college town. In college, I got my first piercing in Boston. There are no major sporting teams in Maine, we've got the Sox, the Patriots and Celtics- Boston teams. Before I started drinking beer, and before I knew what microbrews were, I always thought I'd drink Sam Adams, the Boston lager. Flying to the West Coast or internationally, it's usually cheaper to fly out of Boston. We didn't have a city in Maine, which is part of why Maine is the glorious place it is, so we have to live vicariously through Boston. If I'm alone, travelling and lonely, and I find there's someone from anywhere in New England or someone wearing a Sox hat, I immediately feel comforted. People in Massachusetts have summer homes in Maine, and hell, Maine used to be PART of Massachusetts. I love Boston, even today.

Kate and I made up, well, she chose to ignore my wildly inappropriate behavior and even though she'd only had three Coronas and I was drunk and sleepy, we went to bed. She cashed out of the casino that night with almost $100, so it wasn't a total loss. The next morning as we were checking out, I ran into a couple that I recognized from the Portland Jetport on Monday morning. I couldn't help but ask them, "Excuse me, are you on vacation? Oh, can I ask from where? ME TOO! I thought I'd recognized you two from the airport!" Small world. Next stop: bowling and tacos with Craig Hildebrand.

Road Trip Update: Days Two and Three

Austin was pretty great- Kate's friend Matty was nice enough to pick us up at the airport in one of the biggest trucks I've ever seen, probably from 1981. It had a killswitch and a carborated engine. Welcome to Texas, where everything is bigger (especially the trucks and the bugs.)

After a few last minute-moving errands, we walked by the legendary Emo's, where a bunch of kids were waiting for some new it band to go on. Clearly, it was an all ages show- it was like Hot Topic exploded on the sidewalk. We got BBQ at Stubb's for Kate's last Austin meal. On the menu there was fried okra, which I've never had before. Actually, I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen an okra before. Trips like this help me remember that although I'm pretty open minded, my Portland life, though awesome, is sheltered. The pulled pork was as good as expected. Kate picked something up off of the side plate of pickles and onions and took a big bite. She thought was an okra, and in an effort to enlighten me to the vegetables I'd been living without, took a big bite. It was some sort of chili pepper, hotter than a jalapeno, and she had a breakdown. Kate doesn't eat spicy. Her mouth was on fire and her lips were burning and she didn't know what to do. I pushed some bread at her and tried really hard not to laugh.

We hung out at a bar in Austin called Liberty, which served these great chicken buns. It kind of reminded me of Amigo's meets the Downtown Lounge, plus a million stickers. Kate pointed out a bar Bill Murray surprise bartended at during South by Southwest last year. I'd absolutely lose my shit if I walked into a bar and Bill Murray just so happened to be there. Maybe I need to get out of Portland more often.

The car is packed so full that there is literally no room for us, anything else, to go boxes. Walter keeps walking around in circles from the blankets in the backseat to my shoulders, to my lap, to the dashboard, to Kate's lap, back to the backseat. There are Dairy Queens in every town we drive through.

In one memorable stop for gas in Coleman, Texas, a really old man with a gaping open mouth and a ten gallon cowboy hat, asked us how far we were moving. I said San Francisco. He said, “Well gee, that's clear out the County!” Coleman had a slightly desolate main street, where we found lunch at the Owl General Store Soda Fountain and Grill. All of the store fronts had Go Bluecats messages written in their windows, and I realized this was the kind of town Varsity Blues is supposed to take place in. The kind of place where everyone goes to high school together, and everyone stays in the town, and the social structure stays the same because no one leaves and no one new arrives. To quote James Van Der Beek, “I don't want your life.” The food was pretty good- Kate decided to get the chilli cheese burger, blacked out, came to, and had eaten the whole thing. I got a chicken salad sandwich, which wasn't as good, I'm sure, but at least I didn't want to die after.
I drove a car for the first time in six months and I didn't kill us. I'm following Katie Kearn's two rules of driving: Don't hit anything, and don't get hit by anything.

At some point, I started telling Kate that sometimes I have fantasies about the movie of my life. Whitesnake's “Here I Go Again” came on the Pandora station. I've decided that in the montage of me doing things by myself, bowling, coming home to an empty mailbox, table for one, walking down the street alone, etc, in the scene right before I meet the person I'm going to be with for the rest of my life, (the movie of my life is a romantic comedy with a happy ending,) “Here I Go Again” will be the backing track for the montage.

If Kate's life were a movie, right now, Walter the cat would be her daughter, and Kate would be a single mother played by Susan Surandon in the 80s, with a perm and a white tank top. Since she's been picking up and moving so much, (three times in the last year), there'd be a lot of empty promises and excuses and apologies for a better life. “This time, we're really gonna settle, Walter. San Francisco is real nice, and I bet you're gonna make some great friends. I just know it.” Kate's movie is a little bit less literal, but still has a happy ending.

Driving through West Texas to New Mexico can get pretty barren (though there are some scenic parts and I can't believe how big the sky is out there.) Kate really needed to pee, there was nothing in sight, so I pulled over. She said that her vag was going to get bit by a rattlesnake, and I was supposed to watch Walter, our cat friend making the journey with us. I forgot to keep an eye on her, because I got a text message. She escaped, and almost disappeared into the desert of New Mexico to live off of cactus water and armadillos before becoming totally feral.

Albuquerque was great, also, and it was nice to see Andy and meet all of his friends. His roommate and his friends are really well read, and have a lot to talk about. They have a pomegranite tree in their back yard, and cooked us a delicious meal. We went to a metal show at a bar with a stage that had a mural of some palm trees behind it. Epic.

More updates soon.