More Columns!

Here are my first two columns back from break at the Free Press. Please note that this is a different tooth-related story.

How to Lose a Runaway Dress on Roman Holiday

Lessons Learned from the Death Tooth

More Drunken Chats

This was a Facebook chat conversation I had last night, around ten, as I was getting ready to go to bed.

former coworker: hi

i miss you panda

me: yeah, i've been laying low.

how are ya?

fc: magical

very very intoxicated

i miss your sweet ass

come to bubbas tonight

cut the floors with me

me: thank you! but i'm opening the coffeeshop tomorrow, so i'm going to have to pass.

fc: awwwww

i love reading your blog

ps

Fashion Props and These Boots

I've been reading a lot of local fashion blogs, and like a kid on the playground, I feel a little bit left out. Just wanted to give some props to Sweet William, Fore Front Fashion, Sweeter Salt, Grandma June, and Mainely Mara are cool, smart, fashionable women, and hey, sometimes I don't wear sweatpants. Tomorrow is the first day of school and I actually intend on showering. I can be fashionable! And I love Lady Gaga!

I've also modeled some killer vintage finds for Mandy at Shop Grandma June.

Here's the outfit I wore on New Year's Eve, just picture it without the double chin and the mess in the background. God, I look like all of my aunts on my father's side in this picture.

Shirt: 100% silk, vintage.
Skirt: wool, J. Crew. (Pockets!)
Shoes: patent leather(?), Steve Madden.

I sent this as a pic-message to Cleveland, as I was choosing my outfit the night before. He said he was speechless. Assuming he wasn't talking about the mess, I told him not to get his hopes up, it was just a good angle on the mirror/camera angle. Still haven't seen the pics from that night so we might never know...

Oh, and after MUCH, MUCH controversy, I bought these boots on Etsy:

Does anyone else know what it's like to wake up, check your checking account balance and have a panic attack, thinking that you're going to overdraw and be hit with some serious overage fees? I lost my job and suffered two dental traumas in the last two months, over the holiday season. It was a difficult time. I deserve to treat myself to one special present for not falling into a bottomless pit of despair, as I might've done in other phases of my life.

These boots might even inspire me to reprise my role as Carrie Okay. START WALKIN!

My Turkish Love Fortune

Once a professor of Darcy's asked everyone to indicate their zodiac sign and handed out a horoscope to everyone in the class, indicating that it was unique to their sign. He then asked the class to raise their hand if they thought the description of their zodiac sign matched their personality or perception of themselves. Almost the whole class raised their hands, and then the professor told them that they all got the same thing.
Recently there was also this belief that there was a shift in some shift in the astrological chart thing because of Babylon and the tilt of the Earth's axis over the last 3,000 years. Under normal circumstances, I don't buy into the idea that fortunes can be read and horoscopes are real. It's fun, like an arcade or viral YouTube videos, but not to be taken seriously.

Except in the case of the Turkish Love Fortune. If' you've never had your Turkish Love Fortune read, it's probably because you don't know my friends Laura Grover or Erin Evans. People and their love interests and their hearts, intentions, problems and general love fortunes are laid out in front of you with a normal deck of playing cards.  One reason I believe it is  because the readings always seem to bring to light a lot of things we should already know about our relationships, the other is because of this one specific time...

Laura, two other friends and I were at Denny's in Auburn late one night. I was 19, dropped out of art school, living at home. I'm not proud of this, but one of the girls with us had a boyfriend, and he and I made out when they first started dating. But the timeline of morality and decision making in my life is not the point of this story- it's that Laura gave her a Turkish Love Fortune, and I was in it! But she didn't know that I'd made out with her boyfriend!

Anyway, here's the audio of my latest Turkish Love Fortune reading from Laura's last visit. It's about 12 minutes. Cleveland and I have been spending a lot of time together, and things seem to be going remarkably well. The existence of some people are mentioned in the reading, but I can't tell you who those people are. Ask me on your own time. Otherwise, my Turkish Love Fortune said that we were pretty much good to go.



Oh, and this is what some horoscope mumbo-jumbo website said about my zodiac compatibility with Cleveland. I'm an Aries, he's a Sagittarius.

"Those Sagittarians born between 23 November and 3 December will be the most spiritually close to you: you could even find your soulmate here. You will gain new insights in a relationship with these sensitive Sagittarians."

This was taken from an actual text conversation with Mandy, where I actually had to fart really bad.

This was what I said to Mandy the morning I showed up at the dentist for my broken tooth. She thought it was really funny. Did you also know she calls me panda? Privilege granted to few...

Amanda Pleau, Columnist

This is the final column that I wrote for the Free Press, but it didn't quite see the light of day. I think my editor quit, and I was caught up between Dan leaving and Paul arriving. This was also written before the Virginia Woolf letter, though I'm not sure how that could've changed things. Oh, and I would've changed that last part, because well, Cleveland might be sticking around. Unrelated note, I filed my income taxes today- let me know if you need any help (I got an A in my Personal Finance class.)

I’m twenty-six, and I’ve been living in the city my school is in for five years. My college experience wasn’t going to be that of most of my friends, who went away after high school for four years and returned with lifelong friendships and a new purpose in life. I didn’t expect to make those kinds of friendships at USM, since I basically leave after class to go home or to work. I don’t even know the names of most of my classmates. My classes have been alright, but sometimes it feels like I’m just going through the motions. My decision to finish school wasn’t intended to change my life, but to even the playing field on the job market after college, and I’ve never considered myself very career-driven. But this job at the Free Press has been challenging, engaging, inspiring and fun- the experience I’ve always wanted from college. I want to write for a living.

It seems difficult to believe that this semester is almost over, and I suppose the last column of the semester should be used for reflection on the last few months. I skipped the shark dissection in Marine Biology. I barely stifled my annoyance with a classmate for taking up class time to complain about other students driving from the Gorham Campus to the Portland Campus and taking up all the parking- only to find out she drives from Grant Street, which at it’s furthest ends is only a half a mile from campus. I’ll have a lot of memories from this semester. My greatest won’t be my g.p.a.’s reflection on my attendance, or that I’ve actually remembered to turn my phone off in the library every time, it’ll be that this is the semester I decided what I might like to do with my life.

I love the feeling of someone randomly approaching me and telling me that they’ve seen my column. This semester, I received my first piece of negative criticism. This is exciting because it means people other than my friends and editors are reading. Even though my critic was right, I should make an effort to complete my sentences and find time for an additional round of editing (or two), it’s alright because I’m learning. For a few weeks between jobs this November, I was actually supporting myself solely on this work-study gig, which was an extremely exciting feeling. I’d love to follow in the footsteps of Ira Glass or Dave Eggars, even though I have more in common with other female writers like Chelsea Handler, Tina Fey and Candace Bushnell, I wouldn’t be disappointed writing copy for catalogues or obituaries after graduation..

Upon further investigation, it seems like enrolling in the Media Studies program might help me combine my love of public radio, storytelling and writing goofy, self-deprecating blogs about farting on the Champs-Elysse or slapped with certain parts of the male anatomy.  Misadventures in Portland: Chronicling one girl’s quest for a major and a boyfriend. Perhaps this staggering and unexpected realization about my major will free up some mental space for me to focus on finding a boyfriend. Or maybe my column will earn me so much notoriety I’ll start receiving fan mail from cute guys in the economics or business departments. If either of these things happen, you’ll read it here.

The Cat and the Hair Band

Space Gallery has awarded me some incredibly amazing experiences over the years. Documentaries, dance parties, incredible art and music- it's a quintessential part of my life here in Portland. I've danced on stage, I've designed the stage, I've met new people, the executive director is the captain of my bowling team...  but this summer Mandy and I weren't that into the block party they threw. The art was good, the installations were good, the bands were great, sometimes we just feel like sitting on the couch watching Project Runway. So we left early and did just that.

We settled in on the couch in front of the laptop. I caught a whiff of something nasty. Did you know that cat poop outside the kitty pan smells a lot like people poop? The cat, Baby, had been having some unexplained pooping issues. Rebecca found a poop on the floor the day before, and there was one when I came home earlier that day. This was definitely an indication that something was wrong because, the only times she does this was when I didn't clean the kitty pan for a long time. Like, a LONG TIME. It was her way of saying, "Hey. You know I can't talk but I'm not fucking pooping there!"  New roommates have a lower tolerance for this sort of behavior so I do it MUCH more often than I did before.

Mandy noticed that she was dragging her ass on the floor, like a dog. And then she stopped, sat down and looked at us like, "Take a fucking picture it'll last longer."

Mandy: Panda. You gotta get her checked. She could have worms. My cats have gotten worms and I have to pull them out of their butt.

Me: I've got an appointment for her after I get back from the roadtrip.

Mandy: She could have worms.

Me: SICK! I know... just... let me see if she's still doing it tomorrow.

Mandy: Panda, you gotta look at her bum, I think I saw something in there.

Me: Oh, dear god no. (There was a little poopie sticking out of her ass.)

Mandy: Just pull it out!

Me: AH! No!!

So I get up and start pacing because I definitely don't want to touch the poop. I lift her tail again and yep, still there. I go to the bathroom and gather a wad of toilet paper. (What else would I use for grabbing the poopie?) When I get back she's laying on the floor. I try to do it and I kind of get it- I'm trying to stay as far away as I can while still reaching in. My hesitance is making this attempt less effective than it could be. She meows loudly as if I was violating her and scampers off.

Minutes later...

Mandy: Panda, I think I see a worm. I think there's a worm in there. You have to pull it out.

She's saying this in a tone which simultaneously implies both that it's not that big of a deal and that if I don't, I'll wake up to find a worm-laden cat corpse next to my pillow the next morning.

Me: I don't think I can.

Mandy: (Silence.)

Me: I'm just going to let it go and see if she's pooped out whatever it is tomorrow.

Mandy: Panda.

I pick up the cat and hold her with one hand under her chest and the other hand under her backside, pointing her little ass out like I imagine someone would point a flame thrower. Mandy gets the toilet paper and starts pulling. We briefly engage in a tug of war- I'm pulling the cat, she's pulling whatever is stuck in her ass. We're like, actually pulling. Then I scream and throw the cat. Baby and I run in opposite directions.

Mandy: Panda!! You can't do that!! Think how she's feeling right now!!!!!!

I knew how she felt because my heart was pounding. It was scary. What the fuck was in her ass and why wouldn't it come out? And if it was a worm, would it wiggle in my hands? This is why I can never have kids or be a veterinarian. LOW TOLERANCE. I grabbed Baby. She wasn't so patient with me while we tried one more time. She let out a blood-curdling meow, the intensity of like, a kitty rape whistle and riled out of my arms.

We went back to Project Runway. The three of us cooled off and I tried to figure out what to do.  It was highly unlikely that I'd be able to get her to a vet sooner, unless it was the emergency vet and that would be hella expensive and the transportation issue still wouldn't be resolved. I saw a woman with a cat in a stroller once, walking around the Eastern Prom Trail- and the weird part was that the stroller looked expensive and the woman looked completely normal. That would sort of be like putting Baby in a... nevermind. She wouldn't go for it.

I decide to look again and see if I could tell if I was seeing this:

http://admin.curiositycreek.org/

Nope. It was this:

That fucking bitch ate a hair band. Not like Poison or Motley Crue, like an elastic band I use to make ponytails. It out of sheer boredom and will to ruin my life that she was having pooping problems. What a bitch. She shit it out before the rest of the episode was over. 

But we made up: