Food Stamps

The first time I went to the Department of Health and Human Services, it wasn't a trip I made willingly, like all trips to DHHS should be. Mandy called and begged me to go with her to re-up her food stamps. Over the course of the two hours we were there we met a Salt student living in the apartment my ex, a Salt alum, and I used to live, a tall friend who has since moved away, and a coworker from my old office. It was then that I first came to a startling realization: people who take advantages of social services aren't always unemployed single parents from Lewiston. People like me (sometimes) capable of holding down jobs (sometimes) need extra help, too!

Rewind to five years ago, when I first moved to Portland and thought I fell in love on the bus. The Greater Portland Metro Bus. If anyone reading this has ever been on the GPMB, you know how absolutely ridiculous this is- people on the bus are weird, smelly, sometimes downright scary. I've seen: a man give himself insulin injections on the bus, a man flashed someone ("I'm not surprised he couldn't keep it in- he was like, Long John Silver."), welfare moms, incredibly old people, a girl on the phone with her boyfriend telling him to stop threatening her with physical violence (next day, same girl, "No! You can not borrow a dollar!"), men talking about their recent time in jail or AA... I see a guy almost every day with two suitcases getting on and off different buses. It's worse than DHHS, and day to day it's better than the Social Security Office, but the SS office wins overall. (Another long, ridiculous story about my trip to SS.)

This guy wore Levi's jeans, had a big dark My Morning Jacket beard and I saw on his iPod that he was listening to Yo La Tengo. Sold. I had a job cold calling people, asking them to volunteer to raise money for charity. The only thing harder than asking people for money is asking them to ask other people for money. I was horrible and didn't last long. He and I rode the Number 4 to and from Westbrook together at like, eight o'clock in the morning. The ride was at least 40 minutes each way.

Before I quit on the same day I was getting fired, I was on my way home and a random bus person asked me if I was honestly wearing cowboy boots. Then asked me if I listen to country music, and I gave the standard yes, Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline. MMJ guy waited for random bus guy and asked me if he just asked me if I liked country music and we just kept talking.

The next day I brought MMJ guy to Bull Moose to meet Mandy, who stupidly invited him over for dinner because we were all positive that 21 year old virginal Amanda was going to fall in love with someone she met on the public transportation system because Portland is so urban! Turns out he was totally leading me on and had a girlfriend in Boston. The point of this story is that after seeing our dumpy apartment and realizing how little I was making at my job, he tried to convince me to apply for food stamps. I was insulted and embarrassed and did not. Food stamps were supposed to be for people who couldn't help themselves.

I was so wrong and please don't tell Paul LePage or Glenn Beck that I'm telling you this. I meet the requirements, and I signed up. Half of the customers at Rosemont on Munjoy Hill have food stamps, my best friend, one of my roommates, and me! I can afford meals other than Ramen, and occasionally I'll splurge on ginger beer for a cocktail party or fancy cheese, and I don't feel guilty because Maine is awesome. I am fully sustained and I buy local. Wasn't the state motto "The Way Life Should Be" at some point?

Say Yes to the Dress

Have I mentioned that I'm going to be in a wedding this fall? And it's possible that I'm attending two, possibly three weddings this summer and I might be working for a wedding photographer sometime soon.

On Saturday, I went with my oldest friend and bride-to-be, to try on wedding dresses in Southborough, MA. I learned a little bit about fabrics, designers, birdcages, train length... Here are the two dresses that she decided she didn't love (as much as I loved on her):

We're trying to figure out what the length of the bridesmaid's dresses. I'm voting for shorter...

So, I was talking to the Maid of Honor, who I just met this weekend. Remember this post? It happened to me again, but in conversation. MOH asked me what kind of music I listened to. Instead of replying with, Who Is Arcade Fire? I panicked. She was flipping through the radio in the car, just the two of us, hence the question. Honestly, of all the stations of the radio, how much variety is there? There's various kinds of talk and  public radio, modern rock (alternative), adult alternative, classic rock, oldies, top 40, the John Tesh Show, depending on how close to which border sometimes an international station on the low end of the dial,  and... top 40 country. This is the only radio station genre I'm not interested in, honestly. At least normal top 40 is dancable, or if it's Train or Three Doors Down, those songs are wedged in between Britney and Bieber, so it's three minutes I've sacrificed. This is how it went down:

MOH: So, what kind of music do you like?

Me: (stammer)

MOH: (pause)

Me: I... guess I like just about everything on the radio except top 40 country... I mean, I'm really into Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline and the classic stuff it's just... (trails off, looks away)

MOH: Oh, that's funny. I'm totally a country bumpkin.

Me: (head in hands.)

Good thing I did't resort to this...

Facebook Follies

Facebook is creepy and it makes me feel creepy. How does it know who I want to see in my news feed?

I think it knows that Cleveland and I are in a relationship, even though we're not "In a Relationship." I keep getting ads for engagement rings on the left hand side of the page and I always 'x' them out because they are incredibly disturbing, and I specify that the ad is offensive. He's also always, constantly at the top of my news feed. How does it know? Is it keeping track of who I poke?

Anyway, Facebook also does this thing where it shows you teasers from people's photo albums, if you're say, writing a message or responding to an event. Even if you weren't thinking about wasting time on clicking through people's vacation photos, seeing a snippet can be enticing. Remember when looking at vacation photos was like, a boring chore you did just to be polite? I do, vaguely.

I happen to take Facebook up on the offer to look at one of Cleveland's photo albums, from a family trip to Central America. There was a picture of an iguana, and he'd written a caption about how most of his pictures from the trip were of iguanas, because deep down he's actually like, seven. I laughed out loud, recalling a few nights before that he couldn't go back to sleep after having a bad dream.

Since I wasn't doing anything except lurking on the internet at that particular moment, I decided to share the picture with Mandy, because I knew wasn't doing anything and she'd appreciate the humor.

Approximately six minutes later, much to my horror, I realize I posted it to my news feed instead of sending it as a message.

IT WAS ON MY WALL FOR THE WHOLE FACEBOOK WORLD TO SEE!!

I 'x'ed it out as fast as I could while trying not to hyperventilate. Not everyone knows that we're dating- I'm not trying to hide anything, well, except for here. But if I posted one of his vacation photos to my wall it would   be like doodling I Heart Cleveland, Mrs. Amanda Jennifer Ohio all over my "About me" section. I sort of held my hands up so as not to accidentally click the wrong button again, and frantically looked around the computer screen to see if there were any clues indicating that anyone noticed. He told me he was writing, but anyone who does any work on a computer knows how easy it is to get Facebook-sidetracked. But it was 9 p.m. on a Saturday night and Facebook seemed pretty dead.

We weren't hanging out that night because it was my last double shift at Maine Roasters Coffee, and after waking up at 5 a.m. to work from 6 a.m. - 6 p.m., the last think you want to do is hang out. Plus we were going to the yurt the next day. He didn't mention it, so I didn't mention it, and I don't think anyone else saw it...

The Free Press pays me.

Beer Bellies and Vodka Soda

The Grinch of Valentine's Day

Although I make light of how disinterested in Valentine's Day I happen to be in that column, me 'n Cleve had a really enjoyable time at J's Oyster and he showered me with presents. He'll say that it wasn't a competition, but he totally won Valentine's Day.

Picture message from Cleveland: my lantern brings all the bugs to the yard.