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!

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...

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. 


 

See you in a week, Portland!

In just a few hours, I'm about to embark with the fantastic Kate Digby Skinner, on the Epic Road Trip 20-10.

I've been on an epic road trip once before, with the fantastic Mandy Lou Wheeler. Highlights included: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, rival school football game, meeting new people, cool kids in Denver, consignment stores in Denver, Mandy's family, all of the rock and roll shows, Bridget's hospitality, Halloween in SF, the drive from SF to LA, going to my first Hooters, the whole drive home, staying in random motels, getting lost, cotton fields, coming home. Lowlights included: not knowing how to drive the stickshift, having so much stuff with us, fighting all those fights about everything, losing my debit card on the first day, homesickness. We were gone for, no joke, 40 days, and 40 nights.

This year, older, wiser, and boozier, I'm looking forward to a few things: Vegas for the first time (stretch pants?) I probably won't elope and be wed by an Elvis impersonator, like I've always envisioned my first trip to Vegas including, but stranger things have happened. I've made some playlists, including dance mixes, podcasts and audiobooks for the car, and I can drive the car this time. I haven't seen Kate in months, and I've been feeling like I direly need a vacation (if only you'd have read all of the depressing discarded drafts of blogs I've been starting with things like, I feel like Eeyore today.) The only thing I'm not looking forward to is missing everyone at home, including my cat, and the fact that the trip is so short.

Updates soon, from the road, hopefully. I'm getting in a cab in three and a half hours. Sunnufabeotch.

Emoji? Emoj-you!

Mandy and I have become obsessed with emoji, and it's actually kind of sick.

I'm not sure if you can see what these are, but I'll try: fax machine, gavel, ghostie, red balloon, trophie, coffee, cheers, martini, ramen, pasta, eggplant, merecat?, whale, octopus, six smiley faces of varying horrific emotions, okay, praise the lord, look up, rainbow, bicycle, barber shop, mailbox, clock, "Ok," "fast forward," "rewind," "Cool."

What's Your Favorite Music Genre?

So, on the application for this work study position at the community radio station asks me to list my favorite genre of music, which is like asking me to pick a favorite type of food, or a favorite place to vacation or the five famous people living or dead I'd have dinner with. The possibilities for the answer of their question are so astounding, that I turned to my friends for answers via mass text. My specific distaste for this question has to do with working at three different record stores over the course of six years and KNOWING when someone says they like all music, it means they've really only ever heard what's on the radio. I wanted to tell those people I'd bet them all the money in the drawer that I could find something they didn't like. All of the answers were so awesome.


Q: "I'm applying for a work study job at WMPG. They're asking me to list my favorite genre of music. I've always thought this kind of question was bullshit. What do I do?"


A: "It is bullshit, but it's also just a work study job."


"Say rock and rollllll"


"Say all music except country and rap."


"Whatever you do, don't say anything but rap and country."


"Oh god, I hate that stuff too. Back when I was on the board at the radio station [at Bates] we really didn't read much into it, basically used it as a quick judge, eg, if someone liked adult alternative, we could immediately write them off. The best apps were the ones where people just listed bands they had listened to recently and were into."


"List a bunch of different ones- it'll show you have varied tastes..."


"Yacht Rock."


"Say local."


"Um, say you have broad taste in music and are a supporter of local artists?"


"Yeah, that sucks. Just putting 'indie' seems like a cop-out."


"BS, why? You don't have a favorite, or you don't expose yourself that way, or what? Usually that type of question is just meant to reveal some aspect of your humanity- which they'd probably like to see if you're going to work with them."


"Is this a mass text?" "I don't know, ask your bf."


"Pop." "Or pick something totally obscure, so they think they would be adding someone with a unique perspective...not that they wouldn't if they hired you, but you know."


"Being an asshole has always worked for me, so I would write: "Nothing you have ever heard of, you fucking square."


"Say something like, 'music that makes me think.' This ranges several genres."


"Blues rock." "No? Just a thought."


"Be honest! Add variety. I'm sure they're interested in the local music that you're into."


"Why don't you say, 'it's personal...more info available upon request.'"


"It's a freeform station - so go nuts. Alternatively, you could just write "chickens are people too."


"Eclectic is probably safe."


" I would write that you think this question is bullshit."


"just write "trolololololololololo"."


"Tell them you think it's horseshit, & that you should be paid as well. My favorite is "go fuck yourself" genre."


"How about something like "My first job was at a record store and I stayed there for four years, listening to practically everything. I've also made mixtapes that had successful transitions between Billie Holiday, Weezer, Snoop Dog, and Bruce Springsteen.""

To the Window, To the Wall

I just moved to Munjoy Hill, and I'm sure the bartender at the Front Room thinks I'm probably stalking him. No, they just have really amazing happy hour deals. I'd been wanting to move back to the Hill for a while. I won't miss that terrifying place known as the St. John Valley, except of course, Nicka P and the Pizza Villa. 


Mandy had picked me up the day before we moved into our new place at Vesper Street, and we went to meet Angela at the Front Room. We parked on Howard, my old stomping ground, and I pointed out a house next to my old house which had a beautiful garden. The couple that lives there used to put on MPBN Saturday morning while they did their gardening. From the windows, I could tell that their decoration of the entire house was really amazing. Mandy happened to mention the walls and the windows as we walked by. A few steps later, in unison, out loud, we started singing Lil' Jon's Get Low, "To The Windows/To The Wall!" IN UNISON! Urban Dictionary says um, well, you'll just have to look at it.  


Here is a video which might accurately capture the whiteness of the whole situation, Mandy and I, Munjoy Hill, Lil' Jon...  There was a girl at karaoke once who did the song, actually, she nailed it, while wearing a yellow cardigan. I'd post a video of that, if I could. 

The Little Black Skirt that Could

I wasn't born yesterday. I'm well aware of the fact that I work for tips, and sometimes I'll put on clothes that, well, you know, aren't exactly modest or dumpy. This one skirt, however...

Mandy and I are pretty much the same size, so we share clothes. The other day when picking up some key pieces of mine that she had, I grabbed this black miniskirt. She wears a lot of skirts and heels, I wear a lot of jeans and tee shirts. This was everything a miniskirt is supposed to be, short and snug, pockets. Before wearing it to work, I tested it out on a trip to Gritty's with Angela Pizzo. She has a mug, and I ate a cheezburger. Everything about my outfit that day was totally normal, except the length of the skirt. We're mid-pint, mid-conversation when a man, out of nowhere, comes over to us and says, "Can I tell you a story?" I'm psyched. I ask him if I can record, because a) the voice recorder app exists, b) I know how to post audio to the blog, and c) Laura is always looking for stories for her project. But the story is so stupid and he leaves out key pieces of information. He lives in DC, and his Mongolian girlfriend punched him in the face last week. He said he was just making dinner, $32 worth of scallops, she got annoyed and punched him in the face. Closed fist. So he gets in the car and drives to Maine. He rambles on and on about his house in Damriscotta, cell service in Lincoln County, this bartender he was talking up at a pub in Waldoboro, and his eventual reconciliation with the Mongolian woman. Angela said that she could see the disappointment on my face after five minutes in this wasn't going to be a great story. I recorded for almost 20 minutes and promptly deleted it when he walked away. It wasn't even a story. THEN the bartender told us that the reason she punched him in the face, which we poked and prodded him for and he never told us. I mean, seriously. She was Mongolian, not insane. He forgot again that she was allergic to shellfish. It was probably one of those, "If you forget again I'm going to punch you," situations. I would've been annoyed, too. Strange men approach me at bars sometimes, but based on the next two incidences which occurred during the skirt wearing, it's definitely to blame.

I wear the skirt to work on Saturday. Oh, it sort of looks like this. Except, black, with little pleats and pockets on the front. Similar fit, though. Don't forget my Tony's Donuts/Pizza Villa belly and Spanx indent, Dexter boat shoes (not spike heels), messy ponytail and glasses. Right, I was really knocking 'em out.

The night started slow. As with every really nice day at the bowling alley, I assume that no one will come in. If I wasn't working on a beautiful Maine summer day, I'd be on the beach, on a boat, at a baseball game, eating BBQ, or a combination of all four. Anyway, things picked up around 9, because Bayside Bowl is awesome and supersedes decks and boats. Then a couple of things happened:

I was propositioned by an 85 year old man. This is not a joke. A 50-something year old man with a name everyone in Portland knows, was doing shots of Crown Royal. He asked me for one for him and one for his uncle, the 85 year old, who's name might've been Jack. Jack was old, looked old, acted old, without a doubt the oldest person in the building by at least 20 years. He corners me at the waitstation. "AMANDA!" I look up. "Let me ask you a question." I know there's no response to this other than okay, so I say okay. "Have you ever made love to a senior citizen?"




!!!




What?! Oh my god. I blushed. Hell no, why would I ever want to put my body up against your old, hunched over, wrinkly body? Do you even still have all of your teeth? Not to mention I'd have to do all the work! Gross, no thanks. It takes a nano second figure out how to let this man down gently, by using words instead of running away or dry heaving (my two instinctive reactions), so I smile and say, "I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much." The boyfriend is a fragment of my imagination. He replies, "Have you ever considered it? You have, haven't you!" I'm really, just so stunned, that I paused, went into auto pilot, and must've blacked out, because I don't remember the rest of the conversation. He said something about my boobs (which I don't believe were particularly pushed up or exposed that night.) I must've changed the subject to bowling, which luckily, is always a topic, then made an excuse about getting an order in. Instead of helping actual customers who probably needed things, I ran into the kitchen and had a mini-freakout and gave the kitchen staff a pretty good laugh.

A bit later, things are winding down, but I'm still shellshocked when the Bayside Bowl phone rings. Micaela answers it, and apparently, a man on the other line insists that she take down his number, in case "the dark haired waitress with the glasses wants some cock." So Micaela, says, "Amanda??" Great, so the creep knows my name. She takes down his phone number. I freakout, crumple it and throw it in the trash immediately. Then I try to pull my skirt down. I just facebooked this guy's supposed first name, and the first person I found had pictures on his profile bowling at a different alley. Interesting.

Anyway, that skirt has gone back to it's rightful owner, and I'm going to wear jeans, tees and muumuus to work for a little while. (In case you were wondering, my tips were awesome that night.)

Cardigan Innovations

In case you and I are ever hanging out, and you're not sure how much I've had to drink, if I'm acting like this: then yes, I'm drunk.

Darcy took this video a couple of years ago when we were on an all-girl camping trip. If I remember correctly, we decided to make margaritas the first night, which was fine, but the second day we were all out of margarita mix, and had a bunch of tequila leftover. Because I'm a genius, I decided to just get some Stewart's Key Lime soda to mix with the tequila, and drink that instead of the beer. One thing led to another, and well, here it is.



Note: I can totally admit when I'm wrong, and yeah, I was wrong. Please, everyone, don't let me button my cardigan like that ever again. Mandy, sorry for the dis.

The Snoop Dogg Story

Here is the audio from the second story I read at the Scratchpad Series, for those of you who couldn't make it. Mandy was nice enough to use the Voice Memo app on my iPhone to record it, but there was a bit of an issue somewhere in there, and it came out in two parts. 

One of my favorite pieces of criticism from the reading was, "I hope I never hear another white girl impersonating a black man ever again."

Happy Friday

I was at Sonny's on a Sunday night a few weeks ago with Mandy. This should come as no surprise, since Mandy and I spend a lot of time together, and I hang out at Sonny's on a regular basis. Across the corner of the bar, I see a man and a woman finishing their drinks, possibly the ineptly named FDR. (This cocktail is deeeelish, made of Hendrix Gin and Fresca. It should have been the LBJ, or even just the Johnson, since Fresca was actually not invented when Franklin Delanor Roosevelt was President, and it was a Johnson's favorite drink, not Roosevelt's. Minor confusion of the initials, FDR, LBJ.) Anyway, I recognize this man from Match.com. He's broad shouldered, seemingly some sort of Middle Eastern/Indian descent, and has a longish haircut. His picture was memorable in the search results because it was a clear, well lit picture. He was smiling, wearing a tie; he stood out from all of the other buzz-cut LiveStrong bros. Mandy and I actually looked up his profile from my iPhone while they were right there to confirm my suspicions were correct. Sometimes we spend a lot of time together and run out of things to talk about... this was one of those times. But this girl is so CLEARLY not into it. His body language has him facing her and leaning in, acting very interested in everything she's saying. I can practically hear her thoughts, "Oh dear god, Revenge of the Nerds seriously needs to shut. up. so I can get the fuck out of here. Hmmm... I think there's a new Grey's Anatomy on Hulu..."




Two weeks later, it's Sunday night again, I'm back at Sonny's with Angela Pizzo this time. Low and behold- same girl, same spot, same drink, different guy, different earrings, same boring conversation. It was weird. This guy looked like more her type, and she was absolutely into it. She played with her hair. Once in a while I overheard her saying boring, inane things about herself. The Best Bartender in Portland gives them their bill, and they both reach for their wallets. I know this game. She looks up from her wallet and sees he has put his card down first, but since she's already holding her card, she offers to split the bill. He smirks and says, "I'll let you decide." Are you fucking kidding me? What a dick! What was she supposed to say? "Oh, well in that case you pay, because I was just trying to be polite by offering. I actually had no intention of paying $9 for this stupid mixed drink." Every girl wants to be taken care of, and despite popular belief by modern men and modern women, chivalry isn't dead." I'm anxious to see if she'll be back there this Sunday with a different guy.




Overall, my experiences internet dating have been entertaining for the purpose of story telling, but I know that I'm not going to meet the love of my life online. Although in a day in age when we turn to the internet for finding jobs, paying bills, shopping, apartment hunting, watching tv and communicating with friends, it's not unreasonable to think that it's possible. A friend told me after he found out that I was registered on Match.com, "Amanda, what are you doing, that's not fair. Internet dating is for fat, ugly chicks who can't meet people in real life." Not totally true, but I see his point. I don't have trouble meeting people.






If I do a search for guys to potentially date, in a specified age range, in a specified distance from Portland (remember, no car), about two hundred dudes come up (if the search is reversed with the same criteria, there are twice as many ladies.) Of those two hundred, I've probably already gone out with five guys from the site since I first signed up like a year and a half ago. Obviously, it didn't work out. Then there are about ten people I know in real life, former coworkers, local musicians, frequent customers at the coffeeshop, guys I went to high school with, a friend's crazy ex. In addition to those guys, I've actually seen about four or five more guys that I've met in real life, and I've driven them to the world wide web of dating, where guess what, there I am again! So numbers-wise, roughly one in ten in the search is no good. Then, take away everyone who has Phish, Run/Ski/Snowboard or Red Sox in their username, anyone who is pictured holding a guitar, a sword, a cat or wearing sunglasses, anyone who claims to be "easy going" or a republican, and guys with major spelling or grammar mistakes, and there's pretty much no one left. I'm more likely to meet the love of my life at a Cult Maze reunion show than on the internet (Get it? Because it's never going to happen. Ha!)





Seeing that girl on an internet date reminded me that I have a couple of stories worth sharing.






So, I find this guy, um, Larry on Match.com. We seem to be on the same page, humor-wise and he seems like an attractive guy, so we decide to meet up. He shoots down my Dogfish suggestion, which is highly annoying, and because I liked taking dates there to be judged by the Best Bartender in Portland. Since he lives in the Old Port, I concede to go to Gritty's, douchebag capital of the Old Port. Like anyone I have anything in common with who is roughly within my age range and lives in Portland, we end up knowing a few of the same people. He was geekier in person than in his pictures, and if I remember correctly, he had a slight lisp or something. We had a couple of pints, and ended up hardcore making out in his stairwell about two blocks away. I had plans to meet some friends for Neon Garden at the White Heart, so I left with that giddy, just-madeout feeling and danced the rest of the night away.






Days passed, and I heard nothing. This was confusing, I thought we hit it off. He tried to bring me upstairs, and I refused, so maybe he was just looking to have sex? It's not that I was opposed to doing it with this guy... A week later, I texted him and asked him to hang out sometime. His response: "I'm trying to keep things pretty casual, but sure." What?! A text message after a week somehow implies something but casual? That's the most nonchalant you can possibly be while still expressing interest. I was so annoyed with his assumption that I never wrote back. If a guy sleeps around, he's a player. If a girl sleeps around, she's a slut. It's just not fair.






A month later I received an equally annoying text from him. "Happy Friday!" Really? Coming up with a clever response to Happy Friday! was just too much work. This guy was really irritating me. So I wrote back, "Happy Friday to you too.... but wait, who is this, again?" ZING! You mess with the bull, you get the horns! Days later he emailed me through the site and said, "Well played." I waited a day and wrote back, "Don't hate the player, hate the game." The texts came reasonably more frequently after that, and although I usually wrote back, it was in a non-responsive kind of way.





Here is one of the funniest things I've seen someone write on a dating site: "The worst part of online dating is the inability to express myself through interpretive dance."

The Gnome

We were outside of Geno's the other night, after I had volunteered at an event for the Maine College of Art. Between sets by Theodore Treehouse and Foam Castles, Mandy insisted that she had a story she HAD to tell me, that it was even blog-worthy. Yes, we say these sorts of things. So Bryan Bruchman, Mandy and sat outside Geno's, while she smoked a Bali Shag and Bryan snapped a few pictures of us in the glow of the streetlamp. I recorded it with my "Voice Memo" recorder for the iPhone. Please excuse the failed previous attempts you might've seen in your Google Reader RSS Feed thing, can't believe I actually figured out how to do it. All of my radio friends- I hope this makes you proud. 






(Sidenote: this MECA thing was a fundraising event for the school. Voluteering meant a little bit of networking, a chance to help some friends, and of course, a little free food. The tickets were $60, and the invitation stated to wear "Creative Party Attire." What a mindfuck! Previously, I had thought all of my party attire was creative, which is part of what makes me who I am. But when forced to try and come up with something specifically creative, what I wanted to wear was a plain gray dress and plain black heels. But how creative is recycling an outfit from a previous party? This is art school, so the envelope has to be pushed. The obstacle of trying to find "creative" party attire, fancy enough for a ticketed event, flattering and comfortable, in my mess of a closet, but also impressive and on-par to whatever a bunch of Maine College of Art people would be coming up with. It was like a sick, twisted joke. I've never felt more doubtful of my creative ability than when I was standing in the middle of a pile of black clothes on the floor in my room, trying to decide how creative an all black outfit could be. It came together in the end, barely. Pictures soon.)


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Train Car Cobbler

Sometimes I consider changing the name of this blog to “My Life with Mandy.”  Together, we’ve had some ridiculous adventures, some hilarious stories, and I believe soon, we will be working together in a more official capacity. She’s my silly little redhead, and if it wasn’t for her, I might not be in Portland at all- I could still be in Burlington, or Boston, or Paris… who knows. Last week, we had once such adventure... to Westbrook.

Mandy has a million pairs of shoes. She needed a pair to be fixed, so we headed out to Paul’s Shoe Repair in Westbrook.  There are a few different cobblers in the area, and it’s one of those things that it seems like everyone has an opinion about. Mary likes the one on Stevens Avenue; Rebecca likes the guy in South Portland, etc. It’s like finding a locksmith or a taylor- something you never think about until you desperately need one. Since I love giving directions to places and I love being right, I always want to know what the best places in town are. I think I’m the only person I know that’s ever been to Paul’s to have shoes repaired, and although it seemed pricey ($50 to repair and resole my boots,) the work was quality, so I didn’t question Mandy’s decision to give this guy her business over the other guys in town. Since my office used to be in Westbrook, and I know that town like the back of my hand, I was able tell her where to park and the fastest way to get there. We even stopped by Mich's work on our way home, just like old times. The shoes in question were bought on Heather’s Etsy, and the tap on the heel crumbled as soon as she got them home. Heather gave her a refund, but they’re too amazing to just cast aside.      

It’s a sunny Friday afternoon when we arrive at Paul’s. The counter is directly in front of the door when you walk in, and we are immediately greeted by a 50-something year old man we can only assume is Paul. It’s like being on stage. There’s no time to look around, gather a feel for the place, talk in low voices to each other to decide what we think. Immediately, you have to state the nature of your business. You know how if you walk into a furniture store, or a record store or the Apple store, wherever, and someone approaches you and you turn them away to say no, you’re just looking, or you need a moment? That was not the case.  After a short lecture about how she could’ve ruined the shoes and that she should’ve brought them in immediately after the taps fell off, he quoted her twenty dollars. Twenty dollars happened to be her preset limit, so we’re good to go.  He’s friendly, in kind of a fatherly way, and since Mandy and I are customer service veterans, we know how to turn on the charm and small talk. I would’ve gone with the whole boring, so, how long have you had the business, are you from around here, etc.  Boring, right? But she jumps in and starts explaining that there were many other cobblers that she could’ve gone to, a subject I feel sort of uncomfortable about, and I have no idea where she’s going with this. So, she’s like, “This isn’t the most convenient location, and you didn’t get the best recommendation, but when I found out there was a cobbler in a train car by the tracks in Westbrook I knew I just had to come! I love trains, my great grandfather spent half his life on a train, I used to manage the Narrow Gauge Railroad… if there’s anything I know and love, its trains. I am a train expert! I even had a one night stand with the man who drives the Amtrack Downeaster!” (Oh, wait… that last part… that was me.)  She is really enthusiastic about this whole train car thing and makes it explicitly clear to this guy.

Paul is holding her debit card in his hands, up high in the air, as if he’s going to conduct an orchestra with it. He’s about to run in through the machine, stops, and says, “Maybe I shouldn’t run this.” Mandy looks confused, and Paul gets serious. “Because… this isn’t a train car.  It’s a mobile home I painted to look like a train car.”

Nice job, train expert, identifying the train car. We leave sheepishly, Mandy's tail is tucked between her legs, and yes, it is so. obviously. a trailer.

Fo' Shizzle

Mandy might be one of the whitest white girls you'll ever meet. Not only does she have flaming red, Irish hair and the palest porcelain skin to match, she's also extremely... white. She's from Mechanic Falls, Maine. She'd never had rice until age 21. She listens to Black Music that Black People Don't Listen to Anymore, and wears scarves and drives a Jetta. Which makes the story I'm about to tell so. much. funnier.

Snoop Dogg, legend of hip-hop, played at the Gray Cage at Bates College in Lewiston, Maine, my hometown last week. ("Seriously? Snoop is playing in LEWISTON? They hate black people there." Well, kind of.) Snoop Dogg is kind of a big deal and he's had a pretty huge impact on my life. The week leading up to the show, I kept getting this one song stuck in my head everytime someone said his name... the one where in the background someone sings, "Snoop-dogg-y dooo-ooo-awg."  When I decided to try drinking alcohol for the first time, I went with gin and juice, because that's the first thing that came to mind. When "Drop It Like It's Hot," came on the radio in my car, I'd crank it and try and click my tongue along to that part. You know the part. See? I'm really white, too.

Anyway, Mandy talked to Snoop Dogg on the phone once.

Last week wasn't the first trip to Maine for Snoop. Back in 2004 (I Googled it), Snoop played at now-defunct the State Theater. That night, Mandy, age 19, was working at the Bull Moose warehouse in Scarborough. It was 10pm, there were, possibly, two customers in the store, and she was working with a girl she describes as a beautiful, voluptuous, lesbian named Jamie. They're getting ready to close the store, when a giant limo speeds into the parking lot, almost crashing into the front windows, tires squealing. Mandy assumes that it's a fancy date, prom or something, until two black dudes covered in bling step out of the car.What the fuck? There are hardly any black people in Maine, and none of them ride in limos and have bling. It's just not how we do.

These two guys walk in, one is older, with a bulldog face, droopy red eyes, and the other is a little bit younger and slightly overweight. He says to Mandy when he walks in, "Yo, girl! Yo, girl, where's your soul section?" So she walks him over to the section, and as she's about to walk away he's like, "I need some babymaking music, I need some BABY-making music. You know anything about soul music?" Which is a little bit ironic, because at the time, Mandy was a virgin. Technically, she didn't know anything about babymaking music (disclosure: neither did I.)

She's not really sure what he's looking for- like, if he wants the best one she has, or an assortment, so she starts grabbing whatever and throwing it in his arms, running back and forth to the used section. Compilations, Al Green, Otis Redding, and before she knows it, there are like, 20 cds in his hands. At some point, the bizareness of the whole situation just gets to her and she asks, "So you mind if I ask, what's going on here, who are you?"

"Oh, yo girl, I'm Snoop Dogg's cousin!" WHAT?? And that's when it dawned on her, holy fucking shit these cds are for Snoop Dogg, because he's playing tonight, in Portland. "Yo girl, Snoop told me to come down here and get some BABY makin' music for after the show. Yo girl, you gotta help me out."

Now, maybe I'm being stereotypical here, but this guy was 30ish, and the other guy was probably closer to 45. How is it that they had no idea about any soul music at all? "Yo girl, you think this one would be good, you think this one'd be sexy?" This guy probably said babymaking music like fifty times... to Mandy, the 19 year old virgin. He's probably got like hundreds of dollars worth of cds in his hands at this point when he's like, "Yo girl, I like what you got for me here. But hold on, hold on just one second. We gotta make sure, we gotta make sure just one second." He pulls out his cell phone, which back then was probably a Motorola Razor, and makes a phone call. Mandy, again, is thinking, what the fuck.

"Yo Snoop, yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'm lookin at the soul music right now- I got this girl, she's helping me out. Let me read off to you what I got," and he names a few things and pauses after each one then stops. "Hold on- hold on Snoop, Hold on." And hands the phone to Mandy. "Yo girl, Snoops on the phone. You gotta tell him what we got, he's gotta approve."

She stands there for a second, with the cell phone extended to her, and she knows that on the other end of the line is Snoop Doggy Dogg, waiting to talk to her.

"Hello?" She's like, terrified.

"Yo girl, I hear you're picking out some babymaking music for me tonight." So she starts explaining all the different gospel soul, southern soul, modern soul, and even though this sounds completely ridiculous, after every single thing she said, he responds, "Fo' shizzle."

Mandy: I've got D'Angelo, Untitled.
Snoop: Fo' Shizzle.
Mandy: Sade, self titled.
Snoop: Fo' Shizzle.

She finishes reading off everything and asks what he thinks, is that good, is that enough.  "Yo girl, that's great girl, I can't wait." She hands the phone back, ending the coversation. He called her girl like five times, and said fo' shizzle like 50 times. While she's ringing them in, the older guy speaks up for the first time and says to Jamie, the lesbian, that he think she's pretty attractive, and the young guy disagrees and says that Mandy is more attractive. Then they give the girls the room number at the Eastland, where Snoop is staying, so they can come party after the show. Mandy doesn't go.

This is an excerpt from the article I found in the Press Herald about the 2004 show:

"If you're wondering what the kids mean when they say "fo' shizzle" after you ask them if they want takeout for dinner, you can thank Snoop Dogg for the linguistic confusion. Meaning "for sure," the phrase is part of a slang vocabulary created by Snoop Dogg, aka Snoop Doggy Dogg, Snoop Dizzle, the …"

Up North

With the exception of a few short stints in other New England towns, I've lived in Maine my whole life. I know the geography of the state, were you can get lobster flavored ice cream, I've lobbied to the state appropriations committee, I've been to "the County." Corny Maine jokes always make me laugh: "Bangor? I hardly know her!" "You can't get there from here." Everything sounds funny in the accent. Here's a video some friends of some friends made (because everyone here has a mere two degrees of separation):



Mandy and I have been doing a lot of thrift shopping- mostly for her website shopgrandmajune.etsy.com. We scour the Goodwills and Salvation Army's within a ten-mile radius of Portland. I have my favorite locations, she has hers. We'll walk in the door, split up, then meet up after 20 minutes at the dressing room with our arms full. She and I will go in together, because four eyes are better then two (well... in our case, three and a half are better than two...) bringing in way more than ten items. We make yes, no, maybe piles, and make decisions.

On one such trip, recently, I found a grey sweatshirt, no hood, no zipper, that read: "Up North," in the same style one might find a state or univsersity name. I hold it up for Mandy and ask, is this funny? The woman behind us starts laughing. Out loud. So yes, it's funny. Up north, the general vicinity of the state above Portland where people camp, hike and ski. It's five dollars- kind of a no-brainer.

At this point, I'm starving. I had completed a nine hour shift at the Maine Roasters, and I was anxious to meet Angela for oysters at J's. Mandy is still deliberating, so I run over to Shaw's to grab a pre-oyster sandwich. She says her car, a 1984 tan VW Jetta we call Peacock, is unlocked, so I throw my prized find in the front seat, quite pleased with myself as I'm crossing the parking lot. I happen to notice that the contents of the driver's front seat of the car are a little bit different than before, but Mandy had to grab her phone while we were shopping, so I think nothing of it.

Ham sandwich in hand, I meet Mandy back at the car, just like we planned. She's not there. But... neither is the sweatshirt. She's still in the store. Had she gone back to the car, again? I practically run. I grab her by the arm, "Did you go back to the car?"

"No," she replies.

"Oh my god, the sweatshirt isn't there." (Because this is Maine, the thought doesn't even cross my mind that it could've been stolen. Once, I didn't lock Josh's car and his winter coat was stolen from the backseat. I felt terrible, obviously, but what the hell was his jacket doing back there, anyway?? Still haven't learned.)

"Well... there was a gold Volvo parked two doors down from me. I almost went to it when I was grabbing my phone."

And then it dawns on me. I put the Up North sweatshirt in the wrong car. I get really upset for a few reasons. 1, Why didn't that car lock it's doors?! 2. The contents of the car were obviously those belonging to a woman. This is definitely not going to be the beginning of a romantic comedy. 3. Why wasn't that car still there? 4. The Up North sweatshirt is GONE and I might as well have thrown that five dollars in the trashcan. Mandy explains the whole thing to the clerks at the Goodwill, how I bought the sweatshirt, to see if anyone returned it, and they laughed at her, well, me. Kate did the same thing a few days later, and the employees were equally bemused by my mishap.

A few days after that, even, I see a gold Volvo on Free Street. I'm with Kate, and I decide there's only one thing to do: leave a note. The chances of this Volvo being the same Volvo are slim, but it's ridiculous not to.

This is what it said:

Hello There,

This is extremely embarrassing, but a few days ago I mistakenly threw a gray "Up North" sweatshirt in a car just like yours (thinking it was my friend's car which is a very similar VW.) Obviously, this is a long shot, but I'd be pleased to find said sweatshirt.

Thank you for your time, and have a great day.

Sincerely,

Amanda


I leave it on the car and run back. Kate asks me if I left my phone number or email... and I realize this sweatshirt might be not be in my future. Because I didn't leave my phone number. I had to run back to my note and revise it. In the middle of Free Street.

No word, yet. I'll keep you posted.