Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

Have I talked about my cat, Baby? Originally, I was torn between naming her Penelope Whitmore and Beyonce, in the meantime called her Baby, and it stuck. Although I adopted her as an adult, her name was Miss T, and it had to be changed. No daughter of Mr. T would be hanging out at my house.

She's can't meow properly. And she's absolutely insane, like, will unpredictably lash out at people. Well, people other than me, partially because I'm the center of her universe, her one true love, the hand that feeds her. I can also tell when she's in a bad mood and might lash out. Anyway, she is also a really great snuggler, and has killed a mouse or two in her day, so I keep her around, cock block or not. My roommates have been really patient in regards to the cat, for example, not flipping out if she scratches one of their friends. I guess nobody puts Baby in the corner.

A few minutes ago, I was sitting in the kitchen, working on a paper, and the door to Rebecca's room opened. This kind of thing really freaks me out, I mean really. Then the internet stopped working. I went into the other room an gchatted Angela:

 me:  did you get my last chat?

rebecca's door just opened by itself.

then the internet stopped working.

WHAT THE FUCK

 Angela:  I responded...it's the wind!

 me:  the wind made the internet stop working??

i'm thoroughly freaked the fuck out.

baby seems to be cool, though, so i guess it can't be a serious ghost.

 Angela:  Yeh, I would trust baby...if there was something super-natural in there, she'd be clinging to the ceiling fan.

 me:  or trying to attack it.

Then I posted on Rebecca's wall and said, Um, your door just opened by itself and then the internet stopped working. Be honest, are you hiding a ghost in your room? You KNOW I'm like, really scared of ghosts.

Rebecca: You probably know I don't believe in ghosts, so, how could I hide something I don't believe in in my room? (Cue a bunch of really boring stories about how someone swears they saw a ghost once.)

Rebecca: Maybe your cat attacked and killed someone and they're hiding out in my giant closet? That's more plausible.

Angela: Guess I should call Cole [her boyfriend] and make sure he's still alive.

Brass In Pocket

Have I ever mentioned how awesome Chrissie Hynde is? I learned all about her from Mandy, and really, at the time, Mandy was kind of obsessed. Actually, that's an understatement. She spent a lot of time on the Talk of the Town Pretenders Official Fan Club message board, and met a ton of Pretenders super-fans from all over the country. She scored these crazy awesome 1980s tee shirts and had them altered to fit her teeny teenage body. Even her email password was a Pretenders lyric. In her defense, nothing I was into back then was nearly as cool as Chrissie Hynde, and she started this obsession when she was like, 15. We've been to her hometown, saw the official Pretenders archive, and found places to stay through the Pretenders network on our epic cross country road trip of 2003. We've seen Chrissie together twice, and I'm sure she's got a few more without me and we're actually going to be seeing her perform tonight in Portsmouth. It reminded me of this one time we had a birthday party at Bull Moose for Chrissie.

Every year on September 7th I think to myself, "Why is this an important date?" I'm terrible at remembering birthdays, every year I have to call my mom and ask her to remind me what my father's birthday is, and they've been divorced for ten years. September 7th is Chrissie Hynde's birthday, and one year, possibly 2002, Mandy, Hilla and I were all working, and it was a Sunday. I think on these days we were open from 10-6, so it was eight hours of pure, unadultered Pretenders. She brought in t-shirts for us to wear, made a banner that said Happy Birthday Chrissie! and threw a party for her idol resembling her own birthday parties growing up. She is an only child, afterall.

Hillary and I were pretty good sports about the whole thing. We told anyone who'd listen about the Pretenders, and played the Pretenders discography from beginning to end. It was a long day. The customer base at Bull Moose Lewiston was mostly high school kids in the surrounding area, the occasional Batesy, a lot of numetal dudes, some DJ-types, and the oldie-but-goodie crowd, who were just venturing into the short lived world of compact discs, desperately in need of that Connie Francis album their mom used to play. There weren't a whole lot of people who were into the alternative 80's scene, so our Pretenders preaching was falling on mostly deaf ears, except this one guy, Dave. Dave was probably the only customer who cared about the Pretenders at all, and he'd always say that he saw Chrissie open for the Stones back in the 80s (or whatever, I was a fetus) and that she blew him away. "Not a lot of musicians can hold their own when opening for the Stones. She was hot." He came in frequently, was enthusiastic, and could take a joke. He was kind of a middle aged guy, and I seem to remember him wearing an Grateful Dead tee. I had no idea what he did for work, or much about him, but one of my coworkers once spotted him coming out of the Blue Goose in the middle of the day. The Blue Goose is an infamous dive bar in Lewiston. At the time I had never drank, didn't really understand the reasons a person could be coming out of a bar during the day, so I thought, whoa, what an alcoholic! Now, as a person who's been known to do that very thing, I think, whoa! I wonder how early they open. All day Mandy was looking forward to Dave coming in. She left for fifteen minutes to grab us coffee, and she missed him. He walked in the store, Hilla and I just burst out laughing, knowing full well that Mandy was going to miss him, and she was going to be incredibly irritated and disappointed to not be able to talk to the one person who she thought would truly understand her excitement. Sure enough, she walks in, we tell her she missed and and a string of "What the fucks" come out of her mouth intermittently for the next hour or so.

What happened that day, though, even more than her and I almost fucking dying driving to Connecticut in a Nor'easter, because she spent $80 a piece on this Foxwoods concert, was that her love for Chrissie was seriously tested. I'm a fan, I genuinely like the Pretenders. I'm into the first three albums, Pretenders, Pretenders II and Learning to Crawl. I can listen to these albums from beginning to end, and thoroughly enjoy them. But sometime in the 90s, Chrissie lost some of the zsa-zsa-zu that made her so awesome and her songs so captivating. Since it was the Unofficial Chrissie Hynde Tribute day, and we had to play all of the albums back to back, even the bad ones from the 90s...  And Mandy had a meltdown. We were all feeling a little punchy, probably because of the ridiculousness of the situation. We begged her to stop playing this particular album, it was so terrible. On principle, she made us keep in on. But couldn't disagree that it was really bad. I remember her laughing hysterically at herself, rolling around on the floor, surrounded by Chrissie tribute banners, t-shirts, etc, and saying that this album in question wasn't just the worst Pretenders album, it was the worst album she'd ever heard. But she kept it on. 

Brass in Pocket, their first single. Well, second after their cover of the Kink's Stop Your Sobbing, isn't a great example of their best stuff, but I sing it at karaoke sometimes. I'm not trying to tell you I think I'm special, I'm trying to channel our love for Chrissie.

The Worst Date Ever

In response to a recent post about the second to the worst date ever, some of you have inquired about the worst date ever. Here it is:

I was 17. I'd never met or dated anyone I'd just randomly met. In my innocent, virgin, straightedge mind, dates consisted of ice cream sundaes and holding hands in a movie theater. He was handsome, for a dude-bro, and he came by Bull Moose to pick up a Spoon album. I walked him over to the section and said, "Girls Can Tell?" and he responded, while leaning his body towards mine, "I don't know, can they?" I blushed, ran away, and he asked me for my phone number. He worked at the Gap, and his best friend in high school (two years ahead of me, from across the river) was dating the head cheerleader/class vice president from my class. Maybe I thought this was going to be some sort of 'She's All That' kind of nerd makeover story or something.

We agreed to meet at my job at a specified time, since this was almost ten years ago and not everyone had cell phones yet. He was an hour late, and made no apologies, no excuses. I pretended not to notice, since I didn't know what else to do. He used the bathroom at the store, then again two or three times when we went to Friendly's for ice cream and grilled cheese. I think I also saw him pop some pills. He's still cute, but we don't have anything to talk about, and his behavior is not normal.

I suggest we go to the movies. We get there, and we've missed all of the shows by five minutes. Not a problem. Even back then I had my finger on the pulse, so I suggest an indie hip-hop show at Bates. (His interest in Spoon was a fluke. This guy was way more WBLM than WRBC.) We arrive and the show doesn't start for another hour and a half. I'm baffled. He uses the bathroom again, then suggests we just go for a drive, normal small-town teenager passtime stuff. We were in separate cars up until this point, but he volunteers to drive. Why the fuck was he peeing so much?

We're out over by the Lake, and I'm assuming he's just going to take us on a nice drive around the lake, something we do sometimes when we get bored. But then he turns right, down a wooded, unpaved road. There's a road closed sign. I start to panic a little. My mom had no idea where I was, in fact, no one knew where I was or who this guy was.  He keeps driving and I'm seeing signs like, "Road Closed in .5 Mile, Turn Back Now!" "Where the Hell do you think you're going? ROAD CLOSED, Dummy!" I started getting really scared.

He parked the car in front of some blockades and leaves the car to pee again. I wonder how lost I'd get in the woods and how far exactly I was from Route 4 if I tried to make a run for it. This wasn't part of the Girl Scout curriculum.  The woods were pitch black and if he didn't murder me out there, I figured there was a pretty good chance I'd get eaten by some wild monster/animal (Did I mention I'm scared of the dark, sometimes?) It'd probably take them weeks to find my body. He went in for the kiss. I don't remember specifics, except it was the worst kiss of my life. We made out for a few minutes and I'm seriously regretting putting myself in the situation. He makes a move for my belt buckle, and I push his hand away three times. The fourth time, I stop and tell him flat out, "I'm not going to have sex with you, I'm a virgin." He was really surprised, but got the point, and we headed back in town.

Finally, we arrive at Bates, he pees again and pops another pill, and I'm glad I'm alive and able to focus my attention somewhere other than this creepshow. We stay for about half an hour, I tell him I'm tired and we leave. He kisses me goodbye, tells me he'll call, but he doesn't.

This guy came into the store again once or twice, a year later, and I pretended I didn't know him. There are a few lessons to be learned from this story: tell someone where you're going, meet at a public place, have a cell phone, and remove yourself from a situation as soon as you start feeling uncomfortable. Crazy, huh?

The Birds

One of my favorite places to study on campus is the reading room on the seventh floor of the library. It's modern, it's sunny, there's recessed lighting and comfortable chairs... and it's completely silent. Occasionally, I'll drop off my books in a corner of the room, grab my wallet and phone, (probably not the best idea, now that I'm remembering my marine biology book was $187,) then walk over to Hannaford for some lunch. There is food available on campus, but Hannaford is no further away and they have fresh produce, sushi... and a hot wing bar.

Today, I was on the phone with Angela Pizzo, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, holding my food container in one hand, and eating BBQ chicken bites with the other. I think I talk to Angela three or four times a day, so it's a surprise that we have anything to talk about. She is getting another call, so I hang up, and decide I'll go sit on the Back Bay, finish my lunch, and wait for her to call back. It's a beautiful, sunny day, we're at a mid-tide, so there's plenty of blue water to focus my gaze on.

Crossing that part of Baxter Blvd, where there is no crosswalk, is pretty dangerous. The road is curved, cars tend to drive fast, and I'm fairly certain that I'll die at the hands of a motor vehicle one way or another, so I just dart across the street when I see the chance, open food container in hand (can't live in fear.)

Except, as soon and I crossed onto the lawn, I was immediately swarmed by seagulls. No joke, probably about twenty. When I realized they had realized I had food, I didn't know what was scarier: The thought of getting pooped on, or the thought of them pecking my lunch out of my hands. So I closed the container, and darted back in front of traffic, followed by a dwindling amount of birds. I am so proud of myself for not screaming.

It reminds me of the time I was at Willard Beach and this woman was losing her patience with her three year old son: If you don't put your snack away... the seagulls... they will come... and they will poop on your head!! 

Havana Nights

This is from the "live blogging" session I told many of you about, which took place outside of 51 Wharf. Enjoy!

On my way over, I saw a girl in a LBD and five in heels half walking half jogging. She rolled her ankle five times. So I’m here, and I’m already kind of freaking out. I have to be OUTSIDE. Vulnerable to everyone’s.. stares and voices. I have a huge LL Bean Boat and Tote bag. I feel ridiculously out of place.

11:17 It seems like there is a line, but that some people are in fact VIPs. There’s a dance party errupting in the line.  Two old northern Maine couples just walked out. They must’ve been lost. You gotta stand out- gold disco ball minidress dress. Hard to miss. Leave that Little Black Dress on the rack and go bold. $5 vodka red bulls. Mistake.

11:19 SUPER creepy man from the bus, about 45, long black hair, scowl, multiple facial peircings, tons of army surplus gear.  He didn’t talk to me. First piggy back of the night. If you can’t walk in your shoes, don’t wear them. People on the phone outside of the club, craning their necks, trying to figure out if their friends are already in, scared to venture in alone.

11:30 More lost old people. Pack of men, seemingly no alpha-male making decisions- they’re looking lost.  Camo hoodie guy- probably  isn’t getting any tonight.  Just saw the back of Kurt Cobain. Take a shower, man. I hear the DJ say something about ladies and shots. Troubling.

11:38 KILT!!!!  Some guys is wearing a kilt. Smart girls wear wedges. DJ is playing Rhianna. Maybe sending the wrong message about violence against women. Some dude walks by holding a wine bottle.  Inside the club I see a bottle of liquor on fire with a sparkler sticking out, and a cocktail waitress going around with blinking test tube shots. The noise level is rising.

11:44 Bachelorette in pink sparkly western hat almost wanders away from the rest of her party. Narrowly rescued. I accidentally make eye contact with a guy sporting a half sleeve tattoo. Embarrassing. PREGNANT LADY, NOOOOO!!!! Goatees abound. Girls trying to walk on this road is like they’re doing an impression of crabs walking on eggshells, which is directly related to how many cape cods they‘ve had.

11:50 Some girls in minidresses get escorted to the front of the line. I realize that hanging out here you’d never know Maine is one of the least diverse states, so many minorities everywhere.  Now the music from Oasis and 51 Wharf are competing on the sidewalk. Who needs eardrums? I HEART BACON T-SHIRT! First barefoot woman. Inside the club, I see a bottle of liquor on fire with a sparkler sticking out, and a cocktail waitress going around with blinking test tube shots. The noise level is rising.

11:51 The line at the Oasis and the line at 51 Wharf have been alternating in length all night. I might be the only person out here wearing glasses. I’ve spotted a NorthFace bubble vest on the same night as short shorts and flip flops. I wonder how long into the season these girls will endure the cold. Someone almost talked to me, close call. You know a girl is drunk when she stumbles on her heels and she’s standing still.  Noise Level is definitely rising. More confused New York hipsters, looking lost.  Small Indian? man of about 60 in line with son? Old guy and son just switched shirts. Don’t understand. Is there a dress code, where you can’t have cut off sleeves and be old? Old man and son just seemed to have switched ids. Like the door guy won’t remember them from ten minutes ago? Old guy, who was apparently with young guy, got in the club and now young guy is wandering around. Very strange.

11:52 Kilt guy is back. Some hipsters going in, guess they have to dance it out, too. That’s the woman who flashed me her turquoise underwear last week. Over the knee boots chick is turning some serious heads. Don’t understand why she hasn’t just gone in yet. All of a sudden the line is full of really unattractive people.

12:01 Cops are circling, same cops from last week. It’s cooling off, so I go inside. The people at the table next to me are also gawking out the window. Disco ball dress chick is back, also turning heads. People are getting drunker and drunker stumbling out.

12:05: MECA student, spotted!

12:06 MECA student, walking swiftly in opposite direction. Lots of people smoking at this point. Really touchy Jamaican man with waist-length dreads who I waited on once walks by. Doesn’t see me. Cute couple, him with a blazer, her with a white button down, skinny jeans and a hobo bag… I want to tell them to get out of line because bad things will happen in there.

12:17 “I could never imagine wearing that in my entire life” overheard next to me. I decide to take off, even though I know there is serious madness to ensue. But I was tired and could only stay up if I had another beer but did not want another beer. So I went home. Then I missed some drunk dude asking the door guy at Havana Nights asking if Obama was in the building- because the door guy was wearing one of those ear pieces (I assume) the Secret Service wears. THEN some drunk girl gets arrested for punching a police officer in the face, and I missed that too.

Stay tuned for the related column in the Free Press.

 

Disco Ice Cream and Other Dance Parties

An old friend recently gave me a compliment in an email, and it inspired me to post these two videos. She said, "Ever since I met you it seems like you live your life in this amazing, warm-toned world where you're always doing cool things, and meeting interesting people and going on adventures." She's not wrong. 

Mandy and I were buying ice cream and one of the lights in the cooler was flickering, like some sort of disco stage. There was only one thing to do. 

Later that night, in fact, possibly inspired by the disco ice cream, we went over to Bubba's Sulky Lounge for the first time in months. 

Please don't judge me for having dance moves equivalent to Billy Crystal's white man's overbite in When Harry Met Sally.

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.""

Summer Lovin' 2010

I just posted some pictures I took throughout summer, from the iPhone to my flickr.

Reggae Sunday at the Porthole. Who'da thought?

Hope you enjoy!

Why We Need a Second Bathroom at 46 Vesper

I guess I was a morning person when I worked at the coffeeshop. But in order to be ready to greet those super early customers I usually had to be awake for over an hour and at least two cups to be ready. Ever since my bowling job started, however, my schedule is completely flipped around, and I regularly stay up until two, two-thirty in the morning, which means I'll sleep until ten or so, then hit snooze. My mom told me a couple of months ago, which I had completely forgotten, that in high school, she used to wake me up in the morning, and if she didn't use the sweetest most ridiculously buttery voice I'd like, snap at her and grumble and not get up (this was b.c.- before coffee.)






Anyhow. I'm on the opposite schedule of my two lovely roommates, who both have relatively normal 9-5ish jobs. Which means if they're talking in the morning, putting dishes in the sink, RUNNING THE BLENDER, there is a chance I'll wake up. I only say the blender part because I woke up to a blender running at like, 8 a.m. once, got really mad since I'd never dream of running the blender at 2 a.m. when I got home, then got up out of bed to tell Rebecca that she was completely out of her mind for blending things at that hour, only to find out that she'd been doing it like every day and this day in particular I woke up because I happened to forget to put my fan on.)



So... there's this new guy. We met at the bowling alley. If you're a chick and you're lookin' for love, the bowling alley is a dude magnet. It's been a lot of fun, hanging out with this new guy, and when I asked him how he felt about me posting this story, he got really excited and wanted to pick a nickname. Sorry, New Guy, that's not how it works. Can't pick your own nickname. This was a refreshing change from, "Amanda. Under no circumstance are you ever allowed to ever post anything about me." The other night he spent the night, which yeah, very scandalous. He had to be at work at 9. I can't form sentences before 10. What happened next was more activity than I've experienced in the house, possibly ever.


Normally, Angela happens to be in the bathroom getting ready when New Guy wakes up, around 8:15. Not knowing she was in there, since the door was clearly open, New Guy gets up, not wearing pants, and says, "Oh, you're in the in between stages of getting ready for your day, huh?" Angela is luckily a lot more coherent in the morning, so she responds with a smile and says she'll be done in a second. Then Cole, Angela's boyfriend, hears this, pipes in from her room and says, "Wait, can I just brush my teeth first?" New Guy responds, "Cole, don't worry about it, man! Wanna just get in the shower with me? We can take a shower together!" They've met twice. I hear all of this commotion, and decide that I need to be up because although New Guy doesn't need me to hold his hand, but I knew it was the polite and respectful thing to do, although I'm NOT HAPPY about it. Then, I don't know what to do with myself, because I'll get in real trouble if I try to cut in line for the bathroom, so I start making coffee for New Guy. He takes it black.

With Rebecca's summer schedule, she usually nearly out the door by the time Angela woke up. Since school has started, Angela's assumption that Rebecca had already left was false. So now Angela, Cole, New Guy are in line for the bathroom, and Rebecca gets up and announces, "I have to get in there!" Neither Rebecca nor myself are wearing pants. She grumbles something about being awake but not getting out of bed, and something about how this is a fucking circus. She's not wrong, either. Cole and New Guy are brushing their teeth in the hall, New Guy is trying to talk to Cole, Cole is trying to figure out where to spit.



I've failed at making the first batch of coffee in the percolator. If you remember, we have 39 coffeemakers, and one of the percolators doesn't always work- the water boils but just leaks out the seal. I tried to use an oven mitt to tighten it, hoping not to start over on this stupid cup of coffee, and I end up spilling it all over the counter. I have a difficult time figuring out how do I make my coffee if I haven't had my coffee. It's like the chicken and the egg.



So, Rebecca cuts New Guy in line for the bathroom, since he's taking an entire shower, and it's her prerogative since she actually lives here. While he's waiting for both the shower and the coffee, he sits on my front porch and smokes a cigarette. Cigarettes are not a dealbreaker for me, since Mandy Wheeler smokes like a chimney and I'm addicted to her second hand smoke. Cole is sitting in the chair next to the window, and if you're sitting on the porch, you're pretty much at eye level. New Guy taps on the window and motions to put it up so they can continue talking about whatever they were talking about. New Guy is obviously a morning person. My landlord happens to walk by and see New Guy smoking on the porch and says, "Hey listen, not to be an ass hole, but, I really don't want you to be smoking on my property. I'm against smoking 150%." Anytime anyone prefaces a statement with, "not to be an asshole/dick/fucking bitch," it's really just a way to acknowledge the fact that you're aware that whatever is coming next is going to be offensive, and you don't care. I go back to bed and everyone leaves.




Angela says that it's a flashback to her childhood, growing up one of nine children, and that it's one of her worst nightmares. Then later, she tells her boyfriend, and he responds, "REALLY? I thought it was fun!!"

The Second to the Worst Date Ever

About a year ago, I met this guy. He was a friend of a friend, reasonably attractive like a blond Paul Rud, and showing me a lot of attention. He wasn't particularly funny or engaging in conversation, but he was a really good listener. I believe I gave him my email address, and we talked a bit via email and via phone for a few days until we made a date. And then I find out he was 13 years older than me, which was surprising, but not a deal breaker.

I like to do this thing when I'm going on a first date and I know there's going to be trouble deciding on a location.  - I suggest three places, and the guy chooses from those three. It's a perfect, diplomatic way to compromise without hemming and hawing. Paul Rudd and I choose Rosie's, one of my favorite first-date places. And if this guy isn't paying for my meal, I know I can afford it. (Etiquette question: my friend Sarah, who lived in Memphis for ten years, says that she doesn't care if she gets taken out for McDonald's on a first date- that guy should be paying. But WTF am I supposed to do if I actually can't afford to pay my half because it's like, the day before payday and rent was due or something? It's embarassing to both not be able to afford my half, to make that known, and to rely on my date to foot the bill. I'm not a feminist, but I'm not old fashioned, either.)

I show up at Rosie's ten minutes late, and he's patiently waiting. But has also patiently decided that we need to go somewhere else because it's too loud. (I like burgers. This was my favorite neighborhood bar. Can't hang at my bar, can't hang with me First date mistake number one.) So we head over to Sapporo, my favorite place for sushi in town except for Miyake, which isn't on the same playing field as the rest. Sapporo is good. It's not great, but it's consistent. Good food, good service, good ambiance, not too pricey if you pick the right things. He's never been, and almost immediately starts complaining that the waitress seems too fake. (First date mistake number two.) It's her job to be nice. Who cares if she sounds fake, maybe she was having a bad date. I'd prefer fake nice to outright rude, any day. First dates are about putting your best foot forward, for charming the other person and not acting crazy.

Much to my relief, he picks up the tab and we decide to give Rosie's another shot. On our walk, he tells me he wants to talk about our age difference. I actually say, "Let's not go down that road." I wasn't trying to be rude, I just honestly felt there was nothing to talk about regarding our age difference, so what was the point? Paul Rudd and I were both aware of the situation,  what was I going to say, "Hey, how were the 70s?" I changed the subject. (First date mistake number three.)

We arrive at Rosie's, sit down, and it comes out that in a few weeks I was going to be moving to his street, my very first solo apartment. He offers to loan me this couch that he has in storage, saying that he thinks it'd be perfect for my place, he wasn't using it, but that he'd need it back at some point. Whoa. Really? This was date one. Agreeing to take the couch of Paul Rudd was pretty much license for him to stay in my life for however long the couch was in the apartment, and it was nice of him to offer, but highly inappropriate. I politely declined, multiple times- he kept pressing the issue. (First date mistake number four.)  The conversation died down pretty quick after this, and sometimes I get distracted by... fashion. So it's like I'm a dude, checking out a bunch of girls, but instead of their asses I'm checking out their boots. Boots not boobs. Really, it's a bad habit, but I can't help myself. Paul Rudd takes this as an indication that I'm having a terrible time, and asks me if I'm having a terrible time. Best way to ensure that I'll start having a terrible time: ask me if I'm having a terrible time. (First date mistake number five.)

He drives me home, we're in the car, which is always the worst, most awkward way to say goodbye to someone on a date. I've got to remember to ask to be walked to the door. I decide that maybe some of the awkwardness over the course of the night was just due to jitters- sometimes getting to know someone's personality quirks takes time. There was only one way for me to figure out if Paul Rudd and I had a second date: I went in for the kiss. If it was an awesome kiss, I'd know. This was a really bold move, and I almost never do it. I get thisclose and he says, "Are you trying to kiss me?" Sheepishly, I say yes. He tells me he'd rather have a hug and talk about our age difference. I'm stunned. He proceeds to not really say anything, and I don't really have anything to say, so even though we're having "a talk" about our age difference, we're not talking.

I get out of the car, stunned, deflated, rejected. It seems like the best decision to take a few days and figure out if we can come back from this major blow. How do I know he won't pull that every single time I try to touch him, or worse, in bed? Consequently, this involves me being a little bit distant and non-responsive for two, three days. I didn't cut him out completely, just didn't make any plans. On the evening of the third day after our date, it was Gossip Girl at Keith and Maggie's. I looked forward to this Monday night with Serena and Blair every week. My phone was off while we enjoyed chips and dip, exchanging OMGs and WTFs. He had written me a really nice email earlier that day about how I was mistaken and if only I could understand how much he really did want to give him a second chance. This email swayed me to give him another chance when...

On my way out, I check my phone. Missed call from Paul Rudd and two really angry texts. "Amanda, how could you do this to me. At least show some respect and tell me that you don't feel the same. We have the same friend circle, it's a small town and this is really shitty." Whoa. I called him immediately and holy shit, was he angry. For the next half hour, we're on the phone as I head back up the Hill, having the worst break-up talk. There were sighs. Long, awkward silent pauses. All this, and we hadn't even kissed. It was awful.

His deal was that he was 37, and desperately wanted to be in a serious relationship. When he started realizing I was not going to be the one, he over compensated and pushed me away. I see him from time to time, and I never know what to say, because it was the second to the worst date I'd ever been on.

The Moose River Mix

Once upon a time, I "ran" a "website" called the Mixtape Collective. Through a series of unfortuante events, I closed my P.O. Box and ended the service. It was really fun while it lasted, and sometimes I fantasize about getting it up and running again. There were all of these great mixes that I'd made to give away, like the Cruise Mix, the Back to School Mix, etc. It's been so long since I've made a mix for someone, a tape or whatever, but one of my favorite things to do is make an accompanying tape narrating over the songs and why I decided to include them.

Here is the written version of that for the Moose River Mix:

Take Me to the River: Seems kind of an obvious first choice, the live version off of Stop Making Sense. It's an Al Green cover and a big hit for the Talking Heads, and although the river is obviously a metaphor for like, love or whatever, it's kind of perfect since we were, you know, going to the river. I've been totally obsessed with this album for weeks months, and I think it's because of Andy Lyman's performance as David Byrne at the Clash of the Titans. I've been to a couple of these things, and mostly I've been underwhelmed, but these guys really pulled out all the stops and I was blown away. Andy even had the dance moves. Mandy's been so sick of me listening to it, imagine my joy when the Talking Heads came on two for Tuesday on WBLM at the Q Street Diner the other day.

I'll Be on the Water: Akron/Family's I'll Be on the Water is such a sad, lovely song. "Thinking of you/there's lightning bolts in my chest. I know you know/I think our love's the best." The Moose River trip is entirely on the water, aside from the portages, and when we say, I'll be on the water, really,we left and said, see you in four days, there's no cell service up there, we're totally cut off. In the wilderness. On the water.

Sitting By the Riverside: I almost always find a way to include the Kinks in my mixes. This song came up when I searched for "river" in my iTunes. So did all my Weezer albums and "Ghost of the River" by the Anniversary (blast from the past!) We often beached the canoes and had lunch sitting by the riverside, sometimes we've taken shelter from a flash thunder storm. Nick did some fishing, I did some sunbathing. This mix is really literal, a narration of sorts, in case you haven't caught that. Two years ago we passed the time in the boats by brainstorming Karen's epic 8 disc (plus two bonus) 90s Mix, which could've been marketed in an infomercial by Time Life during late night reruns of Friends and 90210.

Northern Sky: Anyone who's seen the clear night sky, unpolluted from city lights, knows how beautiful and magical it is. It's something that I took for granted growing up. The first night it was pretty warm and clear and we took all three canoes out and did a little mega-canoeing, where we held all three together and jumped off and swam and stuff. Under the Milky Way was also in the running for this idea of sleeping under the stars, but I thought because we were so close to Canada (ahem, north,) and this song matched the tone of the mix and the trip a little bit better. We brought an iPod this year, and listened to a bunch of Magnetic Fields songs.

Wind of Change: It was so fucking windy. Darcy almost had a meltdown. We were paddling as hard as we could against a really strong headwind and were barely moving. Every year the weather significantly changes the trip... this year it was just so incredibly windy right away. Plus this song fucking rules.

Proud Mary- CCR can EAD, this is all about Ike and Tina. One of my favorite memories from last summer was Erin talking about the really mean geese on the farm she was working on, named Ike and Tina. You know what you're supposed to do if a goose is chasing you? Grab it around the neck with both hands and throw it. I'm terrified of large birds, so I'd probably be pecked to death. "Left a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day. Never lost one minute of sleep worrying about the way things might have been." Don't we all just want to leave our jobs to do whatever the hell we want? Someday I'll be the person that saves up, quits and lives in New Zealand for a year, or takes that cross-country road trip- throws caution to the wind. The Moose River trip is like a little taste of that, and I know we all fantasize about making that sort of thing a bigger part of our lives while we're out there. Proud Mary is also an awesome karaoke song, and someday I'll get to see Kate Digby Skinner and her bff Lauren preform it in person.

Big River- This came up in the brainstorming sesh while we were on the river itself. I love Johnny Cash.  Enough said.

Harvest Moon- I usually try and use some of the time while we're gone to reflect on the things I'm happy with in my life, how thankful for everything and everyone in my life, and it fills up my chest with happiness. Kind of like this song. "There's a full moon rising, let's go dancing in the light."

Red Squirrel Sun Rises- There was literally this little red squirrel at the campsite who was PISSED at me for shoeing it away from our food. That sucker got really, really close to me. Then a chipmunk came, and they chased each other around the campsite up trees and through the fire pit (no fire was actually going.) I was alone when this happened, and I had a really difficult time conveying the ridiculousness of the scene, the squirrel chirping at me from the tree. It was like a cartoon.

Walking On Sunshine- Remember that scene in High Fidelity that Barry takes off the new Belle and Sebastian ("sad bastard music") and put this song on, then did that obnoxious dance around the store? This song is like, pure happiness. We had some really beautiful weather once the wind died down.

With Arms Outstretched- I've loved this song forever, and I can't believe how well it describes the trip in so many ways. "It's 16 miles to the promise land/and I promise you, I'm doing the best I can" Halfway through the trip is actually about 16 miles and we are like, so tired but we're still trying. "I visit these mountains with frequency, and I stand here with my arms up. Now some days, they last longer than others, but this day by the lake went too fast." Third year in a row, check. Mountains, check. Lakes, check. Feeling like the trip was going too fast, check. Big singalong at the end, check.

End of the Line- Wrapping up the tail end of the mix, End of the Line by the Travelling Wilburys. I've always, for as long as I can remember, hated Tom Petty. But in recent years, I've relaxed, and realized that actually, he's a really great song writer.  "Even if the sun don't shine/Well it's alright/we're going to the end of the line." It's such a relief to see that final stretch of lake and know that in a matter of hours I'll be in a shower and a bed with a pillow. This song also kind of embodies the way I've been living my life, "Well, it's alright." Some friends recently described me as organized, which is sort of ridiculous. Here's a good example of how not organized I am: I left my backpack at the lodge at the Northern Outdoors in The Forks three and a half hours away, and didn't realize it until we were already two hours away. Yeah, I made a mistake. Especially because I was borrowing Angela's backpack, sleeping pad and Heather's sleeping bag and I would have to spend hundreds of dollars to replace those things, but it was already done, and I could've flipped out about it, but it's so much easier to not flip out and try to problem solve. I knew I could create a shipment on UPS.com, and I knew some friends would be up in The Forks in a week or two, and worst case- I could've made someone drive me up. In the end, the Northern Outdoors ended up sending me the pack and I didn't even have to pay. It was alright.

Right Back to Where We Started From- My love for this song was born from two things: My Best Friend's Wedding and listening to the Oldies station every single day in the office from 9-5. The Moose River trip is a big circle, a bow, if you will. Get it? We're right back where we started from. The relationship she's talking about in this song sounds pretty screwed up, though, and I'm glad I get to use the song as it relates to the trip and not "If you get hurt by the little things I say, I can put that smile back on your face." What a bitch!

The Final Countdown- The Arrested Development references first started on the trip when John Holt decided to come along, and even though Nick was the only one that he knew at that point, we automatically rebranded him Steve Holt! Then in Mama Bear's diner in Jackman on the first morning this epically ridiculous song GOB used as the theme song for his "illusions," and it's actually incredibly catchy. Unfortunately, we don't really know any of the lyrics other than "It's the FINAL COUNTDOWN.". We added a day of whitewater rafting, since we were all so psyched about not being in Portland for another day, and our raft guide, cute as a button, thought we were  singing Eye of the Tiger because we just repeated the synth parts over and over. So catchy. I just happened to look up the lyrics, and it turns out the song is about leaving the Earth and travelling to Venus in a space ship.

Notice the one river song I left out here: River of Dreams by Billy Joel. I hate that song. It was stuck in my head for the entire fourth grade.

Let me know if you want a copy. amandajennifer@gmail.com

Best Summer Ever

I have two weeks before school starts, roughly, and I just wanted to reflect a little bit on the best summer I've been having (therefore preventing me from being motivated to write in this thing.) I've basicly been on a bender since June. I should be outside right now.

Things I've crossed off my to-do list:
Moose River
whitewater rafting
lobster rolls and steamers at J's
patio dining at Sapporo
ride on the back of a motorcycle (bonus: it was from 1970.)
hang out on a sailboat
leisurely afternoons on the Eastern Prom, reading, listening to podcasts
host awesome 4th of July party
eat a lot of hamburgers, hotdogs and s'mores
lobster bake
Peaks Island
Sea Dogs game
drive-in movies
under the Milky Way on Bailey Island

Things that weren't on my to-do list but were still awesome:
Mackworth Island
flying kites at Fort Williams
getting a tan
late nights on the back porch (having a back porch)
the Laura Palmer (pink lemonade/bourbon)
the cover of the Portland Daily Sun and subsequent follow-up story
Missed Connection
booze cruise with Foam Castles

Things I need to cross off in the next two weeks before school starts:
buy books
boogie boarding
skinny dipping
Old Orchard Beach
Funtown
beat my high score at bowling and skee ball.
Kennebunkport Pub Crawl
make a fall to-do list

The Texas Roadhouse and the Rosetta Stone

My sister is awesome and I love her quite dearly, but we are two completely opposite people. I mean, completely. She looks like our mother, I look like our father. She makes poor emotional decisions, I make poor financial decisions. She's good at math and I'm... not. She dates guys who are alternately in and out of jail and/or the military, I date guys who are in and out of bands and/or New York City. She has two kids and well, I'm minorly terrified of most children, except, I guess the children of my close friends and family. One panic-inducing occasion at my old office had a six month old baby mistaking me for her mother. I think I actually ran away from the crying child and hid in the bathroom until they left.

Three years ago, Ashley, my sister was dating this guy who she'd known for a long time. He was graduating boot camp, and she'd just had her first baby, my nephew Andrew. Unbeknown to me, she went down to Georgia for his graduation, and he proposed marriage. I wasn't even positive that they were back together when she called me to tell me the news. He was stationed in Germany, they were going to get married at City Hall, pack up the kid and go with him. A number of things happened between the proposal and the deployment and they broke up, but these are some highlights from the conversation we had:

Me: Oh my god, are you kidding? Really, how'd he do it, do you have a ring? Oh my god, Ashley. This is insane.

Ashley: (clearly smiling on the other line) No, no ring yet... We just kind of... decided.

Me: Well, where were you  when he did it?

Ashley: Oh my god, Amanda, we were at this really nice restaurant- (picturing white tablecloth, candlelight, Alex in his fatigues, the baby sleeping next to them with soft jazz music playing in the background, no booze because they were both under 21) -it's called the Texas Roadhouse.

Me: (silence. Don't get me wrong, I really love the Texas Roadhouse. Really. Their baked sweet potatoes are amazing, and they give you hot, fresh rolls. They serve Blue Moon and you have to ride a saddle if it's your birthday. I've always had a great time there, except for that one time I found my server crying in the bathroom.)

Me: Ashley. Oh my god. The Texas Roadhouse is NOT a nice restaurant. It's a chain, like Applebee's or the Olive Garden.

Ashley: Oh. Well, anyway, our food was really good.

(a few minutes later, as I'm processing the idea, thinking about Ashley and the baby living on the base, being an army wife, making a life for themselves...)

Me: So, if he's stationed in Germany, and you guys are living on the base, I wonder if that means you're under American jurisdiction or German jurisdiction. Because if it's German, you can drink. But, there probably aren't any bars on the base so...

Ashley: There are probably like, neighboring towns we can go hang out in if he has leave or whatever.

Me: But you don't speak German.

Ashley. But there are neighboring towns.

Me: Ashley. You don't speak German.

Ashley: What do you mean?

(silence)

Me: Ashley....   German is a language spoken in Germany. Like French or Spanish.

Ashley, brow furrowed, ignoring my laughter: Oh. I thought they just spoke English, but with an accent... (pause) I might have to get that Rosetta Stone thing.

--

One of the funniest parts of this story, I think, is that she knew what the Rosetta Stone program was, but probably has no idea what the significance of the name is. (Please don't let this story reflect my thoughts on the Lewiston Public School system, or judge my sister for not knowing German was a language.) She has her GED and is taking classes at the Central Maine Community College, where she'll probably end up being a really awesome, funny, caring nurse.

The Writer Guy

I'm excited to bring you this story, finally. It's the second story from the Scratchpad Series.

I recently ran into the guy from this story in a bar, he was obliterated. Absolutely shitcanned. I texted him after I left, knowing this, and asked if he'd be interested in having sex with me. He said yes, although I feel fairly certain he has no recollection of this. Moral of the story: Writer Guy didn't, in fact, reject me- he DOES want to sleep with me, as proven by his drunken text.

Chicken Dance

Sometimes you turn to television to entertain yourself, even if you're in the middle of the woods. Too bad I don't have a video of Nicka P doing his version.


Arrested Development Chicken Dances - Watch more Funny  Videos

The Article and the Boat Guy

It’s really weird to have your face on the front page of the paper, even if it’s a free alternative-daily newspaper. I didn’t think anyone really read the Portland Daily Sun, I just thought people picked it up for the crosswords. Not the case, and here’s a story about the repercussions of having your fifteen minutes of local fame.

The night of the run in with the promiscuous 85 year old, this cute guy came by the bowling alley. This is nothing out of the ordinary, tons of cute guys come by all the time. But then I recognized him as a friend of a friend, and had a tiny freak out because I had a crush on this man, even though we’d never actually met. What was he doing in Portland, at my bowling alley? Before I had a chance to go over and introduce myself, busy caught up with my senior citizen suitor, he was gone. So, I did what I do best- I wrote him an email. He came up right away on the Google search, and right there on his website, I found his email. Although Googling someone usually yeilds results, it never ceases to amaze me. This was like the scene in High Fidelity where Rob is going through his what-does-it-all-mean phase and finds Charlie in the phone book. “She’s in the fucking phone book.” There is the whole stalker factor one has to be considerate of when confessing to someone that you found them on the internet, so I carefully wrote him a pleasant, complimentary email, trying as hard as possible to not sound like a total creep show, and offered to buy him a beer.

Much to my surprise, he wrote back within 24 hours with his phone number. We sort of text a little bit about a potential time and place to meet, but I soon realize we were going to have to have a conversation to figure this out due to my complicated transportation issues and scheduling conflicts. Unbelievably nervous, I call him. It goes to voicemail. He calls back almost right away. I try to smile the whole time, which is the only thing I learned during my one week of telemarketing, other than that telemarketing is the worst job on the planet. I recommended Flatbread to a friend for a lunch date, once. Since he’s now in a serious relationship with that girl, I figured my intuitions were correct that it’s a good lunch date spot. Although, anyone who was at the Scratchpad Series knows how I feel about lunch dates. For lack of a better nickname, we’ll call this man the Boat Guy (but not the man in the boat,) because he has a boat.  I call him the night before our scheduled meet-up to confirm plans, and we talk on the phone for over an hour. I love talking, and I love talking on the phone. This is already a really good sign.

***

My day consisted of meeting Matt from the Portland Daily Sun at the Hilltop for a quick picture for the paper, then a lunch shift at the bowling alley and then my date with Boat Guy. My hair was a mess and I had no make-up, but there was no turning back now. What does one WEAR on a day with so many different kinds of activities?! A severe thundershower narrowly misses me as I duck into the restaurant. (So much for the eating outdoors idea.) I’m right exactly on time. He’s already sitting at the bar, and from the amount of beer in his bottle, I can tell he’s been there for more than five minutes. This is actually a stunt I usually pull- showing up extra early for a date. That way you just sit, cool and collected, letting them come to you. There’s always the possibility that they’ll walk in, see you, turn around and walk out, but luckily that hasn’t happened to me, and it definitely didn’t happen to Boat Guy. We make eye contact right away and he waves me over. I breath a sigh of relief and sit down.

It seems to be going well. He’s asking me a lot of questions, which keeps the conversation moving. We talk about travelling and Portland and food. I make him tell me everything he’s done since college, which is a lot, and he confesses that he’s recently ended a serious relationship. Noted. At some point in the process of getting to know someone, they’re going to want to know what you “do.” What I mean by this isn’t your job, but what drives you. What your passions are, what you would spend all of your free time doing if money wasn’t an issue. For me, lately, the answer has been writing. Looking back, I’ve been writing for years, I even had a LiveJournal way back when, but never seemed to realize it was like, my thing. I went to art school, so new people usually tend to focus on that- “Oh, Amanda, well, what kind of art did you do? Are you still making art?” I hate that question, and so does everyone who’s ever “done art.” I’m halfway through my second pint, and apparently feeling some sort of liquid courage, because I start talking about the blog. I mean, you’re here, reading it. My Google Analytics tracker tells me that my readership has been steadily growing, which wouldn’t happen if it sucked. And I tell him that the next day I was going to get my first big press- the Portland Daily Sun. It seemed like all of the silly stories I’ve been putting down were actually kind of going somewhere. My writer friend Sean even said that he was thinking there might be a book in there somewhere.  A book! Holy shit! This is completely self-motivated, I’m in complete control of the whole thing, I’m working on it a lot, and I’m happy.

This does not go over well. Boat Guy says things like, “I can’t believe I ended up here with a blogger. This is the last thing I need in my life right now.” Suddenly, Boat Guy was no longer smiling and his body language has completely changed. I back pedal. “Listen, Boat Guy, I don’t write to offend or hurt feelings. My relationships are more important to me than the blog. It’s supposed to be funny, that’s all.” (This is all completely true, by the way.)  I try and change the subject, but I’m totally flailing. This date did a 180, and I’m not even sure if it’s still considered a date at this point. No amount of arm touching or eyelash batting was helping.  I had unknowingly struck some sort of nerve. Something was going on in his life that he wasn’t going to tell me, but was making him freak out. He was invited out under the pretence that I was buying him a beer. So, I insisted on paying for lunch. The check came, and I threw down. This probably made things even worse, in some kind of old fashioned emasculation way. We walk outside and I seriously want to get the fuck out of there, it’s awful. I’m fairly certain at this point I’m never going to see Boat Guy again, and don’t know if I even want to. I make a lame excuse and try not to run. I barge into Angela’s office two blocks from Flatbread, flabbergasted, and tell her the whole story.

That night at work, I’m sad. When you’re trying to get over someone, having someone new to take up that space in your brain is always helpful, and I was especially disappointed that Boat Guy was not going to be my new distraction. I’m good at dating and it shouldn’t have gone down like that. But whatever. Whatever was going on with Boat Guy had nothing to do with me. We all have varying degrees of fucked-upness in our lives, he was at some sort of peak. My blog is awesome, and I shouldn’t have to make excuses for my writing. Men should be lining up at my door to take me out, blog or no blog. So... imagine my surprise when I miss a call from Boat Guy later that night. He doesn’t leave a voicemail. Perplexed, I decide to call him back in the morning.

***

8:30 a.m., I get a call from Kate Digby Skinner. I can’t imagine what on earth she needs at this ungodly hour of the morning, especially since I had a pretty good idea what she was doing the night before and until what time, but I answer. She screams into the phone: AMANDA YOUR FACE IS ON THE PAPER AND IT’S HUGE AHHHHH!!!! I wince, then smile, and wince again. I hang up the phone, immediately throw some shorts on and run out to Sonny’s Variety, then over to the Greyhound Station. I probably grabbed 30 copies, not really knowing what to do with them. It was hard to not make eye contact with anyone, but I didn’t need any crazy St. John Street people stopping me. (Except for the Pizza Villa people. I wanted them to see it and think, that’s our GIRL! By the way, I didn’t tell anyone there I was moving. They probably think something happened to me.) Upstairs, in the comfort of my room, I read the whole thing twice. Although I’m reasonably satisfied with how the blog is represented, with Matt’s reporting, it’s shocking that my picture is so huge, a full half of the cover. Then there was the headline, “Putting it all on(the)line/Blogging as commentary on the modern dating scene” which might as well have said, “BEWARE! Amanda Pleau has a dating blog, do not go out with her!!!” That copy editor must’ve felt pretty fucking good about themselves.  I spent my remaining minutes with Boat Guy downplaying the whole thing, and this headline couldn’t have made things worse. “Oh, but Boat Guy, no, don’t worry about it, it’s not even like that. No one really reads the blog, it’s not that big of a deal, I don’t really write about dating, it’s just a fun hobby that I’m not even really that into. It’s not about dating or anything, I promise I’m not going to write about this or you or anything. This isn’t just like, research for the blog. REALLY, it’s not that big of a deal. The only reason that reporter guy talked to me about the blog is because we like, know each other and it’s been a slow news month. REALLY.” This headline made me feel like I had to give a disclaimer in the first thirty seconds of a date: I have a blog and you might be the subject.  

I call Boat Guy back and he’s on the boat. He says he read the blog, and I’m assuming this has put his mind at ease from whatever shit show he was picturing. It’s a beautiful Friday morning, and he asks me to meet him for coffee. This would be all well and good, I love/need coffee, except I told him I was going to be in the paper. I panicked. Up until Blog-Gate 2010, the Great Blog Meltdown, it seemed like things were going well between us, and I wanted to put the blog in the past. I weighed my options, which were few. There was definitely not enough time to beat him to Aurora and hide any papers there, and those papers are everywhere, anyway. Unless maybe I ran. He could have forgotten, although that seemed unlikely. I sucked it up, got dressed and headed over. It’s on his table when I arrive. Right there, my face, same hair and clothes that he had seen the day before. Thinking quick, I acknowledge that he’s seen it, by pointing and rolling my eyes, in and attempt to act annoyed rather than embarrassed. We don’t talk about it, it’s as if nothing happened. Close call.

You, my awesome and devoted readership (have I mentioned I work for tips for a living?) might be wondering how it’s possible that you’re reading this right now, since I promised Boat Guy I’d never write about him. Well, I pled my case. “Listen, Boat Guy, I’m reasonably certain that I’m never going to be in the paper again. It’s incredibly funny and ironic- the timing of all this whole thing, and it’d be a shame if I didn’t get to write about it.” He agreed, gave me the go-ahead, as long as he remained completely anonymous.

Moose River Vacation

Tomorrow I'll be leaving for a four day-three night canoe trip extraveganza. This will be our third year in a row, and it's really exciting. I remember way back when I didn't know what a Crazy Creek was and I couldn't pee in the woods. Now I'm thinking about buying serious gear and my J-stroke is getting better every year. 

The first year we had unbelievable weather, but took a wrong turn on the first day, putting us almost half a day behind. We had no gear, no gps, no flashlight and ended up in the middle of the lake. I had a serious panic attack, made everyone put their life jackets on while bats were flying around us under the moonlight. We had no idea where our campsite was, but thanks to some barking dog waking up their owner in a house on the middle of the lake, we got there safe and sound. She probably rolled her eyes, thinking we were really fucking stupid to be out there so late. We had Magnetic Fields singalongs around the campfire at the most beautiful campsite and Paddled for our Soul. 

The second year the weather wasn't quite as good, ahem, it rained so much we practically needed an arc. Although there weren't any singalongs, we did have a Rock Paper Scissor tournament and survived a tipped canoe. I also madeout with the self-proclaimed best rapper in Maine and ate a lot of jerky.  

Not sure what's in store for this trip, but I'll hopefully have stories for when I get back. 

 Giant Beaver Dam, first year

Riding Princess with the boys, second year

More Adventures at Bayside Bowl

Here is a recap of my last two days:

My first table of the night was four guy who were competing, two against two. Their first game was a tie, 136 and 136 to 134 and 138. A TIE! It was awesome. When they were ready to pay their tab, they gave me their credit cards in a pile and told me to just pick one, a credit card roulette. I laughed out loud. One guy said, this is my card. Don't pick my card. It was a smart move, because I really felt like I couldn't pick his card.  The other was an AMX, and we don't take AMX. Therefore, I had only one choice left (fourth guy came late, didn't eat, and only had two beers,) and ran the card. But to them, it was still a roulette and we had a good laugh about the whole thing.

Meanwhile, I bowled two pretty decent games, 110 and 117, which is where my scores should be every time. People come in all the time and ask how I bowl and I tell them all the time that I'm terrible, but those were better than my average. Though I don't have very many tables, things are looking up. Then I get a group of four bowling, they've been drinking at the bar, so they're feeling GREAT. So great, even, they leave me a fifty percent tip. Awesome.

There are some candlepin people bowling, drinking Bud Light and diet Coke. I can tell they're candlepin people, like hardcore candlepin bowlers, because they have their own shoes, but aren't friendly at all, and don't tip well. They're focused on this new and confusing world of tenpin and don't have time to talk to the waitress. There are also some guys who get moved to my side of the lanes, and they keep asking me the most annoying questions, even though I'm not their server. "Can we leave our stuff here while we go out and smoke? If we want another game can we do that here or do we have to go to the front? What does the red circle on the scoreboard mean? Do we close our tab with our waitress or do we go to the bar?" Me: "Yes, the front, a split, how the hell should I know." Then they spill their beer. SO ANNOYING. Oh, and it's brought to my attention that none of them are wearing socks with their rented shoes. At this point, it's like 10 pm,things haven't really picked up, and I'm thinking I wanted to go home. Or start drinking.

But luckily, Nate and Colleen show up with their wedding party and things get AWESOME.  Everyone is smiling, drinking, having a great time.  Colleen is making really funny jokes about how her husband is a douche for saying it was the happiest day of his life and rolling her eyes. There are two guys dressed like the Blues Brothers. I start getting beers for Elwood  and he tells me he wants to makeout with me just as someone I've had the pleasure of making out with on a previous occasion walks over and hears the whole thing. I can't stop laughing at myself and the ridiculousness of the timing. I love my job. Then I start getting beers for a bald man who was having trouble ordering at the bar. After I tell him that yes, I like MC Hammer, he tells me I'm HOT! Then an amazing balls to the wall Michael Jackson dance party starts, like, people dancing on tables and shit. I have a Bulleit bourbon on the rocks and go home.

The next night I skip dinner, roll a 126, and accidentally get drunk after work. I stumble into and East End bar at 12:30, run into a frequent customer from Maine Roasters. We have an awesome talk about life, death, marriage, canoeing, backpacking. I stay and hang out with the bartender for a while longer after they close, and make my way to the 7-11 because I need a snack. At 2:45 I run into Adam, the bartender from DTL, who has been serving me for years. I insist on buying his sandwich, refuse his cab, and stumble up the Hill. The next morning I woke up with a penny stuck to my ass, a "Do you remember calling me last night?" text, and a string cheese in my bag. My eyes are barely open, when I look down at my cat who's sitting next to my bed. We make eye contact, then in unison, turn and look at her empty bowl. New low. Great weekend.

Best Brunch and Where to Find It

I had to be out of my Gilman Street apartment by noon on the first of July. It took me right up until 11:59 to throw the last box down the stairs, sweep and find a piece of paper to leave a note with my new address. The first of July was a Thursday, and we had advertised a huge 4th of July cookout for that Sunday. This gave us exactly two days to unpack, organize, clean, hang pictures, etc. One of those days being Angela's birthday, and all of us working in some capacity on one or both of those days. There wasn't very much time, and honestly, I kind of freaked out.

The biggest job, by far, was the kitchen. I started Saturday morning, and balls to the wall, unpacked everything. Much to my discouragement, this is approximately what I found: five coffeemakers (four percelators and a press,) two blenders, two food processors, two mortar and pestles,  two dish racks, at least two, sometimes three containers of every spice imaginable, seven wooden spoons of various shapes and sizes, eighteen pint glasses, twenty mugs, five whisks AND  an old school crank mixer AND a Kitchen Aid mixer, two full sets of china, a partridge and a fucking pear tree. I was feeling stressed, and opening another box and finding another double or triple was making it worse. Especially because hardly any of this stuff belonged to me, and how was I going to decide whose things were kept and what went into storage? But in the back of my mind, I kept thinking to myself, "Amanda. It's going to be alright. They are going to use these magic kitchen devices to feed you incredible meals and you're going to be happy."

I was right. This morning Rebecca had some friends over for a brunch/bluegrass jam session (yes, that's what they call these things.) I was treated to the following: crepes with either homemade pesto cream cheese or a strawberry rhubarb sauce (strawberries from Rebecca's garden, rhubarb from the farm,) sliced mango and peach, homemade pain au lait bread, (baked by one of Rebecca's friends the day before, kind of tasted like pound cake,) a crab/avocado/cream sauce of some sort over a poached egg ON the fresh baked bread, coffee, bellinis, and sun-dried tomatoes. But I don't even know where the sun-dried tomatoes were supposed to go. And we ate on the porch. It was amazing, and I didn't do a goddamn thing. I'm seriously going to have to do some hardcore cleaning, grocery shopping and sweet talking to be able to hold up my end of the roommate bargain. Anyone on a quest for the best brunch spot in town, look no further. My house!

Oh, and to top the whole thing off, I'm sitting in my living room, checking my email. Rebecca is bustling in the kitchen, preparing for her guests to arrive. I hear a motorcycle pull up, and I run to the window. I decided way back in our days of frequenting Bentley's that one of my summer goals is to get on the back of one of those things, along with skinny dipping and Moose River and Great Falls Balloon Fest. I've had a few leads, but it'd be awesome if he ended up being my neighbor. Then I realize, the guy that gets off the bike, no jacket, no helmet, is kind of hot. He stands there for a second looking at his phone, and I run to the kitchen to get Rebecca. "REBECCA, get over here." (The sixteen year old in me lives on.) She's like oh, I know that guy. He's here for bluegrass. "Hey! C'mon in!" He walks in, I shake his hand, and realize that he looks like this guy, only younger: