The Bangable Men of Game of Thrones

My latest obsession? Game of Thrones. David Simon of the Wire said something like, it's better to have a viewer on the edge of their seat trying to figure out what's going on bore them. GOT does that for me. I've been listening to the audiobooks on my one-way 45-minute commute. That time so-and-so got his so-and-so cut off in book? I was so engrossed I missed my exit on the highway and was at least 13 minutes late because I had to get off at the next exit and loop back around north on the back roads.

One of my favorite parts of the show is discussing the adaptation of the books. I stopped by the new house of some friends of mine and we randomly spent probably close to an hour dissecting details, defending the characters we liked and did not. Also enjoyable is speculating what might happen to whom, when, and where the heck is Ricken???

So imagine my surprise and delight when I saw on thehairpin.com this list, the men of GOT in order by hotness. This series has tons of dudes and tons of sex, so it seems like a natural train of thought. It may be the most shared post they've ever made because of the grievous errors. Seriously. In what world is the HOUND number 7? Like okay, he's tall and broad shouldered. To be fair, he kind of saved Sansa and his demeanor is due in part to his brother who is way more fucked up. I don't totally hate him, and Rory McCann appears to have kissable lips. But with the beard and makeup, you hardly notice.

I've redone the list, with comments, taking out the White Walkers and the Black Smoke because everyone knows you don't have sex with dead things unless you're a necrophiliac (Google had no spelling suggestions on that one. Turns out it's l-I-ac. I missed the 2nd i.) Also left out of Edith's list on thehairpin.com are Varys, Lord Commander of the Nights's Watch, Benjen Stark, and all of the Maesters. But I guess we'll roll with it. Honorable mention for Rhaegar Targaryen. From what I can tell he was a total babe.

Without further adieu:



24. Viserys Targaryen - Horrible. Just awful. Would rather wear a molten hot-crown of gold.

23. Joffrey Baratheon - Does he even know what sex is? Blech. Gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it.

22. Podrick - Pod saved Tyrion and in the show works some magic in the brothel, leading the whores to not accept his money. But I'm not buying it.

21. Samwell Tarly - It's not that I dislike big guys. But Sam is craven, bless his heart. Yes, he's smart and rescues Gilly. But it's under fight or flight circumstances. I like Sam, to have a conversation about ravens or history. But I'd never want to do Sam.

20. Renly Baratheon - Nice and handsome but gay.

19. Sandor 'The Hound' Clegane - See aforementioned comments. ALSO: Mankind from the WWE circa 2000 called. He wants his haircut back.

18. Eddard 'Ned' Stark - We all love him. And from time to time, one may encounter a DILF. Ned Stark is not one of those.

17. Jaqen H'ghar - What do we know about this guy? Very little. Creepy.

16. Tywin Lannister - Who cares. Other than the Realm.

15. Robert Baratheon - Robert and I would probably get wasted then have a fun, yet ultimately mediocre romp behind closed doors. His wiener would probably be buried under his giant beer belly. Too much? Idk. But he is still the King.

14. Ser Davos Seaworth - In the book, I'd pay him no mind. But Liam Cunningham has this scruffy, blue-eyed dimple-y thing...

13. Bronn - He's clearly into sex and boozing, which could make for an interesting evening or two. Being a sellsword, he's probably in pretty good shape.

12. Loras Tyrell - Gay, but I keep thinking about when he gave Sansa the rose at the tourney. It was for show, sure, but he knows how to make a girl feel special.

11. Stannis Baratheon - Remember when he took Melisandre on the table?

10. Gendry - Clearly an idiot. Hello, you're Robert's bastard! But that shirtless scene was excellent.

9. Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish - Something about the idea of him spending a copious amount of time with all of these woman at his fingertips (prostitues), yet choosing you over all of them. He's also one of the more intelligent citizens of Westeros.

8. Tyrion Lannister - It's not the length, it's not the size... Tyrion wants to be loved, I think. He might try to cover this up with humor (bonus) but given his stature, he probably knows his way around a bedroom. Peter Dinklage is way, way handsomer than Tyrion in the book.

7. Robb Stark - The older brother your best friend never had. Take him to #prom.

6. Jojen Reed - He's 23 now. It's okay to find the little boy from Love, Actually attractive.

5. Ser Jorah Mormont - Definitely more attractive in the show. His sunburn, blonde beard and frown lines... Is he so distraught because he's waiting for the right time to rip the clothes off his Khalissi? I think Jorah might be one of the only true romantics on the show.

4. Theon Greyjoy - Theon objectifies women. He's not the only one in Westeros, for sure, but I love his arrogant, blatant disregard. He gropes his sister's boob, unbeknownst. I'm not going to lie, before we knew that was his sister, that scene was hot.

3. Jaime Lannister - He's got the looks. This is true for a number of men on the list, but some women are really into jerks. In book 3 though, he becomes a much more complex, sympathetic character. Let's also not forget all of the existing intimate scenes we have to go by.

2. Khal Drogo - My sun and stars. Savage horse lord? Or dude just trying to make his virgin wife comfortable doing it for the first time?

1. Jon Snow - The number one ranking goes to Jon Snow in part because hot damn, Kit Harington, in part because of the Egret scene in the underground lake (in the book.)




Also: check this out:

Thirty before Thirty

It was my birthday on Friday. My boyfriend had some of my/our friends over to his house. Drinking, eating, laughing and hugging ensued. So now I'm 29.

I've been inspired by my friends Darcy and Bridget before me to make a list of 30 things to do before I turn 30. This is the official list. Questions?

1. Have a week of sobriety every month for the next year.

This may come as no surprise, but I really enjoy drinking. Making a goal to cut back will help my health and my budget.

2. Climb Mt. Katadan.

File under, "Things Every Mainer has done Except Me."

3. Visit Darcy. 

This may be one of the least attainable things on my list, because of vacation days, budgetary reasons, and the uncertainty of her tenure in BCN. But I want to try, so I'm putting it on my list.

4. By the second half of the year, make 30% of my days exercise days. 

I could also put this on my individual objectives for the year at my job.

5. Find a regular volunteer opportunity that fits into my schedule

Actually part of my I/Os

6. Improve my bowling average by 5 points next year, from 117 to 122.

Over the last five years I've improved like 20 points, so this isn't a huge stretch. Just more practice.

7. Kill it in the MFA program. 

This might be more difficult to measure, but I just need to make sure to work really hard. As an art school dropout, I know I'll crush the critiques. 

8. Start an emergency fund.

(self-explanatory, right?)

9. Do a writer's retreat weekend somewhere other than my house.

Bridget went to Martha's Vineyard and Eastport, ME for long weekends this winter. Looked cozy and productive. I might head inland to VT, though. 

10. Wardrobe makeover.

I have some articles that I love, but more often than not I try to get dressed in the morning and think, UGH! I hate all of my clothes. 

11. Spend a weekend with Kate Digby Skinner. 

(It's been much, much too long)

12. Combine 9&11 and sub KDS for Mandy Wheeler and writing for hot tub. 

13. Spend more time with my family.

Goes without saying.

14. Improve my environmental impact.

Buy food that comes in less packaging or recycled packaging, never forget my grocery bags, lower my electric bill, take shorter showers. My job has lead me to over analyze my environmental impact. For example, when I go out to bars and they give me a Solo cup, I bring it home to put it in my recycling. I was concerned the blue dye in my windshield washer fluid was unnecessary, so I made my own windshield fluid. We went to an eco-friendly resort (campground) on vacation.

15. Take the train to Old Orchard Beach.

Always wanted to do this!

16. Develop a hair routine that does not result in ponytails 6/7 days a week. 

Could be better products, better blowdryer, or hot rollers. I don't know. I like my hair, but what good is it if it's just pulled back haphazardly every day?

17. Read 30 books in the next 12 months.

Ones that I've already started don't count. This doesn't seem like a lot but my track record lately has been shit! Any recommendations?

18. Start a private journal (for the first time since I was like, 20.)

19. Improve my credit because I may need it to be better someday.

20. Lose 10 lbs.

See also #1 and #4. It's not that I think that I'm "fat." I know that even at this slightly heftier version of myself I'm still well below the weight of the average American woman. But I'm not getting any younger and at my recent health assessment, although I was within the recommended BMI for my height, it was precariously close to the outer limit. This can also be filed as drink less, exercise more, eat more veggies, less fried things.

21. Publish something.

It's been a while since I've been published anywhere, in print or otherwise. Hopefully this won't be terribly difficult.

22. Attend a wine tasting. 

They're everywhere and free. Why don't I do this more often?

23. Figure out a set of staples to have in my fridge/cupboard at all times. 

I kind of usually just make whatever I feel like. No rhyme or reason. It'd be easier to have a few go-to recipes on hand, don't you think?

24. Find a new pair of leather boots for everyday use.

25. Spend more time at Videoport. 

The exercise will be good for me.

26. Try paddleboarding.

27. Attend a film festival. 

I've always wanted to! Camden? Why not!

28. Mini golf (mini tournament?)

29. Work on a 5 and 10 year plan. 

It's obviously important to have goals. 

30. Reformat this blog.

Our Caribbean Getaway

Greetings from St. John!

It's Tuesday and we head home the day after tomorrow. It's been an excellent, relaxing vacation. So far there has been a copious amount of rum punch, ginger beer, more rum, boats, beaches, books, snorkels, sugar plantation ruins and a ridiculous amount of hills. Any drive here on this island is like, scary road, scary road, scary road, breathtaking view. Scary road scary road scary road breathtaking view. But today, I'm a little sunburnt from the sail yesterday and this morning was a little hazier and humid than normal. So I'm kicking it on our deck to tell you a our vacation.

View from the sunset sail

Reef Bay sugar plantation ruins

We're staying at this place called Maho Bay Campgrounds. Jason found it on the internet, and it seemed like it fit our needs reasonably well. Some of the hotels and resorts we found had casinos and golf courses and all inclusiveness. Part of what we wanted to avoid were the kinds of people who stay at those sorts of places. In the taxi from the airport to the ferry, there was a horrible, horrible woman who talked on the phone the entire ride, complained about St. Thomas, complained about jetBlue, complained about her coworkers and ignored her special needs daughter. All 6 passengers were on the same overnight flight. It was 8 a.m. I was thisclose to making my own obnoxiously loud phone call complaining about the woman in the van who was unnecessarily on the phone. She was the kind of woman we wanted to stay away from and choosing the campground with the recycled arts center seemed like a good bet. 

Many of the people we've met here have been medical professionals/doctors, professors, etc. Aka, NPR listeners. I heard multiple children singing opera. That is not an exaggeration. 

Tent cabin in action

While we've been enjoying our time here, one thing is particularly troubling. The owner of Maho Bay Campgrounds, this guy named Stanley or, Mr. Maho to his friends, founded the eco-resort back in the 70s, and a few years ago sold it to an unnamed buyer. The information we've gleaned so far is that the buyer is taking great pains to remain anonymous, likely because they will be making some negative changes to this beloved place. A consortium of campers even tried to pool their resources nd buy the campground (a la Grey's Anatomy?), but it fell through. Although the future of the site remains unknown, it is definitely not going to be an eco-resort. Rumors include famous potential buyers such as Jimmy Buffett and Paul McCartney. The camp will be officially closing in May. If I was a working public radio producer, I'd get on this story ASAP. 

Part of what is so troubling about the end of this era is the need for guests to ask employees and contractors what they plan on doing next. It's creating this solemn sense of sadness and gloom. While I'm sure some employees might appreciate the concern of the guests, after about the 20th question I might've burst, "It's none of your goddamned business!" Hamilton, one of the taxi drivers, helped build Maho and has been involved in one way or another ever since. He does guided driving tours of the island, shuttles campers to Coral Bay for a night on the town, etc. People ask him about his plans and he responds in his thick Caribbean accent, "Maho don't worry about me, so I don't worry about Maho." Right on, brother. 

I mean, I'm bummed too. Although I don't know whether I would actually ever plan to come back here, it'd be nice to know the option exists. We overheard a couple on our way to a hike who have been coming to Maho the same week every year for the last nine years. Jason says that this place is like summer camp for families and adults. My closest experience to camp is Wet Hot American Summer so I don't really know. Even band camp was only days. 

Anyway, I'm glad to be on vacation but I'll also be happy to come home and see all of you. Hope this message finds you well. You can read more about Maho Bay from a professional at the NYTimes here: http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/12/06/travel/06explorer.html?pagewanted=all

beach gear

Here are some of the many Maine connections we've encountered:

After we booked the trip, we found out that a friend of mine actually used to work at this place. 

The local St. John beer is brewed at Shipyard in Portland (which I actually think I may have known but forgotten.) 

A woman on the sail with us yesterday was from Belfast, Maine. We got to talking about toothpaste, and how she had an allergic reaction to the toothpaste she tried (not made by my company.) I told her exactly what to say when she calls the company and I think I was really able to help her!

A kid on the beach with a Standard Baking Co. tshirt. 

The Heron is the boat we went on a snorkel trip with yesterday. It was built in Camden and splits its time between Rockland and St. John. 

There was another sail boat based in Maine that also splits its time between St. John and the Rockland area. 

Some other stray observations:

Jason wanted me to mention that many of the animals here are things commonly found in pet stores, salamanders, geckos, iguanas and hermit crabs aka pets that boys like. You can probably find most of these little guys in the PetSmart in Portland, Maine at this very moments. Except for the Pearly-eyed Thrasher. These birds were terrifying and everywhere.

various animals from the trip

Speaking of animals, during our snorkel trip we saw four sting rays, two sea turtles, a bajilion fish and coral, plus one bloated sea cucumber. The ideal of snorkeling intimidated the crap out of me, but because we were in the dingy with a bunch of strangers I didn't say anything until the very last second. Little known Amanda fact: I am not a strong swimmer and feel uncomfortable in areas I can't touch the bottom with my head remaining above water. Luckily, they had neon pool noodles. I don't care if swimming around the coral reef in my flowery, vintage cut one piece bathing suit with a noodle and rented safety orange snorkel gear made me look like an ass-hole-I got to see our guide hug a sea turtle. They were in a bromance and it was awesome.  

I've become so weird and stringent about recycling that despite the fact that there is no recycling for plastic on the island, I'm insisting any plastic we use hat has a symbol we wash and take back with us. Is that insane or just conscientious? 

"Goat tail up, sheep tail down." Hamilton, the aforementioned taxi driver with the Twitter length words of wisdom, explained that the sheep here look like goats because they have no need for gigantic wooly coats. You can tell the difference between the goats and the sheep because of the tails. It makes sense- why would I put on a sweater in St. John if I didn't have to? This also cracks me up because two twenty-something women coming back form Coral Bay with us recounted an argument with a different taxi driver about whether the herd of animals passing their car were sheep or goats. Those bitches were WRONG!

There were 250 stairs from our treehouse/cabin to the beach #involuntaryworkout. 

On said stairs, we passed a 10 year old boy holding a 12 rack box filled with medium-large hermit crabs. I hope they made it out alive.

At open mic/house band-night, the best performances were teenage renditions of Fade Into You and a song I hadn't previously heard by Rise Against. The lowlights included Bruce and Steve (average looking middle-aged dudes in khaki shorts and Tevas, one had a ) introduced their song as "This is a song about all the cool things you can find at a thrift shop." It was *NOT* Maclemere (sp?) and the chorus included lyrics about "the poor people store." The house band ended the evening with Wagon Wheel with flute accompaniment #freebirdofbluegrass 

PS- where should I go next??

Adventures in Chiropractic Medicine

I went to a chiropractor for the first time today. Many of my friends have been seeing one, I've been having some unexplained aches and tensions. Why NOT see a chiropractor? My insurance and FSA are just sitting there, cogs in our completely messed up healthcare system, waiting to be utilized.

First, I turned to Facebook for some old-fashioned crowd sourcing. Ideally, I'd find a female doctor somewhere between home and work. The first suggestions missed the mark by about ten miles. I got impatient and Googled some random woman on the internet.

At my consultation appointment a week later, I was a few minutes later and Instagrammed this:


Here's the weird part.

"Amanda?" says nice lady with clipboard.

"Hi, nice to meet you."

"I'm sorry, can you tell me how to say your last name?"

"pl-OUGH" (Rhymes with snow, go, chateau. See what I did there? Let's go find a woodstove or something)

"Oh! Like p-l-o."

(eyes roll)

So we make small talk as she measures my spine, posture, pulse and whatever.

"How long have you been at your job?" as I rotate my head to the left and right as far as I could comfortable.

"Oh, uh, since May. Before that I was a student..."

"..."

"A non-traditional student."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, like traditional students go straight from high school to college and graduate around 21. I took some time off or whatever. I just say that because I don't want people to think it took me ten years to get my undergraduate degree."

"..."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that or anything."

"No, that's just what my son did! He took 6 or 7 years off and worked for a while. Then he went back to school. Once you take some time to figure out what you want to study it helps you get more serious."

"Yeah!"

"So what was your major?"

"Media Studies."

"That's was my son's major too! Oh! You should meet!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Is he doing some video production work now?"

"Yeah, and a little of this a little of that. He's also working at [name redacted]"*

*local independent record store that I worked at for a while in and immediately after high school.

For a minute I had to be like, wait a minute, have I boned your son? But no, I checked and re-checked my mental list. She said she was from Biddeford and I'm nearly positive I've never dated, made out with or anything else otherwise anyone from Biddeford. This also explains why she couldn't pronounce my last name: Biddeford residents are famous (in southern Maine) for bastardizing the pronunciation of French words.

See you at La Kermesse (LAKEr-mess), Biddo.

Oh, this is how effed my muscles are:

The left illustration shows what normal muscles are supposed to look like on the stress scale or whatever. I only have 4 normal muscles, and T8 is so disrupted it's off the Green, Blue, Red scale. It's taken the Black! Winter is coming!

More later. Bye. 

Have you seen a chiropractor? How is it? Have you ever witnessed a Biddeford resident Jon Snow'ing a French word?

Burning questions about the Bachelor

I've been watching the Bachelor. Before that, the Bachelorette, and before that the Bachelor, and so on and so forth.

One of the things I could never wrap my mind around is what do these people even talk about? It seem like they just giggle and talk about their immediate surroundings and how weird it is. One of the things I liked about Ames, a contestant on Ashley's season of the Bachelorette, was that he seemed to ask intelligent  thoughtful questions and their conversations were some of the most interesting of all the segments in the history of the show.

Like, okay, maybe I can believe in love at first sight. Maybe I can believe that it's possible to fall in love with someone on camera for national television. But like, do you get to talk about politics? Do you get to talk about career aspirations? What did you give up before you left for the show? What was your salary before you left the show? Cat person or dog person?

Favorite film? How many hours do you spend per week watching reality tv, other than the show you're on? What do you spend your time reading? Do you know how to read? It seems like none of these burning date questions are answered in any of the "dates" that we see.

Idk, maybe the casting directors screen for any obvious deal breakers. But I decided to turn to Twitter.

Mystery solved.

Decision Making Fatigue

Over the last few weeks, I've been a bit out of sorts. Double booking friend hangouts, locking myself out of my apartment, trying to make plans for an event that I think is on one day but is really on another. But it seems as though there has been a lot on my mind, between job stuff, school stuff, which is all ties in to financial stuff. Like 20 times in the last month, I've signed off Gchat with "buy" instead of "bye".

But I was thinking a lot about decision making fatigue (DMF) tonight, after seeing this excellent film Chasing Ice at SPACE. Essentially, this film a collection of stunningly beautiful images documenting how Global Warming is killing our planet. I have a very difficult time making decisions. In some arenas, like who to date, what to write, how many rounds of beers, I'm pretty good at deciding. In others, like what bills to pay when, how much to spend at the grocery store, how to structure my savings plan, which charitable organizations to support... It's hard to make a "perfect decision, " kind of like when Tom's of Maine changed their toothpaste tubes.

I blame the Industrial Revolution. I realized I had DMF at some point last year when I was so poor that the mental excursion of doing groceries was so acute that I'd spend the rest of the day making stupid financial decisions. Just like in that NYT article.

Before and after the screening at Space, there were short presentations about the dangers of Tar Sands and what we can do to ensure they don't make it to our front lawn. Do I care about Tar Sands? Yes. What I struggle with, however, is how exactly Tar Sands fit into the hierarchy of Causes to Care About. It's like, rate these things in order of importance: social issues, economic issues, environmental issues, homeless animals, your friend's kick ass play, your other friend's ride for the cure, public broadcasting.

My company offers paid time off to volunteer and part of the reason I haven't started a regular volunteer gig is because I can't decide where to go. It's not that I don't care enough to volunteer, it's more like I care about too many causes to decide where to go. On one hand, maybe I should spend my time at the places I contribute financially, since those places seem important. On the other hand, should I spread my resources and talents and contribute to a place that seems needier? Like picking a pizza topping, I'll always second guess my decision.

Global warming is scary and sometimes I fantasize about living in a house-version of the huts from Maine Huts and Trails, composting toilet, sun tunnel and all. But then would I be so busy stacking wood or living off the grid or whatever that I'd have no resources left? Is living off the grid > doing Laundry at the Animal Refuge League?

Where do you volunteer/contribute and why? How do you sort out what's most important?

100% Healthy and Happy

Hey! Thanks everyone for the positive feedback on the last post. I'm glad to be "back" too! 

Just thought I'd paraphrase a conversation I just had with my boyfriend about the latest post. We sitting around his apartment deciding whether we'd make these Sloppy Joes from the Post Punk Kitchen again, enjoying a round of these, which were much higher on the difficulty scale than I was expecting. 


Me: I posted a new blog.

Boyfriend: I saw.

Me: ...

Boyfriend: Reasonably healthy relationship?

Me: I'm pretty sure I said 'happy.'

Boyfriend: ...

Me: No relationship is 100% healthy and happy. They don't exist.

Boyfriend: You're right.

Me: ...

Boyfriend: I'm sorry I ruined your blog.

Me: You didn't ruin my blog.

Boyfriend: Well, no more third worst date ever...

Me: ...

Boyfriend: Your life is boring now.

Me: It's not boring! It's just different.

--

He was one of my devoted readers before we started dating and we recently celebrated our two year anniversary (and I'm glad.) If I hadn't started this blog, who knows whether we'd even be together...

Hi, I'm here. Remember me?

This post started a few months ago as a farewell letter. I was about to retire this blog, and for that, I apologize. 


Last week two of my blogger friends inspired me to come back here. 1) Ally over at Broke207 was kind of like, "Hey guys, I've been really bummed out lately and haven't written here in a couple of months. Sorry!" But in doing so, she made me laugh out loud with a quip about skeevy internet people and their intentions. She helped me realize that although I don't feel like I have anything to write about sometimes that's okay. Back in 2009, I only posted like 4 times. That was the year that I was REALLY unhappy at my job and knocking boots with all sorts of inappropriate people. Maybe I'm just in a little bit of a creative rut. What's it to ya?

I also got an email invitation to meet up for blogger happy hour. One of my favorite things is when internet friends transition to in-person friends. Yes, it can be awkward at first (but it can also be awkward when you see a friend from real life for the first time in over a year and they know exactly what's been going on in your life.) The happy hour was I think around May or June? I met two nice ladies Samantha and Greta, among others, and I had a great time hanging out. The problem is though, in good conscious how can I go to a blogger happy hour knowing I'm thisclose to abandoning this thing. This is our paraphrased conversation  Me: "Kate. I'm like a loser who never blogs anymore. Can I still come?" Other cool blogger: "Yes! And start blogging again, dummy"

Now probably more than ever, I spend my time listening to podcasts and cooking. Or... watching Hart of Dixie. I'm not afraid to admit that I love that show! Rachel Bilson had me hooked when her character fell for comic book loving Seth in the OC. Actually, Seth from the OC My new favorite callers at work are the ones from rural areas with thick accents who can’t find our products anywhere. Because I imagine them living in someplace like Bluebell. Oh, did you just yawn? Me too. I’m sleepy despite the fact that I've literally done nothing all day.

So where do I stand now? I don’t know. I’m in a happy, reasonably healthy relationship, working at a job that has plenty for me to write about, but I can’t because it is a real job. (Meet me for a drink off the record and maybe I'll give you an anecdote or two.) I have no major life plans on the horizon and although I know that there may be shenanigans to write about, it's difficult to say what my immediate or intermediate future may hold, and what will be good fodder for the blog. My cat is still crazy and I still run into ex-lovers at unexpected times and places.  But sometimes you just run into exes, high school classmates, random people who you're like, "You look so familiar."  

I'm applying for an MFA in Creative Nonfiction Creative Writing. Since procrastination is my forte (can't fail at something you don't finish! Ha! Except... there was that SIXTY FIVE dollar application fee...), you can probably credit this post as the final procrastination straw. If I'm accepted into the program, get ready for a whole lot of creativity up in this bitch. In the meantime, I think I'll take up a practice from my days of more frequent posts- keep a list of blog ideas. There might even be a few on deck at the moment, but it's difficult to be certain.

Consumed during this post: 3 or 4 'servings' of Simply Naked multigrain pita chips, 1-2 servings of zesty spice and garlic hummus, this cocktail but with blackberries instead of mango (my mango went soft.)

At Caiola's: Party of One

Back when I was waiting tables, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point, I’d often hang out at bars, by myself for two reasons: 1) I got free meals at work and was too lazy to cook the rest myself, and 2) What is at one moment a quiet, thoughtful afternoon of solitude can become an afternoon filled with bemusing stories of camaraderie. 100% of the time if I’m dining alone I will take a seat at the bar instead of a table for one. It’s so much more entertaining. Which is part of the reason why this woman dining alone at Caiola’s was so fascinating to me. Her back to the room, facing the window, she almost mocked me and my need for togetherness.

I took Mandy out to Caoila’s for her birthday. She’d never been, and I decided I’d rather spend an evening enjoying outstanding food and drink rather than take a chance on a gift that she’d feign excitement over and consign a respectable 12 months later. We had an amazing time! The food was decadent and complex, but not so complex that I couldn’t understand the menu, if you get my drift.

It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the back room, through the kitchen. Being the sous chef that has to stand near that door must be the worst. There was a group of three respectable upper-middle-aged guys in the corner to my left, one had a Southern accent and I heard them talking about Marketing, television, and the Bangor Daily News. (Hmmm). Behind Mandy was a younger couple who left shortly after we arrived. Then a woman, about 62ish, waltzed in and sat at a two top against the wall diagonal from us, facing the window. The waitress only put down a single place setting, water glass and menu. Table for one.

I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be her. She had a black cardigan, a simple canary-red blouse underneath, with a mid-calf ivory colored a-line skirt that had, like, ribbing or piping instead of stripes throughout. It was a beautiful skirt- hip, yet age appropriate. Her ballet flats, undoubtedly leather, matched her blouse as though they came together. Perhaps they were in fact ordered from the J.Crew catalogue at the same time. Dark framed reading (?) glasses hung low on her face, probably Michael Kors or Kate Spade or some designer brand. My favorite part about her was the bag she carried. It was my dream bag. A caramel leather tote whose sides slouched in around the handles the same way my canvas bags do. It was my dream bag. I think if Diane from Cheers was a real person and lived to be 62, this woman is what she would be like.

Out of the bag she pulled a pristine hardcover book, and inevitably tuned out everyone except for the waitress, who was forced to break into her line of vision when she brought yet another Grey Goose martini with a twist. Or maybe this woman opted into the Buy Local movement and ordered a Cold River martini. I liked that she didn’t like it dirty. I tried a dirty martini once, it was like salty... salty... it was like drinking the ocean if the ocean was made out of olives.

Occasionally she’d pull out a legal sized pad and take notes. On what, I’m not sure. By the way, I wasn’t trying to stare. She was directly in my line of vision.

I imagine after her iceburg salad, steak or bacon wrapped scallops and three martinis she probably pulled out of the parking lot in her 1992 Volvo Station wagon. Although her 3,000 square foot home with its commercial-grade kitchen was only 1/6 of a mile away, you know she didn’t drive because you never see fancy women like that just walking around the West End. Her youngest daughter usually uses the Volvo but she’s WOOFing in France now. It had better visibility than the Mercedes anyway, plus she liked the sentimental value of driving it. Yeah, she was a little tipsy but it was a very short drive if cops are going to venture into the West End, they don’t make it past Brackett, Spring, and the hospital respectively.

One thousand feet later, she pulled into the secret road between Carroll and Vaughn Streets in the West End that connects all of the garage/back entrance/guest houses and settled in for one more cognac in her fucking jacuzzi tub.

Or maybe she was just too exhausted from running her law firm all day to prepare herself a meal. Maybe she didn’t want to sit at the bar because she wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Maybe she was supposed to meet up with the Oshers and they’re still in San Francisco, or the Hagges, but they were at a fundraising dinner and this was her back up plan. All I know is while she was sitting alone at that table, with the dim lighting, Amelie soundtrack and blowing $65 before tip on a meal for one person, I wanted to be her. Minus her imagined kids.

If these walls could talk..

Hi there. I'm not going to bother making excuses for the unannounced Spring/Summer hiatus. Thank you for waiting! I've missed you!

Here's a short descriptive essay that I wrote in the Spring, about my old bedroom.




My eyes open from yet another crucial, rejuvinating afternoon nap. I channel my inner four year old and rub them with loose fists until the sleep is gone. My right arm made its way under the pillow again, this one sheathed in a goldenrod case of a slightly higher thread count. I prop myself up against the pillow and look around at my surroundings, this sad collection of belongings I call my most personal space. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is barely visible from through my single woven wooden shade. This peice made it’s way over from my previous place on Gilman Street, an attic apartment with long hallways, sloped ceilings and a thick layer of dust. I should be outside, enjoying the beautiful day, but sometimes I can’t resist a short snooze with my cat, Baby. I am the center of her universe, and she’s great at snuggling.  

The closet door is closed for once; the carmel wood visible, free from its usual carpet of discarded clothing. Paint on the intricate tin ceiling is peeling, and although I’ve never found any chunks of paint on the floorl, exposed spots of black suggest otherwise. In one corner is my dresser, a small vintage piece bursting with clothes, its tired little legs barely able to support the weight. Situated like a faux-vanity is a polished piece of metal standing in for a mirror, propped on top and leaning against the wall. The reflection isn’t clear, so I never use it. I just like the shape, and it seems like an appropriate place to hold the tiny love letters my boyfriend attaches to the flowers he’s been so kind to have delivered to my door.  

All of the surfaces and corners of the room are completely cluttered. On a small knee-high book shelf lives an ivory jewelry box, that girls my age likely coveted when we were young. It could stand in for a castle in a My-Little-Pony scenario, for those of us who prefered ponies to Barbies. I thrifted this one, though, and the music box in the bottom drawer stopped working long before it became a part of my life. On either side are random piles of papers; things I know I need to keep but have yet to find an appropriate place for. On floor under the bottom shelf is a black horizontal metal mailbox, shaped like a giant 3D letter, that I picked up at the hardware store a number of years ago, back when my friends and I had many zipcodes between us and we took the time to actually communicate in writing. Some of them I haven’t exchanged more than a Facebook “Like” with in years, but inside that box is evidence of a time when we took the time to consider what were the most important parts to share and seal in an envelope. We’d pay 35 cents to have someone carry it miles and miles. The functionality of the US Postal Service continues to blow my mind.

I am quite pleased with some of my art, however. There is triptych of sorts, three images in black frames on the wall opposite the door. It may not actually be a triptych, but there aren’t very many times that word comes up unless you’re discussing art history. The center image is of me. I’m leaning in a doorway, my back to the camera. I was 18, an art student at a school two miles from the North Shore of Massachusetts. The image was from a study another student in my building was doing, a color study. I was wearing dark denim Levi’s and a white tank top, which matched the door frame and connecting walls. My dyed-red curly hair blends in with the shadowy doorway. I can’t remember whose apartment that was, or why I was there. But the student who took it had the same name as me, her and her boyfriend were from Texas. He was going to Emerson, in the city, and they both left after the fall semester because he proposed and they wanted to plan their wedding.

The image to the left is a blind, one-line drawing a 3rd grade art student made at a summer program a dear friend of mine was teaching. It’s simple, and not terribly meaningful, but its small insignificant story makes me smile. On the opposite side is an image I picked up at a religiously owned thrift store. It’s a long exposure of a dark-haired woman wearing a striped shirt, leaning over a concrete balcony. She is faded, like a ghost, facing the camera and leaning forward into the balcony. It reminds me of Roman Holiday for some reason, although the woman isn’t pocket sized like Audrey Hepburn.

These images hang over a radiator that comes up to my waist. In the winter, I drape my towels over it so they’re warm when I step out of the shower and dry fast for re-use. Five feet away is a small, salvaged side table/plant stand, which I painted black. It came as a matching pair that I found outside of a mansion in a free pile on my way home, back when I lived on Park St. I used spray paint out on the back porch, and apparently the wind blew some on the next building over- my landlord made a huge deal of it when I moved out, but she never liked me anyway.  

Next to my bed, between the end of the bed, which consists of a second-hand mattress and box spring that sits on the floor, is an end table, repurposed as a night table. There are about five empty or half-empty glasses and mugs. I try to remember which water is was most recently poured, so I can quickly quench my thirst before getting up to consummate my day.  

Mirthday Badness, I mean, Birthday Madness

Last week was a VERY MONUMENTAL week for me.

1). I found out that I am going to join this lovely lady on stage at the University of Southern Maine commencement. Because I'm the chosen representative of the student body to speak at commencement.  (!!!)

2). I'm not ready to make the announcement official, but an email came from a woman in human resources at Tom's of Maine, "Amanda- your background check went through. I'm working with payroll to put together a compensation package and start date for you." My income will basically double, I'll be spending way more time at Bentley's, the biker bar in Arundel, and I'll be driving again.***

3). My 28th birthday came and went. Let me tell you, it was awesome. Have I mentioned that I have been OBSESSED with the Talking Heads "Stop Making Sense," the live album? I listen to it all the time. An embarrassing amount of listens. But it always fits my mood. I never get sick of it. It cheers me up when I'm sad, it supports the spring in my step when I'm happy. 

At some point, I realized  still had not seen the film. I posted on FB about it, and an unexpected amount of people responded, indicating that it was the most amazing concert film ever and shaming me for not seeing it. Actually I shamed myself. 

So I told Mandy that all I wanted for my birthday was to have a bunch of people get together at a bar or whatever and watch Stop Making Sense together, because it felt like such a momentous occasion that I wanted to share it with those I care about most. And I did! Mandy and my boyfriend kept me almost completely in the dark- We showed up at Pizza Villa and they welcomed us with open arms. The owner kept trying to give us shots, the bartender has us turn the tv to improve his view. Random Pizza Villa customers stopped and watched for a bit. It was perfect.

This was the best scene, from "Life During Wartime." David Byrne? Be still, my heart.

Thanks again to everyone who came out. It was really nice to see you.

FINALLY

 4). In the words of Billy Joel, I'm movin' out. Know of anything? Wanna help me decorate my new solo digs? (Once I find them?)

***Since I started writing this post, I received an official job offer and I accepted. My first official day is May 7. I'm so excited to get a new dentist!

Zombie Jesus Day

A couple of years ago, within the existence of this blog, my birthday fell on Easter. The night before I had a party at the Snug- I wore a very revealing dress and drank like it was my birthday. I barely remember closing the bar making out with a dark-haired, talented, Meca-grad-turned-fine-dining-waitstaff.

The next morning he rushed out*^ and I realized I hadn't planned anything for my actual birthday. I spent the majority of the day alone, in my 300 sq ft studio, feeling lonely and frustrated about my hangover. I was single, all of my friends were going home to their families, and there was no bus back to Lewiston. My family wasn't celebrating anyway because my mom usually works on weekends and holidays.

Today is Easter and my birthday is next week. In honor of Zombie Jesus Day, I made myself breakfast tacos (which are a lot like huevos rancheros, I think), with a sake/fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice cocktail. 28 isn't exactly a milestone, but the good news is that I have nearly about reached my goal of getting a bachelor's before I turn 30. May 4 is the last day of classes, then commencement 10 days later. Did I mention that I applied to be student commencement speaker? I made the final 5- if I don't get picked, I promise I'll post it here.

Meanwhile, I'm contemplating serious life changes. Some voluntarily and others are in the hands of fate... or the background check company. It's been stressful, dealing with the fear of the unknown. So I'm shopping for Noritake china on Etsy and watching Cheers on Netflix. I'll post some Cheers observations soon. Between homework assignments, of course.

*It's odd that he rushed out so fast... because I accidentally gave him like, five hickeys. TMI? Well, would you be rushing home for Easter if you were going to show up to Grandma's looking like that? I didn't think so. 

^I ran into him during restaurant league while waiting tables at Bayside Bowl. He bought a bunch of shots of Jameson for his teammates and put them all on his tab. Before I could bring him his bill he said, "I don't even want to know the total. Here's my card. Tip yourself 20%." I thought for a second about tipping myself more than 20%, a bit of redemption for leaving me on my Loneliest Birthday Ever. But I didn't.

{Closet Challenge} Week 1

Well, good news! I've signed on to do this closet challenge thing that entails taking one item from you closet and wearing it three different ways every week. It's a continuation of the Dress to Impress project, over at Suz Stephenson's blog Well to do, you.

I over heard a conversation my roommate was having with one of her friends (I wasn't eavesdropping, they knew I was there and it was the next room over, jeez!) The friend said that she felt like she sees a lot of blogs that consist of mostly pictures and she missed the writing. Daisy, I'm sorry to say that my closet, my Instagram and I are upping the photo content of this thing by like, a million percent. But maybe since I'll be posting more often I'll be in the habit of posting more often and it'll be a win for everyone.

Here's the first week. I love this dress. I can make it fancy, I can make it casual. I can wear it backwards. It's great because the print has so many different blues, greys and even a few hues of cream, it might as well be a LBD. Actually, you could call it my little blue dress.

Dress, Target (on sale for $11). Shirt, Anne Taylor Loft. Navy Tights, uhhhh Good Cause Thrift Shop? Charcoal oxfords, Marden's. Beaded headband, Claire's, I think, it was a bridesmaid gift.

Speaking of my roommate, she told me the other day that I do a good job winterizing my summer dresses. Wait, my dresses aren't a house. Appropriating my dresses for winter.

Originally I was going to wear my glasses but they interfered with the headband.

Day two. Grey turtleneck, Lewiston Salvation Army. Grey tights, Goodwill. Ruffled heels, Steve Madden via Find via my friend Heather. (Amanda, did you get those at Find? I sold them!)

Close up.

Day three (at the office.) My office/cubbie at the Public Affairs office can get so cold! But I have to also try and look somewhat professional i.e. not like a student who rolled out of bed just 20 minutes before leaving the house.

Cardigan, Urban Outfitters. Skirt, Dress for Success Southern Maine overstock sale. Black flats, Aldo.

This is the backwards look I mentioned.

Feeling Foolish in Snow Pants

If you're one of the few non-Portland/non-Maine residents reading this blog, let me tell you, it's been unbelievably  cold. It was 6 degrees this morning when I woke up. Then I looked at weather.com, and they said, "Feels like -9." I showed my roommate and she was like, "No fucking way! Not even Celcius! What- what does that even feel like??" So when I say it was unbelievably cold, I'm not talking about an unbelievably hot guy or unbelievably funny joke, using unbelievable as a means of exaggeration. No. We actually had a difficult time believing it felt like -9.


When preparing to leave the house I realized, this is not the time to be screwing around. The problem is that I don't have a car and I work(ed) at a fancy boutique downtown. So I can't saunter in looking like a red-faced, drippy-nosed Inuit. I have to look poised- like I wouldn't bat an eyelash at someone spending the equivalent of a month's rent on a sweater that isn't even cashmere; like I couldn't care less that it was incredibly cold outside.  


Here's what I wore there:

The boutique: Cardigan, vintage (??). Blouse, L.L. Bean Signature (one of the fanciest shirts I own). Black skirt, vintage from Dress for Success Southern Maine sample sale. Navy tights, Good Cause Thrift Store. Black flats, Aldo.


This is what I wore home:  

The "Fuck Winter" look: Jacket, Target. Same sweater I wear every day, courtesy of Kate Digby Skinner's ex-boyfriend, T-shirt I wear all the time, courtesy one of Mandy Wheeler's former lovers, Black scarf, Angela Pizzo's "Free" pile, Snow pants, Columbia via Salvation Army, Boots, L.L. Bean via Goodwill. Hat and mittens not pictured. I try hard to not look homeless when I bundle up, but sometimes I just don't know if that's possible.


I went on to wear this outfit to visit Bridget at the monthly Ceili at RiRa. It was the most well-attended dances that I'd been to, which means a plethora of children screaming and running around (that's not an exaggeration.) There's a chance I might've caused two of them to fall over, but it wasn't my fault- my bulk and bundles of winter gear had an adverse effect on my peripheral vision.  I sat at the bar with my snow pants on. Even though I felt a tiny bit foolish, I gotta tell you: I was warm. 

Continuing on the theme of feeling foolish, when I walk around in these pants, they make a loud swishing sound. I recorded a bit, to entice my readers with a bit of multi-media t. But because I wasn't paying careful attention to the sidewalk as I was recording, I slid and almost ate it. There was a break in the rhythm of the recording walking whsssh whck whsssh whck SILENCE, but the quality wasn't great and I accidentally deleted it.


So, if you are a person who doesn't do anything outdoors other than walking around and geting cold, I still suggest getting a pair of snow pants just in case.


PS- as I am writing this about the evening in question, which happened last week, we're getting forecasts for over 40 degrees.


PPS- I crashed at the barn for the first time in way too long. When we woke up, this was the temperature:

Seriously?! It's like you're photoshopped!

2011 in iPhone pictures

A nice lady I know who blogs at Sweet William made a post, "2011 in iPhone pictures."

I thought it was a great idea, so here are mine.

Overall, 2011 wasn't terrible. No complaints. That's mostly thanks to Cleveland, my normal, functional, loving boyfriend and my extremely large workload, which keeps me out of trouble. The only things missing were a new high bowling score and ANY KARAOKE AT ALL. Seriously, I don't think I karaoke once in 2011. Wait, does that count as trouble? Where has the time gone?

In 2012, you can look forward to more pictures! Seriously, I finally upgraded to the iPhone 4 and these pics are sweeeeet!

Music Scene: Kino Proby at Empire 12/30/11

Today began leaving the Bilmar Beach Resort in Treasure Island, Florida (3/5 stars) to drive an hour to the Manatee Viewing Center at Tampa Electric (seriously, if you like manatees half as much as Hannah Morrish, you need to go to there. I saw dozens of manatees.) Then it took almost an hour to get to the airport. At the Tampa International Airport, if you're every flying jetBlue, make sure you stop at the Tequilaria and try the Spicy Mango Margarita. Much like the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, it was just right. Cleveland and I waited two hours, took a two and a half hour flight to Boston, waited an hour, then took a two hour bus to Portland. It was the kind of travelling day that makes you want to get straight in bed when you get home, regardless of the appropriateness of the hour.

Instead, I decided to go see Kino Proby at Empire. Kino Proby plays once a year, if we're lucky and much like the Ice Bar at the Portland Harbor Hotel, I'd been meaning to go for years. One member lives in Russia, one in LA, so it's quite an occasion. None of my friends were available; Cleveland was going to bed, Roommate #1 was out of town, Roommate #2 was actually vomiting when I crossed the threshold into the apartment after being in Florida for six days, Mandy was tired and it was too late/short notice to call anyone else. So I went alone.

Here are my tweets from the evening:

Upstairs at Empire, the first people I see are the Food Coma TV crew and half the staff of CIEE. One of the members of Kino Proby saying something in Russian, then in English asked how many people in the room understood him. About half. I approached the bar, intending to dutifully drink a bunch of vodka. There were 10 Russian/Eastern European men ahead of me, half of them wearing leather bomber jackets and the other half with gel in their hair. Once the crowd parted, I realized one of them ordered about 15 shots of Jager. That same guy saw I was waiting and offered me a shot. Holy shit, the shots were ordered with no designated recipients.

Instead of a play by play of the entire evening, here are some quotes:

"Kino Proby is like the U2 of Russia." (Then in my notes I wrote, Kino Proby : Russia :: U2 : Everywhere other than Russia. Yup, I took notes.)

"I know your name, Alex Steed. I wanted to let you know that I'm not scared of you. Two years ago, at this show, I was crazy dancing in the front. I looked up and your face was like, right there- and you were dancing right next to me. It freaked me out. But now I'm not freaked out anymore and I wanted to let you know."

"Russia or Lewiston?"

"That guy is like Michael Jackson meets Marty McFly." Red and black shiny bubble vest, gelled hair, bright white sneakers.

"What's the sexual mood in the room?" "I don't know. But I've accidentally made eye contact with like, ten Russian men. They are like sharks."

"Shot glasses are going down like bullets."

"Out of RedBull!"

"I don't want my fingers cut off with cigar trimmers."*

Kino Proby Live At PCMH Portland, ME from [dog]and[pony] on Vimeo.

It was a great night, and I wish you were all there.

Lastly, a PSA (and I've been meaning to say this for a while). Portland cab drivers: if your light is on, it means you are available for service. If your light is off, it means you are not available for service. If there are people in your car, getting a ride, turn the light off. This will signal to other potential customers that you are nor available.

*There was an incredibly intoxicated woman all over Joe, Andrew and Alex. She kind of looked like Maybe from Arrested Development, but without freckles. Alex called her the Drunk Manic Pixie Dream Girl, or something, but I decided after her very unamused boyfriend/not boyfriend came over and didn't say one word while administering a flawless death stare, she was actually Manic Pixie Nightmare Girl. Maybe it's because Russian is always villified in the movies, but this guy did actually look like he might have been capable of something like cutting fingers off. Disclaimer: I think all people were created equally and I try to not perpetuate stereotypes. Russia is very intriguing and someday I want to go to there.

Blogging for Good: Dress for Success Southern Maine

This week, Corey Templeton of Portland Daily Photo asked a handful of Portland bloggers to take some time out of their busy blogging/holiday schedules and acknowledge a not for profit organization worthy of their attention (and dollars?). 


I could talk about SPACE Gallery, the Telling Room or public radio (some of my favorites and heavy hitters in town), but I know there is an organization that needs my recognition even more: Dress for Success Southern Maine. 

The mission of Dress for Success is to help disadvantaged women re-enter the workforce. 


Picture this: you are interviewing candidates for a position at your awesome company. Someone comes in dishevelment, anxious, and then you found out that she just got out of rehab. Or has been out of the workforce because she's been on welfare and couldn't afford childcare for her kids and work. Or, she was in prison. 


Now picture a confident looking woman who comes in, dressed in appropriate interview attire and of her gap in employment says, "I was out of work for a little while dealing with some personal issues, but I'm focused and ready to get serious about my career. I want to work for your company." That's their goal. They work with women to help them get the confidence they need to succeed in life. It starts with women looking themselves in the mirror, dressed for success. Since their inception, Dress for Success Southern Maine has suited over 1,000 women. 


I have some first-hand experience with the subject matter. My sister is a struggling, single mom. I've been on food stamps since I lost my full-time job last year. Disclaimer, I interned there this fall. However, my internship is technically over and I'm still volunteering because I believe in what we're doing. Sometimes when I update the testimonials on the website, I get a little  teary-eyed. I mean, I'm overly emotional. Just read some of these:

“I found your place to be incredibly wonderful!  Everyone there was sensitive and respectful -- fun, helpful suggestions, laughter making the experience such a positive one!  I have felt so much more confident knowing I had a beautiful new and modern outfit.  Thank you for your help.  It is SUCH an encouraging and confidence boosting place.” "Thank you so much for helping me.  From the time I arrived, it was a great experience and I walked out feeling better about myself.  The people at Dress for Success Southern Maine are so helpful and kind.  Thank you.”

“When I’m in a suit I feel like I’m getting there.  I might not be there yet, but I’m well on my way.”

"Women in active addiction lose so much. When they arrive in treatment with Crossroads, they are addressing many crucial areas of their lives all at once; their addiction, their mental health issues, health problems, family and childcare problems, legal issues and all with limited economic resources. More importantly is the loss of confidence, dignity and hope.   Dress for Success Southern Maine gives the women an opportunity to present themselves at interviews in a way that inspires hope, dignity and confidence. And the kind support that they receive when they go for their "personal shopping" appointment helps them feel a part of the greater community again - or for some, the first time."

Teresa Valliere, Director of Inpatient Services, Crossroads for Women

Collecting and sorting donations, maintaining the organization of the boutique, managing volunteers to be personal shoppers for the clients, planning fundraising events and professional women support groups- these things all take time and money. Donate to Dress for Success Southern Maine here. Learn more about volunteer opportunities here.