I am determined to update just to make it so the grouchy post isn't the first thing I see when I open up LJ every time. Grouchy grouch grouch.

So, um, what to write about. This weekend has been awesome, despite some stomach issues that may or not be the result of the E.Coli in the downtown water supply that I spent all of Friday drinking from. I will say no more about it. We've been kind of low-key, puttering around and thrift-store-shopping (yes, I convinced Jim to go with me, and he even bought some clothes; we also got a teeny tiny Christmas tree and the most amazing deal ever, Ms. Pacman Plug-n-Play 5-in-1 for $4.99. Um, that amazon price can't be right, btw, but that's the right picture.) I also got A Girl from Yamhill for a couple of bucks, which is awesome. Yay for thrift stores, seriously.

On Thanksgiving we went to one of Jim's coworkers' houses, and it was lovely and low-key and hilarious. I witnessed the horror wonder that is a turducken for the first time while partaking in a lovely vegetable quiche and collard greens. Then we went to Elly's for a short visit, where we watched the uber-creepy Max Headroom WGN hack from 1986 or so that I will have nightmares about indefinitely and chatted, mostly about un-creepy things. Jim and I went home early because I had to work on Friday, but overall it was a really nice, warm, cozy holiday, and I felt lucky to know so many awesome people in Portland. (Just like last year, when we went to Ann's and drank Brrr! and played with Oliver and played Pictionary and threw a dessert on some innocent guinea pigs. I miss Ann!)

Friday night we stayed home and caught up on everything we missed on Hulu (The Office, 30 Rock, Modern family) and fell asleep pretty early. Saturday morning I got up super early and whilst looking for articles about the Federal Writer's Project in the 30's (a subject I learned about only by reading this book last week) I stumbled upon the SMITHSONIAN CHANNEL, which is basically something that the internet came up with JUST FOR ME. So, instead of flipping around Wikipedia pages and articles I got to sit in the comfy chair and watch Soul of a People: Writing America's Story and drink coffee and by 11 a.m. had already decided that it was the Best Day Ever. Then we went to the thrift store and then we went on a quest to track down Joe because Jim had planned a nerd gathering Puerto Rico game and Joe was necessary to complete the foursome. Luckily we found him at Laughing Planet, so we were also able to partake of yummy burritos. Um, and cupcakes from Saint Cupcake because it was just down the street and hello, we had a full two minutes to wait while Joe said goodbye to Elly and unlocked his bike. Seth and Sheldon met us back here, and I took a mini-nap while the menfolk played games and made babka (Seth is a wonder) and then I came out and used Grooveshark to dj the gathering with old-school rap and Moog music (all by request) and then the nerds played their online game with each other whilst in the same room, turning what had already been a little nerdy into an impromptu LAN party. We ended up going out for a while and meeting up with some other people in real life later on, though, so their reputations were redeemed. Kind of.

The whole evening was really fun, and I enjoyed how it kind of evolved organically instead of being planned to the minute. I mean, not that I generally plan things to the minute, but I often feel like I SHOULD, so it was good to have an evening just happen, you know?

Today we had breakfast at Cricket and went up to Hawthorne for some groceries and for Jim to get some writing done and for me to enjoy the SUNSHINE and then I took Wrigley to the park and now I am going to make dinner in nesty domestic fashion.

I haven't done a weekend recap in a while, it seems. I should try to do them more, if only because it helps me slow down and remember how nice things are. Surely not because they're interesting, I know! Just because I sometimes lose sight of how recording things is one of the best ways to make sure you remember them.

I had an epic, movie-esque dream last night about traveling across the country with a busload of hippies. It was one of those dreams where you wake up and fall back to sleep JUST to continue the dream (and I think to finish the road trip I had started), even though it was kind of a miserable experience that I regretted choosing even IN my dream. The people on the buswere known far and wide as the "Mediterraneans", and there was a lot of marijuana and music and we would park in open fields and dance and camp there for the night. It seemed that everywhere we stopped and camped we would inevitably forget a few people, so that the bus got less and less full as the trip went on. At one point I was sitting next to a person in a bunny suit; my coworkers and old friends made appearances from time to time (at which point we would always exclaim "I didn't even know you were here!" which was hilarious because it was a BUS, not like, a CONVENTION CENTER or something); I kept buying Saltines and gummy candy; I was constantly worried that our pink-haired bus driver was going to kill us all because he was driving stoned; my coworker's 6-year old dyed his hair bright red and got what he called an "architectural haircut", which was basically a one-sided mullet with a spike in the front.

At one stop I befriended one of the cops who came to bust us for the "dope", and I remember looking at him and saying, "Seriously, I have no idea why I'm here." Later, I called Jim on a hand-held mirror (Freud would have a field day with that one) and he said I sounded guilty, and I explained that I just felt sad because I made the horrible decision to take this bus trip that I had no control over.

I think I will screen future therapists by sending them this link.

SERIOUSLY, Portland?



If anyone needs me, I'll be snorting lines of Vitamin D3 off the top of a light box for the next four months or so.

Gah. I am so done with people who aren't nice, seriously. Maybe I am bitter and oversensitive and need to lighten up, but maybe I'm just sick to death of jerks, and of pretentious know-it-alls who are all about advocating for theoretical groups but unable to be pleasant and kind to real, actual, in-the-flesh people.

Now I am going back to watching Long Way Down and hanging out with my dog, because he and it are both awesome.



/bitter tirade

I realized today that if I constructed my Ideal Band, sonically and otherwise, it would basically be the Weakerthans. This realization was brought about by the fact that I have been listening to them basically non-stop for three days.

And it is not just because I have a giant crush on John K. Samson, because I didn't even know that existed until I saw them in person a couple of months ago. But come on, how could you NOT have a crush on him?





Anyways! What else has this weekend consisted of? Well, Jim left for Chicago on Thursday, so after the airport there was a trip to IKEA for lamps (and coasters and whatever else the Ikea haze directed me to purchase). I got two confusingly named lamps which will hopefully help our overhead light-less apartment be a little brighter in the wintertime.

Last night, a friend/honorary family member from Little Bay (who has known me since birth, and throughout high school-- so he basically OWNS ME if he wanted to start a blackmailing side gig) visited dropping in on his drive from Toronto to Vancouver. I haven't seen him in years so I spent lots of yesterday weirdly anxious, and then he arrived and it was like we’d never been apart, which my logical part of my brain had known all along. Sigh. Anyways, we talked and laughed and drank beer and it was awesome, and it felt good to connect with a Newfoundlander again, to have that shared understanding and history, you know? I just feel like I got to hang out with family, on a random Saturday night in October, and that is awesome.

Today we got up at the ungodly hour of 730 to go for breakfast at Cup and Saucer because Fintan's "cholesterol was dangerously low", and despite having two cups of coffee I went for a giant nap after he got back on the road. Wrigley has been extra needy during this Jim-absence, so he probably appreciated the snuggle/nap as much as I did. When I got up, I puttered around for a while and then went to Goodwill, where I found a pair of Privos for $6.99. What up SECOND HAND THINGS.

I watched most of Iron Man tonight, but then Jessica stopped by for a chat and that was more enjoyable than the 'splodeyness. Plus, Iron Man breaks my informal 2-hour rule for movies, so really, it's UNIVERSAL'S fault that I didn't watch the whole thing. I assume RDJ is alive at the end, so I will deal.

Did I mention I took a day off for tomorrow? So I have a MONDAY off work, which never happens ever. What should I do??

This makes me want to move to Spain. Well, if I didn't wake up from naps so poorly, I guess. But I would probably be better about that if midday napping was CULTURALLY MANDATED, right?

The kids in my class know what's up. They eat lunch, play for a few minutes on their mats, listen to a story, and then sleep for the next ninety. (Gavin actually calls this his "little sleep" and nighttime his "big sleep", which simultaneously creeps me out and cracks me up. The first time he explained this to me, he read my blank stare and said, "You know, the BIG sleep, when it's DARK outside?" in a withering tone. Teachers are so DIM sometimes, it's like they don't even know what you're talking about when you tell them your parents lived in a different department before you were borned or that when you talk about "Pirate Beans" you clearly mean "Pirates of the Carribbean". GOD.)

For the record, do you know how hard it is to stay awake and DO WORK after five hours of craziness and a 22-person "family-style" lunch (in the Duggar house, maybe), in a dark room with wave-crashing-classical music playing, surrounded by nineteen or twenty sleeping children? Or when you have to sit next to someone and pat their backs in a rhythmic heartbeat-like pattern to help them fall asleep because if not they will spend the next 90 minutes crawling their feet up the wall and whispering random Pokemon phrases or stretching their legs out to see if they can touch the forehead of the friend sleeping closest to them with their tippy-toes? It is HARD.

Unrelated, of course: Man I slept poorly last night. Blergh.

Spencer Tweedy (Jeff Tweedy's son) and (his friend?) Tavi remind me that not all 13-year olds are annoying twits.

That is all.

"10 things about me"

1. I fingerspell when I am nervous.

I don't like being sick. I feel achy and bleh, and I had to leave Wordstock at noon and come home and go to bed, where I have remained practically ever since. Craptastic. I did meet some cool people during my volunteer shift this morning, though, which was nice. Also I was at the author check-in booth, and I got to meet Eric Kimmel. I also got a t-shirt for my efforts, but it is yellow, which essentially makes it a bedshirt because yellow and me are not friends. I LIKE yellow, don't get me wrong, but when I am wearing it, I look like I need to be revived. Pink and yellow are my complexion's Kryptonite, seriously.

This free association entry brought to you my current state of bed-riddenness and mental fatigue.

I think we're going to watch Manhattan tonight. We're kind of failing at Netflix since all we've been watching are episodes of Mad Men and Entourage and a scattered documentary from the online, so it will be a nice change to actually watch a dvd and send it back all postal-like.

I started the book CitizenGirl last night, but a hundred pages in, I think I'm going to abandon it to Paperback Swap. (It was an impulse buy at the book sale yesterday.) Yes, I have finally reached the stage where Book Abandonment doesn't wrack me with guilt, yay! Luckily I also have five or six other new books lined up on the shelf, thanks to the aforementioned book sale, so I also don't have to wait for a new book.

One of the best things about fall is that the colder weather makes Wrigley burrow headfirst under the covers when he gets on the bed. He also jams his nose into warm places (don't be dirty), so it is not uncommon to be awakened in the middle of the night by a snout being burrowed into your armpit.



Ooja booja.

We return, again and again, to what we know.

So! So I'm going to post about my birthday, eventually, which was awesome, for the record, but first, first!

It's my day off, and I am at home, but I am also sick, which kind of undoes the awesomeness of a day off, except for how it's still a day off, and you still get to stay home. Oh, I am going to make so much sense right now. I also haven't had any coffee yet, whee!

I just wanted to repost this post from Kate Harding that someone on my twitter feed posted, because it reminded me of my biggest pet peeve when it comes to people and weight and talking about weight and weight loss and whatnot. Like when people complain about how fat and therefore disgusting they are, when there are people of similar size around them who actually DON'T (or are trying not to) believe they are disgusting? Or when people claim that they're JUST TALKING ABOUT THEMSELVES when that is not how it works; if I am standing next to someone who's wearing almost the same outfit as I am and I'm ranting about how ugly and gross it is (or even some "neutral" adjective that is obviously and unfortunately NOT neutral because most people do NOT use the word "fat" in a NEUTRAL WAY) and then I turn to you and say "Oh, but I am talking about MY outfit, not YOURS, because yours is totally FINE" then you have every right to kick me in the shins because that is NOT OKAY.

The link.

You know how annoying it is when some relatively skinny chick stands there and talks about how disgustingly fat she is right in front of you? And you’re like, “Hello, what does that say about me?”

And you know how it’s even more annoying that if you actually call her out on it, she’ll inevitably say something like, “Oh, but I totally wasn’t thinking about you!”

Yeah. It’s the same thing. It’s being so focused on your own self-hatred that you forget the implications it has for the people around you. That’s really not cool.

This is not to say I am not guilty of saying the wrong thing (because seriously, you know better).. I am far, far from perfect in any way. (I'm sorry if you ARE perfect and that statement offended you...) But I do try not to make anyone feel like they're disgusting, and I feel like that's a pretty good thing to do.

This article makes me hate cell phone companies a lot. I mean, I mostly did before anyways, but yeah.

15-SECOND INSTRUCTIONS This one makes me crazy. When I call to leave you a voicemail message, the first thing I hear, before I’m allowed to hear the beep, is 15 seconds of instructions. “To page this person, press 5.” Page this person!? Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize this was 1980! “When you have finished recording, you may hang up.” Oh, really!? So glad you mentioned that! I would have stayed on the line forever!

And then when I call in for messages, I’m held up for 15 more seconds. “To listen to your messages, press 1.” Why else would I be calling!?

(Yes, there are key-presses that can bypass the instructions. But they’re different for each carrier. When you call someone, you’re supposed to know which carrier that person uses and which key to press? Sure.)

Is this really so evil? Is 15 seconds here and there that big a deal? Well, Verizon has 70 million customers. If each customer leaves one message and checks voicemail once a day, Verizon rakes in — are you sitting down? — $850 million a year. That’s right: $850 million, just from making us sit through those 15-second airtime-eating instructions.

Isn't that fucking insane? Grr.

But look! Organized complaining! Right on. Looks like Sprint made a "discussion forum" for the issue, but I worry that's just a way to shunt all the comments there so they can ignore them en masse.

Probably at least half of the conflicts in my relationship, as well as my desire to spend my days off reading and cleaning and watching documentaries in my apartment, can likely be attributed to the following very basic descriptions.

Introvert (also known as ME)

Definition: Contrary to what most people think, an introvert is not simply a person who is shy. In fact, being shy has little to do with being an introvert! Shyness has an element of apprehension, nervousness and anxiety, and while an introvert may also be shy, introversion itself is not shyness. Basically, an introvert is a person who is energized by being alone and whose energy is drained by being around other people.

Introverts are more concerned with the inner world of the mind. They enjoy thinking, exploring their thoughts and feelings. They often avoid social situations because being around people drains their energy. This is true even if they have good social skills. After being with people for any length of time, such as at a party, they need time alone to "recharge."

When introverts want to be alone, it is not, by itself, a sign of depression. It means that they either need to regain their energy from being around people or that they simply want the time to be with their own thoughts. Being with people, even people they like and are comfortable with, can prevent them from their desire to be quietly introspective.

Being introspective, though, does not mean that an introvert never has conversations. However, those conversations are generally about ideas and concepts, not about what they consider the trivial matters of social small talk.

Extrovert (also known as JIM)

Definition: Most people believe that an extrovert is a person who is friendly and outgoing. While that may be true, that is not the true meaning of extroversion. Basically, an extrovert is a person who is energized by being around other people. This is the opposite of an introvert who is energized by being alone.

Extroverts tend to "fade" when alone and can easily become bored without other people around. When given the chance, an extrovert will talk with someone else rather than sit alone and think. In fact, extroverts tend to think as they speak, unlike introverts who are far more likely to think before they speak. Extroverts often think best when they are talking. Concepts just don't seem real to them unless they can talk about them; reflecting on them isn't enough.

Extroverts enjoy social situations and even seek them out since they enjoy being around people. Their ability to make small talk makes them appear to be more socially adept than introverts (although introverts may have little difficulty talking to people they don't know if they can talk about concepts or issues).

Extrovert behavior seems to be the standard in American society, which means that other behavior is judged against the ways an extrovert would behave. However, extroverted behavior is simply a manifestation of the way an extrovert interacts with the world. Extroverts are interested in and concerned with the external world.

This morning, I was running crazy late, mostly because I deigned to fall asleep last night without having a mental picture of what I was going to wear to work this morning, along with the respective locations of the pieces of that ensemble. This is not, for the record, a planning technique that based on FASHION and STYLISHNESS but instead on CONVENIENCE and TIME SAVING; the quicker I can find my clothes and put them on in the morning, the less time I have to spend OUT OF MY BED before I leave for work in the a.m. (I thankfully have a job that does not require much in the way of fashion, since whatever one wears needs to be comfortable and versatile and oh yeah WASHABLE, since by lunchtime on any given day you have been splashed with enough tempera paint and bodily fluids to require at least one run through the hot cycle.)

ANYWAYS, since I forgot to figure out what I was wearing today, this morning was haphazard and ridiculous, with me frantically trying on clothes and throwing them off onto the bed in frustration, one ill-fitting t-shirt (SERIOUSLY DOES ANYONE MAKE A DECENT SOLUTION FOR BOOBAL ASYMMETRY THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE SURGERY) away from declaring myself unfit to leave the house because I had NOTHING TO WEAR HOW CAN I GO TO SCHOOL LIKE THIS EVERYONE WILL LAUGH AT ME. Anyways, I talked myself down off Hannah Montana's ledge and managed to put on something that was at least CLEAN, and as I raced out of the house I realized I had FOUR MINUTES to catch the bus, which unless the Physics Fairy had snuck into our apartment complex during the night to deliver a shiny new teleporter was COMPLETELY IMPOSSIBLE.

So, for the first time, I drove to work, which seemed ridiculous (since the bus takes me right downtown and I don't have to pay to park it) but also seemed infinitely more convenient, especially since when I got outside the apartment I also discovered that it was RAINING, which I know is no great surprise in Portland but I am knee deep in the sweet denial of the sunny summer months. Portland, rainy? BITE YOUR TONGUE, HERETIC.

With the magic of a car, I got downtown in record time, but was then faced with the daunting task of finding somewhere to park for eleven hours that wouldn't require me signing Ann's car over to the cashier as payment. I found an "early bird" lot for 11 bucks, and it was just a few blocks from my work, so that's where I went. And then I parked, which was kind of stressful, but only because I HATE PARKING GARAGES. Seriously. (Why do I hate them so, you ask? Oh, I don't know. Could it be their oppressively low ceilings, choking the air out of your lungs? The motion sickness from the perpetual turning? The fact it is completely impossible for me to get my bearings inside of them, so that the ticket from the little robot might as well say "GOOD LUCK FINDING THIS MACHINE OR YOUR SENSE OF DIRECTION EVER AGAIN, SUCKER"? The way you wind your way around and around but you can't really tell if you're driving up, or down, or just in one giant endless circle? The ubiquitous gray concrete making EVERY SQUARE INCH LOOK EXACTLY THE SAME, so that you feel like you've been sucked into a GRAY SPACE VOID TWILIGHT ZONE COFFIN TUNNEL that among other things DOES NOT EVER SEEM TO HAVE THE CAR YOU ARE LOOKING FOR?)

So anyways, I park, and it's looking like I might actually be on time for work, as long as I get there quickly. So I glance around and spot an EXIT sign, a welcome glimpse of neon amid the concrete, and I run to it. And only after the door slams shut behind me do I realize that I am in the scariest stairwell in the history of the universe, replete with empty Colt 45 tallboys and the smell of fresh urine. I'm only on the second floor (I think? WHO KNOWS?) so I make a break for it, sprinting down the stairs, wondering how they're going to find my body when I didn't even tell Jim I was driving to work and GOD KNOWS THEY'LL NEVER FIND THE CAR BECAUSE IT IS IN A PARKING GARAGE. Then I get to the door, only like EVERY OTHER DOOR IN THE STAIRWELL it says on it EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY ALARM WILL SOUND. Well, FUCK. I am trapped in a pissy horror-movie stairwell in a parking garage, so I figure an alarm will only HELP me at this point, so I take a deep breath and open the door, waiting to be tackled by Parking Garage Goblins, or whoever it is that does the patrolling in those things. Only nothing happens, so I pretend to walk calmly out into the parking garage again, glancing around to find the ACTUAL exit, the one that leads me back to the street and back into a world that I understand and can navigate somewhat proficiently. ONLY NO, because I look to my left and there is a sign that says I am on Level TWO, which is where I thought I STARTED, back when I entered Stephen King's stairwell. GAHHHH.

But! There is a man, and he has a briefcase and seems to know what he is doing, so I employ the Dirk Gently strategy of following him because he seems to know where he is going. I end up casually following him to an elevator, which casually brings us to the actual FIRST floor, where I casually exit onto the street and casually throw up on the sidewalk. Okay, I didn't throw up, but I did sprint to work, where I arrived a mere 10 minutes late. AWESOME.

I wish this were the end of the parking garage trauma I experienced today, but it turns out that when you leave a car in a parking garage, you are basically committing to visit it at least twice. WHO KNEW. So after work, I had pretty much recovered from the morning's debacle, so I ventured confidently into the parking garage, straight to the elevator, and up to the second floor. I got off the elevator, still confident, determined. I walked in the direction of the car: not there. Oops! Small mistake, try again. Hmm. Nope. Maybe I WAS on the third floor? Worth a try, right? So I walked up (down?) to the third floor, and still no car. Also, was this sign here before? I don't seem to remember it...

I will spare you the next few minutes of my experience, which were basically a series of neurons firing and the eventual realization: I AM IN THE WRONG PARKING GARAGE.

Evidently I can not only not find my way inside ONE parking garage, but I cannot find my way TO ONE I HAVE ALREADY PARKED INSIDE.(In my defense, the parking garages are on the same block, and have the EXACT SAME SIGNAGE, and are managed by the same company. But still? Ridiculous.)

So I casually strolled back out of the parking garage, although I am pretty conspicuous since I am NOT DRIVING A VEHICLE, and after briefly considering taking a bus home, I walked to the other parking garage. Took the elevator to the second floor, where the car (surprising to no one) was NOT located. I trudged to the third floor, narrowly dodging three cars driven by functioning human beings, and VOILA, the Holy Grail, a forest-green Volvo. I climbed in, relishing the success. I win, PARKING GARAGE. TAKE THAT.

On the way out of the parking garage, I asked the attendant if the street I was turning onto was one way. He said yes, and then he said "First day?"

Um, yeah. First and last, buddy. I'm parking on the street from now on.

Poll #1441920 gratitude journal
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 9

How lame would I be if I started a gratitude journal?

Today, I:

- made a yummy breakfast, with potatoes
- took a giant mid-afternoon nap
- made coffee at home
- added $10 to Skype solely so I can text message people in Canada for 11 cents apiece
- had a video chat with Mike on skype
- realized that a great deal of my webcam anxiety comes from NOT KNOWING WHERE TO DIRECT MY EYES
- the rest of it comes with being completely self-conscious about everything else
- caught up on blog reading (not really a challenge, since I only read, like, five on a regular basis, aside from my LJ friends page. I really need to find more blogs to read that I actually ENJOY; anyone have any suggestions?)
- ate three string cheeses
- ran/walked with Wrigley enough to wear us both out
- ordered an embarrassing number of bottles of spray gel on ebay because the only stuff that keeps my hair from exploding Don King-style has been discontinued and is now only being sold in LOTS and the only way to make it at all reasonable in price was to buy FIVE AT ONCE.
- made potato salad


I DIDN'T:

- mail those fucking bills that are sitting right there STAMPED AND READY TO GO
- write that product review
- do any yoga
- do anything with the house even though I had totally intended to, unless you count loading and running the dishwasher in which case AWESOME

I kind of wish there was one more day for this weekend. I would like to spend a few hours vacuuming and doing laundry and watching documentaries, and I would like to paint my toenails and roast vegetables and organize my papers and catch up on emails, and I would like to finish a book instead of reading five pages and falling asleep.

But I'm not complaining. When Jim gets home, I'm pretty sure that we're going to eat Laughing Planet burritos and watch Mad Men, and that seems like a pretty good Sunday night to me.

Okay, I know all I have been posting for two days is (are?) links, but this is the coolest thing ever, if you love Back to the Future with as much passion as I do. I mean, except for the third one, which I feel goes without saying.


Somewhat related: Did you know Michael Pollan is Tracy Pollan's brother, and therefore Michael J. Fox's brother-in-law?? That's something that broke my brain when I was reading Lucky Man a few weeks back. (Which is a fucking awesome memoir, by the way. In my humble opinion, of course.)

I love Neil Patrick Harris a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT. This article did nothing to assuage that at all.