Networking It

So, recently I decided I need to work on meeting new people. And in association with that: networking. It's in italics because networking has always been a really creepy thing to me, but it's also one of those necessary things in life, especially in a place like Portland which is such a tiny community. I mean, how do you do it? What do you even do? I associate it with "mingling" and handing your card to people, and making lots of unnecessary eye contact, and asking what someone does and then slowly sidling away when they're like, "Yeah, I'm an artist. But unemployed. But I do installations. In public spaces. When people aren't looking . . ."

But now that we're not in school anymore, and are busy, and have jobs, it's become a lot harder to meet new people. And I'm not the only person I know who would like to meet new people. So I decided to organize a happy hour that would allow all the cool girls I know in Portland to meet up and talk, and bring their friends, and we can settle on a plot for taking over the world and whatnot.

So, there it is. Today's happy hour will be at Maui's. There will be cool Portland women (like, not me, but actually cool people) and we will have drinks and talk about stuff, though considering it's Portland, we will probably focus on the  fact that it was sunny two days ago and how that was totally awesome and we'll talk about stuff we like to do when it's sunny out, and all the things we will do when it's sunny in the future. So, I hope to see all you ladies at Maui's at 530. Drinks. Food. Talk. Today! And just to add some extra incentive: Hologram Tupac is going to be there!

Not really. He's not. Because he's a dude. And a hologram. Though really, do holograms even have private parts? Does a hologram really have a classification? Either way, he's not actually going to be there but maybe next time. Because yes, if today doesn't suck (and why would it, really?), this will be an actual monthly thing. My goal is to plan next month's for a Thursday so Thursday lovers can attend.

Oh! And it needs a catchy name. Suggestions in the comments please.

Surprise!

Sam's birthday was last week. Specifically Thursday. I gave him a pair of desert boots. He's been dreaming of those boots for awhile now and I feel pretty great about making a dream happen. I'm like Sam's personal Make-a-Wish-Foundation. Without the cancer element. Sam has given me shoes (you may remember the Christmas Tom's booties), and I'm pleased that we're a couple that gives each other shoes. I mean, I never say no to shoes.

He had to work on Tuesday night so I began Stage 1 of an elaborate plot. There is really nothing better than an elaborate plot. It started on Tuesday. After accordion class I went home and started making icecream pie (my mom used to make this all the time, and it is always a hit). Liz came over to watch me make pie and more importantly,  so that we could talk about our lives, Ayn Rand, Janeane Garofalo, and old people. I realized, once I had cookie crumbs flying all over the place, that Sam had left a note saying the plumber had finally fixed our sink and we couldn't use it. So I had to figure out a way to clean up the evidence without using water. That wasn't really possible, so I had to improvise using the bathroom sink and a lot of paper towels. There were dark chocolate cookie crumbs everywhere and random dismantled pieces of the food processor shedding evidence everywhere. Eventually we got it under control, Liz spirited the pie away and Stage 1 was complete.

Stage 2 commenced on Thursday. Sam had to work at Mulligans on Hawthorne. We gathered at a bar down the street (with the aforementioned icecream pie) and then proceeded to Mulligans in a small parade lead by me and the icecream pie. It was kind of melty and the candles were leaning, but when we busted into Mulligans singing Happy Birthday in our shrillest voices, the overall presentation could not have been better. Sam's regulars were impressed, the pie was delicious, and I think, for a workday, that Sam had a pretty decent birthday. I love orchestrating surprises. Any excuse for an icecream pie.

Back to the Real World

I'm alive. The 10th anniversary of Sasquatch did not kill me. In fact, I feel pretty good. My face is sunburnt and I'm sore from dancing as vigorously as I possibly could for three days straight, but in general, I would say this year was pretty successful. We are adults now. We made sure to drink water and eat food all day so we didn't end up like the children carted off in gurneys in their hot pants and bra tops and their face paint. The crowd has never looked younger, which probably means I have officially grown too old for Sasquatch. We had a successful friend reunion, saw some great shows (Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings and Yeasayer were my favorites), ate Wild Burgers, danced, had adventures, witnessed some extremely kooky stuff, and laughed until our muscles cramped. Success. Complete success. I took photos with film this year, so it may be a while before I can share some images. To be continued . . ..

Home!

I'm pleased to announce that we found an apartment. It's on 12th and Tillamook, which is a great quiet street and a bike path. It has high ceilings, hardwood floors, big windows, built-ins, storage space, and a garage. I'm really excited. I spent the last couple of days being a complete ball of nerves, totally convinced that the nice landlord named George had discovered some dark secrets in my past and decided not to rent to us. It was completely unfounded.

Now that I know I have a place to live, I'm thinking about how to decorate and arrange the incredibly random furniture that I've managed to acquire over the years. So far we have a really ugly reclining love seat (Sam's), a strange little chair (Sam's), a pink vinyl love seat that resembles a gigantic butt (mine), a few potted plants (both), and a massive television (Sam's).

If anyone has favorite home inspiration blogs, send them my way. I'm going to be all about DIY home decoration for at least the next .. . two or three weeks.

Ha!

Apparently all I need to do is post some photos of sunshine and it appears. I have been dreaming of cloudless mornings. Yes, it was frosty and I had to wear legwarmers over my tights today, but it doesn't matter. I'm happy. On  a less happy note, I need to find a new place to live. Club 834 will soon be disbanded. It's an exciting new change (stay tuned on the yard sale/give-away), but finding a new place is so stressful.

I used to be an excellent consumer. In second grade I became totally obsessed with horses. Every Sunday I would lay down on the dining room floor with the Oregonian and pore through every listing in the Horses for Sale column. I would note the area codes in the phone numbers and then check the phone book to see the exact location of the listing. Look, here's a 30-year old horse of indeterminate breeding for $1500! It's in Battleground, Washington!  A saddle, bridle, and size 10 boots for $300!  Look!

Obsessed.

It is really hard to get the same sort of enthusiasm for searching Craigslist apartments.

Big News!

I'm making some major changes in my life.

For one, I'm on the first day of The Master Cleanse. It's just cayenne, honey, and lemon juice for a while! So far I feel really great. Intestines are hopelessly inefficient and don't know how to deal with the stuff we put in them, like food and coffee and chewing gum. The Cleanse gives your body a chance to get rid of all the toxins and random stuff that it carries for no reason. Our colons are disgusting and lazy. So anyway, I will be on this for like, the next 20 days. If I seem different to you, it's because I'm Cleansing.

Also, I've adopted my neighbor's cat. I call him/her Kitty. I know it's kind of strange to take in a cat, and some people would call it stealing, but it always wants to come into our house and hang out! Why would the cat hang out all the time if he/she didn't want to live with me? I'm keeping it in my room so it doesn't try to go back across the street. Eventually it will forget that it ever lived there. There is now a litter box in the corner of my room but I stacked some shoes on it so it basically looks like a tall, slightly more odorous shoe-stand. I love him/her.

Finally, some of you guys are probably wondering why I would do something extreme like the Master Cleanse. I know there's all this hoopla about Beyonce using the Cleanse to lose 20 pounds for her groundbreaking role in Dreamgirls, so you guys are probably thinking I'm just trying to lose weight like Beyonce. Well, that's not true. I've been talking to these really nice guys who keep stopping by my house to hang out and help do my yardwork. They have convinced me that I need to give up things like alcohol and caffeine and become a better, happier person. We've been reading the gospel and learning about a man called Joseph Smith. He was basically like Jesus but a lot better because he's American. I have a bunch of immodest clothes that I'm giving away so if anyone wants my old hot pants pipe up now!  I can't wait to be baptized. Some of you may think this is crazy, but I'm really excited. I don't know if I'm allowed to say this or not, but when I die I'm going to live on a planet with my future Mormon husband and all our children and Kitty. Our own planet! In space! The afterlife can't get here soon enough.

What a Dilemma

Red Dress Party tickets are on sale. Now. If you've ever wondered what it would be like to dance to techno for hours in a room filled with gays, girls, red lace, lycra, and fishnet, now is your chance. I have gone for the past two years and have always enjoyed it immensely. However, this year ticket prices have gone up considerably and I'm not rich. What to do? Do I ignore fiscal responsibility and just go for it? Or do I stoically abstain?

Well. In the midst of writing this, Lauren Welch (future nurse and wonderful person) made me an offer I just couldn't refuse. And let's not forget this is a charity event. Here are some photos from last year. Ani set up a semi-professional photography studio in his apartment and we pretended to be models. These are the pre-party photos. The post ones were a bit less polished.

Birthday Guest Blog!

It's my birthday! Yes! I haven't cried yet today, so this is obviously going to be one of the good birthdays, rather than the soul-searching what am I doing with my life birthdays. So that's nice. Liz wrote me a little birthday guest blog, I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did:

On March 9th 2010, I really let Ms. Wrong down. I’ve let her down more times than I can count. Every time I’ve declined to swill tequila shots, or turned up my nose at some libation she gets this dejected look as if I’ve kicked her dog . When I can’t make it to an event because of a prior engagement it's like I let it spill that Santa was a pedophile. And when I didn’t save her a piece of chicken-pot-pie from a potluck she was delayed in arriving to, well that was the equivalent of sticking coal in her stocking. All of those failures on my part pale in comparison to her birthday last year, when I went home early for no better reason than the fact that I was “tired”.

Tired? For God’s sake I was just 26 years old, did I think it was going to get easier as I got older? Did I think that for some reason simply having a job that started early in the morning should make me exempt from drinking recklessly with one of my best friends? How could I be so deluded with the imagined importance of my “career” as a low-level manager, to think that it would really harm me if I had to drink a few extra cups of coffee in the morning to seem chipper at the 7:30 meeting? And a better question, when on earth did I get to be such an old sandy vagina with such pathetic excuses? I disgust myself. So, upon hearing the words, “I think I’m going to bail”, I was surprised to see Ms. Wrong take the news so stoically. In fact, I was so surprised, I asked again, "are you sure?". She told me again that it was fine, but I know, because of the subsequent times that she has mentioned it over the past year, not with judgment, but with sadness, that a little part of her soul died that night, along with a little bit of her youth.

Well, that it won't happen this year. In fact, I started pre-hydrating for this evening four days in advance. I'm going to go out, I am not going to look at my watch, I will shimmy, and swill, and make merry, and I will like it. I will fucking love it in fact. But really, how could I not love every opportunity I have to celebrate such a dear, unique and wonderful friend on her birthday?  I've even look forward to buying her a diet coke, and listening her moan as she laments the fun we had.

P.S. I also hope all my Portland friends will be at the Standard tonight to see Liz in action. It should be pretty good.

One Year

So, Sam and I marked our one-year anniversary yesterday with a self-timed photo.  There were a lot of attempts. This was actually the best one. We are not the kind of people who look cool in photos.

This whole one year anniversary thing is a pretty astonishing feat. I have never celebrated one consecutive year with anyone, and neither had Sam, actually. It went so extremely fast. One minute we were making out in a Denver dance club (like, on the dance floor. Not a classy moment. There were witnesses) and then there was the texting and calling and the brief but exciting weekend visits, and then he moved here and we were suddenly eating breakfasts together in the same city and going on picnics and attending metal shows and headbanging next to each other. I even saved his life once when we went snowboarding. He has a pretty large capacity for tolerating my wretched traits and encouraging the good ones and it has been an amazingly great year. I try to avoid gushing about stuff like this in a public forum, but it's a pretty big deal. Especially for those of you who knew me prior to this relationship and had to feed me chocolate and pat me on the hand while I flopped around on the floor and croaked that I would never date again.

In Celebration

So, it is Liz's birthday today. We have been friends for a number of years now (since 2003?) and I count her among my dearest friends. The first time I technically met Liz, I slept on her couch in Eugene and her mom made us pancakes in the morning. However, the first time I really met Liz was later that fall term at a Summer in Winter party in some scummy house near campus.

As implied by the premise of the party, the heat was on high and there were random tropical decorations everywhere. I remember that someone had beaded curtains over their door (classy) and we were all piled on some bed talking about music. Perhaps the beer ran out, but I had decided that I wanted to head over to 80s Night at John Henry's. I'm not sure how it is now, but 80s Night was an institution back then. Insanely fun nights, dancing on speakers, the floor so crowded you ended up with other people's sweat all over your bare arms. Somehow Liz and I got on the topic of 80s Night and she was totally into it. So she and I, two girls who had never actually hung out before, ran off into the night. On our way we stopped by her house so she could change into something more 80s. She came out of her room in a full spandex outfit and red converse. Impressive.

We got to John Henry's and while I had a fake I.D. at the time (probably the one in which I was Hispanic and named Vianey Diaz), I'm pretty sure that Liz did not. I can't recall what we did, but it involved some theatrics and perhaps the good ol' I've already been stamped swagger through the door. It was an incredibly busy night, as usual, and we couldn't even fit on the dance floor. This didn't matter. It turns out that Liz loves dancing and the necessity of space in which to dance as much as I do. We danced in the hallway right in front of the entry and probably accidentally punched people multiple times. The standout moment occurred when Under Pressure came on. We both began to sing as dramatically as possible, notice I say sing and not lip sync, and alienate everyone attempting to pass by us on their way to the bar/dance floor.

 It was in this glorious moment that I realized there was no way that Liz and I could not be friends.

Last Day of Summer

Well, it's time. Time for scarves, gloves, rain paints, rain jackets, a waterproof shoulder bag in which to carry my lunch, wallet, and other necessities for the day. I am going to have to start looking sporty and distinctly Northwest in some sort of Gortex disaster. I'm also going to have to start stocking up. I go through about five sets of gloves each winter. I prefer leather ones, especially those that have a vague resemblance to Isotoners, due to the hilarity of O.J. Simpson jokes and references to "my strangler gloves".

Back to School Shopping

I'm not going back to school. But isn't there something about fall air? That unique sunny clear feel to the air in the morning, smell of old leaves, anticipation of new friends, new classes, new clothes. This means I will need to put away my shorts (that I never wear because shorts are unflattering), my sandals, my light-as-air cardigans. I have this mental list of things that I want for fall (skinny black pants, high-waisted skirts, yet another cardigan, boots!) but I am also conflicted.

I have a feeling that this feeling, this special fall feeling and the need to buy things is directly related to my old back-to-school habits which is not actually applicable in my life anymore. Do I need to buy new clothing? Not really. If you could see my closet and my shelving system and my storage boxes and my clothing rack you would tell me that I don't actually need any new clothing. Ever again. I feel like I have fallen into a marketing ploy, like my desires have been hi-jacked by consumerism. It's similar to my feeling of desolate loneliness on Valentines' Day, my desire to live on cookies for the month of December, my desire to be thinner and tanner than ever as directed by June issues of certain lady-directed magazines. There is a reason that the September issue of Vogue is the largest of all the issues.

This year I will fight. I will not go to the mall. I will not start buying sweaters and boots with abandon. I did buy the pair you see above*, but they are it. I'm giving up on shopping.

* They're Bass. They are my third pair of Bass shoes. I don't know when I turned into an old lady, but there it is. Three pairs. To justify, I do feel like they're rebranding a bit and are slightly less stodgy than they used to be.

Peace on Earth?

Everyone's favorite teenage hockey team is in the semi-finals. Caitlin is a Rosebud (they dance on ice and have red pom-poms and outfits she personally made from old hockey jerseys)and she has some mean spirit finger/clapping moves down. Pretty inspiring. Anyway she hooked me up with some tickets and my dad and I followed up a family Easter lunch (egg dyeing and all) by attending their game.

They lost! They lost to Vancouver (BC, not our friendly neighbors to the north) and really, Vancouver is a wonderful city and if we are going to lose to someone at least it was them and not somewhere lame like Oklahoma City or Ottawa. But there weren't any fights. Honestly, I was more disappointed by the lack of fighting than the loss. I'm pretty sure this makes me a bad person. Maybe even a horrible one.

Aw

I went to Beaker and Flask with my family last night for a birthday dinner. It was great. I wholeheartedly recommend this restaurant. The grilled pork cheeks with the pickled octopi and whatnot is indeed a wonderful dish. I feel like every review I've read raves about that, so I guess I'm jumping on that wagon. Don't order the cocktail with the grappa however. It is called The Old Main Drag and it was totally brutal. We all received our cocktails and did the hmmm, yeah, interesting, tasty, etc, and my dad took a sip of his and said, "I made the wrong choice." And he had. It had this medicinal oily aftertaste that was vaguely reminiscent of gasoline or something equally unpleasant. Everything else was great though.

And the crown jewel of the night: Alto recorder!

It was enough to staunch the hate. I am full of love and good will today.

Spring!

In the past week I have seen:

1. violets scattered on non-groomed lawns

2. crocuses

3. the beginnings of blossoms on the trees outside my office

4. daffodils

5. weird pale white guys wearing shorts and flip-flops

Spring is early this year and I am already imagining river trips and camping and skating and swimming and drinks on sunny patios and coffee in the morning sun. In Japan everyone celebrates cherry blossoms by hanging out in the parks under trees and having seriously elaborate picnics and drinking chu-hi (this kind of malt beverage, the equivalent of Zima maybe, but it's less sweet and higher in alcohol content and without the high school connotation, like, it is perfectly acceptable for a grown person to drink a chu-hi). And they call this event Hanami. And because the whole "watch" versus "look at" versus "view" thing is a confusing english language distinction, they will tell you that they enjoy watching the cherry blossoms. The photo above was taken in Yoyogi Park, one of the most popular parks in Tokyo and I think it is a pretty good representation of the insane festival quality of Hanami. And I think we should bring this to Portland and celebrate spring.

Triumph!

So, there are some of you that may recall my first post ever so many months ago. It was about the neighbor and his lack of curtains and the fact that we were there first and shouldn't have to get curtains. We had settled into the unconscious routine of glancing at him through the window on our way through the kitchen and seeing him in the flickering blue of the television, or playing his guitar and singing, and slowly came to understand his schedule, (bed by eight, up at four or five to watch tv). It was very oddly intimate. But that era is over. Today, as I was preparing a quick egg breakfast I glanced up through the window to see the back of a mirror or a framed poster over the window, probably the mirror that was leaning against the wall in the living room since he moved in. We have triumphed.

Rachel and Her Weekend of Wonders

Okay. So this is kind of a secret promotion because I want a good spot right up front and I'm hoping that nobody knows about it though I'm sure it's going to be packed. Holocene is playing Valerie and Her Week of Wonders tonight. It's this 1970 Czech coming-of-age surreal vampire movie that I've never seen and the best thing is that three Portland bands, Nurses, Gulls and The Slaves are each going to provide a portion of the live score. Czech vampires, blood and priests and all that post-modern shifting of signifiers and meaning with those seventies this-is-a-symbol shots, live score, I cannot wait.

Also, SMP happens in Boise this weekend. Synopsis: Annual dress-like-a-shitty-musician party that has grown from its conception in 2003 as a humble house party to a massive blowout. We are heading out en masse, eight of us, taking over an Friday afternoon flight on Southwest, snowboarding on Saturday at Bogus Basin, meeting Surly Shirley (Liz's grandmother and a model for what I will be when I am old), SMP'ing on Saturday night and flying back early Monday morning. Last year Liz and Jesse were Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. They won the costume contest which involved a trophy and a debilitating bar tab. I am proud to say that Liz was dressed from head to silver-tipped-cowboy-boot-toe in clothing that I casually pulled from my closet.

I am going as her.
And yes, my multi-faceted mother knitted a costume for me.

Last Year

Last year in February I went with my friend Jason down to Tahoe. I didn't really know him well but we both got the time off work and it seemed like a natural course of action and thrashing around in the snow is a good way to get to know someone. We had been planning on going to Canada but there wasn't any snow up there and then I heard Mammoth was getting bombarded and then Tahoe was too so we decided to head down there. And I jumped in his truck that morning and asked him if he thought people that believe in god are less intelligent than those that don't and we had this long discussion about all that as Portland rolled back and the land got flat and then began to wind down long hills like thick carpet folded over with oaks and it was snowing near the border of California and the road was closed for about an hour and we got out and walked down the road in the slush in the dark, the snow falling in big wet flakes lit up by car lights and idling semi-trucks and then it all started moving and we had to run back up the road, laughing in panic, soaked to the knee when we got to the truck and we proceeded to have these magical snow-filled days in Tahoe getting lost at the different resorts and having adventures and eating buffet and cackling and exploring and plotting. And now I feel like I have this terrible secret that I shouldn't mention to anyone but it is only fair to say that he just died, I found out last night, he is the first of my friends to die and I am not sure what I am meant to do in this situation, but I know that no one does. And I biked to work today and it was such a cold morning and I am alive and feel differently about that than I did yesterday.

Thanks

I know it's a little early for this but I was walking around last friday and I saw this pink flyer stapled to a telephone pole along with a bunch of other fliers, and I thought. Yes. That is an excellent option.

To preface, I am really bad at New Years Eve. It seems that every December 31st of my life has been a dubious fail, from puke to sad bedroom lock-ins, to all the jello shots, unfortunate makeout partners, lost jackets, fights between couples who I am third-wheeling with, and so on and so forth. I was just now trying to figure out what I did last year, couldn't even recall it was so lame, and then I remembered: 
              
patron + pink stiletto ankle boots  =  shit show to the nth power

And after going back to the bar the next day and collecting all of my belongings (phone, purse, coat and camera) and returning the corduroy? H&M blazer that I apparently stole from the bar, I sat with my friends and watched Mr. Magoo (the Leslie Nielsen feature film) and felt hungover and demoralized.

Anyway, what I saw on that pole was a flyer for the Murder City Devils at the Roseland on the 31st. I love them and I'm pretty sure they would be the best band to watch on New Years Eve ever. How could it fail? Watching Spencer Moody flail around the stage and growl is like watching all of my eves combined in one man, and I'm pretty sure that being in the presence of that will dilute any choices that I make to less than slightly regrettable or even pretty good.