Sometimes I feel sorry for my friends, because they have to put up with me. My biggest problem is my lack of subtly... meaning that I have none. I am the least subtle person you will ever meet. My ex-boyfriend used to complain about it when we went out to bars... he'd point someone out, either a super slutty looking girl or some drunk ass, and I'd whip my head around and stare directly at them. "God, would you stop that?!" he'd exclaim, and I'd whip my head back around and stare at him instead.
I have countless experiences like this, and I have to focus on being subtle, aka moving my head slower, or filtering my thoughts before they come out of my mouth. I have tried to convince my friends that I have no aversion to dogs, but Claire and Julie both make fun of me because apparently there is an "Ashley is confronted by an animal" face, in which I cannot keep my disgust at their wet tongues to myself. My face betrays all. I have even tried to pet dogs in front of them so that they see that I don't mind dogs, I just don't like drool. But finally, when we were camping and Claire's dog Monty went swimming and then shook himself out all over me, I was so disgusted that I finally yelled, "OKAY. YOU ARE RIGHT. I DON'T LIKE DOGS." They smiled in satisfaction. Subtlety denied.
Recently we were at my friend Peter's houseboat, and he said something like, "The water just gets warmer as summer goes on."
And I replied, "Well, I guess we will just have to come back then!" Inviting myself back over in the first half-hour we were there.
Claire stared at me. "Subtle as a freight train, as always."
That same day, we were sitting at Peter's kitchen table with a bunch of our friends. One of the girls had a baby. Now, I've dealt with babies before. I have a little brother, he was born before my senior year of high school so I really have experience with them. I know they spit up and shit and pee and drool... I also know how much a mother loves their baby, so really I should have been more prepared for this situation. Claire will never let me live it down.
The baby was a few months old, and it was sitting on its mother's lap across the table from me. I looked up from our conversation and there was some white spit-up on the baby's lip. What was going through my head was, "Oh no that baby has spit up on its lip it needs to be cleaned up, someone do something." But instead of saying that, I pointed at the baby and said:
"Eww."
Claire glanced at me, barely concealing her horror, then said to everyone, "Oh Ashley, I've seen you do that before." And everyone laughed and I realized what I had just said. I stared at Claire with disbelief, and she shook her head incredulously and rolled her eyes at me. I couldn't believe I just said "Eww" to a baby, and her mom was sitting right there. And I POINTED. So rude. I believe the mother was extremely insulted and she left soon afterwards, I'm not sure if it was because of me or because she was the only one there with a baby and Claire was no longer trying to listen to her talk about her nipples and her kindle. Either way, she took off, saying that the baby was fussy.
I could go on about this lack of subtly, but you know what? Enough embarrassing stories for one day.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Vacation Time
Tomorrow I head home to begin a MUCH NEEDED vacation with my family, although technically I've already started this vacation at my office by playing Angry Birds for more time than absolutely necessary while listening to dance-tastic beats of Flo Rida. My co-workers have noticed my dimishing attention to my work, as I have been wandering around the office finding any way to procrastinate actually doing something, from complaining about my clients to discussing peoples weekends extensively to pondering the meanings of our last names and proposing alternatives, such as "Lady," so that when my name goes from last to first, I would be called "Lady, Ashley." It's a stimulating environment.
Although that's not to say I don't have things to complain about with my clients. There is the guy who overly rolls all his "r's" in Spanish and I have to be careful not to start laughing while he's talking, the woman who calls me so often that I now could recite her phone number from all the times I've called her back, and then there's a whole other level of client... we call him Fabio. Fabio is unlike any other client in that he makes me feel borderline violated when he even walks into a room. Fabio has the classic long mullet hair, lingering eyes, and a way of speaking to me that makes me feel inferior and contradicted. I dread calling him. I dread answering his calls. So I normally send it to voicemail. He asks me often whether I understand him or not, when I absolutely do. The times I don't understand him, I feel like he's making some comment under his breath and uses words I don't know intentionally. He hasn't done anything to cross a line yet, but he's gotten close.
I recently had to meet with Fabio one-on-one in my office. I intentionally left the door open. I was telling him in Spanish that he would have to get a medical exam for his immigration application, and he said, "Why? Why do I need a medical exam?" He looked me directly in the eyes... I think he was trying to smolder at me, but I kept my eyes carefully on the computer.
"It's just part of the application." I replied while pretending to focus on my computer.
"What if they find something in my exam that's bad?" He stared too intently at me.
I looked at him. "What do you think they'll find? Do you think you're sick with something?"
He paused a moment, staring at me. "Amorrrr." Love.
Oh dear God. I chuckled nervously, disgusted. "Ha ha." I said, and changed the subject, my stomach churning.
Later as we were wrapping up the appointment, I told him, like I tell all my clients, "So if you have any questions please don't hesitate to call me and I'll be happy to help you."
"I dont believe you, why do you never answer my calls?" He asked in his attempted rico-suave voice.
I squirmed inside. It's because you creep me the fuck out and just hearing your voice makes me want to hurl! "Well, you know, I have a lot of clients and am very busy, on the phone a lot." I try to say casually.
"You never answer me. Do you spend all day on the phone with your boyfriend then?" He asked, chuckling softly at half joke, half serious question.
"Yes. Yes I do. All day." I said, stopping his joke in it's tracks and ending the conversation.
To top it all off, several weeks ago I actually cried in one of the attorney's offices. The mistakes made at my work could actually seriously affect someone's life, and the pressure can be too much sometimes. Needless to say, I need a vacation. NOW.
So I am in the process of procrastinating packing for my vacation. FINALLY. My immediate family and I are going to spend a whole week on a big-ass houseboat on Lake Shasta in Cali with a bunch of our family friends I have known since I was born. We do it every other year, and it is fabulous. Boating, wakeboarding, tubing, sunbatheing, drinking, swimming... our first year my dad's friends were bored one night and dared us to do things for money; going down the slide in the dark with a cowboy hat on (I got $60 for that), jumping off the back of the three-story boat into the water (Cassy got $40 for that), and blowing a beer can across the hot tub because she was too drunk to do anything else (Britt got $5 for that). It's a wonderful time.
About 6 weeks ago I decided I was too fat to be on a houseboat for a whole week in a bikini. So I decided to do something about it and work hard to lose 10 pounds by the time we got on the boat. About 4 weeks in, I was in my bedroom feeling my butt to see how the progress was going. And I realized.
My butt was lopsided.
YES. Lopsided. I have an unfortunate ailment of having one leg shorter than the other. Before this, the only problem I had was that I limped only very slightly when I walked and couldn't go on a run. I used a lift, but it seems that that wasn't enough to even things all the way out, because as one side of my ass ran smoothly from buttocks into leg, the other had a slight crease, then into leg. When I found this out, I was mortified. MORTIFIED. I even stood with my back to my full length mirror and took pictures of myself in my bikini bottoms to prove it, and it was true. One side of my ass was more in shape with the other. I texted my mom frantically. "MOM! MY ASS IS LOPSIDED! OH MY GOD!" My next text said, "Don't say it, I already know. I'll look up a physical therapist tomorrow." Because moms are always right, even when they don't say it out loud.
She thought I was kidding, but realized I was serious when the next time that I saw her, I took my pants off and shoved my butt in her general direction. "SEE?? DO YOU SEE IT?!"
"Jeez, calm down, you can barely see anything. I only see something because you pointed it out, stop freaking out." She said. Ha. Probably lying for my benefit, as mothers do.
Over the next few weeks I worked hard to even my ass out, using the stair-stepper and pilates and focusing on even steps on the eliptical. It is now the night before I go home to start the vacation, and I have to say that it looks a little better. A little. Also, I've lost about 8 pounds, so GOAL ALMOST REACHED! Better than my normal goals, which usually go by the wayside as soon as I lose interest. But as my hotness was at stake, I bravely soldiered on, sweating all over my red face and treating bread and cheese like they were Fabio (aka: avoid at all costs).
Today after my last workout before vacay starts, I was red, I was sweaty, and I was proud. And then suddenly I was in pain, as my contact decided to attack my eyeball and I spent a good two minutes dangerously driving around with only half my eyesight available as I tried to re-adjust my contact, causing my eye to water all over the place. I took the contact out, I put it back in, I rubbed my eyelid, I touched my eye. I was desperate to get it fixed before I ran into oncoming traffic or worse, missed my exit. Finally it settled down, and I was triumphant. BAM! Contact conquored. I had to make a trip to Fred Meyer to stock up on beer and shampoo before starting my packing, so I walked around the store with my things and checked out with a girl, making nice conversation. Then I went home.
When I got there, I was putting my shampoo in the bathroom when I glanced at myself then did a double-take, staring at myself in horror. I looked like a fucking half-raccoon. My rebel contact eye was dark all around it from my eyeliner and mascara! I got some water and scrubbed it off, like that would help now. Then I laughed... imagine the people at the store, looking at me, red-faced, sweaty, and a black eye. Hopefully they had a good laugh out of it, even if they didn't let me hear them. It reminded me of the time I walked into a pole in Spain... but that's another story.
So yeah, it's vacation time. Margaritas, here I come.
Although that's not to say I don't have things to complain about with my clients. There is the guy who overly rolls all his "r's" in Spanish and I have to be careful not to start laughing while he's talking, the woman who calls me so often that I now could recite her phone number from all the times I've called her back, and then there's a whole other level of client... we call him Fabio. Fabio is unlike any other client in that he makes me feel borderline violated when he even walks into a room. Fabio has the classic long mullet hair, lingering eyes, and a way of speaking to me that makes me feel inferior and contradicted. I dread calling him. I dread answering his calls. So I normally send it to voicemail. He asks me often whether I understand him or not, when I absolutely do. The times I don't understand him, I feel like he's making some comment under his breath and uses words I don't know intentionally. He hasn't done anything to cross a line yet, but he's gotten close.
I recently had to meet with Fabio one-on-one in my office. I intentionally left the door open. I was telling him in Spanish that he would have to get a medical exam for his immigration application, and he said, "Why? Why do I need a medical exam?" He looked me directly in the eyes... I think he was trying to smolder at me, but I kept my eyes carefully on the computer.
"It's just part of the application." I replied while pretending to focus on my computer.
"What if they find something in my exam that's bad?" He stared too intently at me.
I looked at him. "What do you think they'll find? Do you think you're sick with something?"
He paused a moment, staring at me. "Amorrrr." Love.
Oh dear God. I chuckled nervously, disgusted. "Ha ha." I said, and changed the subject, my stomach churning.
Later as we were wrapping up the appointment, I told him, like I tell all my clients, "So if you have any questions please don't hesitate to call me and I'll be happy to help you."
"I dont believe you, why do you never answer my calls?" He asked in his attempted rico-suave voice.
I squirmed inside. It's because you creep me the fuck out and just hearing your voice makes me want to hurl! "Well, you know, I have a lot of clients and am very busy, on the phone a lot." I try to say casually.
"You never answer me. Do you spend all day on the phone with your boyfriend then?" He asked, chuckling softly at half joke, half serious question.
"Yes. Yes I do. All day." I said, stopping his joke in it's tracks and ending the conversation.
To top it all off, several weeks ago I actually cried in one of the attorney's offices. The mistakes made at my work could actually seriously affect someone's life, and the pressure can be too much sometimes. Needless to say, I need a vacation. NOW.
So I am in the process of procrastinating packing for my vacation. FINALLY. My immediate family and I are going to spend a whole week on a big-ass houseboat on Lake Shasta in Cali with a bunch of our family friends I have known since I was born. We do it every other year, and it is fabulous. Boating, wakeboarding, tubing, sunbatheing, drinking, swimming... our first year my dad's friends were bored one night and dared us to do things for money; going down the slide in the dark with a cowboy hat on (I got $60 for that), jumping off the back of the three-story boat into the water (Cassy got $40 for that), and blowing a beer can across the hot tub because she was too drunk to do anything else (Britt got $5 for that). It's a wonderful time.
About 6 weeks ago I decided I was too fat to be on a houseboat for a whole week in a bikini. So I decided to do something about it and work hard to lose 10 pounds by the time we got on the boat. About 4 weeks in, I was in my bedroom feeling my butt to see how the progress was going. And I realized.
My butt was lopsided.
YES. Lopsided. I have an unfortunate ailment of having one leg shorter than the other. Before this, the only problem I had was that I limped only very slightly when I walked and couldn't go on a run. I used a lift, but it seems that that wasn't enough to even things all the way out, because as one side of my ass ran smoothly from buttocks into leg, the other had a slight crease, then into leg. When I found this out, I was mortified. MORTIFIED. I even stood with my back to my full length mirror and took pictures of myself in my bikini bottoms to prove it, and it was true. One side of my ass was more in shape with the other. I texted my mom frantically. "MOM! MY ASS IS LOPSIDED! OH MY GOD!" My next text said, "Don't say it, I already know. I'll look up a physical therapist tomorrow." Because moms are always right, even when they don't say it out loud.
She thought I was kidding, but realized I was serious when the next time that I saw her, I took my pants off and shoved my butt in her general direction. "SEE?? DO YOU SEE IT?!"
"Jeez, calm down, you can barely see anything. I only see something because you pointed it out, stop freaking out." She said. Ha. Probably lying for my benefit, as mothers do.
Over the next few weeks I worked hard to even my ass out, using the stair-stepper and pilates and focusing on even steps on the eliptical. It is now the night before I go home to start the vacation, and I have to say that it looks a little better. A little. Also, I've lost about 8 pounds, so GOAL ALMOST REACHED! Better than my normal goals, which usually go by the wayside as soon as I lose interest. But as my hotness was at stake, I bravely soldiered on, sweating all over my red face and treating bread and cheese like they were Fabio (aka: avoid at all costs).
Today after my last workout before vacay starts, I was red, I was sweaty, and I was proud. And then suddenly I was in pain, as my contact decided to attack my eyeball and I spent a good two minutes dangerously driving around with only half my eyesight available as I tried to re-adjust my contact, causing my eye to water all over the place. I took the contact out, I put it back in, I rubbed my eyelid, I touched my eye. I was desperate to get it fixed before I ran into oncoming traffic or worse, missed my exit. Finally it settled down, and I was triumphant. BAM! Contact conquored. I had to make a trip to Fred Meyer to stock up on beer and shampoo before starting my packing, so I walked around the store with my things and checked out with a girl, making nice conversation. Then I went home.
When I got there, I was putting my shampoo in the bathroom when I glanced at myself then did a double-take, staring at myself in horror. I looked like a fucking half-raccoon. My rebel contact eye was dark all around it from my eyeliner and mascara! I got some water and scrubbed it off, like that would help now. Then I laughed... imagine the people at the store, looking at me, red-faced, sweaty, and a black eye. Hopefully they had a good laugh out of it, even if they didn't let me hear them. It reminded me of the time I walked into a pole in Spain... but that's another story.
So yeah, it's vacation time. Margaritas, here I come.
Monday, June 4, 2012
The Best Pick-Up Line You Will Ever Hear
The best line I have ever heard in my entire life is so good, so awesome, so ridiculously ridiculous, that you will have to quote it at some point in your life just because you heard it this one time. Are you ready? Brace yourself, its.....
No! I can't tell you yet. It's too good. I need to build up to it first. Because you need the story to fully appreciate it. Or perhaps you don't, I just need more time before I give you the best pick-up line of your life. I'm not gonna give it up that easily. I ain't no whore. You gotta work for it.
It happened my senior year of college, when Claire and I were visiting Julie at her apartment in Portland. We had been out dancing with Julie's roommate and her friends. We came back to Julie's apartment before everyone else because we were exhausted and her roommates friends party HARD. Julie went straight to her room and passed out, while Claire and I were sharing the futon in her living room. I was JUST about asleep when they all came loudly stumbling back into the apartment. There were four of them. Julie's roommate and her boyfriend went instantly into her room. I know this not because I saw it (my head was covered by blankets), but because two doors slammed (front door, bedroom door) and could practically hear them ripping off their clothes.
The last two decided to stand in the kitchen and have a nice little conversation. The kitchen was about 15 feet from where I was sleeping, and if I had see-through-blanket vision, I would have seen them standing there, leaning against the counter, chatting away. I was trying not to listen but suddenly I couldn't help it, as the game began. The game of trying-to-get-a-girl-into-your-bed.
"I don't know..." She said, sounding coy.
"Why not? I don't live very far from here, just like 15 blocks."
"I don't know..." She said again. I think she probably mixed up the I-don't-know's with other phrases that mean the same thing, but I can't remember them.
"You are just so beautiful and I just want to kiss you."
"I don't know..."
"My apartment is just like 10 blocks from here. It's really close."
"I don't know..."
" I just had such a great time tonight with you, it would be fun."
"I don't know..."
This went on for what seemed like an HOUR. This guy was really trying his best to get some action. Suddenly there was a break in the game plan when Julie's roommate started making loud sex noises. The two in the kitchen paused...
"...She's totally faking it." Coy Bitch said.
"I know, it's ridiculous. There's no way he's that good." Dumbass said.
Then it continued.
"Are you sure? My place is about 7 blocks from here."
"I don't know..."
And then he said it. HE SAID IT. Are you ready?! BRACE YOURSELF FOR SOME HARDCORE PICKUP LINE DANCING! Here it goes:
"I can't be chastised for what I'm thinking in my head. And what I'm thinking is: You. Me. Rolling around in my bed. Naked."
AHHHHH!!!! I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing out loud, I was dangerously close to giving away my position of being awake and fully aware of what was going on. All I could think was, OH MY GOD. Claire BETTER be awake because there is NO WAY I could ever describe this to her! CONTROL YOURSELF, no laughing! CLAIRE HAS TO BE AWAKE. THAT WAS SO AWESOME.
I'm pretty sure she never actually stated that she wanted to leave and go have some drunken sex at his place, but they finally left soon after this comment and I ripped the blanket off of me.
"CLAIRE?!" I whispered loudly. "ARE YOU AWAKE?!"
Claire sat up and stared at me. "YES!! Can you believe that?!" We lapsed into uncontrollable laughter for about 10 minutes, or at least until we heard them coming back in the apartment. We quickly pretended to be asleep but I think they had a suspicion that we were awake now, because I could feel their suspicions stares as they went into Julie's roommates room where apparently the sex had stopped and the loud party had began.
And there. That is the best pick-up line I have ever heard in my life. He can't be chastised! Not for what he's thinking in his head! You. Me. Rolling around in my bed. Naked.
If you ever dare to use this line, and it actually ends up working out for you, you will be my hero.
No! I can't tell you yet. It's too good. I need to build up to it first. Because you need the story to fully appreciate it. Or perhaps you don't, I just need more time before I give you the best pick-up line of your life. I'm not gonna give it up that easily. I ain't no whore. You gotta work for it.
It happened my senior year of college, when Claire and I were visiting Julie at her apartment in Portland. We had been out dancing with Julie's roommate and her friends. We came back to Julie's apartment before everyone else because we were exhausted and her roommates friends party HARD. Julie went straight to her room and passed out, while Claire and I were sharing the futon in her living room. I was JUST about asleep when they all came loudly stumbling back into the apartment. There were four of them. Julie's roommate and her boyfriend went instantly into her room. I know this not because I saw it (my head was covered by blankets), but because two doors slammed (front door, bedroom door) and could practically hear them ripping off their clothes.
The last two decided to stand in the kitchen and have a nice little conversation. The kitchen was about 15 feet from where I was sleeping, and if I had see-through-blanket vision, I would have seen them standing there, leaning against the counter, chatting away. I was trying not to listen but suddenly I couldn't help it, as the game began. The game of trying-to-get-a-girl-into-your-bed.
"I don't know..." She said, sounding coy.
"Why not? I don't live very far from here, just like 15 blocks."
"I don't know..." She said again. I think she probably mixed up the I-don't-know's with other phrases that mean the same thing, but I can't remember them.
"You are just so beautiful and I just want to kiss you."
"I don't know..."
"My apartment is just like 10 blocks from here. It's really close."
"I don't know..."
" I just had such a great time tonight with you, it would be fun."
"I don't know..."
This went on for what seemed like an HOUR. This guy was really trying his best to get some action. Suddenly there was a break in the game plan when Julie's roommate started making loud sex noises. The two in the kitchen paused...
"...She's totally faking it." Coy Bitch said.
"I know, it's ridiculous. There's no way he's that good." Dumbass said.
Then it continued.
"Are you sure? My place is about 7 blocks from here."
"I don't know..."
And then he said it. HE SAID IT. Are you ready?! BRACE YOURSELF FOR SOME HARDCORE PICKUP LINE DANCING! Here it goes:
"I can't be chastised for what I'm thinking in my head. And what I'm thinking is: You. Me. Rolling around in my bed. Naked."
AHHHHH!!!! I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing out loud, I was dangerously close to giving away my position of being awake and fully aware of what was going on. All I could think was, OH MY GOD. Claire BETTER be awake because there is NO WAY I could ever describe this to her! CONTROL YOURSELF, no laughing! CLAIRE HAS TO BE AWAKE. THAT WAS SO AWESOME.
I'm pretty sure she never actually stated that she wanted to leave and go have some drunken sex at his place, but they finally left soon after this comment and I ripped the blanket off of me.
"CLAIRE?!" I whispered loudly. "ARE YOU AWAKE?!"
Claire sat up and stared at me. "YES!! Can you believe that?!" We lapsed into uncontrollable laughter for about 10 minutes, or at least until we heard them coming back in the apartment. We quickly pretended to be asleep but I think they had a suspicion that we were awake now, because I could feel their suspicions stares as they went into Julie's roommates room where apparently the sex had stopped and the loud party had began.
And there. That is the best pick-up line I have ever heard in my life. He can't be chastised! Not for what he's thinking in his head! You. Me. Rolling around in my bed. Naked.
If you ever dare to use this line, and it actually ends up working out for you, you will be my hero.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
My Summary Sentences
It is strange to me to think that in the future I will look back on this time in my life and simply say, "I lived in Portland with my best friends and worked at an immigration law firm in Salem," and this could easily summarize the past year. And then maybe I would just move on in the conversation and talk about something else. Every smaller detail beyond that would require more conversation or perhaps it would come up in a different setting under a different topic, or just never come up at all. Like right now. I am sitting in my bedroom at my moms house and I'm watching a Hillary Duff movie because even though she is a ridiculous actress and I want to slap her when she trys to be emotional, her silly stories are entertaining enough to watch alone on a Saturday night after everyone else has gone to bed and there is nothing else to do. So you see, that lame story I just told would probably never have been mentioned again in my life if I hadn't said it now, because who cares? But this is my reality right now, and it seems weird that it is probably a moment I won't think about again.
Even the slighlty more memorable moments, like last Thursday when Claire, Julie and I pooled our change together so that we could buy a box of wine. We eventually came up with 15 dollars, drove to Fred Meyer, and spent about 10 whole minutes trying to pay for the wine at the self check-out stand because the damn machine would only take one quarter for every two we put in. The woman supervising was staring at us during this process, which was a little noisy as we were flinging change into the machine while cussing and laughing, and said, "You girls must really want that wine." To which we enthusiastically agreed, and then high-fived each other when we finally had shoved enough quarters in to pay for the whole thing. Even this story would probably only be told a few times to a few people, and then be forgotten until one day in the distant future, one of us said, "Remember that time we paid for boxed wine with all quarters?" And we would all laugh and high-five each other again.
And finally, the "moments." The moments that stay with us forever and would probably come up in conversation but still will never be portrayed in that first and most important sentence. Like when we finally received the work visa for this woman who is married to a US citizen but has been treated so cruelly by him and could never get away because she had no way to support herself or her children without being able to get a job legally. She hugged me at least three times the day she came in to get her visa, brought us flowers, couldn't stop thanking me, and had to leave because she was going to start crying. We truly gave her her freedom; freedom from abuse, freedom from poverty, freedom from shame. And that is the day I finally understood the meaning of the word. All these years I have been hearing "freedom" and never could comprehend it because I already had it. I can't describe how it feels to give this most precious gift to someone who truly needs and deserves it.
These moments will live with me forever. But they still don't appear in the summary that is that one sentence describing this part of my life. I can say, "I spent a year in Spain teaching English," and that can explain my entire trip to Spain. So much happened in that year that made me the person who I am today, but that isn't portrayed in this one important sentence. I learned that living in another country is still living, just in another country. It isn't full of splendors all the time; sometimes it sucks, just like life at home. I still had to pay rent and electricity and go to work and buy food and there were still mundane moments. I also learned how to travel in Europe, and I know now that I could return alone and feel completely comfortable getting around and finding places to stay. I learned that feeling productive and worthwhile is the most important thing you could do for yourself, and without that, homesickness and depression can easily overtake you. I learned that a hair dryer can also be used as a clothes dryer as well as a heater. I learned how to pack lightly. I learned not to smoke weed in the back room of a bar with people I just met. I learned some Polish words. I learned loads of Spanish words. I learned that almost everyone in hostels are looking to meet new people, just start with the standard question, "Where are you from?" And I learned that even though it was wonderful and hard and exciting and crazy, that this experience was mine, it was perfect, and I wouldn't change anything about it.
But these things are not included in these one summary sentences! I could talk for days about them. "I went to high school." That was four years of experiences. "I went to Linfield College, and it was awesome." Four more years. "I lived in Spain and taught English." Another year. "I live in Portland with my best friends and work at a law firm." Another year. This will go on for the rest of my life, accumulating sections of my story into short sentences. So the only way to portray everything behind that sentence is to keep talking...
I guess that's what conversations are for.
Even the slighlty more memorable moments, like last Thursday when Claire, Julie and I pooled our change together so that we could buy a box of wine. We eventually came up with 15 dollars, drove to Fred Meyer, and spent about 10 whole minutes trying to pay for the wine at the self check-out stand because the damn machine would only take one quarter for every two we put in. The woman supervising was staring at us during this process, which was a little noisy as we were flinging change into the machine while cussing and laughing, and said, "You girls must really want that wine." To which we enthusiastically agreed, and then high-fived each other when we finally had shoved enough quarters in to pay for the whole thing. Even this story would probably only be told a few times to a few people, and then be forgotten until one day in the distant future, one of us said, "Remember that time we paid for boxed wine with all quarters?" And we would all laugh and high-five each other again.
And finally, the "moments." The moments that stay with us forever and would probably come up in conversation but still will never be portrayed in that first and most important sentence. Like when we finally received the work visa for this woman who is married to a US citizen but has been treated so cruelly by him and could never get away because she had no way to support herself or her children without being able to get a job legally. She hugged me at least three times the day she came in to get her visa, brought us flowers, couldn't stop thanking me, and had to leave because she was going to start crying. We truly gave her her freedom; freedom from abuse, freedom from poverty, freedom from shame. And that is the day I finally understood the meaning of the word. All these years I have been hearing "freedom" and never could comprehend it because I already had it. I can't describe how it feels to give this most precious gift to someone who truly needs and deserves it.
These moments will live with me forever. But they still don't appear in the summary that is that one sentence describing this part of my life. I can say, "I spent a year in Spain teaching English," and that can explain my entire trip to Spain. So much happened in that year that made me the person who I am today, but that isn't portrayed in this one important sentence. I learned that living in another country is still living, just in another country. It isn't full of splendors all the time; sometimes it sucks, just like life at home. I still had to pay rent and electricity and go to work and buy food and there were still mundane moments. I also learned how to travel in Europe, and I know now that I could return alone and feel completely comfortable getting around and finding places to stay. I learned that feeling productive and worthwhile is the most important thing you could do for yourself, and without that, homesickness and depression can easily overtake you. I learned that a hair dryer can also be used as a clothes dryer as well as a heater. I learned how to pack lightly. I learned not to smoke weed in the back room of a bar with people I just met. I learned some Polish words. I learned loads of Spanish words. I learned that almost everyone in hostels are looking to meet new people, just start with the standard question, "Where are you from?" And I learned that even though it was wonderful and hard and exciting and crazy, that this experience was mine, it was perfect, and I wouldn't change anything about it.
But these things are not included in these one summary sentences! I could talk for days about them. "I went to high school." That was four years of experiences. "I went to Linfield College, and it was awesome." Four more years. "I lived in Spain and taught English." Another year. "I live in Portland with my best friends and work at a law firm." Another year. This will go on for the rest of my life, accumulating sections of my story into short sentences. So the only way to portray everything behind that sentence is to keep talking...
I guess that's what conversations are for.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Dads Always Win
As a child, my dad was a fantastic dad. I'm not saying he's not amazing now, but my dad has a way with kids; There is nothing he wouldn't do for them, for us. When we used to live in town, the neighbor kids would knock on the door and ask my mom, "Can Doug come out and play?" He just thrives around children, and he would spend hours entertaining us. He used to tell us "Crystal Stories," stories he made up on the spot that always had a good and timely moral. He had us kids entertained and always left my mom crying she was laughing so hard at the adult humor he threw in for her benefit. He used to take us on motorcycle rides. He would let us put his hair up into twenty different stubby ponytails and dance around to the little keyboard we had. He would play "bloody murder" with us and our friends at birthday parties and sleepovers, a sort of extreme, nocturnal hide-and-seek game that involved a terrifying chase by him to base.
He blasted "The Drums" (Money for Nothing by Dire Straits) in his truck so loud that it rocked our very souls as we all banged away to the music on our own invisible drum sets. He would give us horse-back rides at just one request and try to knock us off. He used to turn off all the lights in the gym after his basketball practices and chase us through the darkness, our screeches and laughter bouncing off the walls and magnifying the exhilaration. And afterwards as we were driving home, whenever we saw a "Stop" sign, he would become very scared and say, "Pots ('Stop' backwards) and wolves are chasing us!" And we would squeal in excited terror as we 'ran away' from such scary things. There is nothing our dad wouldn't do for us, except one thing...
Shopping.
When Laurie was new to our family, she decided it would be a great family thing if my dad came with us to go shopping for school clothes. My dad refused. But Laurie had her ways, and eventually there my dad was, in the front seat, going shopping. His worst nightmare.
Laurie tried hard to get him to participate. She made us show him what we had picked out, she had him go with us to find new things, she had him take a look at what we had tried on. I think he tried, but eventually, my dad cracked.
"Hey, baby." I looked around, confused. Being around 10 and not familiar with pick-up lines, I wasn't immediately able to recognize the sounds of flirting. But then I spotted my dad. He was raising his eyebrows and smiling at... a mannequin.
"Dad..." I started.
My dad ignored me. "Hey, you're looking goooood tonight." he said to the mannequin. He winked at her and put his arm around her. "I think you and me could have a good time."
My sisters showed up. "Dad!" They both yelled, "What are you doing?!" Dad ignored them and continued to flirt with this mannequin. "Baby, you are just so cute, what do you say we get out of here?" We were all now giggling at him, as passersby stared.
Suddenly Laurie showed up. "Douglas, what are you doing?" She asked, not amused.
"Ooh, I don't think my girlfriend is very happy with me." He said to the mannequin, and we left her behind while Laurie tried one last time, in vain, to get him to participate. As we were walking back to the kids section, my dad suddenly froze. His eyes were bulging and his hands were on his throat. Suddenly he took a huge, loud, obnoxious breath of air and yelled, "I CAN'T BREATHE!! I'M SUFFOCATING!!" He continued to claw at his own throat and take loud gulps of air. "HELP ME!" He motioned towards my sisters and I to help him.
"Dad! Stop it!" we were begging, half giggling, half mortified. People were DEFINITELY staring now.
"I CAN'T BREEEEEEATHE!!!"
"FINE!" Laurie yelled. "We're going home!" My dad suddenly stood upright and was back to normal, as if none of this had just happened. We left the clothes we were going to buy, gave up on going to any other stores, and headed home.
And since then, my dad has never been asked to go with us shopping again. Dads always win.
"Hey, baby." I looked around, confused. Being around 10 and not familiar with pick-up lines, I wasn't immediately able to recognize the sounds of flirting. But then I spotted my dad. He was raising his eyebrows and smiling at... a mannequin.
"Dad..." I started.
My dad ignored me. "Hey, you're looking goooood tonight." he said to the mannequin. He winked at her and put his arm around her. "I think you and me could have a good time."
My sisters showed up. "Dad!" They both yelled, "What are you doing?!" Dad ignored them and continued to flirt with this mannequin. "Baby, you are just so cute, what do you say we get out of here?" We were all now giggling at him, as passersby stared.
Suddenly Laurie showed up. "Douglas, what are you doing?" She asked, not amused.
"Ooh, I don't think my girlfriend is very happy with me." He said to the mannequin, and we left her behind while Laurie tried one last time, in vain, to get him to participate. As we were walking back to the kids section, my dad suddenly froze. His eyes were bulging and his hands were on his throat. Suddenly he took a huge, loud, obnoxious breath of air and yelled, "I CAN'T BREATHE!! I'M SUFFOCATING!!" He continued to claw at his own throat and take loud gulps of air. "HELP ME!" He motioned towards my sisters and I to help him.
"Dad! Stop it!" we were begging, half giggling, half mortified. People were DEFINITELY staring now.
"I CAN'T BREEEEEEATHE!!!"
"FINE!" Laurie yelled. "We're going home!" My dad suddenly stood upright and was back to normal, as if none of this had just happened. We left the clothes we were going to buy, gave up on going to any other stores, and headed home.
And since then, my dad has never been asked to go with us shopping again. Dads always win.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Vegas, Baby!
When I was a senior in college, Julie, Claire, Katie and I took a road trip to Las Vegas for spring break. This trip was fabulous, but the mistake was driving there. Nevada should be nick-named the shit-hole of the US. I am not surprised it's a testing ground for nuclear weapons. It is brown. It is desert. It is vast. The towns are spooky. There were nuclear bunkers. There was a brown lake with no trees, just expanses of brown hills surrounding it. And it lasts for HOURS. Hours of dry, brown terrain with roads that never curve. As an Oregonian who is always surrounded by green, I felt like my soul had died and my looks weren't far behind. To entertain ourselves and to try to forget how much longer we had to drive in this soul-sucking land, we listened to music. We car-danced. We gossiped. We slept. And eventually we were seeing mirages in the distance.
"What is that?" I asked, looking to our right.
"It's like a lake... I think." Julie observed.
"But it's white, why is it white?" I asked.
"Maybe it's sand? Lots of white sand?" Katie chimed in.
"It's jizz. God's jizz." Claire stated from the back seat.
Eventually, after hours of driving in which Claire almost got a speeding ticket, we finally saw Vegas rising out of the desert. It was beautiful. It was civilization. And it was VEGAS, the playground for adults we had been dreaming of. If you have never been to Vegas, go. If you have never been to Vegas and you are a GIRL, you must DEFINITELY GO. It will be the cheapest vacation you ever go on if you do this ONE thing: Dress like a slut.
Okay maybe "slut" is too strong of a word. You just need to make sure you look as hot as you can. Wear short skirts, and high heels, and do your hair and put on all that make-up, and you will get almost everything for free. Entrance into clubs... CHECK. Drinks... CHECK. And those things are NOT cheap. I bought one drink while I was in Vegas, it was a shot of tequila. It was $10 and it was the worst shot of tequila I have ever had... well except maybe that one at Gypsy that tasted like gasoline. But anyways, a club cover fee is around $30 for guys. My advise to you is to USE YOUR HOT GIRL DISGUISES, and you will get far in Vegas.
And we did exactly that. We got hot. We wore our hooker heels. We did our hair. We drank champagne out of the bottle like Lady Gaga before going out. We got into the club "Pure" in Caesars Palace for free. And that is when the party started.
As we were not VIP's, we had to stand. Our hooker heels were like sharks eating away at our feet, so we started talking to some friendly Chinese guys who bought us something called "Tokyo Towers." Ironic? We practiced saying Hello in Chinese as we continued to drink and our feet felt like they were disappearing. After all that drinking Julie and I decided to head off to the bathroom, and when we came back, everyone was gone.
We were distressed for a minute until we were distracted by a couple guys, one of which had an British accent. So, after a few more drinks, of course I started making out with him. SIDE NOTE: I love kissing. I think of it as a recreational activity, somewhat like tennis. It is fun for both people and completely harmless. After a fun tennis match, he decided we needed to go on a walk downstairs in the casino. We sat down at some slot machines, and continued making out for a while. That's when he said it:
"I think I'm falling in love with you."
I pulled away from him like he'd bit me and stared. I was stunned, and extremely confused. "What?"
"I think I'm in love with you." He said again, staring at me intently.
I snorted, but then took a look at his face and looked away. What. Is. He. Saying. "What?" I repeated. He continued to gaze tenderly into my eyes. I was grasping for anything that wouldn't make this true. "It's because you're drunk." I said. He shook his head. I looked around frantically, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. "It's because of these!" I exclaimed, grasping my breasts. He shook his head yet again.
"I really think I'm falling in love with you. Come back to my room with me." Ahhhhh... I stalled him by kissing him again. While he continued to proclaim his love for me I got out my phone and texted Katie, COME FIND ME NOW.
"Do you want to come back to my room?" he asked me. I was desperatly waiting for Katie to text me back. "Ahh, haha, I don't know..." I said. Suddenly my phone vibrated, Where are you?
I looked around. I'm next to some slot machines. "I just think you're so beautiful, I've never met anyone like you." The English guy was saying. I smiled and kissed him again to stall for more time.
How the fuck am I supposed to find you if that is all you can tell me?! Katie texted me back. Shit. I need to be more specific. While English dude was continuing to dote on me I squinted around through my drunken eyes and found a sign. There is a sign, it says Liberty Pizza Company. I finally put something coherent together for her. "Yes, I've had so much fun with you." I say to English dude to keep his attention. "You are really cool too."
He smiled at me again. "Are you sure you don't want to come back with me?"
"Yeah... I dunno, I need to find my friends..." I need Katie to find me NOW! I kissed him a couple more times and then FINALLY I heard Katie's voice. She was with our friend Alex. I vaguely wondered where Claire and Julie were, but then she was dragging me away from English dude and he was looking after me longingly. I waved and yelled, "It was nice to meet you!" and then he was out of sight as Katie dragged me around the corner.
"Wait here." She put me in a chair in front of some gambling-for-sports TV's. "I have to find Claire and Julie." I did as I was told and waited, tired with drunkenness, curled up in the chair. Eventually she came back for me, and Claire and Julie were stumbling around about as drunk as I was... We were all very happy to see each other. Apparently they had both had their own make out sessions. Claire called hers Edward Cullen and Julie called hers 'guy Claire knew from high school.' And that was how we ended the night, walking back to our hotel... although I did have to sit down on the casino floor to take off my hooker heels that were finally taking me down.
Vegas rocks my shoes off.
"What is that?" I asked, looking to our right.
"It's like a lake... I think." Julie observed.
"But it's white, why is it white?" I asked.
"Maybe it's sand? Lots of white sand?" Katie chimed in.
"It's jizz. God's jizz." Claire stated from the back seat.
Eventually, after hours of driving in which Claire almost got a speeding ticket, we finally saw Vegas rising out of the desert. It was beautiful. It was civilization. And it was VEGAS, the playground for adults we had been dreaming of. If you have never been to Vegas, go. If you have never been to Vegas and you are a GIRL, you must DEFINITELY GO. It will be the cheapest vacation you ever go on if you do this ONE thing: Dress like a slut.
Okay maybe "slut" is too strong of a word. You just need to make sure you look as hot as you can. Wear short skirts, and high heels, and do your hair and put on all that make-up, and you will get almost everything for free. Entrance into clubs... CHECK. Drinks... CHECK. And those things are NOT cheap. I bought one drink while I was in Vegas, it was a shot of tequila. It was $10 and it was the worst shot of tequila I have ever had... well except maybe that one at Gypsy that tasted like gasoline. But anyways, a club cover fee is around $30 for guys. My advise to you is to USE YOUR HOT GIRL DISGUISES, and you will get far in Vegas.
And we did exactly that. We got hot. We wore our hooker heels. We did our hair. We drank champagne out of the bottle like Lady Gaga before going out. We got into the club "Pure" in Caesars Palace for free. And that is when the party started.
As we were not VIP's, we had to stand. Our hooker heels were like sharks eating away at our feet, so we started talking to some friendly Chinese guys who bought us something called "Tokyo Towers." Ironic? We practiced saying Hello in Chinese as we continued to drink and our feet felt like they were disappearing. After all that drinking Julie and I decided to head off to the bathroom, and when we came back, everyone was gone.
We were distressed for a minute until we were distracted by a couple guys, one of which had an British accent. So, after a few more drinks, of course I started making out with him. SIDE NOTE: I love kissing. I think of it as a recreational activity, somewhat like tennis. It is fun for both people and completely harmless. After a fun tennis match, he decided we needed to go on a walk downstairs in the casino. We sat down at some slot machines, and continued making out for a while. That's when he said it:
"I think I'm falling in love with you."
I pulled away from him like he'd bit me and stared. I was stunned, and extremely confused. "What?"
"I think I'm in love with you." He said again, staring at me intently.
I snorted, but then took a look at his face and looked away. What. Is. He. Saying. "What?" I repeated. He continued to gaze tenderly into my eyes. I was grasping for anything that wouldn't make this true. "It's because you're drunk." I said. He shook his head. I looked around frantically, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. "It's because of these!" I exclaimed, grasping my breasts. He shook his head yet again.
"I really think I'm falling in love with you. Come back to my room with me." Ahhhhh... I stalled him by kissing him again. While he continued to proclaim his love for me I got out my phone and texted Katie, COME FIND ME NOW.
"Do you want to come back to my room?" he asked me. I was desperatly waiting for Katie to text me back. "Ahh, haha, I don't know..." I said. Suddenly my phone vibrated, Where are you?
I looked around. I'm next to some slot machines. "I just think you're so beautiful, I've never met anyone like you." The English guy was saying. I smiled and kissed him again to stall for more time.
How the fuck am I supposed to find you if that is all you can tell me?! Katie texted me back. Shit. I need to be more specific. While English dude was continuing to dote on me I squinted around through my drunken eyes and found a sign. There is a sign, it says Liberty Pizza Company. I finally put something coherent together for her. "Yes, I've had so much fun with you." I say to English dude to keep his attention. "You are really cool too."
He smiled at me again. "Are you sure you don't want to come back with me?"
"Yeah... I dunno, I need to find my friends..." I need Katie to find me NOW! I kissed him a couple more times and then FINALLY I heard Katie's voice. She was with our friend Alex. I vaguely wondered where Claire and Julie were, but then she was dragging me away from English dude and he was looking after me longingly. I waved and yelled, "It was nice to meet you!" and then he was out of sight as Katie dragged me around the corner.
"Wait here." She put me in a chair in front of some gambling-for-sports TV's. "I have to find Claire and Julie." I did as I was told and waited, tired with drunkenness, curled up in the chair. Eventually she came back for me, and Claire and Julie were stumbling around about as drunk as I was... We were all very happy to see each other. Apparently they had both had their own make out sessions. Claire called hers Edward Cullen and Julie called hers 'guy Claire knew from high school.' And that was how we ended the night, walking back to our hotel... although I did have to sit down on the casino floor to take off my hooker heels that were finally taking me down.
Vegas rocks my shoes off.
Congrats on the Sex
Have you ever seen the music video called, "I Just Had Sex," by Lonely Island and Akon? If you haven't, here is a quick synopsis: The dudes from Lonely Island and Akon spend about three entire minutes with HUGE grins on their faces singing about they just had sex and how mind-blowing it was, how they would have sex with almost anything, how their dreams came true, and the finale is fireworks shooting out from between their legs. Surprisingly accurate to men in real life.
Somewhere in this mess of awesomeness is a scene where they have a cake that says, "CONGRATS ON THE SEX." From the first moment that Claire and I watched this video together we knew... we would have to create a contest. Contest rules: The first person to have sex in 2012 would receive a cake EXACTLY like the one in this video. Not only would you get to have sex, you would receive the bragging rights of being the first one to have sex and celebrate those rights with the cake of your choice. The ultimate dream. Now, as hard as Claire, Julie, and I tried to pursue this dream, it was our friend Stephanie that ended up winning the prize. We had all (excluding Julie) explored a dating website, OkCupid.com. Claire quit after 2 weeks of men badgering her, I quit after 3 weeks and one lousy date where the guy talked about himself the entire time, but surprisingly, this website actually worked for Stephanie. Stephanie found the perfect girlfriend.
Stephanie's parents don't know that she is gay. Which is surprising, as she looks similar to a man; short hair, loose-fitted jeans, leather jackets. My parents came to visit me once with my little brother. While I was getting ready in the bathroom, I overhear Brayden say to Stephanie, "Are you a boy or a girl?" I froze, horrified. I could just see my parents, frozen as well, wide-eyed, terrified for their modesty, ready to puke. Brayden has said some pretty crazy stuff over his 6 years of life, including, "Dad! Look at that fat man!" and "Are you Santa Clause?" and "Why can't girls pee standing up?" but none of these were directed towards a friend. Stephanie ended up responding with, "I'm a girl. I know it's hard to tell but it's okay." I could feel my parents cautiously release some of the tension, heard Brayden say, "Oh. Look what I can do!" then a thump and some ooooh's and aaah's. I decided I looked good enough for public view and ran to the living room and excused ourselves from my friends.
When Stephanie finally decided it was time to introduce the girlfriend, Amy, to her parents, she made me go too. "If I bring two friends to this, it will look less suspicious than just one." She wasn't going to actually TELL her parents she is gay, because they are extremely homophobic people, so she was just going to bring us both to her sister's dance performance and introduce her as a friend. I was sitting between Stephanie and her mom when it happened.
"So Amy, how did you two meet?" Stephanie's mom asked. My smile froze yet again on my face.
ONLINE DATING!!! my mind was screaming. SHE IS GAY. THIS IS HER GIRLFRIEND. ONLINE DATING!!!
Amy kept it cool though. "At a party." I nodded my head wisely, like I was there and witnessed the whole thing. "It was at our friend Lisa's party a couple weeks ago."
"Yeah" I added stupidly.
"Well that is wonderful." Said Stephanie's mom, and returned to watching the show.
When I went to Fred Meyer to buy Stephanie her chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, I asked the woman behind the bakery counter if she had anything to write on cakes with.
"Well I could write it for you if you want." She recommended.
"Umm... Well this isn't really something you normally write on a cake."
She looked at me suspiciously. "What do you mean?"
"Well it's just this joke my and my friends have... I don't know if I should tell you." I look at her critically. She's about my age, she seems chill, maybe she could handle it. "But you look cool. I guess I could ask you. Have you ever seen that music video called 'I Just Had Sex' by Akon?"
She gets a politely confused look on her face and says, "No... I haven't." Ahh shit. I can feel myself start to slightly blush. I'm saying the word 'sex' to strangers, and she hasn't even seen the video so she is less cool than I thought.
I decide to continue on though. "Well in the video there is this cake that says, 'Congrats on the sex'... could you write that?"
Now she looks stunned. Maybe it's worse than I thought. Maybe she was a nun before going in the bakery business. I hear nuns bake fruitcakes sometimes. Or is that just monks? She looks slightly awkward and says, "Even if I could write that, I don't really want that phrase going through the check-out line in my handwriting."
Time for a quick getaway as my embarrassment is slowly heightening. "Ahh, that's okay, thanks anyways. Where can I find something to write on a cake with?"
"The baking aisle." Now I can tell she thinks I'm crude AND stupid.
"Thanks, you have a great day." I practically run to the baking aisle, grab some cake gel and check out. Outside of Stephanie's apartment I write "CONGRATS ON THE SEX" on her cake in white gel which I bought because it looks like sperm, but after seeing it on the cake it's less funny because they are gay and there is no sperm.
Stephanie and Amy love the cake, and we rejoice and eat it in celebration of sex. And it tastes like chocolate heaven, even with the sperm.
Somewhere in this mess of awesomeness is a scene where they have a cake that says, "CONGRATS ON THE SEX." From the first moment that Claire and I watched this video together we knew... we would have to create a contest. Contest rules: The first person to have sex in 2012 would receive a cake EXACTLY like the one in this video. Not only would you get to have sex, you would receive the bragging rights of being the first one to have sex and celebrate those rights with the cake of your choice. The ultimate dream. Now, as hard as Claire, Julie, and I tried to pursue this dream, it was our friend Stephanie that ended up winning the prize. We had all (excluding Julie) explored a dating website, OkCupid.com. Claire quit after 2 weeks of men badgering her, I quit after 3 weeks and one lousy date where the guy talked about himself the entire time, but surprisingly, this website actually worked for Stephanie. Stephanie found the perfect girlfriend.
Stephanie's parents don't know that she is gay. Which is surprising, as she looks similar to a man; short hair, loose-fitted jeans, leather jackets. My parents came to visit me once with my little brother. While I was getting ready in the bathroom, I overhear Brayden say to Stephanie, "Are you a boy or a girl?" I froze, horrified. I could just see my parents, frozen as well, wide-eyed, terrified for their modesty, ready to puke. Brayden has said some pretty crazy stuff over his 6 years of life, including, "Dad! Look at that fat man!" and "Are you Santa Clause?" and "Why can't girls pee standing up?" but none of these were directed towards a friend. Stephanie ended up responding with, "I'm a girl. I know it's hard to tell but it's okay." I could feel my parents cautiously release some of the tension, heard Brayden say, "Oh. Look what I can do!" then a thump and some ooooh's and aaah's. I decided I looked good enough for public view and ran to the living room and excused ourselves from my friends.
When Stephanie finally decided it was time to introduce the girlfriend, Amy, to her parents, she made me go too. "If I bring two friends to this, it will look less suspicious than just one." She wasn't going to actually TELL her parents she is gay, because they are extremely homophobic people, so she was just going to bring us both to her sister's dance performance and introduce her as a friend. I was sitting between Stephanie and her mom when it happened.
"So Amy, how did you two meet?" Stephanie's mom asked. My smile froze yet again on my face.
ONLINE DATING!!! my mind was screaming. SHE IS GAY. THIS IS HER GIRLFRIEND. ONLINE DATING!!!
Amy kept it cool though. "At a party." I nodded my head wisely, like I was there and witnessed the whole thing. "It was at our friend Lisa's party a couple weeks ago."
"Yeah" I added stupidly.
"Well that is wonderful." Said Stephanie's mom, and returned to watching the show.
When I went to Fred Meyer to buy Stephanie her chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, I asked the woman behind the bakery counter if she had anything to write on cakes with.
"Well I could write it for you if you want." She recommended.
"Umm... Well this isn't really something you normally write on a cake."
She looked at me suspiciously. "What do you mean?"
"Well it's just this joke my and my friends have... I don't know if I should tell you." I look at her critically. She's about my age, she seems chill, maybe she could handle it. "But you look cool. I guess I could ask you. Have you ever seen that music video called 'I Just Had Sex' by Akon?"
She gets a politely confused look on her face and says, "No... I haven't." Ahh shit. I can feel myself start to slightly blush. I'm saying the word 'sex' to strangers, and she hasn't even seen the video so she is less cool than I thought.
I decide to continue on though. "Well in the video there is this cake that says, 'Congrats on the sex'... could you write that?"
Now she looks stunned. Maybe it's worse than I thought. Maybe she was a nun before going in the bakery business. I hear nuns bake fruitcakes sometimes. Or is that just monks? She looks slightly awkward and says, "Even if I could write that, I don't really want that phrase going through the check-out line in my handwriting."
Time for a quick getaway as my embarrassment is slowly heightening. "Ahh, that's okay, thanks anyways. Where can I find something to write on a cake with?"
"The baking aisle." Now I can tell she thinks I'm crude AND stupid.
"Thanks, you have a great day." I practically run to the baking aisle, grab some cake gel and check out. Outside of Stephanie's apartment I write "CONGRATS ON THE SEX" on her cake in white gel which I bought because it looks like sperm, but after seeing it on the cake it's less funny because they are gay and there is no sperm.
Stephanie and Amy love the cake, and we rejoice and eat it in celebration of sex. And it tastes like chocolate heaven, even with the sperm.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Master Chef
Claire and I used to also live with Julie. Those days were fantastic. Julie is an excellent cook and whenever she would get bored she would end up making us these incredible dinners with several courses complete with wine and dessert, and sometimes she would even print out a menu to make us feel fancy. They were always mouthwatering dishes, such as stuffed mushrooms and grilled asparagus and chicken a la delicious, etc. Sometimes Claire would cook too, and although she was good, we could both agree that Julie was on a whole other level.
I cooked once during the 6 months we lived together. I tend to get extremely stressed out when I cook; I don't like shopping for the groceries and I will tolerate the cooking part, normally with small mistakes. I love the eating part but this, the best part, only lasts for about 15 minutes. And to me, that is just a waste of time, cooking for hours for minutes of eating. But sometimes you have to suck it up and do something nice for people, so I decided one Friday night to make chicken skewers. I stabbed chicken, peppers, and mushrooms onto some sticks with only minor bleeding, and seasoned them well past Julie's normal tolerance of spice. Perhaps this was why we ended up drinking so many martinis, to cool the fires in our mouths.
We all agreed that our favorite parts of martinis are the olives, so we decided to soak some olives in gin before putting them in our drinks. Maybe that had something to do with it too. After drinking several martinis each, all three of us are pretty wasted and spend about a half an hour telling each other how awesome we all were. At one point someone spills their drink and Claire of course shouts "ZAMBONI!" Immediately someone is required to suck up the alcohol, which I do, then Julie and I soak up the rest of it with bread and eat it.
Eventually we are all dancing around to Lady Gaga, and at one point Julie gets really mad at Claire. I believe it has to do with a fight regarding the degree of awesome Claire is. Julie runs to Claire's room and grabs her jade plant and is waving it around, spilling dirt everywhere and yelling, "SAY IT! SAY YOU ARE AWESOME!" while Claire is screaming, "MY GRANDMOTHER'S JADE PLANT! PUT IT DOWN! THAT'S MY GRANDMOTHER'S JADE PLANT!" I am sitting on the bed, calmly wiping the dirt from Claire's comforter onto the floor. Suddenly I realize the trouble Claire's grandmother's jade plant is in, and this is when I tackle Julie, rip the plant out of her hands and give it to Claire to put in a safe place until Julie forgets why she is in Claire's room. Then we all go to bed.
Even now that Julie has moved out (she is going to LA for the summer), she still feels at home in our apartment, as she should. She came over a few weeks ago for a Friday night dinner, which she ended up making. Our kitchen is your kitchen, Master Chef. She made gourmet burgers out of whatever she could find in our fridge. We were, of course, also having drinks. I don't remember what Julie and I were drinking but I do remember very clearly that Claire had a mason jar full of whiskey on ice. I remember this because, as Julie is blabbering away on her phone to her friend about their upcoming wine trip, Claire says to me, "This might be too much whiskey. I might pour some back in the bottle."
I stare. "What?"
"I might put some back..."
"Claire. Claire, it's Friday night," I say to her, genuinely shocked and worried about what she was saying.
"I know, but it's already 8:00 and I'm tired and we're going out big tomorrow night..."
Throughout this whole conversation Julie has visibly stopped listening to whatever her friend Elizabeth was saying, staring at Claire with the same shock on her face that I felt in my heart. Julie is saying, "Yeah, okay. Yep. Right. Okay." but she is bursting to say something.
I stare some more. "Claire... What are you saying?? It's Friday night! Stop being a grandma."
Suddenly Julie hangs up the phone and screams, "I THOUGHT YOU WERE A CARTER, NOT A LITTLE BITCH!" There is smoke coming out of her nostrils and her head just burst into flames.
Claire's eyes get huge and she looks from me to Julie, pauses, then takes a drink of her whiskey and breathes a sigh of relief. "Thanks guys. I needed that."
I cooked once during the 6 months we lived together. I tend to get extremely stressed out when I cook; I don't like shopping for the groceries and I will tolerate the cooking part, normally with small mistakes. I love the eating part but this, the best part, only lasts for about 15 minutes. And to me, that is just a waste of time, cooking for hours for minutes of eating. But sometimes you have to suck it up and do something nice for people, so I decided one Friday night to make chicken skewers. I stabbed chicken, peppers, and mushrooms onto some sticks with only minor bleeding, and seasoned them well past Julie's normal tolerance of spice. Perhaps this was why we ended up drinking so many martinis, to cool the fires in our mouths.
We all agreed that our favorite parts of martinis are the olives, so we decided to soak some olives in gin before putting them in our drinks. Maybe that had something to do with it too. After drinking several martinis each, all three of us are pretty wasted and spend about a half an hour telling each other how awesome we all were. At one point someone spills their drink and Claire of course shouts "ZAMBONI!" Immediately someone is required to suck up the alcohol, which I do, then Julie and I soak up the rest of it with bread and eat it.
Eventually we are all dancing around to Lady Gaga, and at one point Julie gets really mad at Claire. I believe it has to do with a fight regarding the degree of awesome Claire is. Julie runs to Claire's room and grabs her jade plant and is waving it around, spilling dirt everywhere and yelling, "SAY IT! SAY YOU ARE AWESOME!" while Claire is screaming, "MY GRANDMOTHER'S JADE PLANT! PUT IT DOWN! THAT'S MY GRANDMOTHER'S JADE PLANT!" I am sitting on the bed, calmly wiping the dirt from Claire's comforter onto the floor. Suddenly I realize the trouble Claire's grandmother's jade plant is in, and this is when I tackle Julie, rip the plant out of her hands and give it to Claire to put in a safe place until Julie forgets why she is in Claire's room. Then we all go to bed.
Even now that Julie has moved out (she is going to LA for the summer), she still feels at home in our apartment, as she should. She came over a few weeks ago for a Friday night dinner, which she ended up making. Our kitchen is your kitchen, Master Chef. She made gourmet burgers out of whatever she could find in our fridge. We were, of course, also having drinks. I don't remember what Julie and I were drinking but I do remember very clearly that Claire had a mason jar full of whiskey on ice. I remember this because, as Julie is blabbering away on her phone to her friend about their upcoming wine trip, Claire says to me, "This might be too much whiskey. I might pour some back in the bottle."
I stare. "What?"
"I might put some back..."
"Claire. Claire, it's Friday night," I say to her, genuinely shocked and worried about what she was saying.
"I know, but it's already 8:00 and I'm tired and we're going out big tomorrow night..."
Throughout this whole conversation Julie has visibly stopped listening to whatever her friend Elizabeth was saying, staring at Claire with the same shock on her face that I felt in my heart. Julie is saying, "Yeah, okay. Yep. Right. Okay." but she is bursting to say something.
I stare some more. "Claire... What are you saying?? It's Friday night! Stop being a grandma."
Suddenly Julie hangs up the phone and screams, "I THOUGHT YOU WERE A CARTER, NOT A LITTLE BITCH!" There is smoke coming out of her nostrils and her head just burst into flames.
Claire's eyes get huge and she looks from me to Julie, pauses, then takes a drink of her whiskey and breathes a sigh of relief. "Thanks guys. I needed that."
Reality
I started this blog when I was an idealistic senior in college with views about the world that I thought couldn't be marred. Even the title, "Chasing Fireflies" sounds romantic in an innocent way, but this title is a lie. If you think about it even a little bit, you would realize that FIRST: I live in the Northwest. There are no fireflies here. I have never caught a firefly, let a lone chased one. I'm naming blogs with ideas that I don't even know about but think sound inspiring, just like the naivety that comes with thinking that the world only offers answers to dreams. SECOND: Chasing fireflies in real life would probably be a bummer. It probably takes hours to actually catch one. And when you do, even though it's ass is glowing, you're still holding a bug.
It has now been two years since I last wrote, and I am much wiser and slightly more jaded. I know the drag of going to a 9:00 to 5:00 job every weekday with only 5 sick days and no vacation, of paying rent and utilites and the cable bill and gas and insurance and bar tabs every month, of living in a flea-infested apartment, of using a dating website, of seeing a headless mouse, of heading off to a foreign land just to be overcome with homesickness. So I have decided to stop writing about ideals (even though I do have them) and start writing about reality. Because even though reality is less inspiring than dreams, I'm tired of trying to create these "moments" that are special and important enough to include in a blog. When you are just living life instead of traveling to new places and getting that drugged-up, high feeling from that beautiful royal palace, or this rock formation, or that hot Brazilian guy who's making sexy eyes at you, you understand that it isn't those ideal moments that create your life, it's all the crap in between. Without all the reality, those moments wouldn't be as spiritually orgasmic, which is why we need to appreciate the mundane parts of life so we can have really good orgasms.
Hopefully your reality is interesting enough to get you to the next "moment," which doesn't seem to be a problem in my life, as I live in Portland with my best friend, Claire, and have many other close friends nearby. There are things to do in Portland constantly; for instance, right now we have the Rose Festival going on. There were fireworks on last Friday night, so we decided to go watch them. We arrived at 8:00. The fireworks were to be at 10:00. Not suprisingly, it was raining when we got there so what did we do? Spend an hour in the beer gardens, and then another hour hanging out in a bar down the street. Oh there was a fair going on, but we weren't to be bothered with lame rides and bouncy cover bands. As we took a seat in the bar, a friendly drunk old man began berating us.
I need to take a moment and describe Claire. These are some of my favorite things Claire has said recently that I saved in my phone until I found a better place to record them, like here:
"I'm good at alcohol."
"In one mile, I-5 spreads her legs like the whore she is."
"Are these stinging nettles?" Me
"No.... are you wearing pants?" Claire
"Yes."
"Then no, they're not."
And finally, the conversation that happened with this drunk old friendly man:
"You girls are so beautiful, where are your men tonight? You must have men crawling all over you all the time. I come to this bar a lot and I have never seen girls as beautiful as you two. You must have great boyfriends!" Old Drunk Man exclaims, his face pink with happiness and alcohol.
"Oh you know, we have yet to find --" I begin.
"How do you know we're not lesbians??" Claire interrupts.
"Oh... are you two together?" Old Drunk Man says, looking stunned and confused.
"No, we're not! Claire, why do you say things like that? We are not lesbians."
You see, Claire works as a substitute paraeducator for the Portland School District, which means she subs in special education classrooms for the people who help out in them. Which also means that her bullshit tolerance on a Friday night is exactly nonexistant. We were playing "Find That Alcohol Bottle," a game we invented on the spot where one of us would pick a bottle among the hundreds against the bar wall, and the other would have to find it in a reasonable amount of time. Old Drunk Man kept interrupting our game with little antics about the distinct lack of males surrounding us. So when we ordered onion rings as a snack and Old Drunk Man said, "You guys are going to eat that?" Claire held her knife backwards in her hand, pointed it in his direction, gave him a serious glare, and said, "Yeah, we are, so back off dude." Old Drunk Man was confused at her threats but laughed it off. And later he interrupted our next game of "Guess This Celebrity" when he looked at us and said, "Wow, you guys ate all of it!" and Claire again gave him a serious glare and said, "You calling us fat?" Again, Old Drunk Man looked confused but then promptly invited us up to his private residence above the bar to watch the fireworks. Apparently he found Claire's threats to be sexy. I almost started hiccuping from trying to contain the hystarical laughter bubbling dangeroulsy inside me. We declined and he left to magnify his inebriation at another bar. I could finally laugh freely. It must have lasted half an hour.
We ended the night by oohing and ahhhing at the fireworks while some middle-aged homeless people stood in the doorway behind us and smoked pot, which made their experience much more incredible than ours was; they seemed to be truly blown away with the spectacle in front of us, while we were just mildly interested. They appeared distracted as well, as we overheard the phrase, "There was this huge trout." Classy way to end the night. The only thing missing was Julie.
Julie is our other best friend. That night, she was in California on a wine adventure... meaning she had been drinking since noon, was drunk by 4:00 and calling me to describe her wine tasting experience around 5:00. "ASHLEY, you should so be here, I have been to like twelve wineries and only had to pay $8 because I keep telling people I just graduated! YOU SHOULD TRY THAT! And I keep telling people that you would like this Chardonnay or you would like the Mexican restaurant we are going to for dinner tonight. I told them, 'My friend Ashley loves Mexican food. She can speak fluent Spanish.' and they seemed really impressed! Then I tried this horseradish that was really really spicy, and I told them, 'My friend Claire likes really spicy things. My friend Ashley likes medium spicy. And I like no spicy, so my tongue is BURNING!' But I think we are going to walk to dinner now. I can't remember where I parked."
Julie has this habit of talking about Claire and I when she isn't with us to people who don't care. By the time I came back from Spain and met her friends from her Masters program, they had to ask me, "Are you the one who was in Spain or the one who was in Korea (Claire)?" Which, you know, makes me feel special but I'm sure annoys the crap out of the average human being.
And so, what is the moral of these stories? I have awesome friends. Dose of reality number one.
It has now been two years since I last wrote, and I am much wiser and slightly more jaded. I know the drag of going to a 9:00 to 5:00 job every weekday with only 5 sick days and no vacation, of paying rent and utilites and the cable bill and gas and insurance and bar tabs every month, of living in a flea-infested apartment, of using a dating website, of seeing a headless mouse, of heading off to a foreign land just to be overcome with homesickness. So I have decided to stop writing about ideals (even though I do have them) and start writing about reality. Because even though reality is less inspiring than dreams, I'm tired of trying to create these "moments" that are special and important enough to include in a blog. When you are just living life instead of traveling to new places and getting that drugged-up, high feeling from that beautiful royal palace, or this rock formation, or that hot Brazilian guy who's making sexy eyes at you, you understand that it isn't those ideal moments that create your life, it's all the crap in between. Without all the reality, those moments wouldn't be as spiritually orgasmic, which is why we need to appreciate the mundane parts of life so we can have really good orgasms.
Hopefully your reality is interesting enough to get you to the next "moment," which doesn't seem to be a problem in my life, as I live in Portland with my best friend, Claire, and have many other close friends nearby. There are things to do in Portland constantly; for instance, right now we have the Rose Festival going on. There were fireworks on last Friday night, so we decided to go watch them. We arrived at 8:00. The fireworks were to be at 10:00. Not suprisingly, it was raining when we got there so what did we do? Spend an hour in the beer gardens, and then another hour hanging out in a bar down the street. Oh there was a fair going on, but we weren't to be bothered with lame rides and bouncy cover bands. As we took a seat in the bar, a friendly drunk old man began berating us.
I need to take a moment and describe Claire. These are some of my favorite things Claire has said recently that I saved in my phone until I found a better place to record them, like here:
"I'm good at alcohol."
"In one mile, I-5 spreads her legs like the whore she is."
"Are these stinging nettles?" Me
"No.... are you wearing pants?" Claire
"Yes."
"Then no, they're not."
And finally, the conversation that happened with this drunk old friendly man:
"You girls are so beautiful, where are your men tonight? You must have men crawling all over you all the time. I come to this bar a lot and I have never seen girls as beautiful as you two. You must have great boyfriends!" Old Drunk Man exclaims, his face pink with happiness and alcohol.
"Oh you know, we have yet to find --" I begin.
"How do you know we're not lesbians??" Claire interrupts.
"Oh... are you two together?" Old Drunk Man says, looking stunned and confused.
"No, we're not! Claire, why do you say things like that? We are not lesbians."
You see, Claire works as a substitute paraeducator for the Portland School District, which means she subs in special education classrooms for the people who help out in them. Which also means that her bullshit tolerance on a Friday night is exactly nonexistant. We were playing "Find That Alcohol Bottle," a game we invented on the spot where one of us would pick a bottle among the hundreds against the bar wall, and the other would have to find it in a reasonable amount of time. Old Drunk Man kept interrupting our game with little antics about the distinct lack of males surrounding us. So when we ordered onion rings as a snack and Old Drunk Man said, "You guys are going to eat that?" Claire held her knife backwards in her hand, pointed it in his direction, gave him a serious glare, and said, "Yeah, we are, so back off dude." Old Drunk Man was confused at her threats but laughed it off. And later he interrupted our next game of "Guess This Celebrity" when he looked at us and said, "Wow, you guys ate all of it!" and Claire again gave him a serious glare and said, "You calling us fat?" Again, Old Drunk Man looked confused but then promptly invited us up to his private residence above the bar to watch the fireworks. Apparently he found Claire's threats to be sexy. I almost started hiccuping from trying to contain the hystarical laughter bubbling dangeroulsy inside me. We declined and he left to magnify his inebriation at another bar. I could finally laugh freely. It must have lasted half an hour.
We ended the night by oohing and ahhhing at the fireworks while some middle-aged homeless people stood in the doorway behind us and smoked pot, which made their experience much more incredible than ours was; they seemed to be truly blown away with the spectacle in front of us, while we were just mildly interested. They appeared distracted as well, as we overheard the phrase, "There was this huge trout." Classy way to end the night. The only thing missing was Julie.
Julie is our other best friend. That night, she was in California on a wine adventure... meaning she had been drinking since noon, was drunk by 4:00 and calling me to describe her wine tasting experience around 5:00. "ASHLEY, you should so be here, I have been to like twelve wineries and only had to pay $8 because I keep telling people I just graduated! YOU SHOULD TRY THAT! And I keep telling people that you would like this Chardonnay or you would like the Mexican restaurant we are going to for dinner tonight. I told them, 'My friend Ashley loves Mexican food. She can speak fluent Spanish.' and they seemed really impressed! Then I tried this horseradish that was really really spicy, and I told them, 'My friend Claire likes really spicy things. My friend Ashley likes medium spicy. And I like no spicy, so my tongue is BURNING!' But I think we are going to walk to dinner now. I can't remember where I parked."
Julie has this habit of talking about Claire and I when she isn't with us to people who don't care. By the time I came back from Spain and met her friends from her Masters program, they had to ask me, "Are you the one who was in Spain or the one who was in Korea (Claire)?" Which, you know, makes me feel special but I'm sure annoys the crap out of the average human being.
And so, what is the moral of these stories? I have awesome friends. Dose of reality number one.
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