Jess Mauer

New Chapter

2010-10-21T10:44:00.004-10:00

I’ve left the paradise islands and headed inland. Far inland. To Dallas, Texas.

When I first moved to Hawaii, I was told people tend to only stay for two years. I found this statement insanely ironic because, as a born Alaskan, the time frame for people who move there is exactly the same. Two winters of below freezing and daily darkness seem to be about all the average person could last. And here, that was all people could take of utopia also.

I appear to be no exception. It was two years ago that I, and two bags of all my belongings, arrived on the sandy beaches of Oahu. Now, a bit more tan and full of Spam, I’m changing course.

And what is a nice liberal Jewish girl doing in the heart of Texas, you might ask? Besides canceling out one republican vote, I’m off to grad school!

One of my bestfriends, Bekah, from college just had a baby & moved her with her husband Matthew. They got themselves a real nice place here and have so gracely offered to let me stay while I take the GRE’s and apply to schools.

I’ll be filling you in with my attempts to fit into midwest culture, adventures in baby land, and how the grad school application process goes. Stay tuned!

Senior Frogs: It's More Mexico Than You'd Think

2009-10-26T22:19:00.002-10:00

Sometimes I neglect my inner gut feeling, especially when my friend says she has a gift certificate at senior frogs & my gut says senior frogs will probably suck.

So pushing nagging doubt deep inside we walked through a mass of dayglo signs encouraging overconsumption of alcohol and a sweet sixteen birthday party; to arrive at our table.

Cleverly avoiding the souvenir glass beer for economic reasons, we settled on some beverages and nachos. And the moment that they arrived a man showed up at our table introducing himself as "our magician for the evening".

Continued...

He didn't seem to notice we said we weren't interested in magic and proceeded to do the worst magic tricks ever. I could plainly see the vile he shoved the scarf into in his hand when it "disappeared". I felt the magnetic pull of the coin he places on my hand when it "disappeared"

As the delicious nachos began to solidify into a soggy cheesy unit, the man did not tire. I even mentioned I was more interest in nachos and wish to not see any more magic, but he continued. He asked for an ID. I said no & he kept asking, then switched to a room key. Like I would give this creeper a key to my room if I had one. I finally gave him a student ID to shut him up. A series of asinine tricks later he finally wraps up and concludes with: "just to let you know, I don't get paid, I work on tips only"

Ooop, I think, guess he probably shouldn't have waisted so much time at this table. I stare down his blatantly expectant stare.

"Any amount is fine. You can just set it down right here"

"I'm not going to tip you, I didn't even want or enjoy the show"

He then ignores and restates "no amount is too small, I'll just wait here while you put something down"

And literally this guys just keeps asking and waiting for money. WAY too long. On principle I stare back, eyebrows raised. After a good five minutes he makes an angry face, then quickly flips back to fake smile, hug pats us both with one quick motion and says something like our company was tip enough. Man, wish I could take THAT back, because I REALLY didn't want to tip this guy.

He leaves after the creeper hug & our waiter comes over. I asked him how the guy was affiliated with the restaurant and to let the manger know how disrespectful and obnoxious it was to have someone interrupting dinner begging for tips.

I would not have been surprised after that if a small child had come up to us selling chiclets.

Suddenly the manager is at the table giving me a senior frogs letterhead paper and asks me if I wouldn't mind documenting exactly what happen. Hey, that's my favorite thing to do!

I scribble down all the tidbits of how he touched us with out asking and demanded our room keys. And of course the continued requesting for tips. Later the manager came back & explained he'd been trying to get rid of him for a while, but didn't have proper documentation.

Now I get to spend the rest of the week saying "I got a magician fired. What did you do?”

Scuba Day

2009-02-02T22:16:00.003-10:00

I haven’t given my flippers a good workout in years. For my level of rescue certified diver, my dive log is embarrassingly under used and pretty dusty as it hasn’t been touched in a few (okay like, eek, maybe 4?) years. So today was a big day. I met a new dive buddy and plotted a course for China Wall, on the east side of the island.

Continued...

The dive was an easy one, disregarding that crafty current. We went down just around 40ft at the deepest, mainly poking around 20ish checking out little fishes and underwater items. I saw this crazy orange eel and some halibut like fish. They were cute.

The harrowing part was the entry and exit points. They were kinda on a cliff. A cliff of steep edges and slippery mossy parts. For those of you who don’t scuba, the gear is really not meant for land. You’re carrying compressed air and your life support system, plus salt water wants to float you up so there is some added weights. I must have had a good fifty pounds as I scampered down the jagged rocks. Getting out was also fun. We had to wait for a good wave to push us up as high as we could get and then sorta roll/drag our tired bodied up the slippery rocks.

What I liked best about today was that this dive was the first I’ve down without the constraints of a guided tour. Lacking cranky heavy breathers on vacation really brought the best out of the dive experience. It was so freeing to just drive up and hop in the water. Also, that I remained still alive and here to blog another day was a plus!

Blind Date = FAIL

2009-01-24T13:19:00.003-10:00

I haven’t been on many first dates, let alone a blind date. It just doesn’t seem like my generation is into that sorta thing, dating that is. So when a coworker told me he had someone he wanted to set me up with, you can imagine I felt kinda weird. Through out the week I got more tidbits of his fabulousness, and likeness to myself. In fact, it was reviled to me that this was the “male version of Jess”. The perfect match right?

However, the side effect of this positive pumping up, was some high expectations and pressure. Not to mention the fact that once a few other coworkers caught wind of this date business, my entire place of employment was going “Ooooo. Jess has a date tonight… Oooo!”

Continued...
To make matters increasingly awkward, the store had a boozing get together planned and this “date” of mine was invited. The blind date was to occur with the accompaniment of my work buddies! The theory behind this was to create a “no pressure hang out time”, but I’m not sure that’s exactly how things resulted.

9:30pm I begin to gussy myself up.

9:40pm I’m pretty.

10:00pm I arrive the store and walk to bar, nerves a little a flutter. This is my perfect match after all.

10:05pm Don’t see this date of mine. Decide on a Coors Light. Good job Jess.

10:10pm Talk about coworker’s back hair. Wondering where the date is.

10:20pm Bring up the fact that my date has yet to arrive, and was told “Oh, he just said he had gotten his car towed last night, and so his roommate is going to drive him into town. That’s why he’s not here yet.”

Hmmm. I could give you the rest of the play by play, but it degraded fast into talk of appletinis and Apple TVs, and I knew then and there he wasn’t showing up.

And I have a theory of this FAIL. I have no proof of this young gentleman’s personality, however I do love to assume, and for now I am going to place him in the “nice guy” category. I have found nice guys come bundled with a passive type personality when it comes to the ladies. When things happen randomly or organically, they are for it, but the classic pursue? They don’t have the buy in. Now an asshole is cocky, and therefore “knows” he can get whatever he wants. He sees a babe at a bar and thinks “I can have that, I’ll make it happen.” He goes over and chats her up and well, girls enjoy flattery and attention just as much as the next person so the formula works.

The build up to the date on my end involved a lot of “you guys are so perfect for each other” that I can only imagine, if he was getting an iota of this talk, rather then making him feel good, it was probably making him feel awkward pressured too. Combine this with the passiveness and he probably just wanted to bail. Hell I did too. The only successful dating experiences I’ve ever had where super random with a twist of being at the right place at the right time. There is nothing natural about a blind date. It went against every ‘this feels normal’ sense in my body. I think if I ever try this again it’ll be when I accidently turn 40 and realize I’m desperate.

HA HA! j/k… like I’ll ever age. That’s for suckers.

UPDATE 1.29.09:
Turns out my assumption was a bit out of place. The Date was under the impression I was unaware he was attending the shindig and had a long bad day, so bailed thinking I wouldn't be the wiser. SO, I was a dear and forgave him. Date take 2 was much more successful :). However, I still believe my theory for the majority of "nice guys".

Lights Out!

2008-12-27T10:11:00.006-10:00

During dinner the lights flickered for a second. I was immediately flooded with exciting thoughts of - oh, what if the power goes out??. It’s probably been 10 years since that was even a possibility. I glanced at my dinner companions, Joe & Lindsea, who where sporting the same glimmer in their eyes. We made a quick few musings over the idea of a power outage and then went back to discussing the internet or something.

Then 10 minutes later there was a subtle click and we were cloaked dark silence. It really went out. Now I couldn’t even see the spicy things in my curry. And, my rice to curry ratio was getting all askew. Joe scurried outside and it appeared the whole block was out. Phones begin to light up the tables. Candles were slowly distributed by the wait staff. We giggle with excitement about iPhone/candle lit dinner and how this should happen more frequently. I guess at this time we hadn’t considered the possibility this blackout might stick around longer than was cute.

Continued...
We get word from the other tables that this outage is island wide. Which isn’t that surprising because I’m sure the whole island is one grid, but we do realize it’s probably time to leave the restaurant. They figure out how to charge my credit card and we’re out off into the world. We step out to a cityscape that is completely black. Buildings outlined by moon and a few emergence backup lights, there is an eerie quality to the town. And that’s when I remember another thing that stops functions during an outage - traffic lights!

Yet, the people of Oahu seemed to be doing a very good job of self-managing the intersections. What was nice about this little emergency was it really brought out the best in people. Everyone we talked to was sparked with excitement combined with a we’ll get through this just fine attitude. Twitter was a flutter with updates and already there was a hashtag (#hipower) about the incident. Its a good thing we didn’t have to see if that attitude would last longer than the night.

The night’s next thing on the agenda was beer. But everything was closed! 7-11 wouldn’t even open the doors for cash. We were outside and the clerks were in there with the lights on pretending they couldn’t see us clamoring for beer. And, I know when people do this at my store I ignore them and wonder why they can’t figured we’re closed. But now this is different. I mean I need beer!

Thankfully the amazing 24hr Safeway was open. We got our own personal employee escort to direct us to the beer aisle and headed back to my place. Joe’s computer had a few hours of battery and the remainder of the night was spent with Flight of the Concords, beer, and late night quesadillas (thankyouverymuch gas stove!).

Class Registration, Or Time To Evaluate All Life Choices Again

2008-11-16T08:48:00.004-10:00

It’s time to register for classes again. I’ve been learning Java. And as it turns out, Java is bit archaic. I’m getting the impression I’m learning the dewy decimal system, while everyone is using google. Before tackling this latest life endeavor of mine, I was aware of different programing languages and that some where trendier than others. I most certainly wasn’t aware of the epic social implications of simply saying:

“Oh, I’m into programing. I’m learning Java.”
Continued...

Responses are in two categories:

The first (and of course my personal favorite) -
“What?? Really? Oh wow. That’s awesome. You go girl” or something to that effect. Obviously, I’m gonna like something that strokes my ego. But on a deeper level, I’m really proud of myself for jumping into this. It was drastically different then anything I’ve ever studied so it was hard to make the plunge and hand over my credit card for the class, but nothing I’ve ever studied had felt so spot on. And validation mixed with being impressed with me for my choices. Well, that feels great.

Less favorable response (and most commonly one as of late) -
“Java? What the fuck are you doing with Java? Are you in junior high? Please, I program in Ruby and so does anyone who’s anybody.”
So I wrote that in the most condescending way because that’s how I hear this comment. It most likely isn’t meant like that. But I hear this and it throws off my little world. This comment comes from people who probably know what they are talking about. I assume this because I’ve been hanging out with a geekier crowd who seems to live and breath programing. And while I should be view this a an awesome networking connection I can’t shake these two horrendous facts:

A) I’m wrong and B) I don’t know how to get things right.

And I of course don’t react maturely to any of these. My personality is very argumentative. Even when I’m not sure what I’m talking about (shhh… don’t tell). So to hear I’m wrong starts me off on a long winded defense, where I won’t stop until I’ve proven the point correct, even if it’s wrong. I know I do this, and later when I reflect back I just feel like a jerk. It’s my own internal insecurities with my life choices that make me blurt out opposition and get all pissy over a good point that I really should listen too. And now that I am reflecting, I could spend a lot more time and money and energy one next term with Java. Or maybe I shouldn’t. Which brings up today’s blog thesis and point B: What am I doing with my life? So should I learn Ruby? How? I can’t even understand the installation process. I’m not stupid. I just don’t have the tools. Where do I get this information? I’m at a total loss. This seems like a perfectly logical reason for another mini life crisis. At least Intro to Comp Science II isn’t filling up that fast.

What’s also scary is I’m about the reach the six month bail point. As I’ve been hearing from EVERYONE, six months is the first marker for people moving off the Island. Then it’s a year or two after that (Don’t worry, I’m not bailing, I still love it here). On a side note, I find this really ironic because the two year mark is how long people make it in Alaska. Because two freaking cold miserable winters is all a normal person can handle. So, I guess the same is true for paradise?

2008-11-07T13:13:00.005-10:00

Hawaiian’s call the lampshade iMac the Manapua Mac.

That's because this is a Manapua.

A fluffy ball of bread that surrounds a cluster of brightly shaded red meat. I swear it tastes amazing.

Isn’t that cute?

An Awkward Thing Happened to Me Today at the Coffee Shop

2008-11-03T13:07:00.004-10:00

I was ~~doing my homework~~ chatting online with a fellow I met at podcamp at a little neighborhood coffee shop. The fairly normal conversation had little bomb dropped on it with this comment from him (we’ll call him Tim to mask his identity):

Tim: “So, when are you going to ask me out?”

Yours Truly: “Ummm.. That idea hadn’t really crossed my mind.”

Tim: “Don’t be shy now. I’ll tell you what, you put up an away message that makes me laugh & I’ll take you out to dinner.”

Okay, so I put this up because I’m obnoxious.
“Tim: we’re not going to have sex.”

He then quickly left the internet. However, I did not. I remained at the coffee shop with iChat running for some time after (I’m still here). I was looking at my buddylist a while later & noticed an unfamiliar name. Timothy G. Who the eff is that? Turns out another Tim was signed on Bonjour. With my awesome away message up. And right across the room from me. Guess I won’t be having sex with him either.

Tetris Night

2008-10-20T16:08:00.004-10:00

I have this rule of thumb that if two of your friends that personally are not acquainted invite you to the same event, you must attend. It always will be awesome. And well, if it’s titled Tetris Decom and featuring a 40ft tall game of Tetris, attendance is most definitely imperative.
Continued...

Since all the conditions had been met, it seemed important to tuned out the “Hey you’ve gotta work at 8am” voice (she’s so silly with her logic and being right all the time anyways) and scooted to the scene.

It was actually put on by burning man peeps. So picture a sea of geek/trendy hippy kids dancing to rave tunes. Throw in some fire dancing. This made up for the fact that the 40ft Tetris screen wasn’t actually 40ft do to some physics inconsistencies. It’s really fun to be finding these scenes here in Hawaii. Makes me feel like I’ve only begun to scratch the surface of what this place has to offer. Can’t wait for the next one!

Picture generously donated by the fabulous photographer JPhilipson :)

Beginning to Acclimate

2008-10-07T00:54:00.007-10:00

My first clue was last friday. I was ushered out of the comfort of internet and an oscillating fan by a thirsty coworker. Upon arrival, I promptly ran into two people I’ve meet before. This was miraculous. I keep noticing people I hang out with seem to know at least seven random people everywhere we go. But this has yet to happen to me. Finally, I was getting somewhere. Interestingly enough, one of the guys was from the cool kids party. He goes - “We took that tequila shot together… remember?” (hmmm... sorta).

As I begin to release myself of obsessively comparing and contrasting things to Portland, I’ve started to get some perspective on what gives Hawaii what I want to describe as a slight magic energy.
Continued...

There is a connection amongst the people, like a family. ~~Locales~~ Locals refer to each other as bra or sista assuming who they are speaking with should be as close as siblings even if they are not aquatinted. And every so often someone will say that to me, which makes me feel awesome!

When something I would think of as lucky happens, it’s referred to as a blessing. Not in a crazy from specifically god way, but still with special spiritual essence.

I attended my first hula during the opening of the new store. What was so weird to me and didn’t seem to bother anyone else was the infiltration of corporateness to their cultural spirituality. Apparently every time a new store is opened, it gets blessed. So I get that it will bring business and prosperity to the people and the land, however it just seems odd to be blessing a business.

The whole experience was really wonderful. We all got ~~lays~~ leis and I got to see dancing and hear beautiful chanting. The real plus of all this is that my new place of employment does not have bad juju, which is always a good thing.

Beach Day

2008-09-21T19:53:00.007-10:00

So it’s been a little more than a month, and with an unexpected day off on my hands, I figured I needed to explore my island. City life is great for this girl, but sometimes you just gotta remember - hey, I live in Hawaii. So today it was off to the North Shore. Known for it’s “Killer waves, Dude” and shave ice, the North Shore brings the Hawaii out of Oahu.

We made a quick impulse stop at the Dole pineapple plantation. After narrowly averting some tourist scams & long lines for pineapple whipped ice creamie stuff, while still learning interesting faq’s about pineapples (Who knew the 4th most commonly asked question was ‘why do you use black plastic mulch?’ I thought I was the only one with that question!) we had quite an eventful stop.

Continued...

Then we made it to Hale’iwa, the location of the shave ice. Now, to clarify, this is not sugar water saturating chips of an ice cube in a paper cup that will soon disintegrate leaving your hand with a tasteless syrupy mess. It’s different. Think snow ball with fruit juice on top of vanilla ice cream in a fun flower like plastic cup for drip free consumption.

The creator of this delicacy even had the forethought, or perhaps years of perfecting the process, to realize as the dessert passes through the states of matter, becoming a more unified liquid, the flavors blend together with the ‘cream for a most delectable treat. Genius!

We also heard some live music from Ron Artis, who has a family band that does cool art & plays music out of their house. You could just walk up and sit down, but their cute little kid was trying to sell me a CD and I felt bad about not buying.

Then we hit up the beach! Which did indeed, have some killer waves.

Delicious But Deadly… or Maybe Just Deadly

2008-09-04T19:35:00.008-10:00

Last night I had the pleasure of trying my first locale foods. I’m aware of the typical roasted pig, spam, and things with pineapple and coconut aspect of Hawaiian foods, although come to think of it, there hasn’t been an outrageous amount of teriyaki chicken burgers with a pineapple ring and a side of macaroni salad and banana bread as one who attended the University of Oregon might think from the menu of Hodgepodge (any one have a pic of this place so I can link it??). But, until last night, I haven’t run across anything strange.

After a night of mild excess, some new friends of mine introduced me to a locale chain known as Zippy’s. And are you ready for this?

Open 24hr, for either a walk up window or sit down IHOP style.

Simply amazing.
Continued...

This dish is called Loco Moco. And just let me describe what it involves. First a hamburger patty is placed on a bed of fried rice (this could also be replaced with chili) Then there is a layer of gravy, finished with a fried egg. Yes all this is for real. Don’t worry, I didn’t order this, but you better believe I had a bite. I think densely flavored greasy meat mass (in a good way) would be the best way to explain the flavor.

As for my locale delicacy choice, I used the baby step approach and just got a side of Portuguese sausage with my eggs. Those were precisely like eating a sliced hotdog with breakfast. Please don’t ask if this sausage contained pork. I will not confirm or deny anything.

Things I Learned Last Night:

2008-08-31T22:03:00.004-10:00

There are a lot of hip kids and culture here, it just took me a month to find.

My mild manner coworker by day appears in a rhythmic band complete with much sweating and screaming, but in a controlled chaos indie rock way.

The Hawaiian version of the hand pound is a pound followed by a one hand over the other grasp I would almost describe as a hand embrace. Rather than the Portland pound then blow it up.

If a burlesque dancer in chicken costume eats an egg she “laid”, it can lead random people to a very interesting discussion of metaphysics.

I’m cool enough to go to a party in warehouse.
Continued...

This party was a total blast. Music, a fashion show, live art. Yes, in each corner of the room someone was set up painting a canvas. The medium of watercolor express through party. Genius.

The place was populated with awesome ink and piercing, cool hair cuts and style. It was like I found Portland in a warehouse a few blocks from my house.

I chatted with many people throughout the night leading to several observations previously stated, as well as one guy I was talking to told me he was checking out the place to move in. Until this point it hadn’t occurred to me that people actually lived in this space. It was so warehousey. Apparently there were twelve rooms. And that also got me thinking about what it might be like to live there. The rent was unheard-of-ly cheap and with the feel of the people at the party, living there would probably be like living in an urban think tank of coolness. It might be so inspiring. Or maybe, annoying shower-wise. Hard to say.

The details towards the end get fuzzy because somehow a tequila shot slipped down my throat. But, I definitely watched a fashion show and wanted to french kiss at least 30% of the guys in the room. That I remember for sure.

Things Are Strange, When You're a Stranger

2008-08-16T17:34:00.002-10:00

Hawaii is an interesting place to spend your time if you’re not on vacation. There were a few things I was aware would be different before arriving such as never being able to afford vegetables and milk again and a serious lack of skinny jeans and mustaches. But, somethings caught me off guard. First of all, the vacation space takes up the first street running parallel to the water. This space is comprised of spendy shops, where I could spend a weeks salary on a handbag, and everyday chain restaurants spoofed up with tiki torches. Sun burnt couples stroll down the promenade, handing out wads of cash to whiny children. Sidewalks are spotless and lead straight to the beach where you can sign up for surfing lessons or the lu’au later that night at your hotel. The feel I can only describe as faux paradise. Continued...

It knows it’s fake and silly, but doesn’t pretend to hide from it. People seem to want this fictitious quality in their vacations. It is after all, their time to escape. But, walk down a few blocks and you see a different story. Buildings in various degrees of disrepair. Any stream throughout the town is riddled with fast food cups, tires, overturn shopping carts. Sidewalks contain the remains of a quick move - a busted couch, an old CRT monitor, large wide screen TVs from before they became flat screens. Water from the tap tastes odd. The difference is day and night.

Then, there is no recycling on the Island. Well, nearly none. I have to check my plastics for either a 1 or a 2. Cereal boxes have to go in the trash along with junk mail and plastic bags. It makes me sick to my stomach.

The bus system is completely asinine. If it wasn’t for google transit, I’d be so screwed. See How I Love Thee.

Lack of coffee shops. People don’t really just hang out in coffee shops. I miss that.

Street names are really hard to pronounce. Hawaiian’s only seem to use K and L and a ton of vowels and apostrophes. After stringing enough of those together I forget how to use English. On that note, the people here also speak a pidgin that involves switching around the adverbs to odd locations in a sentence & a blunt refusal to participate in conjugation. I’ll let you know if I catch on soon.

Even through this adversity, my spirit remains high as I can still wear a skirt every signal day of the week without fail!

Apartment Hunting: It's Not the Journey, It's the Destination

2008-08-07T21:52:00.001-10:00

The first place was all right. Nothing to sneeze at from the outside and when the lady showing me the place couldn’t unlock 3 of the 4 available units I had some flash backs. But, inside was a nice studio, with the tiniest closet I’ve ever seen. It had some lovely urban jungle acoustics coming from the busy street below and for $900 a month plus utilities on my own, my stomach was less than alkaline. I collected an application and went on to check out the next one.

I haven’t quite figured out public transit as indicated in the post pervious to this, so on foot I trekked to my next locale. This was an $850/monther and started out okay. Off the street in the alley, was a smaller apartment structure surrounded in thick bamboo and vines. Little broken cobble stones went up to each apartment of cracked peeling paint as the smell of mildew crept into my nose. This could go either way. Continue...

Things took a turn for the worst when I was let inside. I wish I had pictures for you, but I would be worried one of the neighbors would shiv me for my iPhone for crack money. The door was rusting off its hinges as the cockroaches scattered. The linoleum was lifting up revealing years of dirt and rotting floor, the stove door was gapping open and didn’t shut. But, heck it came with a fan, thanks landlady! She also was decent enough to introduce to my would be new neighbors. Next door were two shirtless trashy low lifes, smoking in their dingy room, watching girls gone wild.

Next!

Many Hawaiians also rent out rooms in their homes because property has gotten so exorbitant here, places they’ve lived in for ever, they can no longer afford on their own. This is how I met Boomer. A 50ish year old man who is renting out two of the three rooms in his place. One of the first things he says to me is “Well we’re losing our pretty girl, so it would be a good thing if you moved in.” Comments like those were sandwiched into the conversation between him selling me on all the fabulous accessories such as purified air, water, air conditioning, and every cable channel in the world. In between his breaths for air, when I could get a word in, I would mention those things have no value to me. I’m 25, so there for invincible (no need for the purified stuff). I moved to hawaii because I’m cold all the time (I actually hate aircon). Also, I don’t watch TV. “What about the Olympics? You can TiVO everything! Even watch clips from the last Olypics!” Seriously he was selling to me. Finally he explains the listed price of around $800/month (WAY too much for a place in someone’s home) was not including utilities. It was going to be around $930 with them. Shit. But, at this point my options were the barren studio for around that much, plus utilities on my own, or this place. So I was kind of interested. Except for the, “Well the girl that’s here now is just a 7, so you’d be a step up!” & “I only date younger girls, like 25, girls like to have an older surfer dude boyfriend and I like ‘em energetic. How old are you?” this place did seem to have value to me. So I said maybe and skirted out of there with an application.

Then, I went to see this apartment who was occupied by this nice Jewish boy studying meteorology at the University of Hawaii. El Niño to be exact. (I know, right? Who knew that was still around?) I walked in, looked around, and asked if I could move in that night. I hope I didn’t freak him out or anything.

So, the worst of this all was when I called Boomer back. The conversation is as follows:

“Hi, so I ended up renting this other place, sorry about that.”

“Oh yeah? Hmmm. Well just one question for you - Why did you spend so much time talking with me if you were just wasting my time?”

“Whoa, you sound a little defensive.”

“I am NOT DEFENSIVE!!”

“Well, it was simply a matter of economics, this place was much more affordable to me.”

He rants about value in cable and purified air for sometime.

“And, like I said, those thing just are not valuable to me, I bet someone else would be much more interested and really enjoy living with you.”

“Well FINE. I hope you enjoy living in a SHIT HOLE!”

“You are being very inappropriate!”

*click*

Well then, I’m certainly glad I did not move in with that one.

How I Love Thee, Let Me Count the Ways

2008-08-07T19:38:00.000-10:00

I would like to take this moment and mention a rekindled love with my iPhone. This isn’t the same everytime-I-take-you-out-of-my-pocket renewed love at her beauty, grace, style, and entertainment value, but a serious this-baby-is-effing-saving-my-life! GPS is OUTSTANDING, if just a little battery hogging. The Honolulu bus system is the retarded stepchild of TriMet and without Albert 2, I would never have survived.

Bus route numbers are not posted on bus stop signs so you have no idea what buses come to each stop. When I tried to plan ahead of time, the website is impossible to navigate and hurts my eyes (and always crashed Safari, don't try this at home kids). Buses come infrequently and illogically, not on all busy streets. Also, every street here looks and sounds like the same name. Soooo many vowels. So it is hard to tell, when a bus came, if it is going where I want it too.

Skinny Girls Rule

2008-08-04T11:33:00.002-10:00

Buying my ticket at the last minute gave me the pleasure of the scenic route to Oahu, or rather I got to hang out in the Maui airport for 2 hours. I get comfy & pull out my MacBook, only to find wifi is pay by the hour. Thank god for 3g & a near by outlet. As I’m fumbling around with all my expensive belongings, an attendant comes over announcing anyone on my flight could jump on an earlier one right now. Score!

I was told to rush over to the last terminal as the plane was departing shortly. I arrive and the whole ticket area is roped off with quarantine signs. They were friendly looking, large cut outs of a waist high person holding a little stop sign with quarantine written on it, but nobody else was boarding, just me and well, it was weird that they said quaratine. I started to think maybe signing up online to volunteer for the Dharma Initiative (mom - don't click that link, I don't think you are far enough yet) might not have been such a hot idea before moving to Hawaii.
Continued...

My seat assignment was lucky 13 & I scan ahead to check out my seat buddy. It was a fairly over weight young lady. Probably in the range of should have bought a second ticket chubby. I squeeze by her & plop down, when she immediately says something self defeating like, “I bet you’re sorry you have to sit next to the Fat Girl.”

Great, now it’s going to be awkward for me! I mumble something about how I don’t care & I seriously don’t, but you could tell that she wasn't going to believe me. Oy. Time to get out my book. But, just then the flight attendant taps me on the should & asked if I would like a row all by myself. The whole row for me & out of all the people on the plane, because I was near the slightly chubby girl I got honorary treatment.

As I got up I heard a “Lucky you, you really didn’t have to sit next to the Fat Girl.” & the attendant shot me an apologetic glance. I was caught in the middle of all these, and well, not like I wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation, but I’d rather do it without the associated guilt. Which, dissipated fairly quickly as I leisurely stretched out my legs along three seats. It was then I remembered I’d just have to wait in the Oahu airport just as long as my baggage was still on the pervious flight. Well, at least I would travel to the Pearl station in style.

Security Bust!

2008-08-01T21:34:00.000-10:00

“Run that bag again.”

My beloved ton of bricks containing a ⅓ of everything I own in the world was conveyered through the xray and back to my welcoming open arms... well, almost.

“That bag has a knife!”

Ahhhg, what are they talking about? As they are asking me where the knife is, explaining how helpful it would be if I knew, I inquired if they were sure it was my bag containing this knife. I’m not really one to carry a knife. Those were all packed.

“Why would we have ran the bag again? Of course it’s yours.” Followed by 3 snaps in a z formation from the condescending security guard.

Then, as she was ripping though everything that have been so lovingly and meticulously compacted, I have a flash back to last minute packing earlier this morning.

“Mmmm, the weight limit is 50lbs, and this bag is 50.7ish. Something needs to go, something. How about this random bag of cables & cords? Done, into my carry on.”

The culprit is located, my Dad’s Leatherman knife. I’ve had this thing forever too.

My stomach fills with dread as I remember ever incident of logically reasoning with airport security. Never successful. Even when I was drinking a latte (12oz cup) with much less than ½ left, obviously visibly passed their 4oz limit, was I still denied.

And so I said, “Fuck.”

It came out as a disappointed, I-haven’t-slept-in-a-week, just-said-goodbyes-to-everyone-I-know-and-love, exhausted fuck, not an I-hate-you, I’m-filled-with-rage fuck.

“Madam? You may not use that language here. That is completely uncalled for and I will bring my supervisor immediately unless you stop speaking to me with that horrible language!”

Wow. It was seriously like no one had ever dropped an eff bomb at the security gate before. Anyways, I shut right up. But, I gave her the stink eye for sure.

Conveniently, next to xraying was this reverse vending machine thing to mail home your contraband. With a 9.95 surcharge. Scam? I think so!

We Have to Celebrate Graduating High School?

2008-06-04T09:40:00.002-10:00

My little brother’s high school graduation was this week so I’ve been home for a few days. It’s been a whirlwind of events. He’s part of a school-within-a-school program which had to have it’s own alternative/intimate ceremony. This consisted of silly awards that came off more mean or completely lame. Ex - Mike got the diamond award, why? Because he plays baseball. Please. The only good one was the David Sedaris award. I was secretly hoping my blog had a previously unknown high circulation amongst Anchorage youth & I was going to get that one. Nope. Then the participant got up to receive the award and the next minute was spent sans clapping deciding whither a hug or a hand shake was in order for a line of ten teachers. Seriously awkward interactions of a hand out from one & a lean in from the other. Then they both switch. And switch back again alternately.

The real graduation was the next day. This is on a massive scale filling our stadium hockey arena. There was getting there early to score good seats, squashed between way over involved parents busily folding origami leis & figuring out how to press record on their expensive HD camcorders & fancy SLRs with icons they will never understand. Also there was air horns. I really hate those. Continue...

And, good god the speeches. So bad. I’ll give credit to the kid president because it was genuinely funny at parts. But, and there is a huge but, it was awful. Awful because the main gist of it was thanking his father. And why? Because it was his father who force him to attend Service High (rather than South, the rich, aka white only school where his friends went) and how grateful he was in the end to have so many minorities. The way this came off implied time spent in a diverse environment was just the “real world” experience you need to become a man. Like time with the Peace Corps, or joining the army. Something he had to endure or sacrifice for to gain life experience. It was insanely condescending and I was kinda shock. The remainder of speeches were chalk full of cliché “treasure every moment’s and carpe diem was mentioned at least seven times.

There was a mixture of singing, which is nice, and orchestra music, which is boring. Then the kids finally start walking. This is the catalyst of madness, which emanated from every seemingly mild mannered parent in the entire arena. A stampede from the bleachers rendered our front row seats irrelevant. Freshly bloomed beach balls were instantly extinguished by shifty eyed security guards. There was a significant lack of blow dolls that had made a memorable appearance in 2001. More air horns resonated deeply though my ear drums. Another corner stone life event checked off.

Do I still get a spring break?

2008-04-15T06:17:00.000-10:00

This pretty much sums it up my Hawaii vaca. But I also made a pretty cool graphic that I'm quite proud of representing the extravagance of the flight home.

Why I Date Assholes

2008-03-23T22:13:00.001-10:00

It’s not that I go out seeking assholes, but my stats show a significantly high rate of return. I look for the typical combination - funny, charming, reads books. Also I’m a sucker for the pretty ones. But, the one thing that gets me above all other is if they are cool.

Cool is such an abstract term, and definitely manifests its self in many ways. But, the guy I want to be with comes into a room and sets the energy. Everyone turns and wants to hear his stories and his commentary. Maybe it’s because I like the spotlight just as much or maybe because it’s just fun to know people like that. Whatever it is, this is who I want to spend my time with.

That itself is not the problem. It just seems like these cool guys are more often than not, are cocky assholes. The same qualities that give them the ability to charm a room of people also seems to make them think they are better than everyone else.

I’d like to say I’ve gotten better at recognizing these traits, but realization doesn’t make them any less sexy. Hopefully, one of these days I’ll bag myself one of the good ones. I’m fairly certain they exist.

No, I’m Not Down With the Mile High

2008-01-20T10:22:00.000-10:00

I’m on vacation, a new city, a limited time period, and nobody knows me. Sounds like a recipe for disaster right? And I’m all about it.

Unfortunately, Denver has produced less than desirable results. Here’s a few excerpts to give you an idea.

“Oh, she’s taking off her jacket. She totally wants it.”

I over heard while taking off my coat inside the 90 degree bar from the below freeze outdoor. Definitely got that one right buddy.

Then the best were delivered from the table next to us.

This guy starts to chat me up.

“Oh you’re visiting? Hey, let’s get out of here.” (to his credit, he didn’t waste time on the bullshit small talk)
“We can have bad breath together in the morning”

Oh really sexy.

Then an second attempt.

“Okay, I’m a little big (gestures to midsection) but I’m tan, so you can’t tell”

I’m swooning now.

“Come on! I’m sleeping on this guy’s futon! And…”

Here’s the best part -

“It’s been a really long time.”

Lock Down

2008-01-20T09:24:00.000-10:00

Normally I never even shut the bathroom door all the way. My roomie and I are super close, and heck I’m lazy. But Jeramie had a new friend over that isn’t accustomed to our behavior and I had an encounter with some objectionable taco bell. Not just any taco bell, a few days old, hanging around in Jason's fridge taco bell. (Sometimes I don’t make good choices okay?)

A combination of aged gordita, screaming through my lyrics as lead singer in the French Revolution, and much beer = Jess’ stomach not feeling up to par. In fact, I really felt like I needed to puke. I made my exit gracefully and clutched my tummy and ran home. Said hello to everyone in my living room and trotted off to the porcelain god.

After the purging of the toxins, I was feeling on top of my game. Nothing can keep me down as I reach for the handle to exit the bathroom. I grasp the knob and twist. Twist a bit hard. Rattle it a little. Mmmmm. After 24 years of doors responding enthusiastically when moving through, (except for an isolated incident involving an outhouse in Homer, Alaska. But, that is a story for another day.) it took some time to acknowledge that there was a problem. Jeramie wise cracked through a few sarcastic “need a little help’s?” and came to the rescue. But with no avail. We try to remove the hinges, but the door is angled such that even without hinges, it would have to be first removed where it was connected to the frame. Being a 3rd floor apartment gives me no hope of a window escape.

Call the manager. More jokes. A book is slid under the door frame. Call a lock smith. He suggests a credit card is jammed in the lock. Please, insult my intelligence some more.

We finally get him to make an appearance, an hour later. Turns out, door handles like the one on my bathroom hasn’t been manufactured since the 40s. And it wasn’t planning on going anywhere. After numerous tools of the trade failed, a crow bar was slid under the door and I literally hacked my way out of the door. Liberating.

The manager assured us a new door will be arriving with a sleek modern lock that can be easily jimmied open with a credit card. Phew.

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning

2008-01-03T09:20:00.000-10:00

First I couldn’t dial the numbers on my phone to call work to tell them I was late. I kept miss dialing over and over, which was making me later and later. Then I realized I was dialing the number for my elementary school. Then I looked down and saw I was using my house phone was I was 16. Then I woke up.

(It is so unfair to waste dream time on real things. My first job was at an ice cream parlor and I used to dream of scooping. Now sometimes I dream of .mac. Unreal. Why can’t I be dreaming of sex?)

So I woke up. I had 12 minutes to get to work! There is nothing I enjoy more than a large cup of coffee and a little RSS catch up, so I thrive on a leisurely morning. A high anxiety dream to a stressed out morning = cranky Jess.

Then my widget says five minutes till the bus. I run around throwing things in pockets and I’m out the door. Around the corner I watch the bus fly by. Poop. Chalk it all up to bad transit karma. I must have pissed off a light rail in a former life.

The buses come around 15 minutes, and there are several that I could take. But, they all leave at the same 15 minute intervals. What ever could be the sense in that? I miss one and I miss all the possibilities.

While I wait, a dirty old man walks by. Looks at me with a sidewise glance when walking by. Then turns and looks. Then a little later turns and looks again. I pretend to be really interested in the “Jesus Saves” flyer stuck in the bench. Then the yucky guy turns and walks towards me. Why why why didn’t I put my head phones in??? But, he just jesters to my hair, signifying that it was out of place. Honesty, I thought it looked fine. When did the bums get a better sense of style than me?

A new bus finally rounds the bend, I sit, and look up. Two seats dead ahead is a baby. Thinking it is so cute and all. It starts cooing at me. Like I have an iota of a maternal instinct. This baby has me all confused for someone who cares.

I pull the stop cord at the wrong stop, but I always seem to have too much pride to tell the bus drive I screwed up. So I now I had to walk too long in the monsoon. Yeah! Go day of rush anxiety, hair insecurity, and baby annoyance.

Blue + Orange = Green?

2007-12-17T22:21:00.000-10:00

I have friends that will travel to another town to see their hair dresser. In the most convenient of circumstances, my hair dresser lives in the room next to mine. So when a rash decision to be Sonic the Hedgehog for Halloween called for bright blue hair, there was no problem. The problem occurred the next week when the blue was fading. It didn’t fade well. I thought I could go black. But I’ve had the black for a while, and when your hair is dyed something askew from the norm, you get a fun second glance from everybody you pass on the street. I like that. And I happened to have some red dye lying around. Purple would be cool.

But…

The red was more of an orangish red. And well, apparently, blue and orange makes green. Bright green. The back of my head that the shower hits was significantly more faded and so that was a yellowy greenish color. Not awesome.

I then opted for black hair. For some reason though the green was fiesty and so now I have a black head of straw textured hair, that when it catches the light just so, there is an iridescent tint of forest green. I’m okay with that. I’m sorta like a tropical fish.

Really? You Do?

2007-08-18T07:44:00.000-10:00

We used to play care bears in the snow berms as the clouds in my back yard. Hit up the neighbors with the biggest houses to score the best Halloween candy. Spend the night in my tree house. And last month, my best friend growing up, got married. That seems so adult. And here I am still alining myself with the best locales of candy. While I’ve found myself a full time job and have become self reliant, I know I’m not there yet. I can’t even comprehend what there is. To say, “Yes I would like to spend the rest of my life with you” is inconceivable to me. My parents have been married longer than I’ve been alive. To agree to marry someone would insinuate I would spend more time with that person than I even have the ability to conceptualized. I don’t even know what 27 years is like, let alone 50. People are married for that long.

Yet, people around me all the time are okay with this. Elated to be doing this. This is the first of three weddings. Of good friends this summer. People I identify with. People I love and know so very. When I see them in a gorgeous white dress up in front of us holding their hubby-to-be’s hand, I know we all look the part. When I picture weddings, I picture people getting married that look as we do. 20-somethings, we are young, but I see aging in us, that I’ve never seen before. But internally, no way. I don’t feel it. People I know and love buy houses. Buy them. I can’t even spend money on a good bed for fear of committing to a city.

So what does this mean? Am I not aging as I should? Delayed in development? It doesn’t feel that way. I feel more mentally stable than the majority of my friends. I’ve got my shit together. Can’t say that for many people I know, and yet, I know I’m no where near this marriage thing. I have plenty of friends that would agree. Only thing is, I know them, and I know if the right thing would come along in their lives, I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be avoiding the bouquet at another affair.

The morning we got burgled

2007-06-26T17:16:00.000-10:00

The cop just laughed at me when I told him it thought it was a safe neighborhood. But seriously, I live almost on 23rd. Its posh and upper class. I can’t afford anything in the shops around me. That’s what security means right?

He laughed again when I told him it was just cash and rolled his eyes when I told him the door was open.

He wasn’t internalized the guy was in my home. Almost in my room. He talked to me! I know what can he do about cash, but some empathy please. Its not everyday I get robbed.

My roomie leaves everyday around 6. I wake up sometime between 7 and 9ish and so, she leaves the door open. I’m home so what’s the big deal?

So when I hear her rustling around in my hallway, I let out a surprised question - “Jeramie? What’s up? Good morning!”
And get a response of a deep male “GOOD MORNING”. Then foot steps and the front door closing.

Whoa. What the hell? We’d had some plumbers and electricians in the place, but on inspection of the house, there wasn’t anyone around. In fact nothing was really out of place. I was begining to think I was a little nuts/ didn’t sleep enough or something when I noticed my wallet. Next to my purse a little, but not in my purse where I left it. Everything else, the computers, the ipods, anything valuable, still in its original locale. But my wallet was not. I carefully opened it up. Credit cards still there. ID still there. Just the cash was gone. Enough to bum me out.

But cash is just cash. Nothing that couldn’t be replaced. Mentally this was way more traumatizing than anything else, but I supposed who could argue any other way about a robbery. Materials are always replaceable. Nothing serious was gone. I learned a lesson. Now my door is always locked, as it probably should be. I just can’t believe the smuck actually said good morning to me!

Slum Lords

2007-05-14T17:31:00.000-10:00

Step one first thing on moving day was to acquire the keys. Jeramie and I awaiting our new landlord outside our new digs. And waited, and waited. Fifteen minutes late is a constant thing for this women. Arriving all flustered, she places the keys in our hand, thrusts a lamp for the bare bulb hanging in our kitchen. I’m going to assume I’m installing this into our vaulted ceilings myself. And causally in passing she mentioned she just didn’t have time to get it professionally cleaned. We stipulated in several emails that it was our expectation that the place be cleaned.

We went up and checked it out. The place was dirty. Gross fridge dirty. Left behind wet carpet on the deck dirty. Abandon computer monitor in the closet dirty. We were pissed.

After trying to get two weeks free of rent, we agree on one. But not without a struggle. She actually said, in an insulted voice, something like - “I even got this nice lamp. It’s very contemporary, so you won’t have a hanging bulb, AND I had the carpets cleaned.”

Great lady. Those are things that are supposed to happen. Along with the rest of the place being clean. Not something you’re doing special, just for us.

Then she bitches about how she has no money to pay the mortgage and she couldn’t afford cleaning until she cashed our check.

Now I feel awesome.

I try to convey that I don’t give a fuck if she can pay the mortgage or not, that knowledge is completely irrelevant. She offers to have it cleaned in a few days. NO crazy. Not after we’ve already moved in. Its around this point I’m looking for the cameras. But, no. This was for real.

Then she pleadfully urges us not to talk to the rest of the tenants about her, windedly explaining that nobody knows her and understands her and we will her people saying bad things about her.

Like I care.

Next we picked up the moving truck and spent hours filling it up. My previous estimate of male help was a little low. Andrew was awesome for helping and we had help from Oliver for an hour. But that wasn’t cutting it. I am so weak. My arms were noodles. There were so many fucking boxes.

Finally the new apartment is all filled up with our lives. And then I go to plug in my macbook. No power.
Broken plug? I don’t think so! There was no electricity in the entire apartment!

Call to the landlord produced a response of if you need electricity, you need to call the electric company.
Last I checked, the electricity was supposed to be turned on before tenants moved in. And when we called PGE? No electricity hook up until Monday. This was Saturday.

So to wrap up so far - dirty apartments, exhaustion from moving, and no electricity for the whole weekend. And it was then we got the bad news.

Another tenant came over and was telling us about the place. And she tells us - The women who we signed a lease with from craigslist isn’t actually the landlord. She has no legal authority over the place. All she is, is the granddaughter of the owner. This owner has been deemed legally incompetent. There is a trustee, and he is the one everyone pays rent too. My lease was invalid. All the money I payed her for deposit and first month rent? Who knows?

And it gets better.

There is no manager. There was one. Turns out he was a convicted sex offender and is now living in a group home. So even though the trustee is probably the rightful rent receiver, there is no one around to fix the plumbing if the toilet floods in this place!

We freak out. Jeramie changes the locks and puts a stop to the check. Neither party seemed to notice. I wrote some letters stating something like we would be perfectly willing to pay as soon as we are shown legal documentation of who to pay. Neither party has responded. So as it stands now we’ve barricaded ourselves into a place we’re not paying for. Awesome... not so such how to continue from here.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

2007-05-02T18:53:00.001-10:00

Our education system does a heck of a job educating our kids about drugs. The girls I advice were having their weekly meeting, this time about drunk driving, which merged to drugs and the dangers of experimenting and addiction. The stone cold and truthful look was reflected in their eyes when the following facts were laid out.

A) Addiction always happens. You may think you’re not addicted, but you try something once, and then maybe again, and then once a week, then twice a week, then three times, and before you know it, you’re addicted. EVERY time. And if you know you’re going to be addicted, don’t start.

B) Don’t ever mix drugs. Because say, if you do ecstasy, which puts holes in your brain, and combine that with LSD, which makes your brain bleed, then, you get holes in your brain which fill with BLOOD!

WAAAAAAAA. Um.

All My Friends These Days are Sneakerheads

2007-05-01T16:57:00.000-10:00

What’s weird about these subcultures is that for a life time you have no idea they could possibly exist. And the next thing you know, you are completely versed in which closet 7 of your friends have shelves upon shelves of brand new, maybe worn once, kicks.

I think this is kinda crazy. But who am I to judge? I’ve gladly always been a part of the Apple obsession, taking not-so-secret delight when a friend switches over, nearly cream my pants over the macworld convention and black turtlenecks, and well, every time I hear my start up chime I find true inner peace.

Like the inner peace my buddies feel spending the night outside Nike Town, rock concert/sporting event style, for the release of a new flavor of Air Force 1s? I’ll never know. I am now aware there are secret exclusive websites for ordering secret exclusively colored shoes. That only people in the sneakerhead club know about and get. And when they pass each other on the street, that must be quite a moment.

Its special to belong to an obsession. Recently I have unwittingly joined the I drive a two wheeled vehicle club. When I scoot around portland I get the “hey what’s up” wave from anything else with two wheels (excluding bicyclists) from classic Vesbas to fat Harleys. I kinda love it.

So I identify with my Mac and others in the clan because its a far superior machine. And I identify with my two wheeled brethren for sustainability and ease of parking. I don’t get the sneaker love, but hell, I’m not in the club.

Lastest Drama: The Crash

2007-02-26T11:41:00.001-10:00

My latest love, the TN’G 150cc scooter I scored off craigslist, has been quite the trooper. It transports me to both my jobs in about the most fun way I’ve ever traveled, helps me to see my friends in far away locales – like the east side, boy I would never cross the river otherwise. But when I tried to take it to West Linn, the poor thing really started to make funny noises on the return.

I brought it in for a tune up the next day. And did they ever tune it up. My little scoot was running so smooth. They even loosened up the handlebars that were stiff to turn. Well, I was off. Headed home. The wind (and well now a little rain) on my back.

I have a couple of bridge options to get back to my abode. The best is Burnside, so I head that way. For some reason though, probably since I was already on Morrison, I go – what the heck, I’ll just cruse over the Morrison Bridge since I’m headed that way.

Big mistake

See, the Morrison Bridge is a drawbridge. Which means there are grates over the drawbridge part. I’ve ridden over the grates before. It was a little wobbly, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Well apparently not with newly loosened handlebars. When I started to wobble a bit, I corrected, but over corrected. To fix this I over corrected the other way. And then. I was over!

I remember falling and thinking – oh shit, now I’ll never be able to get a good resale value for this if it’s fallen once.

That was it, just thinking about how this was going to devalue my bike. And how I was going to get it up. The scooter was big. And heavy.

Then there were all these people around me. I stopped both lanes of traffic going down town. Asking me if I was okay. Helping me up.

I couldn’t really move. I was going to have a killer bruise on my knee. I just need a minute I tell the small crowd.

But a minute wasn’t really helping. I still couldn’t move. So I let someone help me to the side. And someone else moved my bike over.

Phones are shoved in my face.

“Call someone who can help you.”
“What’s their number? We’ll call for you!”

Come on! Like I know anyone’s phone number. I can’t even remember my own phone number half the time.

A woman points to my knee. “You seem to bleeding a little bit.”

A little bit? When I looked down. My knee was SOAKED with blood. A step up from the bruise I was predicting. I inched up my jeans, oddly enough complete without rip or tear, and saw the real results of the crash. There was knee coming out of my knee! I held down the vomit that was insisting it come up my throat. I fought the black out seeping in the corner of my eyes. And then I called my roommate.

“Jeramie, I got in an accident. I need you to pick me up”

I’m sure those words are always fun to hear. Jeramie was great. She picked me up and rushed me to the hospital. Then dealt with AAA and the scooter removal from the bridge.

Meanwhile I was waiting a small eternity in the hospital. Totally freaking out. I really love my knee. With no reason to think otherwise, my body had been indestructible. I could kill myself at the gym, drink till I puked, do cartwheels, digest entire pots of coffee, add smoke, you name it!

Then just like that, I was broken. In the absence of physical pain, I was left with a frightening emptiness. Could I run again? Is it possible I could have chronic pain? One of those people? How could I ever run a marathon if I couldn’t even walk? In the hour I waited to be checked in, I did a good job of quietly sobbing and working myself into a panic.

I get summoned later and talk to a nurse. She doesn’t even look at the knee, just puts some paper work in front of my face. Right then Jeramie calls and says they can’t tow the scooter to the shop b/c it’s closed and did I want it home or at the AAA lot? Both those options seemed terrible and so I say something like – I don’t know what the fuck to do. Pick one.

The nurse glares up at me and snaps “Excuse me! There are other people in this hospital besides you!”

Okay duh, perhaps that’s why I’ve been gushing blood in the lobby for 7 hours (funny sarcastic comment I think of in hindsight). What really came out was a burst of tears. Whatever, it worked b/c than she got really nice. Pointed to the lines where I relinquish all free will to the hospital and I signed and was carted off to the sewing ward.

Ironically enough it wasn’t until the doc was shoving a pointy thing filled with Novocain into my mangled excuse for a joint, that my shock subsided and I could feel again. A few expletives later, and I got another “This is a hospital, could you keep it down???”

Really, I don’t get this, isn’t a hospital a mecca for pain and suffering? Where do people go when they get hurt? The hospital. Traveling far and wide to the nearest one. Seems like they should be a bit more tolerant.

Well I got all sewed and glued up and sent on my way with something fun for the pain.

It took some time, but two weeks later, all I have to show for it is a gnarly scab. My limp has faded like the throbbing pain and I even went for a short run today. Once again I’m back to my invincible self. I’ve even been scooping craigslist for a new scooter. The poor TN’G got totaled. And in another ironic twist of events, was valued by my insurance at 1,000 bucks more than I paid for it. After the deductible, I made $700 on a kickass scar!

Rain

2007-02-19T19:34:00.000-10:00

Regardless of the fact that the clouds looked gloomy and dark, I opted for long sleeved shirt and puffy vest only for outerwear this morning. Not a thought passed through my head that there might be a small chance of this morphing in to a torrential down pour.

This is precisely what occurred nine hours later and my walk home was more of a swim rather than a saunter. Fording my way up the last hill of my journey, I’m sure I resembled the state of a fully saturated small mammal and I look up to see a couple walking their microscopic dogs. All four of them wearing matching yellow rain jackets; the DOGS TOO!

I’m not really sure the larger existential meaning behind this encounter. Maybe a big fuck you from the world to me. Maybe the dogs were tele-a-marketers in another life. Donno.

Humping What Now?

2007-01-15T12:12:00.000-10:00

My coworker was out of town last week, which meant I was completely responsible for 15 middle schoolers for 5 whole days! And middle school is such a weird age bracket. Half the kids are funnier and listen to better music than I do, and then the other half haven’t quite seemed to have developed the ability to create abstract thoughts. Its thrilling working there I assure you.
So day three of dodging pretzels and flying pool balls, cleaning cuts and scrapes, mediating fights and TV volumes, I had just about had it. And when the 8th graders asked if they could go outside and play I said yes (some fabulous supervisor I am). But I was at my wits end, and throw in the clause of – okay, but if anyone gets upset with you, come in right away. Other ways, you have 10 minutes!
And out they went. As much as I love the 8th graders, they really are the most fun since they are older, they are also the biggest trouble makers. And when they get feisty, it’s always a relief when they leave the room. Having this knowledge, I wasn’t the least surprised when the rent-a-cop comes into the room five minutes later.

“Hi, what’s up?” I say, knowing perfectly well it was my 8th grade boys.
“Well, um, I just wanted to let you know there are some kids out front and they are acting a little rowdy.” Responded the rent-a-cop (this guy cannot be much older then me. I actually think he’s younger).

Jesus, of course they are rowdy. DUH. I have no idea what to say to this guy. So I respond –

“Well, is that a problem?” Really, I didn’t know how to respond. I certainly didn’t want them coming back to the room.
“Mmmm… no, but it could definitely become a problem soon.”

Damnit, this guy must be soooo bored to come back at me with a statement like that. And on top of that, he doesn’t leave. He’s still standing there.

“So, anything else wrong?” I hint at, since it seems he had more to say.
“Well yeah actually,” He pauses here and struggles to say what comes out next. “One of the kids was, well… um, he was humping a tree.”

HUMPING A TREE??? WTF am I supposed to do with that knowledge? Once again I must come up with a response. Keep in mind, the tree humping statement is a much more daunting task to retort back to. So I stick with the standby always works method of passiveness.

“Okay, so is the tree humping a problem?” LOL. I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. It was one of those priceless moments where you could have died to have an audience around to witness it from start to finish.
“Well, I suppose it could be if someone were to see them, it wouldn’t look very appropriate.”
“Okay, I agree, I’ll talk to them when they come back in.”

And so now I get to have a little talk about sexual expression and how that’s not a bad thing by any means, but probably not best if you chose to express yourself sexually through trees, not really appropriate in an after school program. Really, the fun in my life never stops.
The boys come back in and I stop them and in my strictest voice and face ask who was responsible for the tree humping. Whoa did they flip out –
“WHAT?? Ohmygod, no, nobody was humping a tree. Who told you that?? Someone just pushed me into a tree. THAT’S ALL! Who said that??

So I just told them. “I’m not a liberty to say who made the complaint for fear you’ll never ever respect their authority and make tons and tons of fun of him. Just try to keep the tree humping to a minimum okay?”

“GROSS JESS!!!! EWWW.”

It's Really Happening

2007-01-12T09:28:00.000-10:00

Last night I had a dream about OS 9. This finally confirms the sad fact that up until now I had refused to fully admit. I'm becoming a nerd. There. I've said it.

Insane in the Membrane

2006-12-28T08:10:00.000-10:00

No matter what happens from here on out, the party was rockin’ and seriously worth the wrath I have incurred from the night. The day afterwards when the remainder of sticky beer and empties had been cleaned up and I spent the day recovering on the couch, nothing would have prepared me for what would occur around the hour of 10 o’clock.

Here’s how it went down:

A rap at the door. I take a quick peak outside. It was just me in the house, and who the heck would be knocking now? Weird I thought, and so it was. A middle aged women was there. I open the door to her standing in my doorway. And I mean that in the most literal of ways. When I opened up the door she managed to place her foot on the floorboards IN MY LIVING ROOM!

So I’m shocked beyond belief. Then it gets weirder! She places a cd in my hand. An ACDC cd. And the following is the true story of Crazy Women.

“I live there.” C.W. points a long boney finger to the one door near us that managed to be excluded from our preparty informing the neighbors run. In case you are not familiar with this activity, it involves a quick knock on the doors of surrounding apartments and letting them know you will be hosting a small get together, invite them (this is key), and throw in a small – well, we’d love to have you, but if for some reason you can’t come and we get a teensy bit loud, totally let us know and we’d be happy to turn down the music.

And so I stand there absorbing this very bazaar scene. This women, shoving ACDC in my hand, her foot physically in my home when she speaks again.

“You had the party right? Now tonight I would like to come into your house and play music really loud to bother you in your living room.”

She looks up at me as though she really thought I was going to invite her in to play the cd. CRAZY!

I respond, “Look, I’m real sorry that we bothered you. But this is really inappropriate and you need to leave.”

C.W. “Well I think it was really inappropriate for you to be waking me up at 11 at night.” Still standing there.

Me, “I’m sorry we woke you up, but if that was the case you should have come over and let us know the music was bothering you. Anyone of us would have been more than happy to turn it down. But, what you are doing right now is harassment and you do need to leave. I have no problem calling the cops.”

This kinda freaked her out. I could see on her face there was a split second twitch. But nothing else. She just remained standing there. Staring at me. Like she was trying to stare me down. And I don’t know what to do. I already apologized. Does this women truly want to play ACDC in my living room? Subquestion – Why does a woman who owns an ACDC cd get upset from party music on a Friday night?

And as the seconds pass during our stare down, I realize C.W. doesn’t have an out. She can’t just leave because then I win and she started the whole confrontation, but I really think she has run out of things to say. So one more time I say, “I am sorry for waking you up, but there is nothing I can do about that now. So how about next time instead of this passive aggressive behavior, you just tell me at the time when things bother you and we will talk then. Now you must leave because you are trespassing on my property.”

“I really doubt you are sorry.” C.W. throw back at me all self-righteously. I hand her the cd and she finally removes her foot from my floor and leaves. FREAKY.

I haven’t seen anything of her lately, but who knows what’s going to happen after the New Year’s shindig.

I’ll have my motorcycle permit and a loaf of bread please

2006-11-23T23:47:00.000-10:00

My tolerance for TriMet drops at a painfully exponential rate with every ride that I am slammed up amongst slovenly unkempt America. And as such I have begun to narrow down my slim amount of alternatives. This would include walking or biking. Walking is sure lovely in the summer time, but now might as well be swimming as the season has recently dictated. Biking falls into the latter excuse as well, plus I’ve recently relocated a top quite a large hill.

The car option. My parents want this. Always asking me things like – Is money the issue? If it didn’t cost anything would you get one? I, on the other hand, have a huge problem with this. A, yes Mom, they are expensive – gas, insurance, maintenance. Makes me a bit nauseas to think of all the mula I’d be just throwing into it for a little convenience. But also I shudder at the thought of me, little old me driving a four seatter vehicle all over town. What a freakin’ waste. I think there is a generational education gab here. My age bracket has been suckled on the idea of sustainability and care of the environment where as my parents don’t see a thing wrong with everyone in the family owning a car.

So I have arrived at the perfect solution. A scooter. A personal transport device with amazing gas mileage (100mpg), a tiny gas expense (it needs premium, but with less than a two gallon tank I think I can splurge for it), and the insurance for the year? – 50 dollars! For the year! Sold. When I find one.

Mean while, I gather some other information. In order for the scooter to travel at speeds that won’t have all of Portland honking at my moving chair, I need to drive something with an engine around 150cc. This means I need a motorcycle license. And this is where my latest frustrations derive.

The DMV. The land of intolerance. As an individual probably as laxest and as flexible as they come, the DMV and I do not get alone. So I prep. I study the motorcycle handbook so I’ll pass the test no problem. And then I set aside three hours of my life to wait. I arrive on the scene, pull a number, and get down the business. I want to make sure I’m not waiting in vain of course, so I go up to the counter and clarify everything is in order.

“I’m here to get my motorcycle permit. What do I need?” – clear question right?
“You need a valid state ID.” – either Patty or Selma, couldn’t tell…
“That’s it? You’re sure?” – this seemed weird, I felt like I would need some more ID.
“Right, that is what I said.” – P or S.

Okay, cool. Well that’s all I had on me so I wait. And wait. Government agencies arrested in so much bureaucracy as the DMV always strike me as what I would imagine the USSR was like during communism. One simple thing to get, huge line, asinine things to do to acquire it, crying babies. It was a long couple of hours. Then. I am chosen. My number is called.

“One motorcycle permit please!” But it was not to be. Apparently the valid state ID was assumed but not verbalized to be an Oregon state ID. And without one I would have to take a test to get one.
“Okay I’ll take the test.” Well, not quite. To take the test you must prove you live in Oregon. I just moved. I’m not on the lease. No bills come to my house, they are all online. I have nothing, absolutely nothing that proves my residency.
“Well better get something.” Is my only consolation from behind the counter.

The next day I am struck with good luck. My change of address notice arrives! My proof I’m not falsifying my identity to ride motorcycles. Until that is, a closer examination of the paper. The post office thinks my name is Jessica Mauler, not Mauer. And after another trip to the DMV I learn they won’t have any of that. Seems obvious to me too. I stole Miss Mauler’s mail as to acquire this permit. Still no license to date. I’ll keep you posted.

The Flood

2006-11-19T20:40:00.000-10:00

It’s the second week in my new and swankily located apartment (that’s right, 23rd NoWePo). The move was the usual pain in the ass, but was completed quicker than expected with the help of my best friend/new roommate Jeramie. Everything was falling in to place quite nicely with most of my friends living on near by streets and my living conditions finally meeting my social needs! Woot! And especially exciting - no more waiting for someone to finish playing final fantasy and other despicable video games of this nature to watch Lost.

And while all of this is well and good, you couldn’t even imagine my surprise to wake up Saturday morning, meander into the bathroom and find an inch or so of toilet water on the floor. My roommate had faithfully placed every single towel we own in a rush attempt to solve the problem before leaving for the day. I arrived on the scene when most of the water had been absorbed towels and by our now fresh mold producing ceiling and transported right onto the kitchen floor.

Yay old town houses.

Downstairs was something else. I couldn’t put enough pots down to catch the drips because there wasn’t a specific location that they were coming from. Randomly dripping this distinctly yellow looking water. So I felt like this accurately portrayed an emergency and called the weekend maintenance.

Promptly a lovely woman showed up with a plunger in hand.

“Nope, I don’t think it’s the toilet being stopped up that’s the problem. It’s more like the uncontrollable running and lack of stopping that created this lovely mess.” I explain.

We head to the kitchen and examine the ceiling. It seems as though most of the water has collected in the light fixture and concluded that it must be drained. The woman stands on the counter and works off the case to the lights, while I stand underneath with a big bucket. If only the distinctly yellow water had gone into the bucket and not have gallons and gallons of it spill all OVER ME! Toilet/ceiling water is not an ideal scent to be cloaked in for the record. And then I certainly wished I could towel off, but these were already in use. Sigh…. It’s a thankfully I have a stockpile of quarters!

And my wallet is missing. Good thing we got free burritos at work today or it would appear to be stacking up to be a pretty crappy week.

Adventures in Public Transportation

2006-09-19T16:55:00.000-10:00

The man that walks on the bus had long nasty hair, baseball cap, dirty beard, dirty jean jacket, a voice like he'd been smoking right out of the womb. He is speaking to this woman who walked on with him.
"So this spanish chick says to me - you think we should all get deported?? - so I go - heck no honey! They should make Mexico a state, so I can go there and you can come here!"
Then the woman with him goes - "Yeah, what about that wall they are building?"

... and just to interject... um a fucking wall inbetween America and Mexico? What the heck is wrong with this country?

Dirty Man - "Yeah... like that great wall or something"
Woman - "Where was that? Between China and Russia? Oh wait.. no China and Japan!"
Dirty Man - "No... It totally divided Germany!"

Broadwayized?... Wicked Uncool

2006-09-16T11:51:00.000-10:00

It's not that I didn't love the show. The manifestation of my dream to be a rock star/ diva will probably never be actualized. I seem to have a dearth of vocal skills, so I must live vicariously through ticket purchases, and this was definitely worth it. Awesome 80's chic flashy costumes, incredible sets, voices...whoa.. I would have died and gone to heaven had it not been for one tiny thing. I had to go on and read the book first. And this was not the easiest task. Wicked was one detailed motherfucker, and I've never been one for the details.

So I know another medium such as the musical version is bound to be different. Damn, if it had all the info in the book no amount of adderal would have kept me in my seat. Yet I didn't expect it to be all diced up and butchered. Strong characters were weak, plot angles flopped, timelines changed, murders didn't happen, characters didn't exist. Points stressed in the book barely touched. What the musical was diluted down to was a silly love mess. Complete with fiery passion and broken hearts. The love triangle was part of it, but definitely not the whole story.

What is that? I would expect something like this from Hollywood - focus on the fluff, forget the depth. Sure the fluff accentuates and stylizes, but it should never define the plot.

So from a complex landscape of censorship, and the flip-flop of one's concept of what is good and what is wicked, and huge power struggles, I got to sit through a brainless tribute to a small bit of the actual Wicked. But heck - it was pretty.

My Fish

2006-09-14T07:32:00.000-10:00

A little more than a year and a half ago I thought it might be to get some fish. I figured I’d be seriously sick of cleaning the water out two months from then, but it wouldn’t matter because there’s no way they’d live that long. They are still FUCKING alive!

And its not like I’ve been especially good at taking care of them. They have gone with out cleaning until the tank reminds me of what I would guess the bottom of a swamp looks like. I theorized this swamp version of the tank was more like home to them than clean ever would be.

Now that we are getting up the two year mark together I thought I would give them a nice clean up. I scooped them up and placed them in a glass while I proceeded to remove all the nastiness from their castle/home and rocks. After everything is sparkling like new and filtering properly, I go to dump them back home, but after examining the glass they are now swimming in (really poopy) and the super clean tank, I thought it best to spill out some of the poopy water. I slowly slowly let out a little stream from the glass with the fish swimming safely on the bottom of it. Just a bit I thought, so there’s a little less in the tank.

Then, due to some improperly calculation of the physics of the water current on my part, one of my fish flows right out of the cup and down the drain! A sickening feeling brews in my gut and regret flows through my mind such as- “Why did I need to spill that out? What difference could such a drop of poopiness make in cleanliness? What the fuck was I thinking pouring over an open drain?”

Meanwhile, I’m the only one home just staring at the drain, what the fuck should I do? He’s probably still alive, and so close! I have to rescue him somehow! These fish have been through so much, this is not the way he is going to go!

I look at the drain - a garbage disposal. I hear my mother’s monolog in my head.

“Never stick your hand down the garbage disposal, it is very dangerous and things are really sharp. Let Daddy do it.”

My parents were always giving me advice to live by. As always there were the usual – don’t run into the street, don’t talk to strangers, but there were a few like this one and other randoms that were just plain weird. Such as – “if you find an abandoned refrigerator, never play in it because you could suffocate.”

I mean seriously mom and dad, when the fuck in my childhood would I find an abandoned frig, and hypothetically if I were to find one, why the fuck would I play in it? I had a Nintendo.

So now I am faced with a slightly beloved pet, who is now trapped the disposal. And I’ve done ten million things my mother told me specifically not to do, but to date, I’ve never put my hand down the disposal.

But I have to! this is life or death for my fish, I have no choice. So I wince and slowly put my hand down the drain. What I feel is about an inch of water, the fish bumping around, and that’s it, no sharp razors or jagged points as I was expecting. But the water is fastly draining and my fish just won’t get in my hand. The water level gets lower and lower and I start to panic. What if my fish drowns on air right in front of me? I can’t take care of anything!

And then the water is completely gone, and he’s just bumping/flopping around in there. I realized I’ve been holding my breath the whole time, and then feel guilty for exhaling. The anxiety adrenal is making my heart race, and I can’t believe my fish will die this way, when... he flops right into my hand. Ahhhh. I plop him right back in the tank.… back to swimming in circles little buddy.

Trials and Tribulations

2005-08-14T08:44:00.000-10:00

I just left the greatest house-sitting job in the world for the worst. Some how, on my last 2 weeks ever ( actually for a year) in Eugene, and America, I got talked into house sitting for two different people. The first, the one I had to leave for my current locale, was not that tough of a sell. My coworker asked if I house-sat, I said no – because I already said yes to this one. Then she goes – Well, I have a pool.

So of course I was there! The past week has yield entire days of laying/swimming/drinking by this FABULOUS pool. It was really big too, complete with a diving board right in their back yard really close to town. The only catch was my foolishness of insisting they not put their ever-so-cute, not-so-little puppy in the kennel. I hate the thought of dogs in kennels and I thought I loved puppies. I thought I wanted a puppy instead of a child. Now… I don’t think I want anything. This dog was CRAZY! It wanted me to toss it a ball, but wouldn’t let go. If I were swimming he would jump in the water on top of me constantly. If I was sun bathing he would drag drool saturated toys all over me. Sadly the worst of it was that this dog just wasn’t that smart. Both of my childhood dogs were very intelligent, so I’m not used to a dog that will just start barking at a tennis ball that won’t come out of the pool by itself. The worst though was the poop. Oh god, the poop. See in Alaska, we don’t do any poop scooping. There are lots of woods and my dog would just go poop far away in the woods. Eugene neighborhoods don’t seem to have any secluded woodland, so, apparently everyone just takes a little sack and PICKS UP STINKY POOP. EWWWWW. What a disgusting concept.

Yet, besides the ADD psycho dog, being at the house was great. I can now add a large pool to my list of life time necessities. And I am damn tan.

Now I find my self at the next house, without and extra cool features, not even wireless!!! They are just an old paranoid couple that insisted I sleep at their non-pet house, even though I was just watering the plants. This house is located in the MIDDLE of NOWHERE, literally a 20 minute drive up a winding road from my house. I doubt burglars would even think this place existed, and what would they take? Their books? Their plants? And where as my last job was quite lucrative, this one is yielding a measly 10 bucks a day… and the worst of it? – their cookie jar contains raisins!!! WTF?

In love once again

2005-08-10T09:36:00.000-10:00

Now I know all of you are dying to know whom the new love of my life is. So I will tell you all about him! Max is wonderful, I am so in love. He is everything I ever wanted in another. Loving, caring, adoring, and quite a cuddler. Plus he is so energetic. Literally running circles around me! It is so nice to have someone to challenge my energy level. And although Max is quite off the wall and drives me a little nuts, I mean, the guy follows me around like a little lost puppy. Also, he sorta goes against every single one of my ideals of feminism since he has no concept of the word no, nor does he care to obey any boundaries I insist on setting, he really loves me. And is damn cute, so what else matters??

Of course you all must be wondering what this beautiful man looks like… well, here he is.

Ocean Travels

2005-08-06T09:38:00.000-10:00

I can now check off the Oregon Coast as a destination site. I have spent the last few days with my mom in the car climbing sand dunes
, seeing very old trees, cute little puffins, and seeing pretty coastal views. The winding roads of the Oregon shore proved themselves to be quite beautiful, if not a tad cold and somewhat repetitive. I’m sure if I lived on the beach front I would never tire of the view, but driving and stopping at every scenic point seems to take its toll.

Mom and I hopped into the car after some stressful pre-packing. Kinda odd how most of my life fits pretty well into six boxes. Florence was the first stop on our adventure. We climbed the dunes, which seemed to go on forever. Then in town we drove around to the place where I dove freshman year, bringing back a few lost memories of scuba and Matt. On the road again, the road led us to a side hike ending at a 500 year old spruce. It was a super quick little walk, and unknown to us at the start, we were actually walking alongside a road side camp area! Not quite the middle of nowhere. At the end of the trail was this magnificent tree. It was unbelievably high into the sky and so thick around. Very cool.

We did some more scenic driving and picture taking and then, made it to Yachats where we were in for the night. Dinner was super gourmet. All the food on the trip was fantastic, but this was by far my best meal. A perfectly done halibut steak and veggies w/ rice…mmm. I’ve eating more fish this week then I think I have in a year.

Today brought us to Newport. There we saw the aquarium. The best parts were the turtle exhibit, the sea otters, and puffins. The turtles are such neat creatures. Bottom line I think I identify with them from years and years of a small (okay large) Ninja Turtle obsession, but also they are just cool to watch them swim around. Poor sea turtles though, hope they hang in there. Sea otters and puffins (sorry, Yelena, more so than penguins I’m afraid) are freakin’ cute. I wish they came in mini pet size.

Then Mom and I went to an old lighthouse. In fact, the house itsself had been preserved exactly like it was long ago. I wonder if my apartment might ever be a museum of how I lived in a few hundred years. It’d be weird if my life was on display for… the future!

Tillamook was the end of the trip. Tomorrow I’ll drop Mom off at the airport. Unfortunately, this town was not so hot. The cheese factory has got nothing on the Jelly Belly factory (by far my favorite factory). Although we did see some pretty big blocks of cheese (so not all was lost), it was too much of a ploy for me to spend money on cheese related touristy goods – um cheese shot glass anyone?

Time keeps on slippin' by

2005-08-01T11:02:00.000-10:00

Even though the anxiety dreams have seemed to stop, I've slowly been noticing my mind drift to real life stress out thoughts of my next year's adventure. Gone are the countless nights of forgetting to pack dreams, or forgetting to buy my ticket from Eugene to New York (which in case you are wondering brain, I already have bought!), but in their place is a completely new anxiety. Some are silly when verbalized – will people like me? Will anyone be mean to me? Will I remember everyone's name? Will I be able to get around okay? Will I get lost? Some are more legit – Will I lose touch with the people I love? What if this is not what I really want to do? Should I have just gotten some job in Portland? Will I have enough money when I'm there?

A year is a long time. I can't even begin to think how I will react and change. I am about to meet my 70 new friends for the next year of my life. That's weird. I don't know any of them and soon a few will be my new best friends. And some of them won't like me. And some I probably won't like. This is all normal for social grouping, but it's still weird to think about before it happens. Excluding the summer camp I worked at, I haven't gone to a completely different place knowing nobody since I left for college four years ago. And that was still in the same country.

So I find my mind wondering to these thoughts more and more often. And as I finalize my plans, pack my boxes, start to begin the goodbyes, I can't imagine it is going to get any easier.

la la la

2005-07-29T16:59:00.000-10:00

So the soundtrack to my life now has a new beat. Jason Mraz's new album is AMAZING. It's been looping constantly, following me around all aspects of my life – living room sitting, car driving, bicycle riding, and walking to class w/ class of course. I love he sound of hip-hopie, rockie, popiness. Stay tuned to the streets of Eugene for my alone in the car solos.

s'more? naaaa

2005-07-24T21:56:00.000-10:00

A fire pit in Laurel's back yard sure seemed like the perfect way to end a lazy Sunday. We gathered early for the party set up, learning that it's okay to have watermelon and PBR light for dinner. As the logs were acquired (legally, you can be sure of that) and the fire begin to roar, a surprise turn of events had me barreling down the I5, delaying the toasted mallows an unexpected few hours. Yelena's car had puttered out a few miles short of Salem, so I was off to the rescue!

With a mildly raspy voice (ipod and no one to talk to in the car, so I sing) I arrived on the scene. I put Yelena and the Visenbergs in the car and stopped in for a quick soda in the convenience store. Apparently the big drama in Brooks is who gets to put the gas instead of being behind the counter. As I was receiving my change, my easedropping filled me in on how Julian was told she couldn't do gas tomorrow but Sue was told she could. This was huge news to the trashy chubby girl behind the counter causing her to say some nastiness which delayed my exchange of money for goods... damn

The drive home was pleasant except for the boys not nearly appreciating my Cheer Up Yelena mix, created for her by me on my way up. Selections include - Perfect Day by Hoku and God is a DJ by Pink... it was amazing.

Finally back at the pit, I placed marshmallow near the coals for a impeccable golden brown toast. Placed it between a bar of chocolate and graham crackers... and... well.. not that hott. The chocolate bar was too big and didn't really melt so it was crunchy and sorta all fell apart. Odd thing was the best part of my day was the random favor I did for Yelena rather than the one tasty treat I'd be thinking of all day!

In the Begining...

2005-07-24T08:30:00.000-10:00

Well here's my attempt at starting up a blog page! Keep checking back for future changes and coolness!

Ta ta for now - Jess