Nesting

I asked. His name is Matthew.
Thanks, Matthew.
Have I mentioned that our apartment is really starting to come together? Now is the first time that I feel like I have my own home. And it's really comfy and filled with silly things and silly people. And love. Lots and lots of love. 'Aint life grand?

Goodwill? No, Greatwill!

I love the Goodwill! It may be the thing I miss most about Portland. We have one within walking distance and it's become like a second home.
REASONS WHY I LOVE GOODWILL:

1. Cheap and Used. It's how I like my furniture and my men.

2. Retards. Goodwill employs people with disabilites. But here's the trick. A lot of these people look fairly normal but when you approach them to ask for help it quickly becomes clear that this picnic is a few sandwiches short. I don't know the name of my favorite guy, but he's usually sweeping the floor and saying 'Hello' to everyone in this deep, robotic voice that makes me think he was probably in an accident at one time and had to re-learn how to do everything. His words are free of emotion, yet he holds an honest interest in the conversation. Tomorrow I'll ask his name.

3. Neat stuff. You would think in a town like Portland, with so many trendy folks shopping at thrift stores, that the selection of items would suffer. Not true, my friend. Not at MY Goodwill! Their inventory is constantly changing and I love browsing through their paperback books! I found a vintage copy of The Great Gatsby and an old Encyclopedia Brown.
4. Crazy People. Thanks to the black lady I ran into yesterday, standing in the Bible section singing 'Psychiatry, it is a joke'. I especially liked it when you yelled at that guy who walked in front of you. He should have known you were 'rogue law enforcement' and I silently agreed when you called him a 'tool'. I applaud your honesty, Crazy Black Lady who I overheard say you've been 'checking out the same 3 books from the library for over a year so you thought you should come on down here and finally buy them'. Gee, thanks.

Dillon's home now, so we're off the pick up the small dresser and table I bought a Goodwill earlier today. I got both for under 10 bones. How is it that I'm this thrifty and not Jewish?

Balls

Staying true to my faux jewness, I made matzo ball soup for the first time today. I made the balls too big, having no idea how much they'd expand when boiled. So, I've got big balls. But, damn, they taste great.
Also, being someone who has lived without a garbage disposal for most of my adult life, I managed to clog our kitchen sink by feeding it chopped off ends of the celery and carrots I used in the soup. I was able to get the water to go down a bit, but our maintenance guy is sick today so who knows when it'll get fixed. Looks like it'll be dishes in the bathroom for a couple of days. Gross.
I have to go shower now.... perhaps I'll pull a Kramer and prepare my next meal while I'm in there.

over

I'm so over hearing my downstairs neighbors have sex. Seriously. DOWNSTAIRS. I could understand if they were above me, but no. I'm depressed to consider the shoddy construction of my building, the paper thin walls and meager hot water heater. All of this can be yours for the very low price of TOO FUCKING MUCH a month!
It was beer friday, so Dillon and I brought home another three cases. I like to line it up against the wall and stare at it. I can't imagine we'll be putting a dent in it anytime soon, so feel free to come out here and take a crack at it.
I joined a book club with some girls from work and our first novel is Cannery Row by John Steinbeck. I'm really excited about the book, discussion and future nights of boxed wine and drunken laughter. These ladies are a beautiful, shining rainbow protruding from a very dark sky that is my everyday hell at the Widmer. Thanks Gals!
Have a I mentioned lately how much I love Dillon? No? Cause I do. So much more than I ever knew possible. He feeds my heart and soul through laughter, honesty and love. Every day. He's also totally obsessed with the cat and treats it like a baby. When I question this behavior he simply tells me, "She likes it!". And I like it, too.

Oopsie Poopsie!

I've been neglecting my baby, my blog, but it's been a wild few months and with this new year I'll try to be more diligent.
So, we moved to Portland.
Yeah.
I'll be honest here.
My recent relocation to Oregon has given life to so many truths I never knew existed. Truths about myself, the world, my relationship with Dillon and Portland.
Ah, Portland.
You wet, foggy bitch.
You sweet temptress.
I hate the way you shake your fir in my face, beckoning me to your green bosom.
Moving to Portland has made me realize the following things:

1. I miss New York and all that it encompased.
2. I'm happy to be somewhere green and wet with great public radio.
3. I can NOT and will NOT work in a restaurant for the rest of my life.
4. I have to go back to school, get a job doing something I care about and enjoy a steady income.
5. I have little patience for Hipsters and Emo kids. Or any combination of the two. Although
here in Portland they seem to merge into one.
6. I don't find skinny jeans attractive on men.
7. I love not having a television.
8. I've lost the need for 'friends'. I've grown out of my 'getting loaded after work with people I only know on a surface level and don't really intend to make good friends with because they don't have much to offer me if they don't have the desire to make more than minimum wage someday' phase.

I could go on and on, but these are just some of my thoughts.
So much has happened I could hardly tell the whole tale. I'm so relieved to have moved here. If I hadn't, I'd never have realized how desperately I want to change my life. I'm beginning to think that Portland may be the first stop on a multi-city tour for us. Maybe.
I know, I know. We just got here. But, trust me, I am ready to be moving forward, not treading water.

Jiggity Jig

Home again, Home again.
We had a wonderful time in Colorado with Dillon's family, who spent the entire weekend trying to convince us to move to Boulder. It's not a tough sell. Boulder is gorgeous and we love the idea of living in a college town, but I'm looking forward to a break from the snow and frigid temperatures. We headed out west on I-70 through the Rockies (beautiful!) and into Eastern Utah, stopping for the night in Green River. Tuesday morning we faced the longest leg of our journey, planning to arrive in Reno that night.
Let me say this: The settlers who traveled across this country to find new life in the West, were tough as shit. I got scared driving these long stretches of road, sometimes over 100 miles where there were no services offered, no gas, no lodging. Vast expanses of nothing except beautiful landscape. We headed into Nevada by way of Highway 50, also dubbed 'The lonliest road in America', and I'm so glad we decided to take the scenic route. Nevada is beautiful. Mountainous. Clean. Untouched. Stunning. I've called this place home for many years and never realized it's true beauty until now. I can only wonder how frightened and thrilled the settlers must have been as they crossed into lands they could never have imagined existed.
I'm so lucky to have the means and way to experience this for myself.
I think the Village People said it best: GO WEST!

Chewed up and spit out

Free at last!
Free at last!
Thank God almight, I am free at last!
I cut my finger over a month ago at work and the wound has since healed, except for a small spot at the tip that was still very painful. I've been picking at the spot for weeks, determined to excavate this 'piece of glass' I insisted was living in my middle finger. This pain has inhibited my ability to catch a frisbee, use the turn signal while driving and flip the bird to unruly motorists.
It's been days since I picked at my wound, and was begining to think I was crazy, that perhaps a severed nerve was the reason for this discomfort or that maybe my threshold for pain just isn't what it used to be.
While on the Kansas Turnpike this evening, I thought I'd give it another go.
After about fifteen minutes of picking, squeezing and, according to Dillon, funny faces, my body decided to release its hostage. I had finally negotiated this month-old chunk of glass from my hand. And it felt AMAZING! I will not let this moment pass, though, without recognizing one of life's great metaphors:
A chunk of glass cut me, got under my skin. I thought I could live with it in there, but try as I may, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I finally sat down and picked at that glass until I forced it up from my skin and out of my life. And in Kansas of all places. Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?