Miss Jameson, if you're nasty

So yesterday evening I took the plunge and opened my dishwasher. That's huge news, right? There wasn't anything in there but the ant trap (including the silverfish I allege I saw on the inside of the door), so I fished that out of there and loaded some dishes that had been sitting in the sink (2 coffee cups and a butter knife, big deal) (I've been washing my dishes by hand these days). I guess the finality of this whole saga (is there one?) will be when I actually run it. If there is an issue under the dishwasher then I'll find out about it soon enough.

There are still ants, but strays for the most part, and I can't figure out THEIR source either, but I hosed down that general area with the Ortho* yesterday and put out another ant trap, so we'll see how that works out.

I had like way more ant issues when I lived in Cancun, I don't really know why this is such an issue for me. I'm guessing you're kind of sick of it. Or your opinion of me is changing. Or something.

Anyway, it's been sunny and I've been out and about, which is good, though not like boating or hiking or anything, just getting out there and doing shit and being social in the daytime.

But I thought I would pop on and say hi and just make a mention that I have really, really great friends, and I want to thank you each for being such good friends to me, in your own individual ways. Couldn't live this life without you!
_________________________
*I think the honeymoon is over for me and the Ortho. It is just becoming increasingly less effective. I know it USED to do nice things for me, but what has it done for me lately?

I thought it was kinda cool, too, Theresa

From Theresa in Merida:

Your rainbow is strongly shaded indigo and green.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What is says about you: You are a proud person. You feel strong ties to nature and your mood changes with its cycles. Friends count on you for being honest and insightful. Those around you admire your fresh outlook and vitality.

Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com.

I'll buy that.

Escaping Misty

Things have gotten completely out of control. Not only is my hair a disaster right now, my facial hair grew seemingly overnight and I am once again Furry Girl. I'm working in the Beaverton branch this week, a place where if you don't get the hell out of there at 5:01pm they'll lock you in for the night, so I decided to keep an eye out for a local salon at which I might get a wax appointment after work.

The cool thing about an iPhone is that (and it's just like they say on TV) when you are on your way to the Bales Thriftway for a salad for lunch, and you're stuck at the very short left turn light at Barnes and Cornell, and you see a sign in that strip mall for the Silhouette Salon, you can google it and call it while you wait for your turn. So, you know, I did that. I guess I should be a little bit more selective in the future. But hey, you live and learn.

When I phoned, the girl answering the phone didn't know if anyone did waxing there, you see, because they all take care of their own business. After a pause where I thought she should have started talking first, I asked, So... should I just call back and hope someone else picks up? She said, no, she'd ask. After a while she came back and told me there were a couple of people that could do it, but nobody knew when they would be in. Could she call me back? Well, sure, I said. She did, moments later, in fact, and I was set for a 5:30 eyebrow and lip.

I was dragged by the collar out at 5:05pm, so I made it to the salon at about 5:20pm. The girl sitting at the front desk greeted me as I walked in, and said she had been waiting for me. She was very nice. I actually had to sit back in one of the shampoo bowls for the procedure, which was fine, I've done that before, as she proceeded to wax and hack away my somewhat unruly brows. She kind of went on and on about how crazy my brows were. In the nicest of ways, but she kept marveling about how she couldn't believe they grew so fast and long. She was quick, though, and cheap, which is good, on account of my current financial ruin, but the wacky thing about this salon was not specifically the wax experience itself. It was Misty.

Misty was a short Asian woman with hair that frankly was a bit inappropriate for a salon employee. Meaning it was a mess. And she was wearing slippers. And a smock, which blended in with the salon theme, but in any other setting could have been mistaken for a housecoat. As I was getting my purse to pay and leave, and while waiting for the wax person to go get a card for me (since up to this point I had no idea what her name was), Misty lunged at me with a hairbrush, pulled my head down closer to her comfort zone and started brushing my hair.

Okay, a) I haven't used a brush on dry hair since I was eleven, and b) I'm sorry, who are you again? She said, in her broken English, I brush your hair for you. I did what I always do in an uncomfortable public situation, I laughed and went along with it, all the while creeping toward the front entrance. Misty was no quitter, though, and when she was done, she noticed lint on my shirt and ran to her counter for a lint roller. I clean you up, she said, and proceeded to roll the entire upper half of my torso with it - and I do mean the ENTIRE upper half. Anyone who knows me well enough knows my intimacy issues - they usually involve hugging women or standing a little bit too close. I learned today that they are actually much deeper than that - I am clearly not comfortable having my chest area thoroughly lint-rolled by a tiny Asian woman in slippers and a housecoat. Who knew.

I managed to get away from her long enough to write my check out to Gail (her name, it turns out), but the ever-vigilant Misty grabbed my hand and said, I give you manicure. I give you pedicure. You call me. I do your hair. She shoved her card INSIDE my wallet, like where my debit card is, and then stood silently by my side. I, of course, not knowing how to react to ANY of this, frantically scribbled out the check, all the while laughing like a lunatic, thanked Gail, and raced for the door. With Misty at my side. She darted ahead and got the door for me. You call me, I do your hair! she called after me as I sprinted to my car. I'm guessing she was still standing at the open door, watching me drive away, but I was too shaken up to look in the rear view mirror.

You see, it's not just "Oh I should go get my eyebrows waxed" for me. It's really so much more.

There's no place like home

This blog started about 4 years ago as a way to let my friends and family know the haps of my life in Cancun. It has since chronicled my sometimes wacky, sometimes mundane, sometimes adventurous and sometimes sedentary daily life. Not one to break tradition, I give you What Happens When I Leave the House.

I was sick and housebound Saturday, so I did my errands on Sunday. I resolved to get past the claustrophobia-fest that is spray tanning (spray tanning is the crack of the tanning industry) (especially for someone as white as me), so I went to the salon, regular-tanned, and then spray tanned (I did better this time, but my feet are a little bit fucked up. It's cool. I'm way tan.). All relaxed, I took advantage of the sunny weather and the hour or so before I started turning colors and decided to do my grocery shopping at the Winco in Tigard.

I usually go to the Winco in Beaverton, where there is more of a, shall we say, Latin flavor. The Tigard Winco is pretty much the same products-wise, and I think it's like twice as big, but I'm guessing they don't sell as much queso cotija or Fabuloso. Anyway, the place was hopping, as the Winco tends to be any given mid-Sunday. Hopping with assholes.

Seriously, what's the gig, Tigard Winco shoppers? Why must you have such a sneer on your face? Why do you not take into consideration the other 14 people milling around the soup aisle when you decide to slam to a stop and spin your cart around to go in the opposite direction? Is it absolutely necessary to crawl completely up my ass as I cruise the aisle at a perfectly acceptable rate of speed? When you could just go around me because there's nobody else in the Latin foods aisle? Cutting corners with no regard for the people that are probably coming around said corner, blocking the bolillos bin completely with your cart, camped in the middle of everything talking loudly on your cell, this Winco had it all. I stopped my cart to let someone go ahead of me and she looked at me with shock and stammered out a "thank you". Seriously, I can't believe how rude people are in public.

To make matters worse, there was some sort of wetness situation in the frozen foods section, that of course I stepped in, and managed to do that whole your-foot-starts-sliding-way-out-in-front-of-you-until-you-either-catch-dry-floor-or-go-into-the-splits thing. I did neither - instead, my shin slammed into the cart, hard, to the point where I was thinking I might be bleeding, it hurt like a bitch, and I had to act all cool like I meant to do it or at least like it didn't hurt. It didn't actually bleed but my good Lord it still hurts tremendously and it's tomorrow already.

The way out of the Tigard Winco was no better - asshole man thinking HE'S doing ME a favor by stopping short to let me by when he was trying to rush up to cut me off to begin with. I actually called him an asshole (and I hadn't even made it to the car yet). Just the traffic to get out of the Tigard Winco is enough to not make me want to go back.

But really, Tigard Winco? No thanks. I'll stick with mi gente at the Beaverton Winco. There may be 200 of you crowding the aisles and tons of unruly screaming kids, but at least you have manners.

Nothing new to report.

Fuck it, I'm just going to call Columbia Pest Control and pay for it myself. Janie's husband Norb is guessing the ants are in the plumbing which is why I am discovering them in my bathroom now. I haven't opened the dishwasher in a week and I don't want to cook anything. I can't live like this. You may be thinking, For the love of Mike, Joyce, get a grip! but it doesn't change the fact that I can't and won't until I see the smiling face of the bug guy. It's just the way I am.

It's been sunny (good) but I have had a little bout of sick (bad). I tried blaming Dionne at work, because she had the flu on Monday and probably came back to work too soon, but let's be honest, skipping work really isn't an option in some branches. So on the rare occasions that I do get sick, I normally get like a week's worth of the illness all wrapped up into one day. This time I got it on Wednesday afternoon, and still kind of have it. I was all fired up to do shit yesterday, sunny day, showered, thought I would go tan, buy some groceries, run errands and all that jazz, and at noon I thought I would sit for a minute while the sheets dried. The next thing I know it's 5pm. No lie. Whole day gone, like that. So I guess my body was trying to tell me something. I dream some pretty weird dreams when I'm sick, by the way.

This morning I am going to go sign a borrower (it's a weird month end, with the holiday, so I am pleased to do this for my client AND the borrower), maybe do a little shopping, food and otherwise, tan, and then perhaps clean some. But I am determined to get out and enjoy the weather.

So as you can see, I have nothing new to report. I am moving to a different office on Tuesday for two weeks, so maybe I won't feel like a truck hit me every night when I get home from work. Maybe.

Let's talk about the bug situation.

I am not a fan of bugs. Don't like them. Any kind. Spiders, especially, but really, any bug. Flying, crawling, flying AND crawling, stinging, buzzing, skittering, skootching, doesn't matter. Hate them. I should own stock in Raid. There is always a can visible in my home, and I have been known to actually sleep with one (it was purely platonic, mind you. I lived in a spider nest.).

When I first moved into this most recent casita, I had sugar ant issues. I'm not crazy about them, but they are pretty small and somewhat manageable in terms of how many you can kill at once. After bathing the entire apartment in Ortho Max Home Defense (something I can type better than say), they pretty much cleared up and I have been critter-free for the most part since August 2008. How we take for granted the good times!

About a week ago I brought in the mail and put it on the counter. I turned to the counter over my dishwasher (an entirely different counter altogether) and spotted what looked like a sugar ant crawling around. Squashed it, but immediately checked out the usual places sugar ants might congregate - the kitties' food dish, the sugar bowl, the honey bear in the cupboard. Nothing. I decided I must have just brought it in with me with the mail and went on my merry way.

Later I loaded the dishwasher and noticed, with horror, that the bottom of the dishwasher, where the drain is, had quite a few teeny tiny ants all around it. They were crawling up the door as well. I was not happy. I grabbed the Ortho and blasted the drain area, then set the timer for 4 hours later to clean out the carci ("carcass" plural) (to me). The next morning, ants. Not dead, just clean. Bitter. But perhaps the Ortho hadn't had enough time to do its job.

That night I was leaving town for the trip to Ontario, so I blasted the fuck out of the dishwasher with the Ortho again, sprayed Raid on the inside part of the door, and closed it up for the weekend. Once I got home on Sunday, I peeked in the dishwasher (after the power came on, of course, I'm afraid of the dark and I certainly don't want to see bugs while standing in a darkened room) and sure enough, busy little hormigitas doing whatever they feel is best in the bottom of a kitchen applicance that has no visible food source. I blasted, yet again, with Ortho, and went to bed.

Yesterday, Monday, I discussed with my landlord the situation at hand. She agreed to phoning the condo association and asking for their advice. Their solution? They were spraying for bugs outside the units in the next day or so, so for now, how about ant traps? I told her I would comply (I really would have preferred an exterminator but I'll do cheap options first, if it helps the cause. I don't like being a pain-in-the-ass tenant). Went to the debaucle that is the Beaverton Fred Meyer (why are they remodeling the Raleigh Hills Fred Meyer and the Beaverton Fred Meyer at the same time? They're like five miles from each other and it is complete pandemonium. You would think they would be nice enough to leave one remodel job for after the other was finished for people who get severely irritated by shopping in a construction zone.) and picked up the ant traps, brought them home, and ran the dishwasher to clear out what was in there.

This morning I emptied the dishwasher and went to put the ant trap in the bottom of it, as advised by the condo assoication, and as I was closing the door, I noticed a big fat flipping silverfish kind of on the crack where the door seals up against the rest of the dishwasher when it closes. Big. I do NOT like silverfish. I didn't want to deal, so I sprayed some Raid in the general area and went to work.

A concern has been brought up that perhaps there is an issue of standing water under the dishwasher. My landlord asked me to find someone to pull the dishwasher out and have a look, so I'm thinking if I can convince Dennis the Maintenance Man to do it I'll buy him a bottle of something if he doesn't tell the office (I'm not really sure why my landlord doesn't want the office to know we are doing this, but I comply). I haven't called him yet, but I will tomorrow, and as for this evening, my plan is just to not open the dishwasher at all.

I know my phobia is beyond rational, perhaps even bordering on psychotic, but it is what it is. There's no changing it tonight. Heck I couldn't change it in the time it takes me to persuade Dennis the Maintenance Man to help a sister out. All I know is it stresses me out to go in the general kitchen area, but a girl's gotta eat, so I guess I'll tip toe on in there. I'll be carrying the Raid can around in my pocket, though, just in case.

Through the valleys and back over the mountain

Turns out that was no fly - it was a bee. Barbie managed to kill it. Sunday morning I woke up at 4:59am (which really was 3:59am in Portland) and showered up. We checked out and drove to Caldwell, thinking it was about 4 miles into Idaho. I should really learn to not listen to Barbie when she tells me how far away something is. Caldwell is actually 30 miles east of Ontario. Once you're in there it's another 10 miles to Rosemary's. We were late, obviously.

Breakfast was good, though, and we chatted and were out of there by 9:30 local time. A quick stop at the Caldwell location of Jolts & Juice, and we were on our way. 30 miles out of the way, but on our way.

For the return trip we wanted to hit Juntura and Burns, so we headed toward Vale (you guys have never heard of any of these places, have you?). Through Treasure Valley, following the Malheur River and on into Juntura, we made it in pretty decent time. My mother grew up in Juntura, and Barbie spent a lot of time there with my grandfather, Martin Joyce, as a youngster, so seeing the house was pretty emotional for her. We popped over to the Oasis (restaurant and gift shop), used the facilities and bought a soda, and continued west.

Juntura is, what, 56 miles or so from Burns? We passed the Drewsey junction (where you turn off to go to our cousin's ranch, a place I spent a lot of time at as a youngster), over Drinkwater and Stinkingwater Passes (not listed in any particular order), and on into Burns. Quick tour of my grandfather Grover Jameson's old neighborhood, and then, again, off west.

The nice thing about this drive, besides the country itself, is that there markers that you remember as a kid. It's about 2 hours from Burns to Bend, but it seems shorter because you hit Riley first, then Hampton, Brothers and Millican, and then you're in Bend. Same with the Bend to Portland gig - Bend, then Redmond, then Madras, then you look for the county line road that leads to Tom's camping spot on the west side of Mt. Jefferson, then Government Camp, then into the hideous, monstrous communities of Sandy and Gresham. By then you are pretty much home.

I got home at just after 5pm, only to find that someone had run into a light pole or something that knocked out power to my 'hood. So THAT made me happy. It was back on shortly thereafter and I am unpacked and ready to chill on the sofa with my kitties. It was a good trip. I'll upload my pictures and post them here shortly.

The other side of the mountain

Friday night, 6:08pm: We get on the road.

We were hoping to get on the road closer to 5:30pm but I had to download iTunes on the cracktop so I could download apps to my FB on the (what I thought was) five hour drive to Ontario. You know, I've driven to Ontario from Portland countless times, but mostly in my youth, and I have blocked a lot of things over the years. Apparently the drive time is one of them.

After a particularly harrowing drive over Cabbage Hill and the many, many hills and ridges between Cabbage Hill and Treasure Valley, one which included a near-collision with a guard rail that Barbie only admitted to AFTER we made it to Ontario, and another that involved a tiny rabbit, we finally hit the flats and approached our destination. It was 1am. In Portland. Ontario is Mountain Time, however, so in Ontario, it was 2am. We checked in, hauled in Barbie's 5 suitcases (you think I'm exaggerating, don't you?) and hit the hay.

Saturday morning

Up at 6:30am, showered and ready by 7am. Barbie wasn't yet out of bed. Our appointment wasn't until 10am, so I drove over to the much-hyped (by the Holiday Inn staff) Jolts-n-Juice coffee shop (I had googled Starbucks and Dutch Bros earlier in the week to scout out locations, but, much to my dismay, discovered there weren't any. No Starbucks? This is Oregon! There are two in Fond-du-Lac Wisconsin for God's sake! I made a frantic call to the Holiday Inn and was reassured that the Jolts-n-Juice was way better than any Starbucks), took a wrong turn coming out of it, and finally got back to the room in time to get some breakfast. It is now 9:45am and almost time for our meeting.

Saturday evening

Good God what a day. The meeting went very well and we are all set for the gig. Afterward we met with our cousin Rosemary - Barbie neglected to mention that she committed us to brunch with Rosemary on Sunday... don't get me wrong, I like these people, but for God's sake, does no one know me? I like to ease into the end of a weekend. So while I was thinking we were going with the original plan of getting up early Sunday, checking out and hitting the road toward Juntura and Burns, it turns out we ALMOST had to have an 11am brunch in Caldwell, Idaho. Kinda the wrong way. We managed to compromise - the alarm is set for 5am and we'll be in Caldwell for a 7am breakfast at Rosemary's.

After that we toured the Holiday Inn Express (it's really nice, actually) and from there we popped over to see our Aunt Jean in her assisted-living facility. Then a quick stop at Albertson's for water, eyedrops and ibuprofin (by this time seriously I thought I was going to collapse), and back to our hotel for a nap.

After a two hour refresher (naps just wreck me anymore. I could sleep for 8 days straight if given the opportunity), we shined up and drove over to our 2nd cousin Helen's house for dinner. We had dinner with her and our 3rd cousin Doug and his wife Terri, and it was a very enjoyable evening. Which suprises me because I am starting to get a little family-ed out.

Now we are back in the room, ready for bed, and the 5am bell. Barbie is beating the hell out of a fly that managed to sneak in the room and is hiding behind a picture.
She hasn't killed it yet. I'll wake up in the middle of the night and it will be in my mouth or something. Fantastic.

I hope to actually take some pictures of Juntura and Burns tomorrow. We'll see.

From the "Why not? I don't have any money!" files

So I broke down and bought an iPhone today. I shouldn't say "broke down" because no debit cards were used in the transaction. I've wanted one for a while now, and since traditionally everybody has a better phone than me, I figured it was time to break the cycle and just get the best phone out there.

I've always wanted one, as I recently stated, but the problem has always been that they cost so much that I never really wanted to bite the bullet. I have taken the tutorial on the Apple site, I have priced them on the website when I pay my phone bill, but my heart wasn't in spending a bunch of money all at once on one.

So yesterday, I'm driving home, when it hit me - I wonder if I can get one at the Best Buy? I have a Best Buy credit card with all kinds of interest-free-for-18-months room on it, it's practically like getting one for free! I raced home, surfed the net, did some laundry, went tanning, watched a little America's Next Top Model (don't get me started), and then realized I never checked BestBuy.com... (early onset Adult ADD). I did, finally, but though they were on there, every time I clicked on the iPhone situation it wouldn't like tell me how to get one. I mean, I knew you couldn't order them or buy them online but it wouldn't like TELL me what my options were. Discouraged, I went to bed. Woke up this morning, totally forgotten.

About 3pm today I was so sick of what I was doing that I decided to go harass Kellie into letting me check my Facebook account, and as I was logging in I remembered my futile attempt at telephonic bliss the night before. After I told her my story, she told me she had actually purchased HERS there. I dropped her phone (not really) and raced back to my desk, called the Best Buy over by Washington Square, and the next thing I knew, some chick named Crystal was putting one on hold for me. Sweet.

I left work at 6:20 and by 7pm I was the proud owner of a $200 telephone. I have been fucking with it all night while trying to get ready for my trip this weekend. Now it's WAY past (17 minutes) my bed time, but I just had to tell you all about it. All 11 of you. Things are getting worse.

So Barbie and I are heading to Ontario (Oregon) (there is one) tomorrow after work. It's practically Boise so we won't roll into town until around 11pm, but we are doing a little pre-reunion legwork and it has to be done. Plus I have GPS now so I'll know EXACTLY what exit to turn off I-84. I mean, I already know which exit it is, but this way will be more fun.

I think I'm bringing the crack top so perhaps I will blog from Mountain Time.

Happy almost-Friday-it-stopped-raining to all ~ !

One of those days.

Some days it takes a lot of effort to do the things that I am supposed to do. I like what I do, the floating thing, but some days it's hard to drag my happy ass out of bed, hose off, throw clothes on and go to work. Some days it's hard to battle the Beaverton traffic and fake cheerfulness with that girl that knows my order at the Dutch Bros. Some days it's hard to take that crazy left coming out of the Dutch Bros and deal with all the speed bumps and stop signs in the parking lot at Lincoln Tower.

Some days it's hard to sit at a new desk, try to figure out what the heck is going on on it, and start from pretty much zero. Some days it's hard not to snap at the receptionist for no real reason except it's Monday and I don't feel like working. Some days it's hard to tell people where I've been and what's going on outside of the office I'm stationed in. Some days it's hard to tell people I really didn't have that exciting of a weekend. Some days it's hard to be friendly and outgoing to customers on the phone, especially when you have never spoken to them before and probably never will again but you act like you know everything they are talking about and, worse yet, like you care. Some days it's hard to care.

Some days it's hard to think about what to have for lunch. Somedays it's hard to not feel like a heel when you shut down at 5pm and other people have no intention of leaving until much later.

Some days it's hard to battle the left turn out of Lincoln Tower on to Greenburg Road from the outside lane when you know that bastard opposite you waiting to turn RIGHT on to Greenburg Road is going to cut you off because they always try. Sometimes it's hard to not give them the finger, and hope that the sneer-riddled stink eye you are giving them as you drive STRAIGHT AT THEM to make them get the point gets through to them and they back the hell off. Some days it's hard to have to ride their asses as close as possible when they DON'T back off until they finally get scared and change lanes.

Some days it's hard to go to the mailbox, get all the bullshit that is in there and immediately throw it in the garbage because all your bills come on line and there really isn't much point to going to the mailbox beyond knowing the mailman sooner or later is going to get mad at you and take all your stupid flyers and catalogs from the 18 people that lived there before you and put it on your front stoop. Some days it's hard to battle opening up the door and hoping that the kittens aren't super aggressive to try to get out.

Some days it's hard to think about what to have for dinner because as usual you forgot to put out fish to thaw the night before. Some days it's hard to wait for "How I Met Your Mother" to come on because it seems like the evening is just dragging on and on when you can't chat with your friend anymore. Some days it's hard to sit down to blog and have Secadora meow and meow and MEOW until you turn the fuck around and pet her so she gets her fix and shuts up.

Some days it's hard to go take your make up off and put the ghetto fried rice you made for dinner in Gladware and pretend you are going to bring it to work tomorrow for lunch.

Some days it's hard to not go to bed at 9pm because what the hell else are you going to do, you know you are never going to finish that God damned fourth vampire book, if you were into it you would have by now, and you don't like "Two and a Half Men", or virtually any show that is on after it, because you know that no matter what they have scheduled after it is going to be stupid since the only good sitcom on TV is "How I Met Your Mother" and it's already over for the week.

Some days you just decide to go to bed at 9pm, screw it, your Egyptian cotton sheets are the greatest sheets you have ever slept on and you know you will sleep like a rock.

Today was one of those days.

When a fun person starts slowing down.

I need an adventure.

An old friend was reading this here blog, which had me reading old posts as well, and it appears that I was fun even as recently as within the last four years. As it turns out, I realized I'm not that fun anymore. What happened (well, lots, actually, but it's kind of a rhetorical question)?

I know I was fun pretty much from my teens forward. A lot has to do with the friends I hung out with. For some reason I have always been attracted to people with wacky personalities (to match my own?). Wackiness tends to lead to a fairly adventurous lifestyle. I'm not talking mountain-climbing, bungee-jumping, buried-treasure kind of adventure. I'm talking the kind of adventure where simple stuff happens and it turns into something you talk about for years afterward.

Like skipping school to go get some cake at Rose's and getting pulled over and having the motorcycle cop hit his head on the side view mirror and falling on his ass in the middle of Hall Blvd while your friend in the passenger seat who has managed to tuck all of the empty Coors Light cans in the front seat from your brother's date last night under the front seat starts laughing, disrupting said cans and potentially causing more problems (luckily the cop was too embarrassed to even give me a ticket let alone notice any evidence). That kind of adventure.

Meeting boys on the Florida turnpike and playing freeway tag with them for two hours on your way to Disney World only to find out that they, too, were from Beaverton.

Drinking way too much ouzo, rolling a car and coming out smelling like a rose.

Taking various pharmaceuticals, houdini-ing from a club and throwing your debit card out the window for any number of reasons.

Getting turned away from Belize because you didn't like the way the border agent played the game.

Talking myself out of no less than four DUIs in Eugene while still not eligible to vote.

Attempting to break a beer bottle over a third string LA Raider's head while he was trying to strangle my brother, resulting in a bar brawl of epic proportions that is still a local legend.

Driving around Eugene on a road trip, drinking beer and missing curfew, visiting a porn shop and then making out on the Humpy Lumpy, and, again, being the one who ends up not getting in trouble for it.

Driving a car with absolutely no brakes for a year in Southern California.

Being the keeper of the nachos for a relatively short drive from the 7-11 to home when the driver hits a bump and the nachos go flying, landing (of course) nacho-side down on the gear shift and console, effectively getting cheese sauce on pretty much every surface of a very expensive rig.

That kind of stuff. It just isn't happening anymore. I know more stuff is in me, I know I still have miles to go, apparently it takes effort now. It never used to.

I guess I need to get out more.

Next time, just say no thanks.

It's no secret to anybody that I have been tanning since 1983. I'm pretty much a slave to it and it's actually gotten to the point that my perception of the color of my skin is completely off balance. You see tan, I see white.

Anyway, I continue to keep the dream alive (meaning extend my pathetic vacations tan) by tanning about once every three days. It works for me, and I still have some decent color, and I find the tanning experience relaxing. Before you give me any shit about this, remember, I smoke. I don't need anyone telling me about the many ways I abuse my body. My body. Mine. So shut up.

So it's been a rough couple of days for me, and today at lunch I just needed to get out. There really isn't much to DO at lunch besides eat lunch, and I just didn't want to go get something and bring it back to the office, so I decided to go tan.

When I work in this particular office, the salon I go to is the one I started my first package at (for this particular salon). It's over by the old Tanasbourne branch and the manager there is probably the best salesperson on the planet. She really should get out of the tanning biz and do something bigger, because my God she can sell. Last year she sold me this horrifically expensive package and I gladly paid for it. I don't know who this particular Joyce is when I get in front of that chick but somehow she convinces me that this is exactly what I want and out comes the Visa.

Today was no exception. First she sold me the fun new lotion package. Then she realized she undercharged me by $10 because she mistakenly thought that I already was a premier member (how the hell would I know) and, geez, with the amount you tan you really should be one. So she sold me that package. It has a lot of perks and I really did buy into it and on top of that it does make financial sense with this particular 26 year obsession. And one of those perks is three free mystic tans.

Those of you living in an alternate universe free from E! Television and that trainwreck of a reality show "Sunset Tan" may not know what mystic tan is. It's sunless tanning. It's that spray booth that turned Ross orange in "Friends" because he was too much of an idiot to turn around and instead chose to yell at the machine in an effort to make it stop (I've tried that method with other machines - it doesn't work). I told the manager that mystic tanning scares the crap out of me (see how that isn't past tense?) and that I was afraid I would end up a) orange, b) striped, c) a combination of both and d) blind or brain damaged from lack of oxygen. She poo-poo'd it like all my fears were just plain crazy, but since they were free, what the hell, you should try it sometime because it's just plain fun. Then she proceeded to talk me into trying it TODAY, and since she is the salesperson she is, well, I did.

Okay, let me just say that if you do try this particular type of tanning, might I suggest you go on a weekend? Or maybe even after the work day is done. Because as it turns out, this type of tan is not like paint, it's more like self-tanner that takes a few hours to slowly develop. I took the lesson, slathered the lotion on the bottoms of my feet, the toenails, hands and fingernails, put on the hair net and stripped down to nothingness. I put in the nose guard thingies that you breath through, hit the start button and jumped on in.

The experience itself only lasts like 2 minutes or so, but I'm kind of claustrophobic, so I had some issues breathing out of the nose guard thingie. And apparently I lifted one hand out of the line of misting fire because, well, one hand is a lot darker than the other one right now. Apparently this formula dries quickly, you don't have to like wipe yourself down to avoid streaking, and after you get all the lotion off your hands and feet you should be ready to dress again. All this was true.

What was also true was that it takes about 4-6 hours to develop. I told two of the girls that I had gone, and to keep an eye on me. About an hour later another girl did a double take and asked me if I had just come from tanning - apparently it was kicking in. After that it pretty much started to develop like a house afire. Sherri hummed the oompa loompa song most of the rest of the afternoon, another girl wouldn't let me take her 3pm signing, Marci told me she could smell me. Seriously by 4:30 I was looking a lot less Joyce and a lot more Aretha, and I was starting to get really concerned about the dramatic color variance from left hand to right. I couldn't get home fast enough to shower and stop the insanity.

The funny thing is the most affected parts of me are my hands and face. I'm flipping tan. But my legs, arms and midsection, not so much. Just like in regular tanning. Which I will be returning to and embracing whole heartedly after maybe Friday. God only knows what might happen when this stuff combines with UV rays.

-1

I don't like to intentionally hurt people. Even people I don't know. Sometimes I get involved in things that have the potential to hurt someone, but even though I'm aware of it, I still do it. That's not good. I know better.

I don't talk behind people's backs, I don't insult people, I don't REALLY gossip. I have my opinions, and I give them freely (maybe sometimes too freely), but I try to get along with everyone and it really is my intention to keep a positive outlook on all facets of my life. And I like to have fun.

Since fun generally involves more than one person, I guess it should be in everyone's best interest to make sure that nobody gets hurt. Once in a while I fail at that. I don't think of the consequences (enough) and things get a little out of hand. Someone gets hurt, probably a couple of people, and I'm responsible for that. I don't like how that feels.

This won't make sense to anybody and I don't really want it to. I just needed to get it out there so I can make it something I can recognize, remember, and learn from.

Today's lesson is that I lost a friend, and that hurts me most of all.

It's an obligation. That's pretty much it.

I'm sick of the swine flu. Not sick WITH it, but sick OF it. I've taken to calling it The SARS instead, just because it's more fun (I got that from you, you know, Becky). Pretty much everyone that I come in contact with (work-wise; people in the supermarket or the gas station don't really know me that well) all take a step back when they see me for the first time because I was in Mexico about a month ago. They're joking, but yeah, I'm over it. Plus the way the news covers it is so dramatic and sensationalized it's beyond irritating. There is a pretty big difference between a "suspected" case and a "confirmed" case, and earlier this week the hype was so bad that some US newspapers were alleging that something like 500 people in Mexico were dead from it. Which isn't true. They aren't really saying that anymore, but still. It's irritating. Wash your hands, be sensible. And quit bugging me about it.

So apparently yesterday there was a thunder storm and big rain and wind that like knocked out power and toppled trees and shit. Here in Beaverton. I had the slider open and everything, but I was taking a nap and didn't hear any of it. Good thing nobody drove a semi through my slider, or I'd be dead right now. And at the rate I have been getting out and about lately, you probably wouldn't know about it for some time. That's not a very good thought, is it? Yeesh.

I do have a goal today, really I do. And I feel strongly that I will accomplish that goal. Really. Though it doesn't actually include going to get another cup of coffee, that's what I'm gonna do right now.

Happy Sunday. It's wet and dark outside, and I'm freezing. Hooray hooray, the first of May...

While it's still somewhat fresh in my mind...

In an effort to figure out when is the best time to shop at the Winco, I decided to do my grocery shopping after work tonight. And since I have decided that everybody but the Winco wants my money (well, the Winco wants my money, but not as much as everybody else), it's pretty much a quest I have to complete. Saturday and Sunday mornings there are pretty much all-Latin-all-the-time (not that there's anything wrong with that, I do enjoy hanging with mi gente) but sometimes the overabundance of kids is just too much for me.

So Friday night, after work. Dang it. Apparently this is when the crazies do their shopping (crazies gotta eat). Seriously, it was kind of scarey. You had Divorced Dad Patrol - this must be what they do on the weekends they can't spend at the bar: pick up their part-time kids and drag them all over the Winco. The kids are clearly not that fired up about spending time with pops, so consequently every single section except the Latin foods aisle was just a cacophony of screaming, unruly and decidedly unclean kids. Without a doubt the loudest time of the week to shop.

Not only were there the obviously child-support burdened, but seriously, every crazy person in Washington County had to be there tonight. They travel in packs. It's not terribly unusual to see a couple shopping for their groceries no matter what supermarket you are in, but this particular slice of the social structure clearly prefers to make an evening of it. Seeing only three on one cart was an oddity. It wasn't so much the physical deformity of it all, though that was the first give-away, it was more the crazy eyes. Crazy eyes looking at the soup labels. Crazy eyes fighting over onions. Crazy eyes looking in my cart. Looking at my hair. Looking in my normal eyes and making me look away. It got so that now and again I would spot a "normal" shopper and we'd both look at each other with the same kind of terror.

Of course I had the cart with the bad wheel, which isn't so bad when you push it at normal shopping speed, but I was so intent to get the hell away from all the crazy eyes that the banging from the bad wheel started to sound like gun fire, which, frankly, did not do anything to stave off the panic. I forgot milk, udon and cottage cheese, and I don't have to tell you I'm not that happy about it. They were also out of my good Cuban coffee, which never happens, and which means that I will have to make another grocery store run tomorrow somewhere.

Somewhere other than the Winco. I don't think I can handle it twice in one weekend.