Things.

Things I've said and done in the last few days working in Beaverton:

- Considered a milkshake for breakfast.
- "The kitties must have been attacked by wet towels in another life or something."
- Checked my shirt under my arms to make sure my anti-perspirant wasn't failing.
- "I think they should have a 'Street of Bank-Owned Dream Homes' so we can get an eye full of all those McMansions that people bought when they couldn't afford them in the first place."
- "OPEN!"
- Drove around at lunch with no real purpose and the a/c blasting.
- Laid on the horn in the drive thru at McDonalds.
- "I need you to come to Beaverton. I'm not the one that wants to buy this house."

And why:

- It's flipping 80 degrees at 7am and I'm hot.
- My sister's cats let them put wet towels on them to cool them down, so I wet a towel and tried to do the same thing. They ran away from me like I was some kind of crazy person.
- It was 105 degrees when I went out for a smoke at around 3pm, and the a/c in our office hasn't worked since the weekend. It's hot. I mentioned that.
- Signing some people who just bought a bank-owned property in a gated community in Happy Valley for a song. They had looked at several similar properties, some not quite finished, and we were discussing what an opportunity they would be for a carpenter looking to invest.
- Every morning when I drive by the El Pollo Loco on Cedar Hills Boulevard. For God's sake they have been working on it for a year. Fucking open already.
- It's the only place I can get any relief.
- Stupid lady pulled up about a foot from the window after she got her order so she could rearrange her purse. Meaning I couldn't get my iced coffee because she was in my way. She moved.
- I practically kill myself to get your docs ready so it can close on time, pull a flipping rabbit out of a hat, and you want a courtesy in Sunnyside? No. Sorry. Not happening.

Road rage and bitterness abound.

Hot.

Remember this? And this? And even this? Yeah. Right now it's the polar opposite of all that.

It's flipping 105 degrees outside. And perhaps roughly 97 inside, but I don't have a thermometer. It's hot. And I do like the heat, don't get me wrong, but the tiny kitties have me concerned since they wear a lot of fur around.

Tomorrow is going to be the same. It's hard to remember last December, but I'm trying.

A week of bad hair

It's supposed to get up near and to (how's that for a stack of prepositions?) 100 degrees today and this week (that's 38 to those of you above and below me) (Hey I did it again!). I do love the heat, being a generally colder person (physically, not emotionally..) by nature, but what I don't like is that it is next to impossible to make my hair do anything normal in it.

My apartment keeps cool up until about 95, and then it traps and retains it. I'm on the ground floor so it's not like I can leave windows open all night to get the cool air in, but once I am up and rolling in the morning I try to get as much cool air circulating as possible in the brief amount of time I have to make myself presentable to the world. It doesn't do much good while I get ready, because my bathrooms are sort of tucked into areas that block any air (like most bathrooms, I guess) (this is probably why people tell you to hide in the bathtub during a tornado if you don't have a basement). So consequently, it's sticky and muggy in both bathrooms, even the kitties' bathroom where I do my hair (I almost wrote "style" but let's face it, my hair hasn't had style since about 1981). It's hard to put on mascara, hard to prevent the inevitable Q-Tip-ness of my hair, hard to feel like I look even remotely fabulous for the work day. You know, like I normally do. >cough<

So the Beaverton branch gets to see a less put together Joyce this week, and will probably see some crankiness as well, but I can blame that on the desk I'll be working on (stay tuned for THAT - it's always an adventure on this desk...). Too bad for them. They deserve a nicer Joyce. But there's no fighting nature.

As a sidebar, did I ever tell you that when I was in the 5th grade I won a contest for who could say the list of prepositions the fastest? Does it surprise you? And would it surprise you that I can still do it really fast? And sometimes actually do, when I am here, alone, with the kitties? No. I didn't think it would.

On the prowl

I have a friend that I see on occasion, when I get together with another friend, and it's pretty obvious that whenever she goes out, she is on the hunt. I think she may have been divorced a couple of times, once at least, and has two grown children with kids of their own. She may be in her early 50s. She looks good, though, I mean, anymore saying someone is in their early 50s doesn't make me immediately think of my parents when they were that age (old-looking). Anyway, this friend is pretty much ALWAYS on the prowl. We used to meet for Monday Night Football and she barely watched the screen. Weddings. Polite after-work drinks. The Wickes Furniture when they were going out of business. I haven't seen this and can't be sure, but I am guessing even the supermarket bag boys aren't safe. I may have my opinions on this (imagine), but hey, it's her gig. I won't judge her for running with it. Out loud.

So last night I left work about 6pm and stopped at the Walgreens for some toiletries, and Marshy texted me. She said Stan and her were on the way to the Dublin Pub* in Raleigh Hills to watch a friend of Stan's band and did I want to go. I had to think about it on account of all my needs for routine, so I did, for a couple of minutes, and then phoned her to ask her what time (I had a major malfunction in the hair department going on and didn't know if I would have time to go fix it. Not that I TOO would be on the prowl, but I don't like having bad hair in ANY situation). Turns out it was starting at 7pm (what? Who starts at 7?), and they didn't plan on being there longer than two hours. So I said what the hell and drove east (I was in Hillsboro at the time so you can imagine how long it took).

I got there at about 6:45 and had to pay a cover (good Lord), but I figured since I wouldn't be spending my money on copious amounts of alcohol I could swing the $5 for the band. The place had a pretty good crowd going already, and when the band started they were actually pretty entertaining (I'll side note that in a bit).

So I guess how this ties in together is that the other friend came too (and gave me shit when she found out my pint glass was full of not vokda, but just soda water). On the hunt. I looked around the room.

And discovered why it's just kind of a drag to go out anymore.

You can't really entertain the young bucks that go into bars like the Dublin, mostly because they are too busy entertaining the young chicas that go into bars like the Dublin, but also because, you know, you're 40+. The guys that are in your "age category", let's say, are, um, just not really what I would have in mind. Mostly divorced, barely concealing their steamer trunks full of private hells, drinking cocktails too quickly, wishing they weren't losing their hair and hoping nobody notices it. Eyes like sharks. Approaching pretty much anything with a pulse. Not in the slightest bit casual or comfortable, let alone confident. It's depressing, actually.

My huntress friend does not see this. She seems to see potential whereever she goes. I just don't. I may not be in the best position to be as judgmental and selective as I am (I know, I know, I made out with the taxi driver, but that was not an attempt to find that "special someone", it was just something to do), but good God does being over 40 mean you have to settle for anyone so long as he wants to talk to you and then maybe feel you up a little bit later on? Why can't you walk in to a bar and just have a bunch of normal-looking and -acting men past the age of 38 that don't wear their desperation on their shiny foreheads? I think it might make the desperate 40+ women a lot more comfortable and less desperate-looking as well. Everyone's comfortable, more people end up getting laid. Win-win.

I ended up leaving after about an hour and a half, maybe. My friend stayed to finish her wine and who knows what else, because one of Stan's friends came and sat at our table about half way through the show, drinking a cocktail and eyeballing the talent at the table. Clearly on the prowl himself (when I leaned over to say goodbye to another couple there, he looked at my face for approximately one half of a second and then stared at my cleavage for the next two minutes. Nice game, Jack.). Though my friend gave me shit for leaving, she saw the potential sitting in front of her and decided to ride it out. Perhaps for reals. Who knows. Whatever. Godspeed and all that.
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* I always say that Dublin Pub is the kind of place where you need a fake ID that says your UNDER 21 to get in. It's like a frat party. And not in the way you remember them. In the way that an 18 year old looks to a 43 year old.
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Side note: So if you're going to start a band, and your in your late 40s to mid 50s, how about NOT only playing blues, Stevie Ray Vaughn and over-played-on-the-radio songs by Billy Joel and the Doobie Brothers. You can PLAY Billy Joel, but play Scenes from an Italian Restaurant or even Only the Good Die Young, not You May Be Right. And hey, you know what? Every time I turn on K103 they are playing Bob Seger's Old Time Rock-n-Roll. So like, I don't need to hear it again. Thanks.

Bugupdate

So I am on a desk that is notoriously busier than all hell, month end is looming ahead of us, and frankly there is no way I can just leave the office for two hours on a Wednesday morning. But, you know, of course I did.

Because it's all about priorities. So Tuesday night I slept like crap, I tore apart the bed when I got home and did the sheets and got a teeny tiny ballsack and moved the shoes around a little bit to see if I could spot (oh please God) a carcass, but nothing came up and you know that fucker was just waiting for me to lay down. All night I was convinced something was crawling on me. Cece noted that my hair looked a little more nappy than usual, and I had to explain that it's difficult to do my hair when I am constantly looking over my shoulder, up at the ceiling, or at anything that comes into my peripheral vision in the course of any given morning. I went to work, but I had made an appointment for Columbia Pest Control to come by at 10am, so I pretty much left at 9:35 and raced back to my apartment, from Hillsboro (no small feat).

The lady who booked my appointment told me to put the kitties in the bathroom for like a half an hour after the bug guy was done with his duties. I tried. I really did. I had Seca in there, but only because she was napping when I got home and I pretty much caught her by surprise. Couldn't find Lava for nothing. When she finally strolled in to see what was up, I nabbed her and made for the bathroom. And then the bug guy came. Knocked on the door. It's a simple act, really, though it doesn't happen that often, but it shouldn't have been such an earth-shattering event for Lava. She flipped out, using every one of her tools (teeth, claws) to get the hell out of my arms. So here's what the bug guy hears from the other side of the door after he knocks: "Just a minute! Aaaah! JUST A SECON - AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" (but, you know, imagine that really shrill and terror-filled) So when I finally answer the door, I have blood dripping down my arm and cat fur all over my sweater. He told me this kind of spray won't affect them at all, he has five cats, they should be fine NOT in the bathroom. Bleeding for nothing. Nice.

So he was a chatty bug guy, and we swapped bug-related horror stories, and he found a huge ant nest out front and two wasp nests in the eaves of the building. So it was good having him around. I finally left at like 11:20, and raced back to Orenco, in time for my 12n, my 1pm, and my 2:15p, my six sets of loan documents and roughly 87 emails. Yay!

After work I met over at my mom's apartment - they are laying new carpet so we had to move all of her stuff - all of it - to a garage. Shelia, Jim, Tom, me and Barry, but we made short work of it and then had a couple of cold crackly Coors Lights in the parking lot. I'm exhausted. I should be in bed. But I thought I'd fill you in.

You know, just because the bug guy came and did his duty, doesn't mean I'm all THAT comfortable...

Issues.

MFCS in a big huge way.

Is it karma? Am I doing something to just blow my karma out of the water? Does this happen to other people? And if so, am I the only one that makes such a big deal out of it? I don't know. All I know is this:

- There was an ant in the bathroom when I got home last night. Just one, they happen. Then another just one on the floor by the fireplace. Whatever.

- A little while later I was making pasta salad because I am too lazy to be creative about what I make for dinner anymore and pasta salad lasts a good four days, allowing me to not think about dinner for four days, and suddenly one of the kitties dove off the counter (I know, but they don't listen) and ran after something. That something turned out to be a wasp. Or a hornet, I don't know. I was too busy screaming and running around in circles before grabbing the Raid and just spraying it in the general direction of it flying around my dining room. What. The Fuck. It ended up making a break for the window, so I stood there, screaming, and blasting it with Raid until it fell into the window track and died, slowly, painfully (for me), in a river of Raid. I can't take this shit. Because, like, where did it come from? Is there a nest? Is there a crack it came in from in? Does it have friends and will they come looking for it? The kitties are no help because apparently their mother running around in circles and screaming scares off their hunting instincts.

- This morning I got up and went to the bathroom and pet the kitties and la la la and then went to the sink to brush my teeth and there was a big, black, fat, motherfuckingcocksucker of a spider on the counter. More screaming and running. To the middle of the bedroom, where something made me look up and there was aNOTHER one on the fucking ceiling. I ran screaming to the kitchen for the Raid, came back in and sprayed the ceiling one, which fell, probably into the wind from the fan, and then went to the bathroom and sprayed that one, and then it wouldn't die, but it kept faking like it was, until I finally stepped on it, screaming louder because I can't hear that crunch or, well, I don't know what I'd do. The other one, it's anybody's guess where it ended up because I can't find it. I didn't dose it nearly enough to kill it right away, but I think it's in my bed somewhere and though I have half-heartedly looked for it, I know what will happen. Or it could be in the pile of shoes by the dresser that has all my shit on it. Or it could be in all the shit on that dresser. I'm sick. It's probably in the shoes I am wearing today. You know it is.

So yeah, good morning. I'm a ball of fucking nerves and I am calling the property management people this morning and telling them I can't live like this, and yes, I could run a vacuum once in a while and maybe declutter the room, but still, get somebody over there TODAY and do something about this. Because I will not live with wasps.

Fuck.

Pre-nap

Okay then. I'm up. Nicky came to get me for breakfast and to take me to my car and now I am feeling much better, though I still plan on some heavy napping after this is all done.

So yeah. Wedding. It was a nice ceremony, in a church, officiated by none other than the good Reverand Doug Shaffer. I don't think anyone out there knows him (except you, Tom) but it's pretty flipping hilarious that the guy is an ordained minister. He did well, though, all charisma and charm, like Doug does well. After the ceremony Tom and I had a quick beer at that Aloha Station situation, and then raced over to Tony and Sarah's for the reception. Their backyard is huge. And it looked great and festive and wedding reception-y and even though the place they got the beer from gave them the wrong kind of tap and it took a while to remedy that situation, all went smoothly. Lots of people, dancing, chatting, fun. I kind of got hammered.

And ended up not getting home until like 4am. And yes I am leaving out a big chunk of THAT story, but that's pretty much my perogative. Ask me, though, I might tell you.*

Anyway, on to the happily-ever-after, which, for the Rachel and Ben show means Vegas and beyond, and for the Me show means the sofa. Breakfast can really only cure so much.
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* No, I didn't get laid.

People still give me booze even though I don't think I ACT like a big drinker anymore

Loving the hot weather but I am finding it brings the spiders in to my casita. And I really don't like them. My apartment stays cool in the heat, luckily, unless it gets in to the mid 90s, but in the evenings when the sun is setting it starts to warm up a little bit (west-facing slider). There's a little cool spot next to the kitties' bathroom that is always pleasant, but, you know, it's not like I can just stand there doing nothing. I don't really need a cool spot anyway.

So yesterday kind of sucked in that I was almost responsible for a $300,000.00 loss for the company, but then it ended up not sucking because I managed to prevent the loss (or rather, I got the money back) and, due to my clearly visible pain, the escrow officer I was working with went out and bought me a bottle of Maker's Mark. I don't know how many people get presents for almost losing a whole bunch of money, but I'm on the list and that's okay with me. Those five hours of not knowing whether or not the money was coming back were pretty horrendous, though. Even though it really wasn't my fault, per se, my name was all over it and that's enough to ruin anyone's day.

This on the heels of having received a Service Star - our little "attaboy" incentive program at work - for being so fabulous. That's usually the way it works for me. So during the horrificness of the day while we hoped like hell that the bank would send the money back to us, I made a sign that said "The Service Star sits here" with an arrow pointing down, at me, and taped it to the top of the credenza shelves that sit above me. Any time there is anything hellish going on with me, people know. Because I am vocal. And just co-dependent enough to want to know if they think poorly of me (and any time there is anything GOOD going on with me, people know, because I am just narcissistic enough to want to know that they like me). So basically my Friday was an emotional rollercoaster and nauseating and not happy and then relieved and then liquor-filled (I didn't actually drink any of it, it's on my kitchen counter). I practically fell in to bed last night.

So today I have plenty to do, including borrowing Nicky's Dyson to vacuum and taking my own in to Stark's to see if they will fix the on/off switch so I don't burn the house down. Later is Tony's daughter's wedding, and since the reception is in Tony and Sara's backyard, it should be fun and not formal. I spray tanned last night so I am looking bronze-ish, and it's warm, and summer, and I feel like making out with someone. So who knows. It's not 1982 anymore, and the caliber of Tony's friends has sort of ... changed, but you never know.

So that's it, checking in, not much to report. I'm actually thinking about starting my chores EARLY today, instead of thinking I will and then screwing around on the cracktop until like 11 and then panicking because I haven't gotten anything done... but again, you never know.

Meat dreams ahead

Last night that Marsha and I met for dinner at the semi-new Five Guys Burgers and Fries situation over by Beaverton Mall. I hadn't been there but people say it's good and I felt like a hamburger. Blood loss and all that. So it was good, actually, and simple, and cheap. The company and conversation were good, too, though I dominated it by filling Marsha in on the reunion haps. I don't think she minded. We saw a local celebrity, too, so that was fun. I actually went to high school with him, he played baseball, but went on to play football for the Ducks and ultimately the Rams and the Raiders. You guys can figure it out. Some dad approached him and introduced him to his kids and their friends, and it felt really kind of neato to see that. You know, see what he's become.

Tonight I met that Becky H. and her brother Jeff (down from Seattle for work) at a newer restaurant in Beaverton, just down the street from The House of Cards (where I lived with Rhonda and Marsha and John over a few years), called Burgers and Beers. It had been a Shari's for years, and then a Juan Colorado while I lived there (but it didn't have a bar in it so that kind of sucked and plus there are like WAY too many Juan Colorados out there and their food sucks ass), and then some other Mexican restaurant for like 15 minutes (seriously) and now this. The gig is they have a nice bar, comfy looking, big TVs, and then in the restaurant part the booths all have their own personal flat screen TVs with your own remote and you can watch TV and ignore your table mates while they fill your sister in on what's been going on in your life, only to jump in when somebody says something about boobs. They have more than just burgers, but their burgers were good. Our waiter was having an off night, but that was fine, because he kept giving us free stuff. You can always count on a night of laughing with Becky and Jeff around, and though it was rather mellow, it was a really enjoyable dinner. I'm thinking it would be a good place to watch football ultimately. You have to plan these things out ahead of time, you know, because it's July. And it's coming. My stomach just lurched a little bit.

So I rarely eat real meat (preferring fake meat, like facon and the new meatless Italian-style sausage situation I found that is the bomb), and now, two nights in a row, meat. I am mildly concerned about having meat dreams such as Barbie had suggested in the past, so we'll see what happens.

But the other common denominator was spending quality time with people I should spend more time with and driving home on a warm summer evening with the windows down adn the sunroof open and the radio on really loud, singing along with it and not caring that people are staring.

Fuzz

I am a very routined person. I pretty much do the same thing every morning getting ready for work. This morning, after getting up, brushing my teeth/washing my face/putting in my contacts/showering/lotioning/putting on mascara, I went in and made the coffee/fed the cats/took my vitamins and went back to the bathroom to dry my hair/put on more mascara/figure out what to wear. But my hair dryer didn't work. It sputtered some and gave a weak attempt at blowing out hot air, but it didn't stay on. And I was afraid it would blow up, which I have had happen to me before, and didn't want to happen again, mostly because I never paid attention to how to put out an electrical fire.

Some of you may know that I don't have the kind of hair that dries naturally into regular hair. My hair dries naturally into a mass of fuzz. And crazy shapes. And now you all know this. I also am not the kind of person who owns a travel hair dryer/prepares for early morning disasters such as this.

So I stuck my head upside down in front of the fan and froze my ass off as I tried to dry my hair. It isn't really working. Basically I am going to look like shit all day today and I'm not happy about it.

But I'm not going to consider this an omen or anything. I'm just going to live for a day with this fuzz and look like shit and hope that people notice my fabulous personality and realize that I am more than just really good hair.

Bitter.

What we learn

When I was in my 20s, I would have held a grudge, talked all manner of smack, and avoided all contact and social situations with this person, making sure that everyone knew why I was not going to be around this person and why it probably wasn't a good idea for them to be around her either.

In my 30s I would have suffered silently, save for a few close friends, wondering if it was something that I did, even though I knew it wasn't and people had to constantly remind me that it wasn't, tormenting myself and making myself sick with self-doubt and confidence-destroying guilt.

Now I just roll with it and actually have a good time.

The wedding was nice. Simple and nice, well decorated, decent-length ceremony (although there was something the Christian pastor said in the ceremony that actually really bothered me. I think if Becky H. were there we would have had a long conversation about it. I guess somehow in 2009 it has become perfectly acceptable to practice intolerance under the guise of religious freedom.*), great food, very happy people. Marsha looked absolutely stunning. I mean, she's always been a pretty girl, but there was an extra-added boost of beauty this night. Love? Hm. I'll have to think about that some. It wasn't a late night, and I laughed a lot, which I needed. I think I am glad that Steve and Michaelene are around when I am in dire need of laugh-therapy.

I drove in with Rhonda and Edgar and Edgar's daughter who lives in Kentucky. They are going on a family trip today so they didn't really need a driver (which is what caused me to phone Rhonda in the first place - if they wanted to drink I was happy to drive them because Scappoose is so flipping far away and oh my hell don't even get me started on that Cornelius Pass Road). Despite all of my feelings about what has happened with her in the past and how things sort of fell apart (sort of...?) in our friendship, I find myself a little bit surprised at how well I just let it go and roll with it. I mean, I know myself pretty well. Throw an injustice my way and I can expound on it for HOURS. But it was generally her bringing up past adventures and anecdotes, not me, and I wonder if my overall indifference to past bad-things (and, really, her) made her realize that she didn't like being the bad guy and that it really was stupid that our friendship ended. Who knows. I'm guessing I think too much.

So overall, it was a good night. We won't be having coffee any time soon, Rhonda and I, but it's kind of good to know that it doesn't bother me like it used to. Maybe I have learned how to deal with the stupid senseless stuff in life. Maybe in my 40s I just don't sweat the stupid shit anymore.

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*So in the ceremony, the Christian pastor (or whatever they call themselves) (I always thought a pastor was the lead priest in one particular parish), stressed not once, not twice, but three times that marriage is between a MAN and a WOMAN in God's eyes. Each time I think the scowl grew on my face. Seriously, I just don't see giving that much of a shit about who marries whom. I just don't see how it is affecting anyone else if two people, regardless of their sex, marry. That's the debate, fine, I just think there are more important things to worry about. But to have to bring it up, and then again, and then AGAIN, in a 15 minute wedding ceremony between two heteros, with like 25 people in attendance, not one of them a drag queen, seemed like a little bit of overkill. Keep your bullshit agenda out of it, and remember that Jesus and God and that whole gang are big fans of the whole live-and-let-live and love-one-another gig.

Happy Wedding Day to Marsha!

'Tis the season.

Today I am going to my friend Marshy's wedding. It's a somewhat smallish, informal affair, the kind I like. The meaning is the same. Next Saturday I am going to another wedding, the daughter of my brother Tom's best friend since high school. I'm not even going to think about what that means in terms of how old this girl is. You know, as it relates to how old I am.

I've been in seven weddings (none of them my own). I've been thinking about it, and I can only remember six of them. But I've always contended I've been in seven, so it must be true. I just can't think of that seventh one. I was asked to be in one that I had to decline, because it was in Ohio and I was living in Portland again and didn't think I could properly contribute, but I did attend the wedding (I wonder if I counted that? This is going to drive me a little bit crazy). Most of those weddings were formal, church-like weddings with the bridesmaid dress and the Saturday morning hair appointment and the big reception. One was in the wine country, and two were a month apart in two different states other than my own (that was an expensive few months...). All of them, I think, are still going strong - well all but one that I know of - I haven't been in touch with one of the brides in a long time, actually, and the last time I spoke to her she was in a really unhappy place and might have even decided to turn into a lesbian (don't you love that? I've known two brides that later decided to "turn into" lesbians. I wasn't aware it was some kind of switch you could turn on and off. I mean, come on, if you don't like your husband anymore, just tell him. You don't have to be so dramatic. And it really isn't that fair to the real live lesbians out there.). So I'm not really sure how that all panned out in the end.

I guess I should be sort of proud of my brides. I mean, with marriages ending in divorce at least 50% of the time (is it more now? I haven't really had to check, but we'll say 50% and just stay conservative), I should count myself lucky to have such a good track record with the weddings I have been in (I won't get carried away and suggest that, perhaps as the common denominator, I'm a pretty safe bet if you're looking for quality people to stand up for you). And plus they were all pretty fun, so that's a bonus.

(I wonder if somehwere along the way I counted my own wedding-that-ultimately-never-happened as one of the seven. I wonder if back then I was pre-counting. Putting the cart before the horse or something.) I like a good wedding. I've even been known to choke up a little bit at them, and I'm not really a crier. There's something about witnessing two people standing in front of their family and friends, really believing that they have found that one true person with whom they intend to spend the rest of their lives (did that sound a little negative? I don't think that's my intention. Except by nature I'm a little bit skeptical and a little bit more cynical. I mean, how do you know, in your early 20s, or 30s, or even 40s for that matter if you have met that ONE TRUE soul that you'll grow with and change with and still like, let alone love, forever and ever and ever? I can see that happening in your 30s and older, but 20s? That's a huge assumption. And it's probably why I am not married. Because I'm Grass-Is-Always-Greener Girl, I probably put too much thought into it ahead of time and just willed myself to not commit fully. Maybe the whole thing is about attitude. Maybe I just had a bad attitude about the whole thing from the start.). So yeah, maybe I just envy them for that one afternoon (or, you know, week, year, decade, whatever) that they truly feel that way.

And there might be something about the way they celebrate their union. You can spend a ton of money and have it last forever, or you can spend a ton of money and have it NOT last forever. By the same token you can spend very little money and have it last forever, or you can spend very little money, beyond the plane ticket to Vegas and the hotel rooms, and have it last less than three months (I'm not sure how the statistics pan out for people who were married by Elvis, but I'm guessing it doesn't look that good. And yes, I am speaking from experience. In retrospect, I wonder if that couple just wanted to go to Vegas with a whole bunch of people and didn't know any other way to get them to all go at the same time. There's no question THAT wedding was a blast, but I think Vegas is responsible for that, and not the actual nuptials.).

So really, it's got to be the attitude, the spirit in which you enter into marriage that determines its outcome. And not so much that you chose me to stand up for you. At any rate, I wish nothing but the best for my friend Marshy, who has always had a great outlook on life, and who deserves all the happiness life has to offer.

Not ready to fake it just yet.

I've been through worse and survived. Lots of people are currently going through worse and are surviving. Rationally speaking, it's not like this is a sudden thing - it's been going on for weeks now. But there is a feeling of finality now, and it's killing me a little bit.

In general I'm a fairly pleasant person. You might even describe me as bubbly. It's rarely calm when I am in a branch. I'm just not feeling it right now. If you see me today and ask me why I am so quiet, I won't really tell you why. I may even try to put up a front, or tell you I'm just tired. Just believe me. I imagine sooner or later I'll get over it, or maybe just get sick of not talking. But it's not going to just go away, so the odds are pretty good that I'll be putting on an act sooner than later.

In theory blogging is supposed to be cathartic. It's supposed to be a place where one can put their thoughts out to the (internet) universe and maybe feel a little bit of relief. But I can't do that. Not this time. It can't be good to carry this inside, but right now it's all I have left of the most wonderful thing I have had in a really long time.

Wonderful despite the limitations and the boundaries and the what ifs. But isn't dreaming okay? Is wondering what might have been or might could be such a bad thing? If you know the rules going in, and follow them, where is the real harm, when you know that all you are doing is dreaming?

So I think for now I'll just keep hanging on to it. Until I feel better. Or better enough to fake it.

Week ending

I don't know if I am just a glutton for punishment or what my problem is, but I decided this morning to drive to Cannon Beach to spend a couple of hours with more family. Chris and Jill and their two kids are still here from California, and they rented a house at the beach until Friday. Mom went with them, as did Matt and Crystal. Maura will be there tonight, and Barbie and Shelia will be there tomorrow. I think what I really wanted was to drive really fast by myself for once with the music on really loud.

I left around 9:30 this morning and got there about 10:40. Hung out, looked at the ocean and Haystack Rock, and then went in to town and walked around a little bit with everyone. Then we had some lunch, I dropped Mom off back at the house, and I went home.

So basically I hit the extreme east and the extreme west of the state this weekend. That was cool.

Here's what wasn't cool. So Tom had left a shirt in the trunk of my car and I told him I would bring it by on my way home today. I did, checked to see that he was okay (he's still kind of sickish), and then left. While I was going into the right turn lane on TV Hwy in front of St. Mary's, so that I could turn right on to Murray and go home, some jackass cut me off from the middle lane. So like, here's me at 50 miles per hour in my designated lane, and then suddenly here's some idiot who is STOPPED in the middle lane (for the light) who decides to go into my lane. From a dead stop, in to my lane, while I am coming at him going 50. Fucking drunk.

So as I am slamming on my brakes, I throw up my hands like, what the fuck?! And I was yelling something, too, because, you know, that's what I do, but I don't really know what. His truck is a piece of shit and it's like wobbling all over the place and he just continues on his merry way, being in my way. I turned right on to Murray behind him and swiftly drove past him.

Except I got stopped at the light at Murray and 6th, and he rolled on up next to me. And stared at me looking all Charlie Manson and shit, and pointed at me. I pretended to not see him but I did. When the light turned green I left him behind a bit, but traffic being what it is I got stuck behind someone in my lane and he passed by me, staring.

So I was thinking it was fine for him to be ahead of me in case he had an intention of following me, and this was the case until we passed Allen, and he goes from the right lane to the left lane to the center lane left turn pocket that would have put him on like SW 22nd or something, all in one wobbly move. People slammed on their brakes to avoid him (again) - I was about five cars back at this point. When I started to pass him, he suddenly turned on his RIGHT turn signal and tried to get back in to my lane. Traffic wasn't really letting him though. I kept an eye on him behind me about six cars or so, and decided I probably shouldn't go home. So instead I took a left at Brockman (as did he) and then pulled in to the fire station there by Hiteon grade school. He passed by me without really seeing me, but I still stayed there for a little bit until I knew he hadn't turned around, and then I went out and took the long way home up to Scholls Ferry and then back down Murray to be sure. It probably wasn't anything or he was probably just trying to be a dick, but fuck him. He messed up my mojo.

So now I'm home and I go back to work tomorrow and I am ready for a little nap.

Reunion wrap up

I'll make it short and sweet because that's what I do - once an event is over most of the time I don't really dwell on it unless I want to.

So the reunion banquet Saturday started at 5:30 - some of us laid by the pool a couple of hours in the day and then drifted off to get ready. The banquet hall was right next to the bar (clearly our home away from home for the weekend) so nobody had any separation issues, and of course that is where people congregated instead of actually going into the hall.. Two free kegs of beer and Chris pays for one in the bar. Anyway, earlier Saturday morning Benny and Tom and I had breakfast at a restaurant in Ontario and about mid day Tom was started to get sick. He ended up spending the rest of the day and night throwing up in his room, thereby missing the entire gig. Which I think he was fine with, except for all the vomitting. Oh and the people that kept coming in to his room to get beer from their cooler and to look at Benny's new stereo*. That probably sucked.

We had a really good turn out and people appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely. The food was good, the beer flowed, people chatted. We took some pictures (well, I didn't) and when the boys were gathering around Mom to take a group shot, Mom shoved Benny's chair out from under him and he fell, dumping an entire beer all over himself. She alleges she didn't mean to, and of course everyone blamed Chris at first, but it was a bummer for Benny (KIND of funny, in the way that kind of thing is, but still).

There really wasn't much of the anticipated drama from some members of my immediate family, so for once nothing happened that people will be talking about for years to come. I think it's good that everyone behaved themselves. You know, considering I'm the youngest at 43. For Pete's sake.

We had the hall until 10:30 and then a large group of us went next door to the bar and kept it busy until closing time (12:30). It helped having my cousin Dan, the Malheur County judge, in attendance as he made it crystal clear to the bartender that tonight he would not be closing early as he had in previous nights. After the bar closed, Dan, Benny and I went out to one of the picnic tables in the pool area (there was a cooler of beer out there as this was where Chris and others were smoking cigars) and continued talking. Benny left around 1:15, but Dan and I kept at it until around 2:15 when my bladder couldn't take it anymore. Long night but great conversation.

I like the connection that I have with family that is out that way. We have a long history in eastern Oregon and I was never really given the full scoop on it like I was Saturday night. I think it's important to know that stuff, or you can't pass it on. They're passing it on all over the place out there in the ranch country, but those of us on this side of the mountains have bigger mouths, so it's better that we know.

Sunday morning came quickly and we all had breakfast before the drive back. Matt and Crystal came with me and Tom, who was still sick and fighting the vomit urge the entire drive. I made excellent time and was happy to get home to the kits, who really didn't tear the place apart too badly. That's a plus.

I'm off the next couple of days - Jill, Chris, Cody and Lindsay have a beach house in Cannon Beach until Friday, and I might pop down there for the day tomorrow, if I get enough done around here today. It'll be nice to drive with the radio turned up high again.
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*This is a term used in conjunction with herbal refreshment. Back in the day, whenever Tom would take somebody out of the bar to his truck to, uh, smoke, we'd always say they were going out to look at Tom's new stereo. Get it?

Reuniting

I'm not sure how I am going to report this whole reunion thing, but it's probably more entertaining if I just give you my thoughts about it up to now.

So Thursday morning I picked up Tom and Cody (Chris's son) at around 6am and hit the road east. We decided to take the route through Burns since Cody has never been out that way and because I knew that by the time I got done with this whole weekend I would just be wanting to get the holy hell out of dodge, and the I-84 route is more direct. So we went over the mountain and through central to eastern Oregon. We actually made pretty good time until we got to Burns, which is about 2 hours east of Bend.

Just outside of Madras is the Crooked River Gorge, and they have built a new bridge over it, keeping the old one still intact but just not used. They have a nice rest stop there and I thought I was going to die if I didn't use the restroom, so we stopped and then walked around a little bit and took some pictures. So the deal is that in 1961 some broad threw her kids over the side of that bridge. I think she recently was up for parole, but look at that drop. She was denied.

We stopped in Burns and had lunch, then popped over to the Harney County Museum. My grandfather Grover Jameson was a big part of putting it together, and it is pretty big. Lots of stuff to see. If you ever find yourself out that way... I mean, it IS worth it. Driving in to Burns is like driving back in time.

After lunch we continued on our journey and stopped in Juntura, where my mom grew up. Cody and Tom took some pictures of my grandfather Martin Joyce's house and we spent about 20 minutes there (there really isn't much to see). Onward.

The drive from Juntura to Ontario takes you through yet another change in Oregon's varied landscape - you follow the Malheur River through crazy looking hills and it's neato and all that, but by this time I was getting a little punchy. Plus it's Mountain Time, so we lost an hour. We rolled into Vale about 4:15 and then into Ontario about 15 minutes later. My brother Pat was standing in the motor lobby when we pulled in - he flew into Boise from Cleveland earlier and had just arrived himself. We checked in and threw our bags in the rooms, then met at the bar for a beer.

Barbie came in just a little bit later - she brought my mom, Matt (my nephew) and his girlfriend Crystal with her. Maura and her kids were in another car behind Barbie about a half an hour later. My brother Joey and his wife Karen showed up around 7 or so, and we all sat in the bar and bs'd and drank beer until around midnight or so. You know, because I drink so much lately. Oddly enough it hasn't been that difficult for me to get back on the horse...

Yesterday, Friday, we had part one of the event - a barbecue at Helen Stanton's house (mom's first cousin). We set up earlier in the day, hot, sweaty, etc., and I intended to get a little rest before showering, but Chris and Jill had just arrived and wanted a beer, so I met them up at Tom's room. Benny arrived pretty much right away as well, and then Barry showed up not long after that. After a while we had about 14 people in Tom and Benny's room, drinking all their beer and hanging out.

Helen's gig started at 5:30 and I had to bring Barry, Benny, Tom and 10 bags of ice. I did my part. Whoever was on Mom detail forgot to get her, and by the time I pulled up to Helen's they all realized Mom wasn't with anyone so I had to go back and get her. Which actually was pretty funny. If you know anything at all about my family dynamic, it's flipping hysterical.

The barbecue was fun and afterward we all went back to our hotel and the bar there, and closed it down (it closes at 12, so it's not like anyone was pulling any all-nighters). Seriously I barely have a voice left and though I would normally blame it on the jagerbombs, I have so far only had four. Which should be surprising to most of you.

Today is the day of the event itself. I intend to go chill at the pool with Jill and Maura and then the games begin around 5:30. Certain pressures are starting to build, and I honestly believe there might be some sort of fiasco, but it wouldn't be a Jameson gig without it. We just have to remember this isn't a Jameson gig, but a Joyce gig. Maybe tonight I'll actually talk to some of them.