Wherein Bry writes a personal ad.

It is spring, and like all the fluffy bunnies of the world, people are starting to get frisky. Time to find a friend to frolic with for the spring and summer. The long, cold, rainy winter is coming to an end. Hemlines are getting shorter and necklines lower.

To that end, everyday this week I have conversed with different people regarding our dealbreakers and must-haves in a potential mate. Such as smoking = dealbreaker and must like outdoorsy activities like hiking. Sometimes during these conversations, I feel like I am casting a spell so that I never find a man-friend (just like Sandra Bullock in Practical Magic).

Must be older than me but not closer in age to my parents.

Must like taking long walks.

Must like scrabble, but not so much that they beat me.

Must love and respect their parental figures.

Must read more than just magazines and repair manuals.

Must be willing to over-look my weekly viewing of Pride & Prejudice.

Must not seriously mock my love of Snuggies, Justin Timberlake and voracious coffee drinking.

Must be okay with me always loving RF best.

Must be able to function independently of me (separate friends are A-okay).

I could go on and delve into more serious traits But really, I find myself taking all of the bad traits from the relationships orbitting around me and then holding those negatives against everyone I meet.

In order to love me, someone has to be looking for a neurotic, nerdy, bookish lady who is somewhat stubborn, incapable of handling complex emotions, and prone to seasonal ennui. I do not like pudding, pancakes or yogurt. I laugh too loudly and find humor in practically everything. I'm a poor singer and a worse dancer.

All the best things about me are someone else's dealbreakers.

Wherein Bry continues to pack.

And by pack, I mean eat pasta and watch Emma (BBC version, not Gwyneth Paltrow).

My favorite part of Emma thus far is the first Mr. Angelina Jolie, Johnny Lee Miller. He is very attractive but probably a pervert. That is the only conclusion I can draw from his interactions with Jolie.

Packing is going decently, though I really have just shifted piles from the bedroom to the now empty apartment; EB moved out taking all her belongings, which was pretty much the entire apartment.

I have managed to sort through my books and set aside a portion to donate to the library. I will also donate my VHS tapes. So next library sale at Tualatin library, you could be the proud owner of several late '90s and early '00s romantic comedies.

I do like the part of moving that involves getting rid of junk. Every time I pick some thing up I ask, Do I need this?

*Old magazines? No.

*Jeans with a hole in the seat? No.

*A poster of Daniel Craig? Yes.

*A set of curlers that no longer heat? No.

*Twenty purses? Hell yeah!

Wherein Bry has a dirty thought.

The older I get, the more I worry about things that will probably never happen.

Such as developing a phonic form of Tourette's. But really, a silent Tourette's. I will find myself thinking a string of swear words. I keep it silent and it is usually work related or at the height of my frustration over something I cannot control.

It is probably a credit that I just think the swear words and don't vocalize them. But I fear that one day the silence will end and I will scare children and dogs with my dirty mouth.

If Wikipedia is to be believed, the chances of an adult developing Tourette's is rare as are the chances of my tic being verbal.

Speaking of swearing, while in Boston last week, I noticed an increase in my use of "fuck" to describe both the positive and negative. Like "Look at that fucking dog. Super cute." Or "I hate the fucking rain.". As RF said, "Bostonians use Fuck You as a hello, goodbye, and I Love You!"

Wherein Bry is preparing to move again.

I am moving, again. Moving is a topic I have covered frequently at my old blog.

They say you should write what you know, and I know moving.

There were the times I moved in and out during college (twice a year, four years). And then moving to Portland. And then moving once a year, sometimes more, for the past 7 years. My record is three times in one year, from Beaverton to Garden Home, to Lake Oswego to Chinatown.

Not to be overshadowed by the move from Tigard to Hemet to Tigard to Garden Home a few years later.

I do not know what makes me move so much. It is certainly not wanderlust. I am not moving to exotic places but from one suburb to another.

I have been in my current apartment for one year and I have not been happy here. For someone who used to be quite social, who used to go to shows and out frequently with friends, holing up in an apartment in the suburbs where the bus stops running at 10pm was an immediate leg shackle.

After realizing I was going to have to move again, I frantically tried to stay in this 2-bedroom apartment but, after calming down, realized it was neither practical or affordable. Then I thought of moving into a studio nearby.

But after a week of pondering that and mulling my options, I decided against staying in a neighborhood I don't like.

So I am very happy with my decision to move to the Hollywood district where I will be sharing a place with some other Linfield graduates.

The transportation kinks will be worked out over time and I will get used to bus commuting again, though I will miss my walks to work. On the upside, I will get more reading done.

But it makes me happy to know I will be within walking district of great food and shops. And if I decide to stay out late (past 11pm, oh my), I can catch a bus home. A bus that actually runs late.

Wherein Bry ages.

Today I saw a hot Anderson Cooper type. "Too bad he's old," I thought. And then I realized "I'm old."

I should mention I saw this man while antiquing.

I'm thinking of getting a sandwich board to wear around my neck that says "I'm really old."

But I'm pretty sure my Snuggie and mom jeans say that for me.

I can feel that familiar itch just below the surface. I'm ready for something new. I'm hoping a simple changing of the seasons will suffice.

I am ready for Farmer's Markets and warm weather. I am ready for that feeling of contentment on a long afternoon, the lightness in the shoulders and the way a good laugh feels like a better workout than a ten mile run.