Last night I was on the bus on my way home from dinner and a walk with GZ when I passed by this brew pub in Tigard.
Oh, there is the pub KT likes, I thought. Oh, that girl looks just like KT and she even has a black dog. Oh wow, that is KT and Duncan.
So I hopped off the bus and yelled "Kooter!"
I'm glad it doesn't embarrass her when I shout that in public.
She was dining with TM and Angel (TM's dog). It was a fun little surprise. I sat with them for 40 minutes until the next bus arrived.
So, hot tattoo guy who asked for my number at work never called me! What a jerk face. Well he was semi-hot in the face. And he was a nerdo sci-fi reader, which is not a dealbreaker because, even though I'm anti-nerdfest, reading is reading (magazines don't count).
Gearing up for my vacation, my mom warned me about Tyra in advance of my visit. She is apparently senile, can't see, is really thin, but is not in pain and is pleasantly forgetful. I just want to see her one more time. She was a good dog and 15 is pretty old for an animal under as much stress as she has endured (hit by a car, unplanned pregnancies, orphaned by a college-bound owner, tormented by Rosie, and a lumpectomy).
One more day. Just one more day.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Wherein Bry does what she does.
Whenever I post a dark and twisty blog, I feel like I immediately have to follow it up with some lighter topics. So here are some short vignettes of normal-ish Bry stuff.
Overheard on the bus:
A kid said he didn't know who the Indigo Girls were but their name "sure sounded gay."
On Tuesday I wore my black JCrew scarf I've had since college and left it on the desk. I called late Tuesday night, but JK told me it wasn't there. I was super sad. Then today I found it hiding in a cubby and I put it on even though it was 1000 degrees. JAO asked me why I was wearing a scarf. "Because I'm happy it wasn't lost." JW thought this was an adorable answer. JAO accused me of trying to cover a hickey.
The good thing about commuting on the same bus line every day is that it has become fairly predictable. However, I'm beginning to recognize the other regulars and they me. Unlike the other commuters, I believe a bus ride should be spent in silence or talking quietly to a traveling partner. I really think people who talk to strangers on the bus are bat-shit crazy people.
Today I look like a hobo not because of what I am wearing, but because of how ill-fitting it is. Everything is so baggy. This makes me sad, some of my clothes are kinda cute. I told MP I was going to start eating until everything fits again, I just can't afford to buy new clothes. She was aghast. "I'm just kidding, I swear!"
Today a woman asked me for a book by a man called Henky. I said, "Henning Mankell?" No, she was positive that wasn't it. She told me he wrote Scandinavian mysteries. "Right. Mankell. I'm positive." But oh no, she was sure I was wrong. So I lead her to the section. Oh, yah, that was it. Then she asked me if Sarah Waters was similar. Now, this is very book snobish, I do admit, but are you freaking kidding me? How could you mistake them for the same writing. She also took me to task for not reading PD James. "I don't read mysteries. I'm more of a trashy romance kinda gal." I then made a joke about his name being Henna Ankles. So I officially can never read his stuff.
My brother got married today. And his ex-wife got married a few weeks ago. I can't wait for HH, LH, or TG's memoirs in 20 years "That was the summer my parents got married to other people." This is sort of a dark thing to say and I don't mean it in jest or as a criticism. I just like to imagine them growing from the little people they are now into adults who do adult like things, such as drink port, smoke tobacco from pipes, wear monocles, and write memoirs. Oh, and apparently they are early-century British in this scenario.
The End
Overheard on the bus:
A kid said he didn't know who the Indigo Girls were but their name "sure sounded gay."
On Tuesday I wore my black JCrew scarf I've had since college and left it on the desk. I called late Tuesday night, but JK told me it wasn't there. I was super sad. Then today I found it hiding in a cubby and I put it on even though it was 1000 degrees. JAO asked me why I was wearing a scarf. "Because I'm happy it wasn't lost." JW thought this was an adorable answer. JAO accused me of trying to cover a hickey.
The good thing about commuting on the same bus line every day is that it has become fairly predictable. However, I'm beginning to recognize the other regulars and they me. Unlike the other commuters, I believe a bus ride should be spent in silence or talking quietly to a traveling partner. I really think people who talk to strangers on the bus are bat-shit crazy people.
Today I look like a hobo not because of what I am wearing, but because of how ill-fitting it is. Everything is so baggy. This makes me sad, some of my clothes are kinda cute. I told MP I was going to start eating until everything fits again, I just can't afford to buy new clothes. She was aghast. "I'm just kidding, I swear!"
Today a woman asked me for a book by a man called Henky. I said, "Henning Mankell?" No, she was positive that wasn't it. She told me he wrote Scandinavian mysteries. "Right. Mankell. I'm positive." But oh no, she was sure I was wrong. So I lead her to the section. Oh, yah, that was it. Then she asked me if Sarah Waters was similar. Now, this is very book snobish, I do admit, but are you freaking kidding me? How could you mistake them for the same writing. She also took me to task for not reading PD James. "I don't read mysteries. I'm more of a trashy romance kinda gal." I then made a joke about his name being Henna Ankles. So I officially can never read his stuff.
My brother got married today. And his ex-wife got married a few weeks ago. I can't wait for HH, LH, or TG's memoirs in 20 years "That was the summer my parents got married to other people." This is sort of a dark thing to say and I don't mean it in jest or as a criticism. I just like to imagine them growing from the little people they are now into adults who do adult like things, such as drink port, smoke tobacco from pipes, wear monocles, and write memoirs. Oh, and apparently they are early-century British in this scenario.
The End
Wherein Bry feels like a kid again and not in a good way.
I'm feeling a strange sensation of being hungover. Or maybe the crash following a sugar high.
This is perhaps the low in the summer. I will go on vacation and return feeling happy and relaxed, but first I must weather a small storm.
It is unbelievable how different I feel this week in comparison to last.
Suddenly I am paranoid of everything I say and do.
I'm walking on eggshells, but I never cracked the egg.
When I was in second grade, we spent the final week cleaning the classroom. We dusted, mopped and sanitized. In retrospect, this is a little too children-in-a-sweatshop for my taste.
One of our final tasks was to empty our desks and then wipe down our desks and chairs with soapy water and a rag.
The entire year, I had the good desk. It was old, made of wood and had an extra big storage space. The chair was attached to the desk and it was so big it had to be in the corner of our U-shaped layout, a prime spot for a loudmouth like me. All of the other desks and chairs were plastic and aluminum.
The teacher took all of the chairs and put them in the center of the room. Each kid then washed their chair and desk. I couldn't take my chair or desk to the center of the room because they were so big . So while everyone else cleaned, I had to sit at my desk and watch.
As I sat there alone and with no task, as everyone else was mucking about and chattering, I became increasingly glum and just plain sad as I wondered why I couldn't clean, too. Then I started crying.
"Why are you crying?" asked the teacher.
"Why am I left out?"
"Well for goodness sakes, your desk is old and made of wood. It can't get wet."
This made sense and I stopped crying, though I burned with shame and embarrassment. I still felt left out, but it was with good reason. For days after that, until the final day, I was angry with my teacher.
I had the best desk all year long and felt so special until the very end, when what set me apart also put me on the fringe.
I've been feeling similarly over the past few weeks, but I can't decide which specific part. Is it the feeling of being unique dashed by dreams of normalcy? Am I feeling left out? Or do I feel like a lack of communication has led me to feel slightly shameful and resentful.
Suddenly I have all these great things in my life but what I really want is what everyone else has. And the everything is just out of my reach.
This is perhaps the low in the summer. I will go on vacation and return feeling happy and relaxed, but first I must weather a small storm.
It is unbelievable how different I feel this week in comparison to last.
Suddenly I am paranoid of everything I say and do.
I'm walking on eggshells, but I never cracked the egg.
When I was in second grade, we spent the final week cleaning the classroom. We dusted, mopped and sanitized. In retrospect, this is a little too children-in-a-sweatshop for my taste.
One of our final tasks was to empty our desks and then wipe down our desks and chairs with soapy water and a rag.
The entire year, I had the good desk. It was old, made of wood and had an extra big storage space. The chair was attached to the desk and it was so big it had to be in the corner of our U-shaped layout, a prime spot for a loudmouth like me. All of the other desks and chairs were plastic and aluminum.
The teacher took all of the chairs and put them in the center of the room. Each kid then washed their chair and desk. I couldn't take my chair or desk to the center of the room because they were so big . So while everyone else cleaned, I had to sit at my desk and watch.
As I sat there alone and with no task, as everyone else was mucking about and chattering, I became increasingly glum and just plain sad as I wondered why I couldn't clean, too. Then I started crying.
"Why are you crying?" asked the teacher.
"Why am I left out?"
"Well for goodness sakes, your desk is old and made of wood. It can't get wet."
This made sense and I stopped crying, though I burned with shame and embarrassment. I still felt left out, but it was with good reason. For days after that, until the final day, I was angry with my teacher.
I had the best desk all year long and felt so special until the very end, when what set me apart also put me on the fringe.
I've been feeling similarly over the past few weeks, but I can't decide which specific part. Is it the feeling of being unique dashed by dreams of normalcy? Am I feeling left out? Or do I feel like a lack of communication has led me to feel slightly shameful and resentful.
Suddenly I have all these great things in my life but what I really want is what everyone else has. And the everything is just out of my reach.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Wherein Bry is just happy to be alive.
Here is a story to prove how much you love me, because I am the only one who will tell you stories like this.
Yesterday I woke up at 5am and the first words out of my mouth were "Mother fucking son of a bitch."
I have spelled out the full swear rather than masking it with one of these, $@*!, because I want you to feel the full force of my dirty, Orbit-less mouth.
See, it was 5am. And in order for me to get to work by 6am, I have to be in a carpool exactly at 5am and the carpool doesn't wait.
So other than being more than an hour late (not an option when it is your job to let everyone in), I would need to take a cab. I called a cab and then took a three minute shower, dressed, and grabbed my bag. I then proceeded to wait for 25 minutes and was about to call a rival cab, when the driver showed up.
Right from the start, he was a real charmer. As if it were my fault that he was late. That he was now going to be late getting the car back and would probably be fired. That, Holy Crap!, we have been driving for five miles and the meter is not running!
Not to mention the lethal speeds he was traveling at, weaving in and out of traffic.
And not to mention complaining about the distance and asking if he could drop me closer.
"With all due respect Sir, I said up front I was going to Lake Oswego and you accepted the fare."
And then he almost hit someone. Rather than being concerned about the person he nearly ran off the road, or me as his passenger, he asked "How much further? Where can I drop you?"
At this point, I could see work in the distance, and we were near the shoulder of the exit I needed, so I said "Drop me here." And he did. No questions asked. No "But ma'am, we are on the freeway!"
I threw a wad of $5s over the seat, which I thought was $15 but was only $10 (I found another $5 when scrounging up money for coffee). Really, I should have paid him zero. The actual cost would have been $30, so he got screwed in the long run. Not to mention that he probably lost his job when I called to complain later in the afternoon.
But wait! The story isn't over.
As I'm walking down the ramp off the freeway (a gentle slope, not an actual ramp), a car pulls over. And it is TS.
I get in and he is shaking his head. This is what he told CPR later:
"I was driving down the freeway and I see a cab pull over and someone gets out. I think who would get out of a car on the freeway? And then I realize it is Bry."
Later I told my boss, "You will probably hear this rumor that TS found me on the side of the freeway this morning and I have to say it is true. I'd like to say this sort of thing never happens to me but that would be a lie."
Yesterday I woke up at 5am and the first words out of my mouth were "Mother fucking son of a bitch."
I have spelled out the full swear rather than masking it with one of these, $@*!, because I want you to feel the full force of my dirty, Orbit-less mouth.
See, it was 5am. And in order for me to get to work by 6am, I have to be in a carpool exactly at 5am and the carpool doesn't wait.
So other than being more than an hour late (not an option when it is your job to let everyone in), I would need to take a cab. I called a cab and then took a three minute shower, dressed, and grabbed my bag. I then proceeded to wait for 25 minutes and was about to call a rival cab, when the driver showed up.
Right from the start, he was a real charmer. As if it were my fault that he was late. That he was now going to be late getting the car back and would probably be fired. That, Holy Crap!, we have been driving for five miles and the meter is not running!
Not to mention the lethal speeds he was traveling at, weaving in and out of traffic.
And not to mention complaining about the distance and asking if he could drop me closer.
"With all due respect Sir, I said up front I was going to Lake Oswego and you accepted the fare."
And then he almost hit someone. Rather than being concerned about the person he nearly ran off the road, or me as his passenger, he asked "How much further? Where can I drop you?"
At this point, I could see work in the distance, and we were near the shoulder of the exit I needed, so I said "Drop me here." And he did. No questions asked. No "But ma'am, we are on the freeway!"
I threw a wad of $5s over the seat, which I thought was $15 but was only $10 (I found another $5 when scrounging up money for coffee). Really, I should have paid him zero. The actual cost would have been $30, so he got screwed in the long run. Not to mention that he probably lost his job when I called to complain later in the afternoon.
But wait! The story isn't over.
As I'm walking down the ramp off the freeway (a gentle slope, not an actual ramp), a car pulls over. And it is TS.
I get in and he is shaking his head. This is what he told CPR later:
"I was driving down the freeway and I see a cab pull over and someone gets out. I think who would get out of a car on the freeway? And then I realize it is Bry."
Later I told my boss, "You will probably hear this rumor that TS found me on the side of the freeway this morning and I have to say it is true. I'd like to say this sort of thing never happens to me but that would be a lie."
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Wherein Bry has more of the same.
I felt a little guilty about the blog I'm about to launch into. Like I didn't want to subject you to the awfulness and self-absorbtion you are about to read. But then I decided THIS IS A BLOG. It is the height of self-absorbtion to keep a blog in the first place and actually quite an exhibition to blog at all.
So suck it up bitches (and Mom) because this is about to happen.
Last night I made a list of all the things about me that make me completely undateable. Not the physical, emotional or psychological things. But more tangible things.
1. I don't have a bed.
2. I'm very poor.
3. I'm not tidy. I live in a nest like a bird or a rat. Probably more of a rat. A rat bird or a bird-like rat.
4. I don't take anything seriously.
5. I can be a bitch.
6. I'm very bossy and not in the good kind of way.
That is pretty much as far as I got before I was too sleepy to go on.
I realize that you are probably composing your response to these statements and while I welcome your input, I want you to know that I don't feel at all bad about this six-pointed list.
Some of these items are easily fixed and the others are what make me Bry.
In not completely unrelated news, today I realized I have not referred to myself as a spinster in weeks and this made me very sad. I've also had no time to knit, snuggie-fest, or watch Pride & Prejudice. I'm inconsolable.
So suck it up bitches (and Mom) because this is about to happen.
Last night I made a list of all the things about me that make me completely undateable. Not the physical, emotional or psychological things. But more tangible things.
1. I don't have a bed.
2. I'm very poor.
3. I'm not tidy. I live in a nest like a bird or a rat. Probably more of a rat. A rat bird or a bird-like rat.
4. I don't take anything seriously.
5. I can be a bitch.
6. I'm very bossy and not in the good kind of way.
That is pretty much as far as I got before I was too sleepy to go on.
I realize that you are probably composing your response to these statements and while I welcome your input, I want you to know that I don't feel at all bad about this six-pointed list.
Some of these items are easily fixed and the others are what make me Bry.
In not completely unrelated news, today I realized I have not referred to myself as a spinster in weeks and this made me very sad. I've also had no time to knit, snuggie-fest, or watch Pride & Prejudice. I'm inconsolable.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Wherein Bry has a side note.
Last night GZ picked me up from work for a lady date.
Side note: Lady Dates are dates with friends, ladies or gays. Man Dates are actual date dates with actual men in an understanding that it is a D.A.T.E. Just to clarify. I don't want you to think I'm just whoring it up. I mean, I don't get paid for these dates either way, so technically I'm not a whore. But the multitude of lady dates I go on might have confused you. Also, there is no name for the times I hang out with straight men when I am not on a D.A.T.E. because 1) I don't hang out with straight men I'm not related to or dating, and 2) Men are gross. Thus the multitude of Lady Dates.
Okay, end of side note. Have I managed to offend you yet?
So GZ picked me up at 9 last night.
Oh, second side note. GZ's initials are not actually GZ. GZ is her nickname that I started calling her because 1) she calls me Breezi and 2) Her first nickname was G-Unit and I was really afraid people were going to think I fell in with a crowd of famous rap artists and that is just not the case.
So after work, GZ and I went on a lady date. She picked me up and we decided to get some frozen yogurt before going on a walk.
Third Side note, I've been asked frequently how I can walk so often for pleasure when walking is really a large part of my daily commute, and the answer is threefold. 1) It helps me relax. 2) When I walk for commuting, I'm on a mission and usually trying not to get mowed over by bicyclists, cars, and buses. When I walk for fun, I get to look at things and smell flowers and pet cats. 3) I think I have some pretty hot leg muscles for all this walking and it makes me feel stronger which means I can kick people in the baby-maker if they piss me off.
So, we got down to the river in Lake Oswego and it was getting quite dark.
"GZ, did you bring me out here to murder me?"
To be fair, this is a question I ask of many people anytime I have no idea where we are.
"I just want to tell you that I have poor eyesight, so please don't murder me or leave me in the woods. If I wander off the trail, I will sit down and sing a song until you find me. I've seen a lot of Lifetime Movie's of the Week and I know better than to wander around."
GZ promised not to murder me and even offered to get me a whistle in case I get lost. This is a sign of a true friend. She didn't even mention how old I am which is also a sign of a true friend.
Side Note! My poor eyesight is not related to being old. I've had poor eyesight for probably 29 and 3/4 years, but most definitely had documented poor eyesight for the 24 years I've been wearing glasses.
So we ate some fro-yo and walked by the river. For almost three hours.
And I did not get murdered, despite how dark it was.
There was also some skipping, which I am great at and GZ is just okay at.
My favorite not-so-favorite part of the evening came when it was time to walk back to the truck and it was 11pm and we had no flashlight and we were walking down a dark road. This is how people get murdered in movies.
Side Note! I don't like scary movies. I'm incapable of watching them without 1) ending up in the lap of my viewing partner, 2) having nightmares and 3) becoming convinced that whatever happened in the movie is about to happen to me.
The entire walk back to the truck was spent turning and looking over my shoulder and pushing GZ in front of me as a human shield. I also had to hold on to her jacket as a lead rope as I could not see a damn thing.
It was awesome and I can't wait to do it again.
Side note: Lady Dates are dates with friends, ladies or gays. Man Dates are actual date dates with actual men in an understanding that it is a D.A.T.E. Just to clarify. I don't want you to think I'm just whoring it up. I mean, I don't get paid for these dates either way, so technically I'm not a whore. But the multitude of lady dates I go on might have confused you. Also, there is no name for the times I hang out with straight men when I am not on a D.A.T.E. because 1) I don't hang out with straight men I'm not related to or dating, and 2) Men are gross. Thus the multitude of Lady Dates.
Okay, end of side note. Have I managed to offend you yet?
So GZ picked me up at 9 last night.
Oh, second side note. GZ's initials are not actually GZ. GZ is her nickname that I started calling her because 1) she calls me Breezi and 2) Her first nickname was G-Unit and I was really afraid people were going to think I fell in with a crowd of famous rap artists and that is just not the case.
So after work, GZ and I went on a lady date. She picked me up and we decided to get some frozen yogurt before going on a walk.
Third Side note, I've been asked frequently how I can walk so often for pleasure when walking is really a large part of my daily commute, and the answer is threefold. 1) It helps me relax. 2) When I walk for commuting, I'm on a mission and usually trying not to get mowed over by bicyclists, cars, and buses. When I walk for fun, I get to look at things and smell flowers and pet cats. 3) I think I have some pretty hot leg muscles for all this walking and it makes me feel stronger which means I can kick people in the baby-maker if they piss me off.
So, we got down to the river in Lake Oswego and it was getting quite dark.
"GZ, did you bring me out here to murder me?"
To be fair, this is a question I ask of many people anytime I have no idea where we are.
"I just want to tell you that I have poor eyesight, so please don't murder me or leave me in the woods. If I wander off the trail, I will sit down and sing a song until you find me. I've seen a lot of Lifetime Movie's of the Week and I know better than to wander around."
GZ promised not to murder me and even offered to get me a whistle in case I get lost. This is a sign of a true friend. She didn't even mention how old I am which is also a sign of a true friend.
Side Note! My poor eyesight is not related to being old. I've had poor eyesight for probably 29 and 3/4 years, but most definitely had documented poor eyesight for the 24 years I've been wearing glasses.
So we ate some fro-yo and walked by the river. For almost three hours.
And I did not get murdered, despite how dark it was.
There was also some skipping, which I am great at and GZ is just okay at.
My favorite not-so-favorite part of the evening came when it was time to walk back to the truck and it was 11pm and we had no flashlight and we were walking down a dark road. This is how people get murdered in movies.
Side Note! I don't like scary movies. I'm incapable of watching them without 1) ending up in the lap of my viewing partner, 2) having nightmares and 3) becoming convinced that whatever happened in the movie is about to happen to me.
The entire walk back to the truck was spent turning and looking over my shoulder and pushing GZ in front of me as a human shield. I also had to hold on to her jacket as a lead rope as I could not see a damn thing.
It was awesome and I can't wait to do it again.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Wherein Bry says BOOM!
Two blogs back to back? Well the first one was a little Lifetime Movie of the Week, rah-rah sisterhood-y. So here is the real Bry.
Last night I got drinks with AM, who I never can get enough time with. That lady is amazing and I wish I worked at her store if only to see her (and LM of course).
On the way there, my phone died and I was running late so she was convinced I was the deads. Nope, just me being a hobo.
And during the time I was running over to JBC, I had been mid-texting with JG. So needless to say, by the time I got home around one, he also thought I was dead.
Lucky for all of you, I am alive to blog another day.
This morning I was trying to think of something funny to say to a friend and I realized I'm not funny in an on demand kind of way. My funny is organic.
Speaking of funny, there is a man sitting across from me on the bus and he is not wearing a shirt. Now that is a real hobo. Or just a douche bag. I can't decide.
I talked to AA in the middle of the night and he was uncharacteristically sweet to me which leads me to believe Armageddon is on the way.
So gird your loins and stock pile some beef-a-roni.
Last night I got drinks with AM, who I never can get enough time with. That lady is amazing and I wish I worked at her store if only to see her (and LM of course).
On the way there, my phone died and I was running late so she was convinced I was the deads. Nope, just me being a hobo.
And during the time I was running over to JBC, I had been mid-texting with JG. So needless to say, by the time I got home around one, he also thought I was dead.
Lucky for all of you, I am alive to blog another day.
This morning I was trying to think of something funny to say to a friend and I realized I'm not funny in an on demand kind of way. My funny is organic.
Speaking of funny, there is a man sitting across from me on the bus and he is not wearing a shirt. Now that is a real hobo. Or just a douche bag. I can't decide.
I talked to AA in the middle of the night and he was uncharacteristically sweet to me which leads me to believe Armageddon is on the way.
So gird your loins and stock pile some beef-a-roni.
Wherein Bry is her own Oprah.
I had this entire rant planned in my head detailing all the things that pissed me off over the past ten days. But I suddenly realized none of it mattered.
Am I disappointed I didn't get to go to the beach? Yes.
Am I hating my job right now? Yes.
Do I feel gross in this heat? Yes.
Am I missing RF? Yes.
But you know what?
I spent Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday hanging out with some pretty awesome and amazing friends in a revolving door of hot, funny, and smart ladies that are so good to me.
And I got to talk to RF on the phone.
And I got to help some great customers find some new books.
And I am headed to Montana in less than two weeks to see my family!
So no need to be in the bell jar, my life is great.
I feel great about myself, I feel valued in a way that matters, and I am looking forward to all the tomorrows yet to come.
Disclaimer: I reserve the right to take this all back tomorrow.
Am I disappointed I didn't get to go to the beach? Yes.
Am I hating my job right now? Yes.
Do I feel gross in this heat? Yes.
Am I missing RF? Yes.
But you know what?
I spent Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday hanging out with some pretty awesome and amazing friends in a revolving door of hot, funny, and smart ladies that are so good to me.
And I got to talk to RF on the phone.
And I got to help some great customers find some new books.
And I am headed to Montana in less than two weeks to see my family!
So no need to be in the bell jar, my life is great.
I feel great about myself, I feel valued in a way that matters, and I am looking forward to all the tomorrows yet to come.
Disclaimer: I reserve the right to take this all back tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Wherein Bry is not on drugs.
I find it kind of funny, and kind of sad, that the blogs in which I'm silly are the most commented on.
Both GZ and Mom thought I was on drugs. SE wants to meet the unicorn. I'm not sure how to tell her that I made it up.
To set the record straight, I was really tired and in a strange mood, hence the little ditty about Dotty.
"Ps not to be mean but did you do shrooms today whats up with your blog?"
If I were on drugs, I would not have written anything at all. I do not find drugs to be conducive to writing.
I guess the feedback on the blog was less than stellar so I will go back to discussing what a hobo I am.
A few years back, when I was working in Lake Oswego and Tualatin but living in Troutdale (Oh yeah, it was real), and also in the middle of some of my craziest party girl times, I constantly carried a phone charger, toothbrush, extra clothes and granola bars. I never knew where I was going to crash or how late I would get home. I was prepared for any circumstance.
Today as I was hiking it down Burnside, I looked in my bag and realized that for the past 10 days or so, I've been carrying an oversized bag stuffed with a change of clothes, cosmetics and toiletries, and a phone charger.
I've been quite transient this summer.
Today I took the bus out to Beaverton. On the way, the driver ignored my bell pull and didn't let me off before the bus headed in the opposite direction of where I was going.
"Oh, sorry about that. I forgot you needed the stop. Just cut through this park area, short walk and you can catch another bus to Cedar Hills."
Oh, well thank you sir. And hey, thanks for mentioning the small fence I had to straddle and do my normal graceful damage by ripping a hole in the crotch of my pants. Like a big hole. Like a huge fatty tear in the crotch.
This led to me making an emergency purchase at Ross of a new pair of pants and to me adding another article of clothing to my bag. Of course I was in a hurry so of course I bought a pair of pants that I will probably never wear again. But at least my hoo-haw was covered.
I spent the rest of the evening out in West Linn with LM, KB and other bridesmaids. We made a huge dent in the wedding invitations and talked about our dresses and other wedding details. Three more months to go.
Plus some delish dinner, drinks, 80's music, and two really super adorable dogs.
The best part, getting home at a fairly decent hour (midnight) and getting some actual pajamas on and (in moments) going to bed in my own bed.
What more could an almost 30-year old girl ask for?
Both GZ and Mom thought I was on drugs. SE wants to meet the unicorn. I'm not sure how to tell her that I made it up.
To set the record straight, I was really tired and in a strange mood, hence the little ditty about Dotty.
"Ps not to be mean but did you do shrooms today whats up with your blog?"
If I were on drugs, I would not have written anything at all. I do not find drugs to be conducive to writing.
I guess the feedback on the blog was less than stellar so I will go back to discussing what a hobo I am.
A few years back, when I was working in Lake Oswego and Tualatin but living in Troutdale (Oh yeah, it was real), and also in the middle of some of my craziest party girl times, I constantly carried a phone charger, toothbrush, extra clothes and granola bars. I never knew where I was going to crash or how late I would get home. I was prepared for any circumstance.
Today as I was hiking it down Burnside, I looked in my bag and realized that for the past 10 days or so, I've been carrying an oversized bag stuffed with a change of clothes, cosmetics and toiletries, and a phone charger.
I've been quite transient this summer.
Today I took the bus out to Beaverton. On the way, the driver ignored my bell pull and didn't let me off before the bus headed in the opposite direction of where I was going.
"Oh, sorry about that. I forgot you needed the stop. Just cut through this park area, short walk and you can catch another bus to Cedar Hills."
Oh, well thank you sir. And hey, thanks for mentioning the small fence I had to straddle and do my normal graceful damage by ripping a hole in the crotch of my pants. Like a big hole. Like a huge fatty tear in the crotch.
This led to me making an emergency purchase at Ross of a new pair of pants and to me adding another article of clothing to my bag. Of course I was in a hurry so of course I bought a pair of pants that I will probably never wear again. But at least my hoo-haw was covered.
I spent the rest of the evening out in West Linn with LM, KB and other bridesmaids. We made a huge dent in the wedding invitations and talked about our dresses and other wedding details. Three more months to go.
Plus some delish dinner, drinks, 80's music, and two really super adorable dogs.
The best part, getting home at a fairly decent hour (midnight) and getting some actual pajamas on and (in moments) going to bed in my own bed.
What more could an almost 30-year old girl ask for?
Monday, July 12, 2010
Wherein Bry has a conversation with herself.
Hello, how are you today?
I'm well. Just getting off work and heading for home.
Oh? And how was work?
It was okay. I've never closed on a Monday before. I am usually working on Tuesdays at 6am but not this week.
Why not? That seems strange?
I'm not sure. Well I guess there was a meeting or something and they had to change my schedule. So no 6am this week!
That must be a nice feeling. What will you do instead?
Oh, probably sleep in. Then get up around nooner. Take the uni out for a ride.
The uni? Do you ride a unicycle?
Oh, no. I just got a unicorn. Didn't I tell you?
A unicorn! Are you serious? Where did you find a unicorn?
Well last week I was walking near a field in Tigard and I saw one eating some flowers.
Oh my gosh. That is amazing. I don't think I've ever seen a unicorn before. How did you catch it?
It was really quite easy. I just walked right up to it and said "Hey little buddy! I want to be your friend!"
That's all it took?
Well no. I also had a super special unicorn burrito.
What's in a unicorn burrito?
Some wildflowers. Stardust. Magic. And cilantro.
That is crazy! I heard the best way to catch a unicorn is to set a virgin girl in a field and then a unicorn will run to protect it and that's when you should lasso it.
Oh, you are so silly. That is an old folk tale.
Well what is your unicorn's name?
Well her real name is Dorothy. But She likes to be called Dotty. I call her polka-Dotty.
Wow! That is amazing. I am so happy you finally have a pet.
Well, she is not a pet. She is free to come and go as she pleases. Captivity would break her.
That is very kind of you. I don't think I could let one go. I would just want to hug her and pet her and show her to all my friends.
She is so sweet and gentle. I just want to keep her a secret. So shhhhh. Now. Enough about Dotty. What are you doing tomorrow?
Well I am going to see L-Word. We have some wedding business to take care of.
Oh! That sounds fun. I haven't seen L-Word in forever. I mish her so.
Me too. I'm quite excited to see her. She is the bestest. I am excited to help with wedding invites and to ask her about work and her pup.
How fun. Give her my best.
I sure will! Do you have other plans for this week?
Well I am cooking dinner for friends on Wednesday.
Oh, what are you cooking?
I think maybe an avocado shrimp salad I dreamt up. Or maybe a chicken avocado sandwich. Something like that.
That sounds delicious.
I think so. I'm more excited for hanging out with friends and relaxing. Maybe hitting the swings.
Awesome. Well I just got home. Time to go for a run before bed. You have a good night. Be careful. Sleep well.
Oh thabk you! Ditto. You are just so sweet.
I'm well. Just getting off work and heading for home.
Oh? And how was work?
It was okay. I've never closed on a Monday before. I am usually working on Tuesdays at 6am but not this week.
Why not? That seems strange?
I'm not sure. Well I guess there was a meeting or something and they had to change my schedule. So no 6am this week!
That must be a nice feeling. What will you do instead?
Oh, probably sleep in. Then get up around nooner. Take the uni out for a ride.
The uni? Do you ride a unicycle?
Oh, no. I just got a unicorn. Didn't I tell you?
A unicorn! Are you serious? Where did you find a unicorn?
Well last week I was walking near a field in Tigard and I saw one eating some flowers.
Oh my gosh. That is amazing. I don't think I've ever seen a unicorn before. How did you catch it?
It was really quite easy. I just walked right up to it and said "Hey little buddy! I want to be your friend!"
That's all it took?
Well no. I also had a super special unicorn burrito.
What's in a unicorn burrito?
Some wildflowers. Stardust. Magic. And cilantro.
That is crazy! I heard the best way to catch a unicorn is to set a virgin girl in a field and then a unicorn will run to protect it and that's when you should lasso it.
Oh, you are so silly. That is an old folk tale.
Well what is your unicorn's name?
Well her real name is Dorothy. But She likes to be called Dotty. I call her polka-Dotty.
Wow! That is amazing. I am so happy you finally have a pet.
Well, she is not a pet. She is free to come and go as she pleases. Captivity would break her.
That is very kind of you. I don't think I could let one go. I would just want to hug her and pet her and show her to all my friends.
She is so sweet and gentle. I just want to keep her a secret. So shhhhh. Now. Enough about Dotty. What are you doing tomorrow?
Well I am going to see L-Word. We have some wedding business to take care of.
Oh! That sounds fun. I haven't seen L-Word in forever. I mish her so.
Me too. I'm quite excited to see her. She is the bestest. I am excited to help with wedding invites and to ask her about work and her pup.
How fun. Give her my best.
I sure will! Do you have other plans for this week?
Well I am cooking dinner for friends on Wednesday.
Oh, what are you cooking?
I think maybe an avocado shrimp salad I dreamt up. Or maybe a chicken avocado sandwich. Something like that.
That sounds delicious.
I think so. I'm more excited for hanging out with friends and relaxing. Maybe hitting the swings.
Awesome. Well I just got home. Time to go for a run before bed. You have a good night. Be careful. Sleep well.
Oh thabk you! Ditto. You are just so sweet.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
On Wednesday I met JY for sushi and was very happy to spend some time with her. She has such a great sense of humor and as been such a good friend for so many years (10!).
After sushi, in a half-assed attempt to find some ice cream, we walked down Broadway and decided to stop into the Goodwill to find some treasures (it is a toss-up to what I laughed over most, the mini-skateboard or the book Lesbians Raising Sons).
In the midst of a very cluttered housewares row, I found 10 or so trophies, ranging from tennis to baseball to hockey, and all engraved with the names Matt Nolan or Matthew Nolan.
We speculated that Matt Nolan could be dead. Or perhaps his parents donated the items after he moved out. Or Matt had to give things away to make room for a wife, 2.5 kids and a golden retriever.
It was quite eerie to stumble across a pile of trophies that represented a good chunk of a man's lifetime. As though their existence and subsequent abandonment reflected a rejection of the man himself.
I tried to imagine Mom donating the important things from my childhood and I realized that everything I remember being important are things I still have. Some books. Pooh Bear. But mostly my family, friends, and memories.
Today was a sad day in its own way.
Dealing with a pet's death, the death of a friend's brother, a pissed off man-friend and the normal Friday work crap along with missing RF terribly, I really just did not want to be awake today. As though I could wrap an emotional coma around my shoulders like a Snuggie and come out on the other side, healed, saying "I know I was under for awhile, but I heard everything you said."
Instead, I powered through, drank a few beers, ate some hot dogs, relaxed with some friends, took a walk, had a good talk, and laughed a lot. These were the trophies of the day. The rest of it was the work, the sacrifice, the pain that was necessary to reap the rewards.
After sushi, in a half-assed attempt to find some ice cream, we walked down Broadway and decided to stop into the Goodwill to find some treasures (it is a toss-up to what I laughed over most, the mini-skateboard or the book Lesbians Raising Sons).
In the midst of a very cluttered housewares row, I found 10 or so trophies, ranging from tennis to baseball to hockey, and all engraved with the names Matt Nolan or Matthew Nolan.
We speculated that Matt Nolan could be dead. Or perhaps his parents donated the items after he moved out. Or Matt had to give things away to make room for a wife, 2.5 kids and a golden retriever.
It was quite eerie to stumble across a pile of trophies that represented a good chunk of a man's lifetime. As though their existence and subsequent abandonment reflected a rejection of the man himself.
I tried to imagine Mom donating the important things from my childhood and I realized that everything I remember being important are things I still have. Some books. Pooh Bear. But mostly my family, friends, and memories.
Today was a sad day in its own way.
Dealing with a pet's death, the death of a friend's brother, a pissed off man-friend and the normal Friday work crap along with missing RF terribly, I really just did not want to be awake today. As though I could wrap an emotional coma around my shoulders like a Snuggie and come out on the other side, healed, saying "I know I was under for awhile, but I heard everything you said."
Instead, I powered through, drank a few beers, ate some hot dogs, relaxed with some friends, took a walk, had a good talk, and laughed a lot. These were the trophies of the day. The rest of it was the work, the sacrifice, the pain that was necessary to reap the rewards.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Wherein Bry blogs in the name of friendship.
I decided I would post today. My dearest little buddy, SE, is suffering through a horrendous family vacation in San Francisco. I feel like me blogging will give her something to do when she is not looking for San Francisco treats and trying not to murder her madre.
I am the sads for her as a trip to San Franny for SE is akin to a holy pilgrimage.
It is because she is gay.
I will spell it out, and out her to my friends and family. I feel like she is okay being outed in my blog because I used her initials! You will never figure out who she is now!
Also, the two things I am about to tell you will pretty much make it obvious that SE doesn't march to the beat of the snare drum (I fee like the snare drum is the most heterosexual drum there is. Granted, I don't know much about drums or gays).
A few weeks ago I knitted SE a pretty rudimentary and yet kick-ass headband for pride. It was rainbow colored, red through blue. She said as she was leaving work, wearing it, that BP asked her if she was Rasta and she said "No, I'm gay." Hilarious!
And just last week, I made her a Glee mobile out of a hanger, some yarn, and a Glee poster. I Bry-gyvered the shit out of that thing!
So I would like to thank SE for 1) not finding my toddler-like craft endeavors completely ridiculous, and 2) helping me be more creative (one of my 30 things!).
And I hope this blog gives her respite until she finds her way back home.
Pasta Banana!
I am the sads for her as a trip to San Franny for SE is akin to a holy pilgrimage.
It is because she is gay.
I will spell it out, and out her to my friends and family. I feel like she is okay being outed in my blog because I used her initials! You will never figure out who she is now!
Also, the two things I am about to tell you will pretty much make it obvious that SE doesn't march to the beat of the snare drum (I fee like the snare drum is the most heterosexual drum there is. Granted, I don't know much about drums or gays).
A few weeks ago I knitted SE a pretty rudimentary and yet kick-ass headband for pride. It was rainbow colored, red through blue. She said as she was leaving work, wearing it, that BP asked her if she was Rasta and she said "No, I'm gay." Hilarious!
And just last week, I made her a Glee mobile out of a hanger, some yarn, and a Glee poster. I Bry-gyvered the shit out of that thing!
So I would like to thank SE for 1) not finding my toddler-like craft endeavors completely ridiculous, and 2) helping me be more creative (one of my 30 things!).
And I hope this blog gives her respite until she finds her way back home.
Pasta Banana!
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