Wherein Bry is a little grossed out, and other things.

I don't understand teenage boys. I didn't understand them when I was a teenager, and I do not understand them now.

When they come into the store, with their shaggy hair and saggy jeans, and proceed to wander around in a surly, belching, swearing, cloud of Axe body spray, I pretty much want to kill them.

And now I am beyond words. I just read an article in the news about "sack tapping," a game played across this great nation by teen boys. A game with consequences leading to pretty much the worst surgery a male can imagine.

Apparently it is great fun for boys to punch each other in the balls, tap the sacks, as they say. But the tapping is going too far, getting out of hand. And it is causing damage to testicles, leading to surgery to remove damaged balls.

(At this point, I hope you are pausing to ask yourselves, is Bry really blogging about sack tapping? And the answer is yes. The reasons are threefold. 1) I wanted you to be as grossed out as I am. B) I wanted to make some commentary about this being "news." And, finally, I am wondering about the legalities of sack tapping the next kid to run up the escalator the wrong way.)

And to leave you on a slightly less disgusting note, here is a story about my brothers and something they did as teenagers.

One night, as was fairly normal, MH and JH went camping with their regular group of guy friends. They got drunk and decided "I Love You, Man!" and decided to cement these feelings by branding each other. They used a hanger to form an infinity sign and heated it in the campfire, then pressed the brand to their biceps, much like you would do to brand a cow.

My mom saw MH's brand and he said he accidentally burned himself. Fast forward a few days to when MH was in his basketball uniform (no sleeves) and my mom realizes that JS (also in uniform) had the same accidental burn in the same spot. I didn't say anything, as with most of their schemes that I knew about ahead of time, I knew it was best to keep my mouth shut.


But I now have a response, 12 years later.

"Well Mom, at least they didn't punch each other in the balls."

Wherein Bry is mean to someone else.

People who introduce themselves to me at the bus stop (or on the bus) scare me. Even the sane ones. At first I thought it was kind of awesome, ballsy, and perhaps a sign of high self-esteem.

"Hi stranger. I don't know you, but I'm pretty amazing and think you will like me."

But I have quickly come to the conclusion that only the lonely and super-religious talk to strangers at the bus stop.

"Hi stranger. I get absolutely no attention from anyone at home so even though you are clearly reading a book, listening to your I-pod AND texting someone on your phone, I really need you to pay attention to me and make me feel like you think I'm hot/nice/interesting."

This morning I was minding my own business when a man introduced himself and invited me to church. I politely nodded and went back to reading. "Do you know Jesus as your savior?" Then he said "God wants to take you in his loving arms..." At this point I gave a weak smile and a raised eyebrow which got him to walk away.

I thing religion is a private thing and I certainly do not want to talk about cuddling with God at the bus stop.

(A blog within the blog: Dear Mom, Please don't write me an email about being disappointed in me for not taking pride in my religious fervor or one in which you imply that God/you/your grandmother is disappointed in me. I love you the mostest! Heart, Bry)

I like to pretend I am anonymous while commuting. It is bad enough I have to smell the farts of strangers, but to be subjected to an hour of talking to a complete stranger on where they found the best deal on their winter jacket is just about more than I can handle.

Wherein Bry is the walking dead.

I can always tell how tired I am by how long it takes me to walk home and tonight it was slow going.

This was my caffeine intake for the day.

5:00am: 4 shots of espresso over ice.

9:30am: Iced coffee, no cream

10:30am: Can of Coke

1:30pm: Medium hot coffee

8:00pm: 4 cups of coffee

And yet I can barely keep my eyes open!

I got up at 3:30am and did the normal Tuesday routine of working 6am to 3pm. Then headed to JBC to hang with friends and celebrate LM's promotion.

Just made it home where the point of this blog was to say something funny about boxes, sexting and Jolt soda, but quite frankly, I don't remember now why I thought it was all funny. I will have to review my text messages tomorrow.

(I really hope my proclivity for sharing my texts won't keep you from sending them.)

Wherein Bry misses Romie.

Today is a Sunday and in the Sundays of yore, today would be a day that I traditionally awoke mid-morning, hoed it up and hauled my junky face downtown to meet RF and AA for some dim sum after they finished with tennis.

We would bitch about all the tranny messes they encountered at tennis and be mean to each other as we ate food that I couldn't name, and couldn't identify, but tasted delicious.

Then we would find the closest pastry shop (no I-phone app needed, RF has a pastry GPS chip in his head). After that we might see a movie, walk around or hang out at someone's house.

Those were the days.

Now I'm on my way to work. I didn't eat breakfast, let alone some tasty Asian cart buffet. And I am the tranny mess.

What I miss most about RF is the ability to sit in companionable silence and then suddenly ask a question that seems to be the middle of a conversation and he responds and knows exactly what am I talking about.

Le sigh.

I will leave you now with some text messages we just exchanged.


Me: Who is playing?
RF:Venus. She has a cute dress on. Lacey with a flesh tone panty. It looks like she's underwearless.
Me: Oh how I love you.



RF: What would you rather see, Robin hood or Iron man?
Me: Iron Man
RF: Did you see robin hood?
Me: No. But I hate russell crowe.
RF: Because of the phone thing?
Me: No. Cuz he is an ass and his head is too big. Like he literally has a huge head. That scares me.

Wherein Bry talks about hubcaps.

This morning, at the ball-breaking time of 4:30am, I was walking to the streetcar, when what should I spy with my little eye but a hubcap on the sidewalk.

Which made me think of my favorite hubcap story which involves TN (how could it not?).

Yes, I have a favorite hubcap story. Really, I only have two and one of them involves stealing the lugnut cap off the Less Than Jake tour bus (don't ask me why, I don't particularly love Less Than Jake, though I have seen them play on three separate occasions, one of which was in Missoula, MT of all places).

So way back in the day (2000 or 2001), TN comes into the ASLC offices with this hubcap. While he was walking to the office, a car made a wonky turn and the hubcap went rolling off the car. TN brings it upstairs and mounts it on the wall. Eventually, he adds pencils to serve as the "hands" of a clock. It really classed up the joint.

A day or so later, we see a posting on Student News from a girl who lost her hubcap. No way are we telling her we have it, it is now an important part of the decor.

Fast-forward a few days (or weeks), we learn from SJ that she has some meeting for the multi-cultural committee with the head of the Black Student Union, who just so happens to be the owner of the hubcap.

I was sitting at my desk during the meeting, trying to keep a straight face and also kind of worried this girl is going to freak out when she sees her hubcap hanging on the wall.

But she doesn't. Perhaps she is just too enthralled with what SJ is saying (mmmmmm, probably not) or just not observant (I mean, it was probably unrecognizable what with the pencils taped to the front).

We decided that if she can't even notice it is hanging on the wall, then we get to keep it.

TN was always up to something in that office. I kind of miss those days. I'm pretty sure I spent 60% of my time up there.

We used to love getting dinner from Sandwich Express right before Senate on Monday nights. We would call in the order and then make someone go pick it up. For awhile, every time we called, TN would ask, Do you deliver? The answer was always no. Then one day we find out they started delivering. Persistence pays off!

Yeah, the delivering lasted like two weeks until they figured out three jackasses over on the college campus were probably the only yahoos in McMinnville, Oregon wanting delivery.

TN was a senior that year and it really was my favorite year of student government.

After that, the most excitement I had was staying up all night writing papers and then sleeping for an hour on the couch before going to class to turn it in.

Wherein Bry sweats because she's oldie.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, sweating. I'll get to that in a second.

As I am sitting on the living room floor, recovering from a run, I happen to look over and see that ES has Seaquest DSV on DVD. O-M-Geek.

I have a well documented dislike of science-fiction, fantasy, the future, and made up shit. But I absolutely have a love of hot men. And Jonathan Brandis was delicious. I'm saying that in the past tense because I'm pretty sure he is dead.

I don't even remember what the show was about and I'm pretty sure I probably didn't understand it at the time. But I never missed an episode. I would read a book in between his scenes, my finger holding my place on the page when it was time to lift my face to the TV to catch a glimpse.

Anyways, back to sweating. I went on a run tonight and it was awesome. Full disclosure, I haven't gone since I moved so I was really worried that I would have to start again with my regime. And while it was not all smooth sailing, I feel good about getting back into it. Especially since I ran on the treadmill almost exclusively before moving and am now running the streets of NE.

Truth be told, BA (or B-Tay as she is now known) inspired me with all her talk about half-marathons. So a few hours after returning from our lady sesh, I pulled on my Addidas and went for a run. This neighborhood is quite safe, quiet, and very pretty, so unlike running in Tualatin, I'm not worried about getting run over.

On a walk a few nights ago, I noticed how many swings hang near the sidewalks of this neighborhood. Tonight I almost killed myself when I came around a corner and ran straight into one. Cursing the children and their indulgent parents, I recovered enough to keep from falling off the sidewalk.

But now I am back home waiting for Chelsea Lately to come on so that I can go to bed. So that tomorrow I can get up and unpack and then go to the yarn store and act as SE's wing-lady.

Wherein Bry plots her first novel.

It is no secret that I one day hope to publish a book. Lord knows my dear little, junky, yard-sale-reject typewriter is dubious that I will succeed, but it is a work in progress.

The first book I ever tried to write was a romance novel. I was about 13 and I was spending the weekend in the bustling metropolis of Missoula, MT with AG. In between trips to Ole's, McCormick Park, hands of Rummy, and dance parties, our favorite past-time was reading super-trashy romance serials.
The kinds with titles like Tempted by the Titan Tycoon and The Russian Prince's Prize.

I really wish I had saved the story, which could not have been more than 5 pages. I don't remember much but I do remember one line (I am paraphrasing, I don't want to get James Frey-ed later in life). "He was such a stud."

Clearly, this is the writing of a future, successful, Pulitzer-Prize winning author.

While conversing with a coworker, today we decided these romance novels are more the work of a template where you put in words like a Mad-lib. "There is a Thesaurus for the different words used to describe your nethers," I said.

Then my coworker said something about "touching in the swimsuit place" and I completely lost it. I'm pretty sure small children cried and birds flew enmasse from their perches, miles away, scarred by the cackling.

Wherein Bry is on the case.

This morning, before getting out of bed, while contemplating how to recover from all of the stupid things I did on Thursday night, I was able to solve a mystery.

This is a little more Sylvia Browne than Agatha Christie. Nevertheless, Bry-lock Holmes has another successful case under her belt (or is that under her Snuggie?).

Over the past few days, during two nights of sleep and one nap, knocking on doors has played a major theme in my dreams. The first time I dreamt a friend came over and knocked on the door and I couldn't find the door so I kept opening all the windows.

The next dream happened yesterday morning while I was trying to take a disco nap between when I arrived home at 7:45am and had to leave for work at 10am. (As a side note, nothing scandalous kept me out so late, unless you count seeing one of your gay boyfriends in his underwear. Yikes). This time, I was on a walk and I felt like someone was chasing me so I kept running up to all the houses and knocking on the doors but no one answered.

And for our third piece of evidence, this morning I woke up at 6am and then fell back asleep. During the second sleep, I had a lucid wake-dream that involved me hearing someone knock on the door and I would say "Come in" but no one would enter. So I would say it again and still nothing. But I was too paralyzed or frozen to get up and answer the door.

After waking from this dream, while I was laying there contemplating life, I realized that my bedroom door makes a knocking noise all on its own. More like a hollow rattle. It is latched and closed, but anytime someone walks by the door, you hear a faint knocking as the vibration and air cause the door to rattle. This also happens when the upstairs neighbors thump around (not that they are thumping excessively, it is just an old house).

All of my knocking dreams occur when I am in the last stages of sleep so my conclusion is that the knocking enters my fragile psyche when the door is rattling and then figures prominently in my dreams.

Of course, there is the possibility that I am losing my damned mind. But that is a blog for another day.

Wherein Bry discusses what she learned this week.

1) A few new dealbreakers: they don't laugh at my jokes, they share a name with a sibling or close friend.

2) I'm obsessed with daily walks. This neighborhood is ridiculous. I have yet to find a bad route. Well, don't walk down NE Tillamook at 2:45pm, when all the kids get out of high school. It's like running a marathon through the halls of a high school and all the girls have their periods.

3) I have surrounded myself with a wild pack of crazy friends who, for whatever reason, think I am awesome. Some of these friends I have known for ten years, others mere months. And they all laugh at my jokes.

4) Lavender ice cream is disgusting. There is nothing gourmet about it. I'm pretty sure it is frozen lotion with a bit of sugar.

Wherein Bry's guts hate her.

What an emotional week and it is only Wednesday. I feel like pulling my Snuggie over my head to hibernate until everyone forgets everything. And then I will emerge from my blue, fuzzy cocoon a brand new Bry. (My poor Snuggie is having a bad week as well. Yesterday I declared I will marry in it, be buried in it and, just now, hide in it. I think it wants a divorce. But we are in a Catholic marriage. It's for life, baby).

A few days ago I was amazed to realize I have slept exceptionally well, not waking at night, for almost two weeks. No tossing and turning, no crazy Bry sleep walking (I kind of miss waking up in the living room and not know how I got there).

Damn me for not knocking on wood. Last night was the worst night in a long time. I finally fell asleep at 5am.

This morning I woke up and it felt like I did 1000 sit-ups. My stomach is in such knots. And while I know I talk in my sleep (AL said he once woke up and I was laying there talking and he looked over my shoulder to see if I was on the phone and was startled to see that the only thing near my hand was Pooh Bear. He swore I was on the phone with someone), sleep walking (I once woke up outside of my house in my pajamas, standing in the grass at 3am), but I don't like to exercise (clearly) when I'm awake so no way could I do it in the middle of the night. Not even if I had a dream about Jillian Michaels (wait, that is SE's dream).

No, I know exactly why my guts feel like they are in a big knot. I did this to my self. I once read that humans are the only mammals that willingly participate in self-sabatoge (often leading to death). That always struck me on an emotional front because I do have a problem dealing with complex emotions.

It seems like every emotion I have felt this week as been complex and I don't like it.

I have a lot of things to fix and I can't do it on my own. I've never been mechanically inclined. I do not like to take things apart and put them back together. I never use all the parts they send for IKEA furniture, and some how I do not think they send extras.

Last night I went to the park and was on the swings, my feet were pumping and at the very top of my incline, right before falling into the backwards swing, I felt so powerful for just that brief moment. I felt weightless and strong. Falling backwards is my least favorite part. I can't see what's behind me and it feels so sudden, but it is necessary so that I can reach that pinnacle again, and stare directly into the sky so that everything feels perfect.

Wherein Bry discusses disturbing things.

Yesterday at work we were talking about secret babies, as in celebrities who suddenly said, oh BTW, we had a baby.

Like Sandra Bullock and that dude who played Denny on Grey's Anatomy. The one that looks like an older, fatter, stoned Javier Bardem.

And I realized, that where my family is concerned, I could have a secret baby. There are times when I go 12+ months without seeing my parents and siblings.

"Hey, great to see you! I can't believe its been nine months. Let me bring in my luggage. Oh, that crying? That's my baby. Yeah. I had him/her a month ago."

Disclaimer: I would never do this. I'm many things, lots of them unflattering, but I am not an asshole. Although, I'm pretty sure my Mom would say "Let me hold my grandbabby" and forget about where he/she came from.

Speaking of things that are percolating just below the skin, I realized that I need to add a spinster-ish card game to my old lady skills (I got skills, they're multiplying, and I'm growing older. The power they're supplying, it's spinster-fying!).

I need someone to volunteer to teach me bridge, cribbage, or pinochle. I need to be well-rounded in my old age.

I started taking the one-a-day vitamin that Mom, I mean Santa, put in my Christmas stocking (Thanks for contributing to my delinquency Mom). And my tea intake has increased.

Now I just need a rocking chair and a heating pad.

With a little work, I can have it all.

Where in Bry meets a new breed.

Tonight I had my second encounter with a man I like to call Hot Business Groupie due to his frequenting of the business/leadership section. He is adorable and earnest and polite. He also has a grand love for John C. Maxwell, the businessman/writer/motivational speaker/minister who has published 1/3 of the books we carry (1/3 of the store is stocked with James Patterson, 1/3 John C. Maxwell and 1/3 everyone else).

The first time we met, Hot Business Groupie showed me his autographed copy of a Maxwell book and told me he met Maxwell and was struck speechless. Then tonight he asked for more help and I found another Maxwell book and we chatted some more about business books. I'm pretty sure Maxwell is on his laminated list of "Famous People I'd Like to Bone."

After I exhausted my knowledge of business books, there was a slight awkward pause. I wanted to say "Can we talk about burritos and Justin Timberlake now?"

But I was afraid he would say, to borrow a phrase from Canadian-country-legend Shania Twain, "That don't impress me much."

And I am learning you should never underestimate the words of Canadian ladies.

So instead I bid him a polite adieu and ran away.

Wherein Bry talks about her Mama.

My Mom is now, and always has been, an amazing woman. If I end up half as awesome as her, I will be quite all right in this big bad world.

Not many ladies could raise three hellions such as JH, MH and myself without needing (and seeking) extensive therapy. But she did it with kindness, love, support and, surprisingly, without using the back of her hand to slap the smirky sass out of us.

Growing up, we spent many a Mother's Day going to Earth and Wood to pick out a tree and then planted the tree in the yard in celebration of the day. Sometimes we had BBQs, sometimes just cake. But no matter what, it was never enough to express the gratitude I now feel for having such a mother.

It has been many years since I was able to spend a Sunday in May with her, and this year is no different. Many of the readers of this blog have never met my mom so I figure I should share a few things.

My mom sacrificed a lot to make sure we had every opportunity and her biggest sacrifice, where I am concerned, is the amount of money she spent making sure I made it through college. A debt she is still paying today. Aside from the monetary obligation of sending me to college, I know she suffered an emotional toll in seeing me so far away. Mom has always felt the same emotions as her children, but tenfold. When we are happy, she is happy. When we are sad and hurt, she would gladly take those pains upon herself. But I don't think many are aware of my own mom's educational successes.

When she was in her 30s, with no money and three children, Mom put herself through college and earned a 4.0, graduating with a nursing degree. She was in a strenuous program but still managed to come to our school events and make us dinner. Just last year, she told me that she would stay up until 4am studying. I am very proud of her and she is one of the best nurses in Montana, even winning a Montana Healthcare Association Nurse of the Year award.

When we were kids, a big treat was going to the Ole's to get a soda and 3 hot dogs for $1. And then to the river for swimming, though it had to be boring for Mom who didn't swim in the river because "fish poop in there."

When we were older, Mom gave us a lot of latitude in our curfews and was pretty lenient on most things. "I'm going to town," we would yell as we slammed the back door. "Wear your seat belt!" she would yell back. One rainy night, as I laced up my shoes, I said "I'm going to get the mail." She yelled back, "Wear you seatbelt!"

"I'm walking!"

"Well then don't fall down!"

My mom instilled a great love of the outdoors. We hiked and camped year round. She loves the birds that come into the yard and has many bird feeders. Always on the lookout for wildlife, Mom drives through the refuge on an almost daily basis. I love when she tells me about the growth of the birds and deer that she watches grow through the seasons.

She constantly took in strays, both animals and humans, and mothered more children than just my brothers and I. There were always extra mouths to feed, even when she couldn't afford to feed the three she was required to feed. But she never complained and always welcomed each person with the same warmth and compassion as family. She even bribed MD to finish high school by promising cash if he graduated.

I am glad to call her Mom, Mama, Momzy, Mom-a-roo any day of the year.

Wherein Bry tells the tale of two terribly twisted troglodytes.

About three weeks ago now, a creepy man started coming into the store. At first he was annoying in his habit of showing up right before close and ordering food and drink and then proceeding to ask a lot of questions and/or mimicing everything you said.

As time progressed, he stared asking customers for money and to borrow their cell phones. Eventually, there were two separate occasions involving him yelling at an employee after they asked him to leave. Or after they asked him not to use the store phone. Security became involved and eventually he was trespassed from the mall property.

We did learn that he was wanted in Washington for assault charges stemming from bizarre behavior where he would ask high school athletes to give him piggyback rides.

Very creepy. He continued this behavior in Oregon as there were several days of news reports warning Oregon schools to be on the lookout for this man.

Then he was arrested on old drug charges (though he has since posted bail).

If you are interested, just Google "oregon piggyback suspect" and a slew of stories are listed, even national news centers reported.

One such site said he had a "piggyback fetish."

Clearly, this is probably the case. It is disturbing to think that at any moment he could have jumped on the back of a customer or employee, demanding a piggyback ride.

This is not my first workplace related fetish issue. When I used to do customer service for *Nike*, a man would call several times a day, at all times, asking you to describe a pair of black running shorts. He wanted to hear about the fabric. I will spare you the details, but essentially he enjoyed pleasuring himself while you described the shorts.

Hand to God.

Wherein Bry says more.

I just read my last post and realized I left out all the funny stuff. About how I think I look like too much of a hobo. And how a dog almost bit me and about the crazy lady who yelled at the barista because she made her drink wrong until the girl showed her a chart documenting how much foam goes in a cappuccino.

I am afraid I am becoming sentimental in my old age.

Hand to God.

Where in Bry is very fond of walking.

Went for a stroll around the new neighborhood today. I walked from NE 33rd and Broadway up to NE Fremont and then down to NE 23rd before crossing back to NE Broadway and then down to NE 10th. I was contemplating walking home but decided to take the bus back up to NE 42nd to Trader Joe's before walking back to NE 33rd.

The houses in the Irvington area are even more ridiculous than the ones in the Hollywood area. Huge. I saw a few with signs saying they were on the historic house registry.

It is much easier to get around the NE side because, as MY pointed out, the streets are on a grid system.

It was nice outside and the flowers and trees are in bloom. I enjoy walking no matter the weather, but a pleasant view makes for a better jaunt. At one point, from the top of the hill at Fremont and 33rd, I could look back down on the area and see a very pretty neighborhood which is an improvement over looking on a very busy freeway.

I wish I knew someone as fond of walking around for no other reason than to be on a walk. Most people I engage with only walk because they could not find a closer parking spot or because they have to water the dog.

AG and I used to take late night walks in Montana. We would walk down the drive, down Hoover, west on Dry Gulch Rd and then up Greyhorse to Ridge Rd which would connect back to Hoover and to home. It was very rare for a car to pass so late at night so it would just be us and the stars and our girlish talk about boys.

Walks are always nicer with a dog. Hannah would accompany me on many though I could always tell it was more of a chore for her. She was pretty old when she chose me as her girl. I could tell she only walked with me because she couldn't trust me out of her sight.

Fatty, on the other hand, could not stand being left home alone. She was highly insulted if you came home smelling like fresh air, with pink cheeks and an air of relaxation. And truthfully, she went every where I did but for school. She had to be leashed when walking near major roads because she would chase everything. After I went to college, mom and BN taught Fatty to mind and she could walk with you on the road with no leash and no attempts to chase cars. Well, they like to say she was trained. I choose to believe she got fat and lazy.

Wherein Bry moves...on with life.

Tonight I was reading some junky celebrity story about some doctor or another who is claiming he had a gay love affair with Michael Jackson. I am clearly too lazy to figure out the whole story but reading this made me sort of wish, for about three seconds, that I could live in Hollywood. But only because of the possibilities for making money off selling stories to the tabloids. Though I do not think "Book-ish Nerd Reads At Table Next To (Insert Famous Person)" will make for a great article. I have a tendency to see things and think "I can do that!"

This is similar to the time I read a job posting seeking a fluent French-speaker and thought to my self "I wonder if I can fake fluency? How hard can it be to speak French?" Turns out, pretty hard.

I can't afford Rosetta Stone French and I hate hot weather so I guess I will try to stick it out as a bookseller in Portland, Oregon.

Work was work tonight but three things happened within the space of ten minutes that made me laugh. First a girl asked me for "that one book, Jane Ire." Then a woman asked me where the Theology was but she pronounced it thull-ull-uhgee. And then a man asked if the Navy books were "upstairs next to the kiddies." To which I thought, "Yikes! Don't say kiddie. Only registered sex offenders say kiddie."