Wherein Bry tells you what she did today.

I was on the bus and a donut hole rolled into my foot. I didn't eat it.

I was able to figure out directions by googling a burrito shop I remembered near the destination.

I asked a friend what love felt like and she said it was a rush. Like flying and feeling dizzy all at once. One time DB pushed RF and I on the merry-go-round and we got so dizzy we were literally sick for days. I wanted to throw up.

I have a very loud laugh and the older I get the less I care how obnoxious it sounds. Tonight I was laughing on the trail in Oak's Bottom and a man jogging by said "What a great laugh."

I drank a super delicious mojito and sat outside for dinner. It was a perfect summer night.

I received two pictures of children. One from Mom of the kids in Montana. One of LL, my newest nephew, a fat baby, getting a bath. Both adorable.

Tomorrow is date night. A home cooked meal and some good wine. Then back to work on Friday where I will work closing shifts both Friday and Saturday nights because that's how lucky I am. I really don't know how JG gets the impression that my schedule makes dating difficult.

Wherein Bry makes you jealous.

Oh holy night, my legs ached like no other all day Friday. I wanted to die, walking up the stairs at the train station.

but it is a good kind of hurt. The kind born of a majestic and relaxing five hours spent walking on the beach.

I do my best thinking on the beach and even though GZ was walking along chattering like a little bird, (and I was listening to her every word) I felt some clarity I have missed in my life for months now. I've always been drawn to the water. I was a little fish as a child, jumping into even the coldest of lakes. Rain or shine, I will walk for hours on the beach.

We saw a woman sitting in the sand and she looked utterly miserable and I was thinking, I'm so glad that, even at my lowest, the beach is soothing and therapeutic. I hope I am never so unhappy that I have such a dejected look on my face when it is so beautiful out.

The entire trip to the beach was awesome and, just an FYI, I'm always available for a day at the beach. Except for those pesky 40 hours a week I spend at work.

We walked from Kyllos down to Mo's and then back. After that we drove to Mo's and had lunch. Then we drove down to Newport to the Yaquina Head lighthouse and looked in the tide pools. I managed to keep from falling down despite the cobble rocks and my ridiculous sandals (Not to mention my general clumsiness that follows me everywhere). Right before we left, we saw a harbor seal pup that I'm sure GZ would have tried to steal had it not necessitated wading through some deep water. But we were close enough to watch it yawn and tumble about, trying to get comfy on the rocks.

Then we drove up to Beverly Beach, one of my favorite spots because of all the fun my family always has there.

We then walked from Beverly Beach as far south as we could until we came to the end and couldn't navigate past some steep rock and the tide. The Yaquina Head lighthouse was just off in the distance.

A very good day, indeed.

And to TN: I am aware I was at the "Coast" and that Oregonians do not call it the "Beach." In case you didn't know, I am from Montana.

Wherein Bry is posting, but not making any promises as to the readability of the post.

Thoughts I've had today.

(A bit disjointed, but a blog)

I would like a crow as a pet. I would like to put it on a leash and teach it to peck my enemies.

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Hello hotness! Sleeve tattoos? Reading The Heart is a Lonely Hunter? Swoon!

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It amazes me in this day and age that people continue to be so stubbornly close minded about love and marriage. My experiences and observations of LM planning her wedding have been eye opening.

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Most of the time, customers make a junky mood worse. But tonight, I was actually cheered up by several customers who were funny and smart. They made me laugh and had some great recommendations about books.

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I am not really surprised, not necessarily displeased, but really not surprised to know that people at work are talking about me. The phrase "behind my back" implies in a negative way, and who knows, maybe it was, but either way, people know about my dates and I did not share that information with many people. I am trying to imagine it coming up in conversation. Nothing is ever a secret at work, something I learned months ago, in such a disappointing way, that I have worked very hard to remain discreet and trustworthy.

So while I have no issues with people at work knowing, especially JO, it serves as a gentle reminder to keep my bits, literally and metaphorically, covered up.

What strikes me about the idea of people talking about me is my own insecurity that my own friends and coworkers find me as undateable as I sometimes feel. So me hearing someone say "You went on a date?" Instantly leads to me attempting to parse the tone and emphasis on each syllable to decide if there is judgment, surprise or disbelief.

Unrelated to tonights date discussion, there is nothing worse than being betrayed by a friend and it is not a feeling I ever hope to repeat.

Wherein Bry should not blog late at night.

At some point, this work day got away from me. One moment I was getting coffee at work, talking to the cafe girls, and clocking in. And then the next moment I was setting the alarm and locking the door.

My question to the public is two-fold. 1) What the hell is wrong with you? And 2) If there is legitimately something wrong with you, shouldn't you be somewhere on heavy medication and not reigning terror on poor nerdy, bookish, snuggie-wearing, spinster, booksellers? (Okay, I realize I could have just said "reigning terror on me?" As the nerdy, bookish, spinster, snuggie stuff is just assumed).

It was a very busy Tuesday night. At one point, as a woman was telling me she just drove "All the way from Portland" to get a bargain book for $5.99, that she was going to use a coupon to purchase, and was very angry the book was not being held for her, I almost reached across the counter and grabbed her by the lapel and said "Listen up lady, I'm only going to say this once. It's a fucking book. Pull your head out of your stuck-up ass and realize that the world is not going to stop spinning because you couldn't get a Wee Sing the Alphabet book for less than it cost you to drive here. And news flash, this is southwest Portland. you are not in the bowels of the earth." Instead I said, "Do you want a bag? Well have a nice day!"

And while I'm asking questions of the universe, how is it already June 16? My birthday is in 3 months! One day you're a toddler, farting in the sandbox, and the next you are 30.

When I see children being little jerks, I want to say "Listen Kid, you and me need to have a little talk. I realize you are totally in a moment here where you can't see past your next bowl of mac 'n cheese, but one day you are going to wake up and you are going to regret not being a better person."

I'm pretty sure that moment is coming in 3 months for me.

I also think it is better that I keep all my thoughts to myself.

Wherein Bry has a tissy fit. Sort of.

I will admit that I am very competitive. From a very early age, I liked to play cards and board games. And from a very early age my brothers refused to play with me.

"You are a pack rat," they would say, referring to my strategy of literally holding my cards close to my vest and being secretive about what exactly I was plotting.

One moment it was all roses, fun, fun, fun.

And then BAZOOMBA!

"Gin."

BAZOOMBA!

" Four of a kind."

BAZOOMBA!

"I want two hotels and four houses."

This competitiveness has not gone away. GZ can vouch for that as she almost lost an eye one evening during a few rounds of cards.

Over the years, I've learned to handle it. I've learned to mask it. I've learned to not play games.

It turns out, you can lose at knitting, too.

On Friday, GZ and I decided to finally start knitting our hat that we have been talking about for 1000 years. Because we are both dumb at reading knitting "recipes," we enlisted BA to assist. And SE came along to supervise.

All was fine at first. We were happily knitting and purling and increasing and drinking coffee and laughing and joking and mocking.

Then I realized I had pulled the stitch under the row, leaving a hole similar to a drop stitch, but by continuing to knit a few more rows without actually dropping a stitch, there was an inch long hole in the hat. BA tried to fix it by unknitting but the damage was too great.

At the moment we declared the project inoperable, a weight settled on my chest and panic set in as if I had lost the big race; climbed half way up the mountain and broke a leg; failed my final exams all in one moment of epic self-destruction.

Yes, over a knitting project.

I actually excused myself from the table and went to the bathroom to tell myself to my face in the mirror, "You are being unreasonable."

Then I went back to the table and pouted and pulled the project apart.

First, GZ is sitting there happily knitting along. Second, I was running on three hours of sleep and up since 3am. Third, I really hate it when I fail.

After we left, I felt really bad that GZ now had to deal with me being such a tool, but she did an admiral job of cheering me up in the car and by the time I arrived at work the next afternoon, I had started over and caught back up to GZ so that BA can help us with the rest of it today.

I would like to say I learned something from this, but I already know this is a quirk in my personality that I secretly like to think is kind of endearing, but know is really annoying.

Wherein Bry takes the high road. Sort of.

As far as blogging goes, I try not to write anything unflattering about the people in my life. It is not fair to fillet someone in a semi-public setting where your words can be taken out of context, viewed as one-sided, or simply indefensible. Aside from some pretty hilarious text messages and the occasional full reveal of drunken revelry, I like to keep my friends on my side and not alienate them with a blog addressing the ways in which they have wronged me, embarrassed themselves, or just really fucked up (or been fucked over).

The use of initials provides an illusion of anonymity but the relative smallness of my intimate circle makes it easy to crack the code.

I've gone on a few dates recently and I've decided not to write about it here. First, I am no Carrie Bradshaw. Second, nothing exciting has happened thus far, but I feel like I value my long term privacy over my short term need for amusement. For these reasons and more, I will probably only mention the dates in context of my continued decline into spinsterhood or as an attempt to be honest and truthful about my continuing project of real maturity.

I fell like I can be fairly honest about my positive and negative attributes. I know I am not pretty, I'm not skinny, I don't have a particularly wonderful personality. But I am nice. I am smart and I am funny. I feel like these things have gotten me pretty far in life.

When I feel like these attributes are overlooked, I start to wonder if I am wasting my time and inevitably seek the easiest way out, the quickest excuse to show myself to the door.

Last night I decided that the person I was sitting across from was probably making some adjustments of their own in their attitudes towards dating and how I fit into their ideal (or not) and whether I am worth the adjustments necessary.

To know me is to appreciate me. But to get to know me takes a lot patience. And alcohol. I'm probably best dealt with under the influence. I can either enhance the high or sober you up.

Aside from all of this, dating is hard and if I can't even work up the energy to make a delicious salad, how am I supposed to work up the energy to put some effort into being normal enough to go on a date.

Wherein Bry takes requests.

Back in the year 2000, I took a Public Speaking class in college. It was the easiest class I ever took and therefore, the easiest A I received.

Confession: I was on the speech and debate team in high school and while I was fairly decent, I was by no means Lincoln or Douglas. Boom! (That was a nerdy joke referencing the debates between Stephen Douglas and Abe Lincoln back in the day. Their style of debate is the model today. Oh Jesus, now I'm off on a tangent. It should also be no surprise that I was also in Model-UN.)

Because of my previous speech experience, I had no problem getting up in front of a crowd, let alone a classroom of slackers seeking an easy way to earn their communication credits to fulfill their core class requirements.

In our first assignment, we were randomly assigned to a partner and had to interview them and then use that to write a short speech to introduce them to the class. Because Luck, Fate, and Destiny are the three dirtiest bitches I know and always stab me in the back, I was partnered with Claus, a foreign exchange student. (A guy that RO was convinced looked exactly like Ryan Phillipe but really looked like Hugh Grant's gross roommate in Notting Hill. RO needed glasses).

I do not remember the entire details of the interview but I do remember saying that I ate Ramen Noodles for lunch in response to what food I ate the most. In retrospect, I think he was asking me what my favorite food was but because I could barely understand him, I inadvertently led him to believe that because I, a poor college student, ate Ramen for lunch, it was therefore my favorite food. In reality, I've never met a burrito I didn't want to marry.

Due to my poor hearing, his thick Swedish accent and his horrible public speaking skills (I am convinced that his super tight leather pants also cut off oxygen to his brain, leading to difficulty remembering that a string of words makes up a sentence and that sentences of like type make paragraphs and that you should use transitory statements to string the paragraphs together) it was pretty much the worst speech ever.

This is what it sounded like "Mumble mumble mumble mumble mumble Bry's favorite food is Ramen Noodles mumble mumble mumble."

I was slightly embarrassed. But not really. I do like Ramen Noodles. This is not the most blush worthy moment that occurred in that class. No, that is reserved for the day after a fraternity party in which, while dancing on the Delta stage, RO (of the poor eyesight) reached behind me and KT (now KM) and grabbed MY's ass so that when MY turned around, he sees me and KT standing there and assumes it was one of us. The next speech class, MY does an exaggerated stretch- yawn and turns around to look at KT and I who are sitting right behind him and then he winked at us as if to say "Take it all in, ladies. I am hot. I am sitting right here. Feel free to look at my ass."

Look at that, another tangent.

Taking that class reminded me that despite my fearless ability to address a crowd, public speaking is not a natural talent.

It also pointed out the ridiculous idea that spouting off facts about someone in some sort of rudimentary speech assignment constitutes an introduction.

Introductions in a social setting are no better. Telling people about the tangible characteristics of a person discount the less-tangible aspects, which are usually more important.

For example, I could tell you about my friend GS's jobs, at the book store, the scuba store, and the boat store. I could tell you about her hobbies, such as diving, motorcycling, kayaking.

But those are not the things that make her a great person and friend. They do not encompass her sense of humor, her great listening skills, and her empathy for her emotionally stunted friend (that would be me).

If I had to go back to 2000, I would do a lot of things differently. First, I would tell Claus that I love burritos, and for the love of God, don't ever wear leather pants again. Second, I would tell MY that I did not touch his ass and that I was going to spend the rest of the semester making fun of him for thinking that I did.

And I wish I had the lady balls to say this:

Ten years from now you won't remember any of the banal facts I could recite about Claus. You won't remember any of the facts we learned about each other today. Ten years from now you will realize that a persons interests, hobbies favorite foods, colors, and movies mean nothing. The important things that make us special and lovable are the things that can't be measured. You will learn that the best friends are the ones that don't judge you, that like you despite your love of your Snuggie. The best friends are the ones that think your quirks are what make you perfect. Those are the people you will surround yourself with.

Wherein Bry wants a salad.

I am currently at Zao waiting for my cilantro beef salad to be delivered to my table (and then via fork to my belly).

I love salad and I want to eat it everyday. I just don't want to make it myself. I'm too lazy. In a perfect world, I would live in Whole Foods and whenever I got hungry, I would mosey on over to the salad bar and make a salad. A delicious salad made of whatever I am craving that day and all in the comfort of my Snuggie.

Restaurant salads are not cheap. This is why I can't buy one for every meal. So the combination of laziness, cheapness and indecision keeps me from enjoying salad on a daily basis.

Now at this point you are probably shaking your head and thinking "God, Bry is annoying."

But doing stuff is hard. Like really, really hard. And it cuts into sleeping and reading, which is not hard.