My GPS is my enemy, my dog is a foodie, and other tales of woe.

I've become increasingly concerned the GPS on my cell phone is in cahoots with the oil companies. Perhaps Mr. Cell Phone is more concerned with storing my pictures of Mondo, arbitrarily draining my battery, and spell-checking my Scrabble words than it is with assisting me with arriving safely and quickly at my destination.

Up until now, my GPS has been tasked with locating bars and always knowing the address and directions to my rental property's office so I can pay the rent. The office is in a weird little pocket of Southeast Portland that, from what I can tell, is populated by burrito joints and meth houses.  If I don't ask for help, I get lost every time.

My last few searches on GPS have directed me in routes that empty my gas tank. And gas is expensive, yo!  I've taken roads that lead to no where and driven for miles only to realize I could have done a better job guessing the route. Clearly the oil companies and GPS are in cahoots.

About a week ago, Mondo had what I will refer to as the Incident. I found him seemingly non-responsive and dehydrated. Some where during the day, he apparently hurt his ribs and belly and went into shock. I immediately took him to the vet. When I jumped in the car, I searched the GPS for the address, a clinic on Woodstock.

I immediately knew my GPS was bananas. Even though I was hysterical, in what will hence forth referred to Crying Incident #1 of 2 (there will be a second one, sometime in the next 9 months. Just like the gestation of a baby, it will be a waiting game to see when Crying Incident # 2 appears) BUT! there was no way I was going to take a terrible turn to get on Powell, then to go down 82nd to Woodstock. Crying or no crying, GPS could suck it. Instead I started down Holgate to get to Woodstock, a much more direct route.

The second GPS incident occurred on Sunday night when BF and I were trying to get to JAO's Oscar party in Lake Oswego. I've been to JAO's house a few times, but I always seem to drive there from a different route. BF and I were hauling butt up the hill towards the house when we decided we were going the wrong way. I pulled over to look up the address in GPS. The directions took us in a completely different way and in fact drove us in a big loop, past the turn we should have taken, and back down the hill where we came from, only to direct us up the hill on a parallel street, again passing a place we had just been, before finally putting us on the right street. We were flabbergasted, especially since we had originally been headed in the right direction.

Yesterday, while running errands, I inexplicably had a burning desire for a Chipotle burrito. I live in a neighborhood populated by pho and dim sum joints so I knew it would be a little drive. I asked the GPS to find the nearest one and it directed me towards Clackamas. Not exactly where I wanted to go, but oh well. I drive down to Clackamas and past the address, according to GPS, without seeing Chipotle or even a shopping center. In fact, upon closer inspection, the route abruptly ended in the middle of an intersection.

Just as I was about to give up (perhaps my GPS is in cahoots with Jillian Michaels, too), I realized I knew exactly where Chipotle is. The Clackamas Town Center. Sorry  Jillian, sorry Big Oil. I ate a burrito.

Because of the aforementioned Incident, Mondo had to be on a bland diet for four days so that he could rest his belly. and to make sure he could correctly move his bowels.

Is it gross that I mentioned bowels two sentences away from burrito or just appropriate?

I fed Mondo boiled chicken and pumpkin filling for a few days. He came to love it so much that now he thinks anytime I am standing near the stove or handle pots and pans, I must be cooking for him. He is really disappointed when I empty and fill the dishwasher.

After reading a lot of articles and recipes, I've decided to feed him natural food for a while to see if that helps his digestion. He's always had a weird tummy. I think that chicken poop incident at Christmas  probably ruined him forever.  In another week, I will gradually add back dry dog food until he is just on dry food.

But for now, every time I put his bowl on the ground, and he takes an initial bite and then looks at me, I imagine he is saying "it needs more salt."

Wherein Bry is trying to grow up.

I've been slightly less hobo of late.

I have four walls.
No extended Snuggie time.
Fewer burritos.
I've stopped carrying around a large chunk of my belongings in a bag everywhere I go.
I may have expressed adult feelings in a rational manner without feeling bad about them later.

There is some growth!

Last night was gift exchange night with CJ and I have to say, I'm beyond excited about what I received. But you will have to wait and see because he is not actually giving it to me until Thursday before he leaves town.

I will be sure to give you an update.

Thursday is also Christmas tree decorating day. Also very excited.

So far living with AA is going well. He is a good roommate in that he can't complain about what I do and and he also has no belongings. Well, to be fair, neither of us do. But for right now we have no passive aggressive arguments over who gets to put their stuff where.

He doesn't mind that I sometimes don't come home at night and I don't mind if he doesn't. He thinks it is funny that I started a Twitter about him. He goes to the store when I demand cookies.

A match made in grungy heaven.

Wherein Bry takes hobo to a new level.

My blogs tend to be about the following things:

1. Ways I am a hobo.

2. Ways I am a spinster.

3. Things that happen on the bus.

4. Things that happen at work.

5. My snuggie.

6. Burritos.

If I were able to wear my snuggie to work and eat a burrito while I sell books, I could accomplish nearly all of these things in one day.

On Tuesday I really out did myself.

At about 3pm, as I was trying to leave, I realized my bag was locked in the office where they were conducting a group interview.

There was no way, after being awake since 3am, that I was waiting around an hour. So I knocked on the door.

"Sorry! But I need my bag."

Of course my boss had placed the bag in the furthest corner.

And when I say bag, I should clarify that it was a huge IKEA shopping bag. I hadn't been home in days, was towards the end of LL's wedding weekend and also house-sitting, and was carrying around the contents of my closet in an IKEA bag. I'm pretty sure an adult human being (like CPR!) could easily fit in the bag.

"Yeah, sorry I'm such a hobo!" I said as they shifted around the tiny office to hand me my hobo luggage. I later said they couldn't hire any of the prospectives because they should find out I'm a hobo after they are hired, not before. Kind of ruins the fun.

Speaking of house-sitting, I watched LL and KL's critters while they went to San Juan, WA. The two cats (Buttons and Ziggy) and dog (Madeline) always looked upon me distantly, but favorably, when I was just a visitor. But Buttons wanted nothing to do with me as her temporary owner. I was determined to make Buttons love me.

Buttons was determined to murder me.

Or at the very least, make me think she was capable of getting the butcher knife and stabbing me.

She does this thing in the middle of the night where she gets in the cupboards and leaps off her perch by the window, making it sound like someone is opening the door.

Cue Bry waking up several times convinced a crazy person was in the house.

She stopped snubbing me somewhere in the final day of my tenure as her fake owner, and even willingly got on the bed. However, I woke up from a nap (and her napping on top of me) with cat scratches right in between my cleavage.

So thank you Buttons for roughing up my chesties, for not actually murdering me, and making me grateful I don't have pets.

As I like to say, I'm only a cat, or a dolphin figurine collection, away from being a real spinster.

Wherein Bry crosses the street to get to the other side.

I have mostly gotten over my bell jar moment that can otherwise be known as Wednesday August 18, 2010.

My friends and family have been somewhat indulgent, with offers to beat people up. Mom said "All men are Ashleys."

I am so excited for a return to my spinster ways. I sat in my Snuggie for 3 hours! And I now have the pedal for my sewing machine which means I can start making my clothes. I will look to Romy and Michelle or possibly Dawn Wiener as muses.

I am starting a new band. It is called Walk Sign Is On. First single, "Hey Ashley, That's a Oneway."

Last night, I was downtown, innocently trying to cross the street to get a burrito from the cart near Ash Street Saloon, when here comes a firetruck racing down 3rd Ave. At the same time, some douche in a Sentra tries to turn up 3rd Ave, wrong way on a oneway, and almost hit the firetruck, which luckily was slowed to make the Burnside crossing. The car does a slam-on-
the-breaks-do-a-U-turn number to get out of the way.

I guess if you have to get in a head-on collision, a firetruck is your best bet. Though, the truck was already lit up, headed to an emergency, so the car full of Insane Clown Douche-bags would have had to wait in line.

Right before they caused this holy mess, the car full of fools was driving down Burnside blasting 90s rap (No Diggity!) and harassing all the women and bikers they passed. So staring straight at death was just a little karmic bitch-slap to sober them up.

But most importantly, the burrito was delish. A Teriyaki Steak Burrito. Seriously The Best Burrito Ever. You should all be jealous of this burrito.