Crush Blush

Hanging out with my high school crush simultaneously brought to light how much things change after 10 years, and how much things stay the same.

B*tch

So, I was (don't you just love stories that begin with "so, I was..."?) walking to the bank from my work, waiting to cross the street. A car goes speeding by at a whopping 25 mph or so and from the window I hear a punctuated "Bitch!" which I assumed was directed at yours truly. My immediate reaction was to lift both hands and look down to see what in my posture, outfit or overall vibe could warrant such a cry. Nothing seemed particularly offensive and in fact, the only remarkable thing about me was the ceramic coffee mug I carried in lieu of the usual paper to go cup. Maybe this guy assumed I was quietly calculating the angle at which to throw said mug through his windshield in order to hit him directly in the face, but my math was a bit slow so instead he was able to curse me for my vicious thoughts. This seemed unlikely. Equally unlikely was the probability that a female dog was in my near vicinity and he was loudly exclaiming to the driver what a dog of that gender might be called. I didn't notice a cell phone but what with all the hands free technology flying around, I suppose it is possible (though not probable) that he was having a fight with his girlfriend over his deficiencies as a boyfriend. For a second it dawned on me that maybe it was my face, but I'm not one to sport inadvertent bitch face while standing curbside the way I imagine Rose McGowan, Karen O, or Posh Spice might. In the end I decided to settle my baffled mind with the explanation given to me for most of the offensive behavior in Eugene—they must have driven in from Springfield.

Me, Myself and I

Really, truly being alone is bittersweet. Sometimes you're grateful for all of the alone time you have, and other times you have to remind yourself that only boring people get bored and invent something magical to do. Sometimes you are proud of yourself for being the best date you could ever ask for and other times you ache to share these experiences with someone you love. Sometimes the freedom is, well, freeing. Other times you wish you could remember what your ring tone sounds like. The things I've done alone since I've been in Eugene include, but aren't limited to:

-Going to a Decemberists concert at the McDonald Theatre
-Hiking Spencer's Butte
-Riding my bicycle along the Willamette
-Grabbing a spontaneous beer at a brew pub
-Weeding the back yard (the perfect gardening task for someone with a black thumb)
-Going to a bicycle shop for the first time in my life
-Dancing in my underwear in the living room
-Trying the coffee at the Wandering Goat
-Searching unsuccessfully for books on tape at the library
-Consuming wood-fired pastries with soy latte from Hideaway Bakery
-Going to a David Sedaris reading

The truth of the matter is that I am, indeed, a fantastic date, but sometimes I wish I wasn't the only person in Eugene to know this.

A River Runs Through It

In the haze of marijuana smoke and dreadlocks on otherwise adorable people, in the midst of earth-tones, Northface, and students indistinguishable from hobos, I sometimes forget what there is to love about Eugene. I needed a reminder, so I hopped on my badass bicycle (compliments of SKL) and took a trip down the North Shore bike path, stopping for a Ruby Ale (followed by an impromptu Terminator Stout) at McMenamins by the river. Eugene and I are on good terms once again.

When It Rains

Used for the Greater Good

I've been blogged. See it here.

My Friends Are Better Than Your Friends

Happiness can sneak up on you, but if you know the people I know, happiness will pummel you like an avalanche and the rolling laughter will send you down the hillside in a snowball of joy and love. Try to be sad when Randy Newman is blaring over the loudspeakers and you're sitting with Reed in Kemp's spittle, heads fuzzy from Stadium Club martinis. Try to be depressed when JR sings karaoke in an helium-induced octave at the best dive bar in Los Angeles. Try to stay bummed when you see two of your nearest and dearest bonding for eternity under a Palm Springs sun. Just try hating life as you fill your belly and soul with $6,000 of amazing cheese, mint juleps carried in vest pockets, Chris' stinging scorpion saltation, and the revealing of Bianchi's mad harmonica skillz. Try to be downtrodden when you spend over 2 hours dining in a cafe with rotating table guests and Huell Howser, after spending the evening shouting for John Barnacle to join your 5-person amoeba impression. Try to frown when you're drinking from a mason jar, feeding carrots to a tiny horse and leaving deer ornaments in the most beautiful pile of junk. Try to cry when you are unexpectedly handed mixed CDs from two of your oldest (and youngest) friends, spending the day in a tour van consuming anything delicious that pops into your mind. Try to stay sad when you are absolutely positive you are the most blessed person on the face of the earth.