stay in city

Two disheartening incidents from a weekend drive in the country:
Every small town has a yearly festival, some sort of Pioneer Days or Round-up or Thrashing Bee. We expected the Vernonia Salmon Festival to include lots of Salmon tasting, casting contests, and perhaps a raffle. But, after speaking with the OSU extension booth about bokashi, and to the FWS woman about salmon habitat rehabilitation, all there was left to do after the silver jewelry hawkers and corndog stands was to crawl inside the giant chinook. We hung around for a bit by Rock Creek, to catch sight of them spawning, and in hopes of our expectations being acknowledged, if not met. When a girl of about 8 started throwing cans and plastic cups into the creek just upstream from where the spawning viewpoint was located, with the FWS display, we knew it was time for us to go. Which we did, right after chastising the little retard.
After fish and chips in Seaside we drove to Saddle Mountain, which I had been wanting to climb after seeing so many beautiful pictures of it. Ascending the trail people on their way down commented on the vistas from the top. It is a bit more strenuous than we had anticipated but made it to the top easily enough, just as the clouds rolled in to block any view. As we were catching our breath before clamboring back down, a chunky teenager came up to us, "Escuse me, I would like to ass you a quession. Do you think if they built a Taco Bell up here it would make any money?" Both of us paused for a moment, scanning his earnest face for something to tell us this wasn't really happening. Realizing he was serious, I walked on past him down from the peak as my friend launched into a deservedly belittling lecture about overhead costs to the fat little retard.

opisthotonus

A few weeks ago my roommate had a small party and folk were sitting out back on the patio. Girl sat in a chair we had found on the street and it broke. She felt bad although nobody who lived there cared about it, so she remained sitting in it with the seat at ground level, all the legs being broken (aside: I feel like there should be a more appropriate verbe tense to use here, probably one that doesn't exist in English). So I smashed it apart because that was silly, there were other people standing and the chair was mostly useless, on its last legs as they say. A few days later I went out back to water my basil in my barefeet and stepped on a nail sticking out of a chair leg. When I lifted up my foot, the foot of board lifted with it and I was forced to pull the nail out of my heel about an inch. I screamed. After hobbling inside, shutting off the burner where I had planned to make my lunch, I crumpled to the floor with piercing pain, lifting my foot onto the couch to elevate the puncture above my heart. Laying there, I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed for the better part of an hour. I have no health insurance, I can't walk, I do not have a job nor any prospects, I need to eat something, I'm probably a sex addict, I am out of shape, I am probably in love. And I don't even like basil, I bought it to manufacture a sense of a functional life.

doughy

I'm baking cookies, they are in the oven as write. Right now, now write. A batch of how-am-i-doing-chocolate-chips, a saccharine litmus test. So I need to get this out quick. I saw he-who-shall-not-be-named last week. He saw me. I think I'm okay, it was an odd circumstance, as these things tend to be. A friend and I were wandering around the Pearl for firsthursday. My boyfriend was supporting his friend showing stuff at a gallery where I knew he- would be. I had told him I didn't want to go and he wasn't really trying to convince me to do so. We agreed to meet at a specific time, and he was walking outside just as my friend and I arrived. He went back inside for a few to say goodbyes. She and I waited outside and that was when we made eye contact, he- was just inside the door up a few steps in the reception. Drink in hand, raised to his perfect teeth in a half smile as he talked to somebody, his green eyes spotting up directly at mine and clashing with his green shirt. I looked away passingly and stood up straight with my back to the door, talking to my friend and holding her by the elbow intimately. Bf came back outside and I turned to leave with them, without looking back inside. I didn't need to see, for he- preoccupied my mind for the rest of the night. Unable to focus on the sound exhibit we listened to, nor the goings over about the porn she and I are making. It was a slow flooding in, like a welling up of the past, of two thousand and hate. Not counting the sugar cookies I made at work, the last batch of cookies I made were for him, the working-late-on-saturday-night-toffees, the last batch of the cookie obsession. Now what? Timer's going off, moment of truth.

overqualified

Excerpted (and edited) from a recent cover letter, to a temp agency:

It’s nothing short of an understatement to say that Portland is a difficult place to find employment. I have stood in lines for over three hours for five-minute interviews and have answered essay questions on dish-washer applications. The reasons for which I had been choosing to remain in Portland I feel are no longer applicable. I value the community here, the way it nurtures the creative and progressive, but I can no longer afford to prioritize creating my home here. However, before I am able to escape from Portland and marginally free up the already saturated job market, I need to make some cash. This is the reason I desire to create a relationship with your organization. I am confident that my current unemployment is a reflection of the market, not indicative of my capabilities.

never reigns but it pours

Classy Sunday

trifecta

Three into seven is awesome.

yee-haw

Diapers are evil.