First Week

It’s Saturday. I can’t remember the last time I worked a Saturday, but lemme tell you, it took all I had to get out of bed this morning. It’s a short shift when you compare eight to ten, but my brain and I have a sort of long standing deal that neither of us works on weekends. Hopefully I can get through today without embarrassing myself.

We moved into ESA on Wednesday. I’d have to say it’s the nicest little shoebox I’ve ever lived in. The kitchen area has Pergo floors; the shower has a higher head than at my house (and that’s saying something) plus lots of hot water. The king bed only squeaks on my side. There are windows that open and a closet, not to mention we’re on the top floor. It may be overpriced but it’s worth it. We’ve been roomies for over a year now – I think we needed a little space. We smile at each other a giggle when calling it ‘home’.

Honey has complained everyday that he misses his office chair and I should have brought all the pillows. He’s rearranged the furniture twice now – the two tables and three chairs, trying to find a reasonable comfort level so he can vanish into the vortex (as Sazzy called it) of his website. He’s already sent out a casting call for models in Portland – you’d be surprised how many of them will do nudes here.

We’re broke to the point of it being funny after paying for our room and groceries, but we went to see Coraline in 3D last night, the last night you could I think. It was AWESOME!! I’m going shopping on DealOz for all books by Neil Gaiman as soon as I get paid, which unfortunately isn’t for another week. But for the first three months I get paid every week, so that works out. The company has this policy that all new employees be temps for the first 3 months, has something to do with the quick turn-around of a lot of shop guys. Anyway, I don’t get direct deposit, but I do get a check handed to me every Friday afternoon. And since my bank isn’t up here and Wal-Mart (of all places) has started cashing payroll checks for $3 a piece, it all works out. Happy Friday! (Yeah, I know it’s Saturday).

We're here. Now what?

Ok, so now we’re here. I’m working lots of hours; they’ve bumped it up to 8 on Saturdays. And we need a place to stay. The ads on craigslist have produced an array of responses that runs the gamut from making me laugh to leaving me speechless. The people here in Oregon are a whole other breed. Besides being very specific about what you eat (we’re vegan and you must be too) they get into your orientation (must be queer or queer-friendly) and your personal hygiene (must not wear synthetic cologne). One response to our ad was from a married couple (CPA and Asia director of a humanitarian group) who purchased an 8-bedroom house specifically to have a community feeling and came across as being very generous by asking for 3 months rent up front (deposits and what not). I had two thoughts on this: first, if I had $1500 in my pocket I’d just go get my own pad and be done with it, second, they should work on their social lives - like going out to meet people. Another one sounded more promising: 4-5 twenty-something’s, one guy was in a reggae band, another was a cook – Honey talked to them for maybe 20 minutes, during which time they asked how we felt about smoking pot. Honey decided that the combination of them needing money and the guy asking about his camera (we were expecting “oh yeah, I have a …”; what we got was “oh ok. [pause] Cool”) that we’d be really pissed if anything got stolen and maybe it just wasn’t worth saving the money if it was going to cost us big time later. We’ve been back and forth on this at least 6 times. We decide we’re going to the over-priced Extended Stay America (ESA) and then another response comes through and we consider it. The last one (we might go if he says yes) came from a guy who owns his own business and doesn’t necessarily need to constantly interact and communicate for us to stay there. Right now, he’s thinking about it and taking his sweet time. Tonight after work I’m driving ‘home’ to get Honey and our overnight bags, then driving back to town to get our room at ESA (Wednesday). It’ll cost too much, but it’ll be our space, with a locking door, private bath, and kitchenette. This was the original plan when we left OR to come home and get our stuff – then Honey found out how much it costs a month and said give him a few days to come up with something else, which is how we came to posting ads on the web. Anyway, we can’t keep roosting where we are and deliberating. We’re house guests that were supposed to be gone by yesterday (Tuesday).

The ESA is closer to work – probably 10 minutes away instead of 30 – it has a full size frig so I can get back to my fruit and salad bingeing. Our host’s wife loves to cook with butter and bacon and other heavy things that make me sleepy and stick to my butt – a week with them and I need to lighten up. I’ve resolutely ignored the scale set prominently in their bathroom (Sazzy will be proud of me). I only get 30 minutes for lunch, so it’s either bring your own or chance it on the food wagon that comes at 9am and 11am.

Notes on occurances since typing this post: the guy who sounded so promising and sent us two emails, upon our response of interest said he wasn't sure he wanted roommate at all. Twerp. I've managed not to get lost on the way to work so far this week, which doesn't officially end until Saturday. This may be the only time I get on the internet - throwing off the emperor's new groove (of revamping his website) is not encouraged. :)

Welcome to Portland!!

Well, Gresham actually, slightly southeast of Portland, but close enough. We got in Sunday night after nearly 12 hours in the car, 8 hours the day before that. On the road to Reno, which is normally a blast doing 80+ mph, we got stuck. Well, a semi truck got stuck…trying to do a U-turn in the middle of the interstate. The driver, who I’m assuming was male, got the trailer effectively blocking both lanes with his tires in the sand, and could go no further. We waited over an hour, parked on the highway, until a tow truck of sufficient size could be summoned to maneuver him out. We made it into Reno around 9:30pm and met an old college buddy for a cup of coffee (tea in my case). Caught some zzz’s before attempting to continue on. I say ‘attempting’ because first, we discovered the headlights weren’t working anymore. Second, once we checked all the fuses and decided we’d just have to run on fog lights and high beams, we got sorta lost on the way back to the freeway. Once we got that all sorted, we stopped at the California border checkpoint. Usually they just ask if you’re coming from Reno, which is dumb cuz the highway that brought you only goes to Reno, and let you through. At 3:30am and when you’re towing a boat, however, they are mighty interested in what you’re hauling, doing, where you’re going, and where & when the boat was in the water last. I think I may have slightly offended the guard also – I wasn’t fully awake yet and he asked where I was coming from, to which I answered thinking in most recent terms, Reno. He gave me this look that said I must think he’s stupid and he doesn’t appreciate it before telling me that everyone comes from Reno. He checks my boat straps and wants to know which waters I’ve been in and how long ago. Cave Lake in September, but also Lake Mead and Kirch. This is when he asks if we live in Reno and of course we don’t. After Honey tells him the boat’s been washed, he abruptly lets us through. I guess California takes quagga mussels very seriously.

We didn’t make it very far. I was exhausted and he was too tired to keep me awake. We found a big bumped out shoulder and went back to sleep, sharing a blanket. Honey told me later I was out almost instantly. Good thing we stopped, I guess. 7:30am we’re back at it. There were some snow-covered roads, some light dry snow (I like that kind cuz it doesn’t stick), and eventually a lot of fog. Driving through a wet pillow or a very fat cloud kind of fog, where visibility shrinks to 30 feet in front of your car. It felt a lot like driving into oblivion; on-coming headlights told you you weren’t there yet. The boat, bless its aluminum bottom, did awesome – no sliding, pushing, or other shenanigans. The only scary part of the whole trip was the last hour into Corbett. In case you didn’t know, I have relatively poor night vision. Combine that with failing light of dusk, short throw fog lights, and on-coming traffic – I was driving basically blind. I did manage to get us there in one piece, without scraping anything or anyone, for which I was profoundly grateful. I let our host, Scott, park the boat where it’ll be stored until further notice, down a very long dark driveway with a ledge on one side. I had a shower and was in bed within two hours.

I’ve logged nearly 3000 miles in 9 days. I went to work promptly at 7am the next morning and I am very glad I don’t have to drive anywhere long distance for awhile. Unfortunately, now I need to do another oil change.

Last Post in Las Vegas

Hey gang,
This will be my first off the cuff post. Straight from brain to paper with little/no editing or re-thinking. My brain is too tired for that. I’ve spent all day dashing about trying to get everything done for the big move tomorrow. I made a lengthy list during our last photo meeting last night and have gotten through most of it. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to load all the stuff today as planned. Everyone either wants to talk to us or feed us. Mom took us to lunch today, the neighbors thru us a bbq, and two different folks want to take us to breakfast before we hit the road tomorrow (you know who you are – much love!). I’ve finally advanced from chicken-with-head-cut-off panic to easy breathing and we’ll-get-everything-done-and-get-there-when-we-get-there. I just hope everything fits. There are boxes in the hall and middle of the kitchen, obviously the computer is still alive, and some of this I just can’t do until the last minute. It’s exhausting. I’m currently do laundry – that’s how behind I am.

So I created a new email account today on gmail. I’ll axe the cable tomorrow and then my trusty summerv addy will be no more. Unfortunately this blog doesn’t respect gmail and won’t accept it as a login address. So now I have a matching one at yahoo. I’m sure it would be simpler just to maintain one of them…but I like gmail’s better email (not to mention have several addy’s added to contacts already) and yahoo is what I need to keep talking to you good people. More work for me, as usual.

We have two possibles for transitional housing in Portland. We thru up an ad on craigslist real quick to see if we could room with someone for two months until we get our own place. Extended Stay America is $1400/mo – ouch! So it’ll either be the married couple in their 30’s or the house full of 4-5 20-somethings who asked over the phone how we felt about smoking pot. I’ll keep you posted.

Going to attempt to comb this rat’s nest I call hair – will never color again, ever, ever, ever, ever. And going to bed. My brain won’t allow anymore coherent thoughts – keep that in mind whilst reading this – and I must therefore surrender to my last night (for two months or so) in my fabulous bed.

I had one really good thought…earlier of course – now I haven’t got any, but I think we (being Honey and I) did well here, in the sense that we’ll be missed and have made impacts on several people’s lives. Some unexpected. We will miss everyone; will send many emails, photos, Christmas cards, and text messages to all. Good night.

Life Change - Right Now

Ok, so we’re moving to Portland. On Saturday. Yeah, this Saturday. Need a little back-story?

I’m working on my “long story short” rendition of things, cuz a lot has happened in the span of nearly a week. Thursday a job came and found me. A good job considering the economy, one in my field, utilizing my killer skills, working with people in person that I’ve worked with long distance for over a year. For more money than I was originally offered (that’s those killer skills I mentioned). So Friday we drove to Portland for my interview. I rocked it. The brownies I took probably didn’t hurt either. Got to frog about Saturday afternoon and Sunday. Got temporarily displaced – that’s not lost. Lost is when you’re displaced and out of gas. Found some very cool old buildings, bridges, waterfronts, historic highways, and waterfalls. By Monday at 10am I was golden and we were officially moving. Work starts the following Monday (feb 16). We drive for home Tuesday morning. What’s normally a 10-hr drive became a 13-hr drive, 9 hrs of it in snow and occasional white out conditions. The Land Rover rocks ass in snow; it’s also now being affectionately called the Rover Motel. We had a great time, saw some beautiful places, ate some decadent food – Honey got hit with an exploding can of tomato paste – drank a raspberry beer called Ruby, shared a queen bed, and showered with the head at about throat level. It was a very long drive, done entirely by me, one which I will be repeating around 9am this coming Saturday. I will be taking my cube guardian, Gretch with us to keep away bad juju (he’s a gargoyle), eating a lot of fruit and salad, and working approximately 15 hours of overtime per week. It’s gonna be great!

My hubby saws that spontaneity is a necessity in life, because if you wait and analyze you’ll find a reason not to…whatever it is. So in a single week we’ve uprooted our lives, leapt with incredible faith, and are moving to Portland. On Saturday.
Wish us luck.

Bathtub Frustration

Once again I had the great idea of taking a long, hot, relaxing bath, having a serious discussion with myself about my life and where it might be going depending on the decisions I make, lighted candles, a little bath oil for that soothing spa feeling and to combat the dry skin I’ve been having since losing water weight on my eating plan…and despite all my positive feelings about the matter, once again I have been thwarted by the impractical design of the American bathtub, which was compounded this time by the water heater’s decision that it had worked enough today and I and my bath could simply go without its services. So no hot relaxing bath – more like luke warm (maybe) with half my body taking turns freezing, as wet skin does when encountering air. Now I am chilled, put out, and thoroughly disgusted as has happened on many occasions where I had the same misguided idea about bathing and am determined to find some answers – namely who the idiot is (or was) who designed a bathtub that was neither long enough, deep enough or took the human form into any consideration whatsoever.

If you haven’t already discerned from my ranting, this is one of my few pet peeves. My husband has long known about and even been commandeered for the eventual construction of a tub to my personally designed specifications. The only commercial tub worth a damn, in my opinion, is the antique claw foots, which sadly they don’t make any more as far as I know. You can have them re-enameled, refitted with feet (for $50 a piece and up), and sometimes find them at junk yards and vintage plumbing stores, but you can’t go to your local Home Depot and select one for immediate home delivery. Cast iron, though ideal for maintaining water temperature, is apparently too heavy and expensive for everyone involved.

Our European neighbors don’t have this problem. During the break of my junior year in high school I was lucky enough to take a tour of Europe with the American Bands program. I played an instrument at the time, but not for the traveling band. What I did do was take a bath in every single hotel we staying in that had a tub, because they were all long, deep and fabulous. Needless to say, I was extremely relaxed upon returning home. And have been completely frustrated since.

Next day:
Ok, so I didn’t find the twit who designed the current bathtub. What I found was some crazy story published back in the 1800’s as a jest to ease wartime tension that somehow became gospel. You can read the abbreviated history here. Then my search evolved into looking up what it costs these days to obtain one of the fabulous claw foot tubs I love so much. I found my dream tub, pictured here: a 6’ long classic claw foot. I’ve died and gone to heaven when I get one of those!

Writer's Block

So I tried writing this post earlier, twice actually, and didn’t get very far. Everything I’d written I just erased – it was uninspired drivel and I can admit it. Not a great deal has happened since I was near death with the stomach flu, in truth nearly nothing, so what to write about? There’s only so many posts I can publish about how wonderfully blue the sky is and what excellent weather we’re having and how I’m enjoying it immensely from a lawn chair under a tree since I’ve got no job and therefore loads of spare time to lounge about. Sickening, isn’t it?

Part of the trouble is my lack of face time with this machine. My husband is so deep into photography and everything about it that he rarely comes up for air. If he’s not in this chair doing something photo-ish then we’re out shooting - you can see my predicament. I explained to him very nicely the other day that I am very nearly useless as his secretary/assistant/PR person/deadline coach without computer access. Also, this blog is suffering and how am I supposed to expose everyone on the planet to the “Felix Phenomenon” without it. I think he got the point because as we speak (or I write, whichever sounds better to you) he’s next door discussing with our tech guy how to make the other computer in this house (a dinosaur generally used for excessive solitaire playing by my mom-in-law’s boyfriend/fiancé) into a functional specimen, capable of Internet access and hopefully networking. Then I won’t have any excuses for neglecting this blog besides the one rapidly becoming my favorite: nothing’s happening.

We recently went to a Scottish Ceilidh – don’t worry, I don’t know how to say it either – which was a tribute to Robert Burns, I guy I’d never heard of before. My girlfriend, Beth told us about it, went with us, and was delighted. I, unfortunately, was rather uninspired, hence the trouble with the post. This is all we’ve really done since I recovered, aside from filing our taxes, and it just wasn’t what I expected. I misheard, misunderstood, or blatantly assumed it was Celtic dancing and went in thinking clogging, like Riverdance. What I got was a lot of jumping in knee-high socks, and moving the arms, either together or individually, from one’s side to over the head and back again. There were also two numbers performed by the “wee dancers” which produced the loudest applause and the melting heart ‘ahhs’ of parents and people succumbing to the cuteness of little girls in kilts; those of you who know me know I am immune to this effect, so I was watching the actual dancing which left much to be desired. The only local bagpipe band, Desert Skye Pipes and Drums, and a fiddle player named Edward Scott Pearlman performed the best parts of the show. The best dancer was a girl named Kimberlee Couper; according to her bio she’s won a ridiculous number of awards for her skills at Highland dancing and ballet beginning at age 12, and is originally from Dumbarton, Scotland. Her amazing calf muscles and how strong her ankles must be to maintain all that jumping mesmerized me. I was winded for her. In truth, I think I was too preoccupied with the fish n chips I’d be having for a late supper as soon as the show was over. The Crown and Anchor Pub was a block over from the library and they have some of the best fish n chips in town (all you can eat on Monday nights!). I’d been salivating all day and was positively starving by intermission. Maybe they didn’t get a fair shake from me…

I finished another book today. The excessive reading goes hand-in-hand with the excessive lounging I mentioned earlier. I’m currently stuck on Clive Cussler novels, especially the Dirk Pitt adventures. The lead character is a man’s man and a ladies man – you can’t not love him. He’s a stud, a patriot, an adventurer, and a loyal friend; the man all women are drawn to but can never possess. He’s damn near too perfect. I’m also getting back into Neil Gaiman. Good Omens rocked my world. Unfortunately, the closest library only carries two of his book, neither of which I’ve read, one of which is waiting for me and my chair under the tree. I checked out his site and the live reading of the first chapter of his newest book, The Graveyard Book. I have to get it now. The man fascinates me and makes me laugh. If I’d had any sense of self at 17, I would have become a journalist and writer instead of a flunky engineering student, in a class of 8 with one other girl who took “control freak” to a whole new level. Hindsight and all that.