thursday's child has far to go

Show me powder blue tuxedos!!



My dad's friend Tom (shown above as the dark head, encouraging my dad's blonde head to go and marry my mom) has scheduled some meetings for me with various Portlanders. While these playdates won't produce any real employment, Tom's big cats are apparently willing to view my resume and advise me on how best to gloss over my inadequacies. They might also have the names of more people I can repeat the same process with.

There are levels, just like in a video game. And I was always pretty horrible at video games. Video games beaten (all accomplished on the original NES):

-The Little Mermaid (1992, age 10)
-Chip and Dale's Rescue Rangers (1993, age 11)
-Mario Brothers 2 (2002, age 20)
-my dad beat Zelda and I watched him do the last bit (a magical year, age of innocence)

That's it. I almost beat Paperboy once, but on my Sunday, that old battle axe in the red housecoat came out of nowhere to castrate my chances with victory. Totally failed The Daily Sun. This inability for gaming, I don't understand it. My pale skin was exclusively un-toned for the purpose of inactivity. Probably was a vision thing?

I must press my nicest slacks and blouses. Fingers crossed. Hiyo.

nine seven three two one

Awesome. This place is great. I have a twin bed again. Cats jump on me when I use the couches. I love Jane Austen novels and look at my Save Ferris concert stub. Cheerleading (it was only for two years and I am sorry) is neat and everyday! my hometown hair has a ponytail. Let me go sit on the roof and write awful poetry. Then we can recant the last five years of my excellence because how could it get better than then?

I am set set set.

Now, for serious, it's super that I'm dying inside. Meetings...some phone calls...I've apparently just been goosed by the brief action that builds within my spoiled frame. How's that for saucy! We can only guess that somebody pushed the start button for Sarah: Phase Two. Might have been one of the cats. Thank you, cats.

nine seven eight zero one

Brian left today. I feel pretty awesome about everything but it's still sad. Kind of uncomfortable.

Yesterday afternoon, we walked to the Circle K from Billy's apartment. For Smartfood. I was stoked when this happened because Serena was working and she's my number one special fantastic Circle K Monroe Street employee. She always is around at the last of the evenings, first of the mornings type shift and transacted a ton of good popcorn for me and Brian over the course of the year. Serena is very sweet, and to have her around for our final night in Corvallis and our final bag of Smartfood in Corvallis was adorable. And I'm all for adorable. Miniature bananas, baby cheetahs, Franklin Delano Roosevelt...bring it.

Last night was also adorable. Last night was too good. I'm now at my parents' house, passing time by contemplating my new era and too often doing that "hmmm" motion where I stroke the invisible length of my imaginary beard. My things are here and I keep touching them. Journals, pictures, bedding, books. I hate the way they've been tossed all rimbly-rambly in a cramped and box-choked guest room. It's like my own messy Trail of Tears.

And wow, I already miss old whats-his-face. Severely. In my more recent journals, I keep a running list of Sarah's Good, Wonderful Things. Guess the theme for some of today's favorites:

259. The top of Multnomah Falls. With Brian walking like a gentleman around the edges of the switchbacks. With all the kind Mexicans. With me! And Brian.
116. Made Brian laugh a few times, tricked him into asking me for my phone number (February).
184. Brian called today. Let me tell you, I told Brian I would do two things while he was over the sea: I would 1) eat sandwiches and 2) watch "Point Break." And what was I doing the second he called: I was a) eating a sandwich and b) watching "Point Break." Ridiculous.
190. The other night, Saturday, Brian and I sat on the futon while Billy played his guitar. They talked about Mayfest and it was kind of cold and kind of raining, but not too much with either. Billy played a song about a mermaid. Brian was drunk and kept touching the pink sweater I was wearing and this was all a good moment.
276. I saw a beach sunset with Brian. Friday. We drive into Newport with about ten sun minutes remaining, we cradle and take pictures and it all feels like God-paused timing, we afterwards eat potato fries that are shaped like CIRCLES.
102. My god, don't you just want to hold hands all day. That might be my favorite thing about people, that you can hold their hands.
169. Brian found a placemat with a fox on it at the Goodwill. This was such a perfect experience.
117. He actually called me (March).
196. Brian kissed me in the kitchen while the lights were off and the Paul Simon was on.
241. Valentine's Day. Maybe I only saw Brian in the final hour of the 14th, but he hat-tricked his gorgeous heart out with tulips! a sandwich! and a card with nice words. ! I'm so glad I'm not gay.
118. He kissed me (April).

I'm pretty Girly Von Girlystein today. Not always...

89. Did not run over that raccoon.
195. Ate a sandwich yesterday.
201. Man. I hate Randy Newman. Of course that is a good thing. Obviously.

...but yes, today.

Everything's happy underground

Hey peanuts, guess what?
It's moving day!

In about T-minus I don't know, old Powder and Team C-forth will arrive and carry my things away. I feel right decent about all this. It's time. Once somebody steals your snake, that sweet kitsch and quiet bullshit suckers you in for a left hook and you must vacate the college city. You must! But Corvallis was cute and should miss me. I can sometimes make a street sparkle, motherbitches. You know that is correct.

I'm headed to Portland next week, if establishments allow. Will comb roads and con employment out of something. Developing.

Worried about the couch! I have a fine blue sofa that entered this place magically in 2003 at the hands of two 17 year olds who only made the process so by air-kicking the davenport in a David Lee Roth fashion while it loitered and jammed upright in the doorframe. Whew. There was such drama, I can compare its moment of entry only to labor. The methods of our history should hopefully work in reverse.

Everybody should live in a basement at least once. I want to do it again ASAP, but in a building with minimal micerats and less one fat Faith Hill fan in the next door who always made curry dishes. I would not have guessed a Faith Hill fan would know what curry was. This is how we learn!

Also, they are currently selling some damntastic grapes at the Safeway. I don't know the growing season of grapes, I don't even know where they grow grapes (guess: sure...how about Peru?), but it's happening in a huge, distinguished and delicious way and all should capitalize.

Spirits: rising
Potential: BLAZING
Fridge: full of grapes!
Boyfriend: leaves tomorrow
Micerats: of course they're sad I have to go
Fingers: crossed about the sofa
Snake: absent

Who's got the looks, who's got the brains, who's got everything.

Summer '05: not officially great yet

Man...
-Moving out feels creepy, especially since I don't know what it's all for
-Brian heads east in two days
-That internship is not happening
-Grandpa is so thin
-My legs have bruises, I can't remember why
-There only was cold water when I showered
-I'm out of fruit snacks
-Somebody stole my black snake

And boy, that last one kicks my ass. I'm here for two years and nobody steals my snake until two days before I'm supposed to get gone. WTF. That's just mean. Evil! And ominous.

But wait, wait. WAIT. Let me take you to the upside...
-If you believe in yourself, you can eat a whole box of frosted mini-wheats in one day

Lord.
I'm pretty positive all things will change, it's just mmmmmmm...arrrckckkkk...come on...let's do this.
(And other frustrated noises.)

We'll shoot horses, won't we?

I've always wanted to customize that title as a title in the context of Pendleton because I always thought that movie was a western. But it's not. It is, I guess, about a dance marathon. Go fucking figure. I'll probably have to rent it now and will add it to my list of weekday dealings for my sometimes sentimental or important if educational but difficult yet rewarding and still always interesting summer of '05. This one is for the record books, kids.

Speaking of Pendleton, Brian and I totally hit that up during yesterday. It's a very quiet place and I was told it has rattlesnakes. I believe I'll stay some weekends in the basement of a completely grandma-fied old Victorian house. Brian needs Febreeze. He hates it, but he needs it; the entire building smells like dried flowers, embroidery, four o'clock dinners, the Oreck man, carpeted bathrooms, porcelain cows, scary antique dolls, afghans with 1970s color-schemes and anything else you might use to summon the geriatric (bless their fragile hearts).

It's a tough sell but I'm all for it. I might break down, cry feebly and temporarily fall apart a little bit, but the bitch slap of change is usually the most trying right before it happens. So don't worry...nah.

Decomposition

Also managed to sell a grip of books to The Book Bin. If anyone gave me a fat book on Aristotle, I am sorry. Ten dollars. He was my motherload and I ate his value in sandwiches and those sandwiches were delicious. However, I really don't know where that book came from so if anyone let me borrow a fat book on Aristotle, I am sorry. There's half a turkey w/swiss in my fridge and you may have it and it is delicious.

Well?

Sleep-wise, this night should be easier. I can feel it. Perhaps the lack of rest from Saturday or maybe just yes, maybe it only gets easier. But do you want it to or do you not want it to. You know.

Anyway, Girl Scout badges to Bets and Tom for meeting "mingling with boyfriend's relations" requisites. Prestigious.

Try it on like this: If you had a headache and a choice between Tylenol or Advil, you would choose the Advils because of their easy-to-swallow coating. Somehow my overseers managed to dress themselves in sweet brown coating on their way to Wilsonville. Or maybe they have always been dressed with that. Hmmm. The awesome is organic? Consider this mind blown!

The party was precious and fun. Sandwiches, genuine hugs, adorable aunts, margaritas. An English lady and a photo montage, everybody's happy and lots and lots of Brian. Say, maybe tonight and the sleep won't be easier and if that's true, it's because it's unfair to get swarmed by a thousand people who are in love with the person you're in love with and then be kept from the chance to hold or touch or whatever to that person while you mentally review all. that. reinforcement.

Heavy shit.

How I slept last night

So my feet don't really know what to do at night when they're on their own in a bed. That's so dense of them; I spent 22 years training them to rest naturally in the dark. Now, forget it. They hop, they dodge and dance. They're like fish.

I'd go back in time if I could, to sitting at a computer for Dads Weekend 2003 with Darrin asking Brian to funny-up our copy. Earlier that week I think was when I first met my crush on Brian. He probably said something was "savage" and he'd had on a T-shirt that I want to say was purplish, even though now I'm not sure what purplish T-shirts he has. And so I was way too excited when he came to Darrin and I. Giddy. Nerves are so priceless. All of mine were in my stomach and I love, have always loved, the realizations over 'Yes, I have a crush on you and from now on, I get to feel like this if and when I see you.'

That version of me I would take aside and shout whispers at. I'd also use hand gestures. Sweeping ones.

"Him? You're going to walk together to a class next term and you will make him laugh over something. I forget. Pudding. I don't know. For a while you get to take his phone calls and car rides home and then you might start thinking that he likes you. As in likes you, likes you. Yeah. So it gets weird how conversation will be easy, how making him laugh is always fun and something that's done frequently, but you'll be fine. He'll drink whiskey sours on the first time he hits on you. When this happens, he and you will be two awkward people in an almost empty bar because you both put it off for one whole month and until 2am. He will also call you from Poland. And Israel. I know. Israel. Fast forward. You will say I love you non-platonically for the first time in your patient life and it will feel better than you probably imagined and so outrageous that you must laugh. Then? Well then it all keeps going."

My god, the many ways in which she'd freak. And I'd ask and ask and ask how she slept at night alone and what her feet were doing while that happened but this girl would be so far gone at that point that I'd have to go back in time AGAIN, corner another Me, and preface so much wonderland with a masterly neck grab and a firm "Listen. I'm about to put some killer stars in your eyes but first you tell me what you do with those goddamn feet."

This might kill the spiel, but it's very important I reclaim that knowledge.

White is the new scared shitless

Boy. I just took down all the things on the wall by my desk. The pictures, the news clips, the interview with Robert Goulet.
Jesus. These walls are white. I knew that, but come on. I mean really, these are some completely white walls.
This was either a good idea or a mean trick. A little bit of both is my best guess.
Honestly.

Thursday

I keep getting emails from AllChristianMortage.com under the subject "CHRISTIAN RATE ALERT!". They've offered to refinance my house. You guys click here; I guess that's what Christians look like. Check out the young girl. You know she's just waiting to grow up and go slut.

Also, I saw Mormons out, full Exaggerated Mormon As a Halloween Costume style: church basement bicycles, helmets, ties, nametags, too-tight dress shirts with short sleeves and backpacks presumably filled with literature. If I ever start selling drugs (no, of course not), I'm going to have my delivery boys dress up like Mormons and maybe they wouldn't get stopped and rousted.

Also, I saw a kid on one of those phone cord leashes. Bad for him, good for me. Actually, GREAT for me. Yep.

Also, I'm expecting a pretty weekend. Brian's graduation party, Beth's graduation party, a quick stopover with friends Dot through Jared and that big old Sunday I'm guessing I should use to box up some things. I'm somewhat nervous about being sad around blank walls and seeming terrible around Brian's family. And hey! Oh! Brian's parents + my parents = really? I didn't think they'd ever have to meet, barring an unexpected pregnancy (no, of course not). In addition, I'm totally nervous about hot climates, 3 PR, sleeping alone again and paying for my own car insurance. And breast cancer. I don't want that, either.

She always seemed cool

Momentarily busted about Anne Bancroft. We here at H-B.AILF are pretty sure she was awesome.

Art is for babies...and their HUGE GIANT HEADS!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

Did you know you can google "baby head statue PGE Park Portland horrible whatthefuck help me this is terrible" in a whole cluster of combinations for a huge ration of hours and still be unfamiliar with the gentleman/lady/artist responsible for this:



So I had a nice time with Britt and the Mrs.

I have (not) been around the world

Cozy weekend. Lots of sights.
Thursday, I tagged along on the big Barometer sendoff. June has lately been kicking my mental ass, just by Juneing around and representing the fact that all these things happened to me already. But, like any downward spiral will tell you, you get drunk enough and the silly worries fall away (see previous entry, when I was fierce).

Still, once you forget the books you read and the time you took and the grandpa you kept up on and the quiet parts of a year you stayed quiet with, it's easy to understand how you look like only some girl who hung around only for the look from some boy. Especially when someone tells you that.

Sweet Jesus, do I break easy or do I break easy.

I woke up Friday like one dead, defeated zombie and spent the ride to Portland thinking about nothing. I flipped through radio stations and only shook off a little gray when some choice dj played "Southern Cross," CSNY-style. Fuck Jimmy Buffett, I get mad around his version. Nothing inspires life better than a song that lyrically has nothing to do with your own circumstance. See also "Brandy" by Looking Glass and "Life On Mars," for whatever odd reason.

Pressed on comically with the powers that be at 3. They seemed genuinely glad to see me and I took that as a positive thing. They'll give word on that internship by the 17th and in the meantime I'll try to see if I can scare up something similar, maybe cooler. Honestly, it just helped to sit down around people who felt interested. My opinion of myself was pretty geekily damaged from being drunk around Thursday's suggested comment, so this salvaged a huge chunk of the me I need to operate Sarah at optimum levels. Sigh. I drove around Portland for a little while and tried to motivate myself around the idea of small ethnic restaurants and the park blocks, Powell's and some music shops. Maybe I'd get a cat, just so I could name it Ramekin. See how I'm slowly waking up. I thought once my chest grew and I started kissing boys, I'd be done with all this late blooming. Nah. Apparently it's a life-long battle. Much like alcoholism. Awesome! And herpes. Lovely!

Saturday, I ferried Brian away to steaks and relatives. Justin and Britt look healthy, so do all the Salemians. That white dog is FAT. Dinner was nice, the whole night flew pretty fast around flowers and bocce balls and making Aunt B laugh and cheese bread and Grandma's outer space commentations and sports I don't care about and I am so bad at bocce ball it's not even cute.



Justin sent me away with a fleet of CDs. New Foos and Coldplay and klezmer and suchlike. Triumph. I'm excited for Coldplay. I'm not too prestigious, but if any band I liked heavily at one time could be allowed to get epic and big man, let it be them. Not that my surrender means a damn thing. On the contrary, in ten years it's going to be heavily ridiculous that I will validly say I was a music writer for my college paper. I need better egoisms. Thick ones. I should get into some prog bands. Germans.

Well.
I ebb. And I flow.

Death apples, part 2

Sonofabitch. Ow. It's crazy how I never learn.

Last night, because I seem so fierce.



Those sweethearts might not reject me this time. More to come. Also, how Lyndon B. J. does my nose look in that photo? Unreal.

Death apples OR Takin' It to the Streets

I just ate three green apples. One I ate an hour ago, but these last two fell at the same time by the same knife. Now my stomach is on fire and I hate everything.

It's the last Thursday night for a slew of people. My last Thursday was this same one, except last year. I was wearing something purple but I know because there's a polaroid, not because that's something I hold on to.
Wow. June.

Tomorrow I hang with those Portland geeks again. I feel like somebody threw my name in a Big Brother/Big Sister program and instead of asking for career tips, I'm actually going to play street hockey with them and talk about my family. They'll buy me ice cream and I guess I'll come home wishing they were my real dad. Battle of the Bands. Britt and Justin. Fruit snacks. More advances on the unemployment front. I guess the hit-the-streets method of job searching is not fun. To accessorize the war metaphor, it's like I shot a round with my bitch-ass musket and now I'm assaulting solely with that evil spear at the top. Dirt. Wounds. Tories. Some tea. But shooting job apps from afar is so much easier than all these mano y mano melees. Using my apathy to understand combat, I'd guess it's harder to stab a man than to aim at his body while it still stands yards away. Lucky little Johnny Tremain. How fortunate that you burned your hand!

ANYWAY, jokes and whines aside, the point remains that it's probably/finally time to kill off my inner-Lebowski. At death's approach, he has requested that you send memorial contributions in his name to:

Me
1745 NW Jackson #1
Corvallis, OR 97330

(Post-script: I hate that song.)