such ridiculosity

Spaceballs!

2010-09-02T21:06:00.001-07:00

Jay and I headed to McMenamins Grand Lodge tonight with Renee and Romo to watch Spaceballs on the lawn. We're stuck listening to a crappy band at present, but soon - Spaceballs!!

This movie made me laff and laff back in the day...and watching it from the comfort of my sand chair, feet in the grass and warm summer air all around me?

Pretty much fantastic.

Somebody had hisself a whoopsie today.

2010-08-31T20:37:00.000-07:00

Poor Jay.

He had hisself a lil' interaction with a 4" angle grinder at work today.

Apparently, that angle grinder decided to take a quick five from the tiled shower stall Jay was working in...and went ahead and implanted itself in Jay's right leg, just above the knee.

Yeah.

I know. It coulda been so. much. worse.

He ended up with 17 stitches in his leg, and didn't bother calling me until a few hours after it happened. Am I really that hysterical? That bad in a crisis? I didn't think so, but I guess he thought that the fact he nearly DIED from almost SEVERING HIS FEMORAL ARTERY wasn't reason enough to raise the alarm for his loving wife.

Sigh.

Anyhoots, he ended up with a lovely bandage and a prescription for Vicodin.

As well as a prescription for hilarity.

Because, you see - just a few minutes ago when I noticed that the homestead had gone eerily quiet - I turned to Jay (who was all comfy-ed up on the couch) and said "Where's the dog?"

Jay looked over his shoulder towards the water bowl near the dining table and replied,

"He's just getting a glass of water."

Uh huh.

I'm pretty sure that Vicodin's kicked in something serious right about now.

Jay lends a helping hand (not that it matters).

2010-08-29T20:46:00.002-07:00

Jay is a real helper. He likes to lend a hand when necessary and whatnot.

And he had a prime opportunity to jump in and lend some assistance when he spied a colt thrashing about a little because he'd gotten his head stuck in between some gate rails.

Now me, I have a bit of an aversion to horses. Mainly because I think those teeth are downright skerry. They're just so...BIG and everything. I have a coworker with giant horseteeth and it's all I can do to get through a staff meeting with those freakin' chompers gnashing around all the time.

But Jay has no such aversion. He stepped right up to that fella, cooed some soothing words...

Wrangled that fella's head out and through the gate...

...and then just laughed when the colt stuck his head right back through it again!

Piggy wiggies!

2010-08-29T20:46:00.001-07:00

I think pigs are cute. I like their lil' snouts, their dainty cloven hooves and those wee corkscrew tails.

But dear gawd, do their quarters smell to high heaven.

Fortunately, I was able to snap a few piggy wiggy pix on my beeline through the Swine Building.

Piggies making like spoons!

Kissin' piggies!

Piggy gettin' a drink!

And the best thing EVAR...BABY PIGGIES!!!!! ZOMG!!!!!

How bad would it suck to be this guy?

2010-08-29T20:35:00.001-07:00

This poor, poor sheep.

It's not enough that he (she?) just got sheared and is now feeling horribly exposed. Oh dear me...and now some considerate soul has sheathed the poor thing in electric blue spandex?!?

There are some humiliations one just can't live down in life.

An ass-less electric blue spandex bodysuit is one of those humiliations. Let that be a lesson to all of us, dear readers.

Goatsville.

2010-08-29T20:32:00.001-07:00

Mah mans and I joined the Prince-Starrs for a recent tour of the Washington County Fairgrounds. There's something very special about the local county fair...the food, the rides, the Future Farmers of America...I am entertained by just about all of it.

But I must admit, there are things I don't know much about. I grew up in the city, and the most exotic animal we had was a parakeet. I mean, really. We had a shizzton of cats and even a single skittish Sheltie dog over the years, but I'd never been exposed to the whole raising-an-animal-for-slaughter deal. And you know what? I kinda wished I'd had an experience like that.

Maybe if I had, I wouldn't cry so much during those Dirt Devil commercials with the sweet lil' yellow Labs.

Anyway, I particularly enjoy visiting the animal barns when we're at the fair. There are always kids milling about, muckin' out stalls and feeding their charges, and they're happy to answer any questions you might have. Some of those kids are downright chatty, and I find those ones awfully charming (despite their obvious affliction of being, you know - children).

And every once in a while, there's an animal that just seems to exude personality with a capital P. There was this one big ol' goat that fit that description perfectly. Here he is, perched up on the side of his enclosure, just squawkin' at anyone who would listen. He had a lot to say.

Mr. Prince-Starr was drawn in by Mr. Goat's vocalizations and wandered over to give him a lil' head scratch. Mr. Goat was in heaven.

Mr. Goat was good times indeed, but my hands-down favorite moment during the fair was in the Sheep Building. There was a mixture of sheared and not-yet-sheared sheep in the pens, and Mr. Prince-Starr - being the inquisitive and daring soul that he is - inserted his finger deep into one of the sheep's woolly coats.

From right behind us, we heard a croaking voice say "Try not to stick yer fingers in the wool."

Mr. P-S and I both jumped and turned around to identify the source of this directive. It was a woman sitting behind us, who offered "We can't sell the wool for as much when there's a bunch of dents in it."

Whoops.

I cringed in embarrassment, feeling terrible about not knowing you shouldn't stick your finger into sheepswool - and also because, honestly? If Mr. P-S hadn't done it first, I prolly woulda had my mitts all UP in that wool.

It makes me laugh now, particularly when I recall that she simply asked him to "TRY" not to stick his fingers in the wool. Oh, how I wish we could transport back in time and reply "We TRIED, but we just...had...to...do it!"

County fairs. Fun and educational!

That's, ummm...an interesting look you've got there.

2010-08-14T08:03:00.001-07:00

Whilst shopping around yesterday, I came across something astounding. It was an outfit so colorful and so CREATIVE that I simply had to commemorate it with a photo.

If you can't tell from the photo, these are the particular items that caught my eye:

- Multiple large purple barrettes

- Large purple silk flower pinned into her hair

- Violently technicolor flowered shirt

- Large checkerboard patterned Designer Impostors handbag (uncertain logo)

- Cropped denim pants with embroidered designs along the bottom hem

- Rainbow-striped socks artfully displayed courtesy of aforementioned cropped pants

- Black shoes that appear to serve an orthopedic function.

I don't know about y'all, but I call this bidness Schizophrenic Chic.

Mah Mans.

2010-08-13T21:12:00.000-07:00

I went ahead and treated myself to a mental health day today.

My day started with a delightful bloody mary, and quickly moved on to sunnin' in the sun, readin' a book and goin' shoppin'.

It was the best.

I spent the afternoon shoppin' around at the local mall, finding all kinds of steals of deals. Around 5 pm, I called mah mans and told him I was heading home. I ended up stopping for gas on the way, delaying my eventual arrival...and the thing was, I kept getting thirstier and thirstier...

Upon stopping at one of the many major intersections along the way, I texted mah mans and said "Could you maybe fix me up a vodka and sparkling water, and add a dash of key lime juice?

His response?

"Should I wait in the driveway with it?"

I didn't even need to say it - he ran right out into the garage to meet me with my drink o' the summer.

That's how we roll, yo.

Wait - when did they start selling dead kids at Costco?

2010-08-04T17:51:00.001-07:00

More importantly...can I find them in the refrigerated section?

I took a bit of a tumble recently...

2010-07-27T19:07:00.001-07:00

...and I'm not gonna lie. It was hella embarrassing. I mean, I was returning from lunch with my three besties from work, so they witnessed my jackassery...and so did a BUNCH of people that were heading in and out of the building on their lunch breaks.

So here's the thing...I blame my fall on the groundskeeper types that recently spread some new bark dust on the landscaping area between our parking lot and building. I was walking from the parking lot back toward the building when, just before I reached the curb, my right foot sunk into a hole cleverly disguised as BARK DUST, my right knee buckled, and in the words of my friend Renee, I threw myself into a duck-and-roll position "like an f-ing paratrooper."

I mean, I think I sorta saved some face with that move, which I must have learned from either MacGuyver or Bear Grylls at some point during my television addiction. But the worst part was that I'd been wearing a skirt that day, and when I performed my badass duck-and-roll, the skirt flipped up, exposing...wait....wait for it...

...that I was wearing a SKORT! Hahahahahahah! I have never been so in love with a garment than I was that day, lemme tell ya. In fact, I don't know that I'll ever wear a skirt again! It seems with my Tippy-Overish Tendencies, a skort might just be the best option available to me.

After my super fantastic gymnastickery in the parking lot, I had to give serious thought to controlling the bubbling laughter that threatened to cause me to wet my pannikins. I barely pulled off this feat and then spent the rest of the afternoon busting into spontaneous (and oh-so ridiculous) laughter about my jackassery, which was made no easier by my coworker Bucky's insistence upon re-enacting my wee spill.

So here, dear readers, is your chance to take a looksie at my very unfortunate circumstance from last week, courtesy of my uber-sympathetic coworkers...

Re-enactment of a Fall from aidywi on Vimeo.

Feeding the Paranoia.

2010-07-26T19:29:00.000-07:00

So my new position at work required me to move desks. AGAIN. It's only been like, the fifth or sixth time I've moved desks in almost 11 years...but whatevs. It means I'm clearin' shiz out and streamlining the clutter, right?

Well, not really. I'm kind of a packrat. But I did recycle a bunch o' stuff this time around, which felt fab. One thing not so fab? I'm pretty sure one of my new neighbors in cubeland is rockin' some pretty serious paranoia. Like, for reals.

This guy sits across the aisle from me, and has a few bad habits that do not endear him to me, like at all. Firstly, he likes to do that peek-over-the-cube-wall thing at me, which I hate - hate - hate. Just after I moved over to my current spot, one coworker was standing just inside the door to my cube, and this guy came cruising by, peeking down at me. Since I'm kind of an a-hole, I said "Gah! Don't eyeball me over the cube wall!" He laughed his goofball laugh and said "Heh heh, I call this my 'Wilson' look. I used to do it all the time to the last guy that sat here!" And I replied "Well, he probably hated it just as much as I do, but was too nice to tell you that."

Yeah, I know. I have evil inside of me. SO WHAT?

So this guy's codename is now Wilson. And he totally asked for it, so don't go all soft and feel bad for him, mmmkay? Lest you're tempted, let me also point out that Wilson likes to clip his nails (oh how I hope to 8 lb. 6 oz. baby jebus that they're fingernails) whilst in his cubicle. YEAH! NOW HOW SYMPATHETIC ARE YOU?

That's what I thought.

So here's the thing - there's been a few incidents recently that make me wonder about him, and whether he's gonna totally Milton-out and burn the building down or something.

Incident #1 - Last month, Wilson returned from a weeklong vacation, walked into his cube and said - apparently to the air around him - "Someone's been using my desk." A few beats later, he said "Somebody spilled something on my desk." He proceeded to carry on a brief conversation with himself about how this spill was "gross" and how he couldn't believe whoever (whomever?) committed this hostile act against him didn't clean up the disgusting fluid on his desk. I couldn't help piping up and saying "I'm pretty sure no one's been in your cube all week." His response? "Well, SOMEbody has. Because there's stuff spilled here!"

Right.

And then, earlier this week, Incident #2 - Wilson walked down our aisle, turned into his cube, sat down and said, sort of quiet, all to himself, "Somebody's been sitting in my chair." Dude! Seriously?? I feel like I'm living in Goldilocks and the Three Bears or something!

And you know what? I'm giving some substantial thought to wreaking some havoc on this guy. I might go in one day and raise his chair up real high. Or maybe rearrange some of his books.

OR, if he pulls that Wilson shiz again, I just might HIDE HIS SWINGLINE STAPLER.

Broken Homes and Luxury Automobiles.

2010-07-22T19:27:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but I have a deep and abiding hatred of those little happy family sticker figures that people post on the rear windows of their cars.

I'm not really sure why, other than I'm a firm believer in that whole Population Zero mentality (you all go on and have your kids, but I'm keepin' to the furry no-orthodonture, no-college costs babies). I mean, why do these peeps have to brag about their lil' shizball kids that ruin my dinners in pleasant dining establishments and kick the back of my seat during movies, and...GET OFF MY DAMN LAWN, YOU MEDDLING KIDS!!!

Wait. Where was I? Oh yeah - those stupid stickers.

Ugh. Those things are annoying. With the daddy, then the mommy and Little Boy #1, Little Girl #1, Little Boy #2, Dog #1, Dog #2 and Cat #1...

Look. I get it. You have the perfect American family. How nice for you! I'm really glad that a lack of forward planning and contraception worked out so well for you! KUDOS!

Do I sound bitter?

Well, anyway...I saw something the other day that made me laugh and laugh and laugh. It was this:

What's the matter? You can't see it? Look a little closer, there on the left side of the string of cartoon sticker characters:

SOMEBODY SCRAPED OFF DADDY!!!

Hahahahahahahah! I thought it was weird that the family started so far over from the left side of the window...I mean, these lil' people are always located in the exact same spot, but not on this window. And when I looked closer, I saw a strange water droplet pattern to the left of Mommy. CLEARLY, somebody wasn't too happy with Daddy's defection from the happy American family and went ahead and wiped him right off the family Escalade.

Poor Daddy.

PS - does anyone else find it strange that Dog #2 doesn't have a tail? Hmmm. Maybe Dog #2 is a Doberman?

Newsflash!

2010-07-20T21:58:00.000-07:00

Jay and I moved into our house almost four years ago, and I'm guessing that we stored some of our lesser-used liquors up in the high cabinet above the refrigerator. Well, I'm not guessing...that's what we did.

And then promptly forgot about them.

Until one day, when I was looking for a cookbook, and thought to pull out the stepladder and check that cabinet above the fridge.

Hoooo boy! Jackpot! Jay - we've hit the motherlode!!

We unloaded the cabinet and surveyed the goodies...a few bottles of Kahlua (yum!), some hazelnut liqueur (I think I mixed it in with chocolate for some kind of dessert) and blue curacao. BLUE CURACAO? What in the higgity-hell did we have that for? I generally have a rule against ingesting colors such as neon blue, but I guess we must have been heavy into a tiki-drink phase four years ago.

So here's where your newsflash comes in. Say you've just found a four-year-old stash of liquor. And say - for argument's sake - that it's 7:30 am on a Saturday and your neighborhood is hosting a big ol' garage sale. You may find yourself getting a little grouchy with some wheezing fat bastard of a fella that rushes you as you're setting up for said garage sale, insisting upon pawing through your for-sale items a full hour before the official start time of the sale.

And you might find yourself abandoning your huzzban' to the fat bastard so you can go inside to find some caffeinated beverages that will help you cope with talking to people. Annoying people. On a Saturday. At 8 in the AM.

You might spy a bottle of Bailey's on the counter and think, "That'll taste delicious in my coffee!" and pour a generous slug into your coffee cup.

And that's where you'll have gone wrong, dear reader.

Because that Bailey's probably turned a few years back. And the fluid being absorbed into your taste buds at that very moment? It will taste like one of the foulest things that has ever crossed your lips. Which it is.

I spent the rest of the day trying to scrape the unfortunate fur covering off my tongue without much success. Fortunately, we made a nice pile of cashola on the g-sale, so we treated ourselves to some tacos complete with some scorchin' salsa. It was hot enough to bring tears to my eyes, but more importantly - it killed that horrific spoiled Bailey's taste in my mouth.

And thank jebus for that.

An Unexpected Surprise (And no, it's not a bebe)

2010-07-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

Hello there! How y'all doin'?

I am fine, thankyouverymuch. Well, fine? Nah, I gotta go with something better than fine. But before I tell you about that, lemme first share a quick story...

One Friday afternoon several weeks ago, I was at work, scrambling to get some stuff done on deadline. I finally wrapped up my work in a pretty little bow, delivered it to the next person in the assembly line and hauled azz on outta there. It was getting close to 3 pm and I hadn't had a chance to eat lunch yet, so I grabbed my lunchbag and hit the road, thinking I'd snack on something on my way out.

Once I got to my car, I opened up all the windows and the sunroof...all the better to soak up one of our woefully infrequent days of bright, hot sunshine, dontchaknow. I realized I was all kinds of parched, and reached into my lunchbag to grab my nicely chilled bottle of Talking Rain carbonated water.

I drove along, left hand holding the wheel and my Talking Rain, as my right hand twisted off the cap, and then...

SSCCHHHERRRRRRESSSSTTTT!

The bottle of Talking Rain EXPLODED all over me - spraying my shirt, jeans, steering wheel, and out the window. Hell, that stuff probably shot out of the sunroof, too. It was everywhere.

I couldn't do anything at first - I was completely in shock that this essploshun had just happened all over me. It startled me so much, I'm actually quite impressed with myself that I didn't drive my azz right off the road. All I could think for a minute was "It's dangerous to talk on your cell phone and drive? I can barely take a sip of WATER and drive!"

And then I was just left with the awful, creeping realization that the water was seeping around me and pooling on the leather car seat below my body. It was not a pleasant feeling, y'all. And that is a fact.

And the capper of the whole damn thing was that not long after my Talking Rain shower, I'd arrived at Powell's and had to get out of the car, still soaked with water. However, as I mentioned, it was a pretty warm day, so after a bit of walking around the car in the heat, rubbing my legs to dry them, I was golden. Crisis averted.

You know, or something.

Soooo...this all happened right around the time that some sorta bigtime stuff went down at work. First, my coworker/playmate/perpetual-pain-in-the-ass/guidance counselor/mentor decided to retire. He'd been slowly disengaging and planning his escape for a while, so it wasn't a crazy giant surprise or anything, but still - a little discombobulating.

Secondly, I was asked to take over his job.

It wasn't a promotion or anything, just a lateral transfer. But it was a transfer to something new, something I didn't have a ton of experience in, and frankly - it was a bit skerry.

But the thing is, I had to consider it. Because my regular daily work life had become a bit like a chilled bottle of Talking Rain exploding in my face - a bit exciting, at times funny, but a little exasperating and not all that comfortable.

The new job offered me a chance for greater autonomy and an opportunity to learn something new, and those are both great things. But for the last several weeks, I've been in that uncomfortable cold-water-soaking-into-your-pants phase. I try not to get horribly hung up on not knowing everything all at once and realize that I'll get into the swing of things in time. But feeling the crushing pressure of not having the answers and sometimes not even knowing the right questions to ask...well, that just sucks. S-U-C-K-S. It's not my favorite thing.

Fortunately, the pants are starting to dry and the car seat's all cleaned up...and I'm starting to find my flow with this new job. There are some exciting projects on the horizon, and I'm finally getting to hand off some of the responsibilities of my old position. I'm feeling good. I'm feeling invigorated.

And I'm looking forward to this bidness.

How to park like an a-hole.

2010-06-08T20:17:00.000-07:00

I mean, seriously?

Who does that? This jerkoff right here, clearly. I'm just sayin'...maybe sometimes a keying/tire slashing is totally warranted. Not that I condone that sort of behavior or anything...

I Spy...Carrot Top!

2010-05-31T21:38:00.000-07:00

My pal Bucky and I have an entertaining way to pass the time whilst at work. You see, we've got ourselves some window seats. And these window seats face the county courthouse. Which means we often find ourselves with front row seats to one ridiculous event or another.

The courthouse is equipped with metal detectors, so we often spot people trying to stash things before heading through the screening stations. I've seen folks hide wee things near the bench straight outside my window, and I've seen others toss purses into the bushes right at the corner of the building. It's hilarious to me how slick these people think they are. Because they're really not. Slick, that is.

The county courthouse really draws all kinds of people - and Bucky and I do our best to make sure that the other spots the crazies. When I spy the statuesque blond in the short, short skirt and eff-me heels that is clearly a man, I make sure Bucky gets eyes-on in short order. And a few weeks back, I heard Bucky say from the other side of the wall "Uhhhh...yer gonna wanna check this out..."

I immediately turned around and started clocking the street below. It turned out to be an older woman with dyed hair down to the middle of her back. And how could I tell that she had dyed hair from 60 feet away and 3 floors up?

Well.

It had everything to do with the fact that she had bright orange hair down her back, but about eight inches of snow-white grow out at the top of her head.

It was freakish.

My only regret is that I spent too long marveling at the woman's clown hair to grab my camera and snap a pic (you know how I like my photographic evidence).

Fortunately, just a week or so later, I had the good fortune to encounter a similar case of poorly-tended hair. The 'do wasn't as long, but the orange vs. white throwdown was in full effect.

Behold:

Truly, I feel like a PSA is in order here.

PEOPLE: When you notice that Grammy is no longer keeping up on her roots schedule, take the situation in hand. You don't have to glove up and take care of the problem all L'Oreal style, but at the very least, hook Gram up with a gift certificate for the local Perfect Look!

And while you're at it, you might want take the time to re-evaluate Grammy's make up drawer. The foundation she used to wear when she actually spent some time in the sun is woefully inappropriate for her pale-cheeked, exclusively indoor visage. Lemme tell you, I still have nightmares of the time I saw my grandmother's white cordless phone all pancaked-up with orange foundation [shudder].

That just ain't right.

But much like only you can prevent forest fires, I feel it is my duty to point out that only you can make sure Grammy doesn't wind up pictured on somebody's website, gettin' called out for her nutty hairdid.

Get it? Got it? GOOD.

Signs That Make Me Giggle.

2010-05-30T21:11:00.001-07:00

As mah mans knows, there's not hardly anywhere we can go without me pointing out some spelling error on a sign or a menu. Spotting these boo-boos is like, my special talent or something...

First up, how's about a little RasHberry shaving cream? I mean, typically you try to avoid rashes after shaving, but perhaps an exception could be made?

I spotted this lil' number in Newport Beach, California along Pacific Coast Highway. I saw this sign, laughed and reached for my camera. It was only later when I saw the photo on my computer that I thought "Maybe that's not nearly as funny to everyone else." But c'mon - a turkey combo for sale at Honeybaked Ham? At a minimum, somebody's got their priorities all jacked up.

Apologies for the blurry photo, but you should be able to make out that The Oregonian newspaper has an "opportnity" for you vis-a-vis home delivery of the paper.

Not a spelling error here, but lordy do I hate it when quotation marks get used and abused. Soooo...are you telling me there's going to be a "sale" on the "street" - are you just messing with me?

Mmmmmm! PEACANS!

I've never been more frightened by a household item - we have to worry about WALKING COOLERS now, people!!

How does this work again? I click "post" or something?

2010-05-28T12:28:00.000-07:00

Firstly, it's been so long since I've posted here that I was worried my computer would have forgotten my Blogger password.

Fortunately, that was not the case.

Secondly, I have gobs and gobs of stories to share (or so my camera filled with AH-MAHHHZING photos tells me), but I've just not had a spare moment to sit down and transfer all those swirling thoughts and images into words for your enjoyment. The good news is that this girl right here has a long holiday weekend coming up, so expect your senses to be lovingly assaulted shortly...

In the meantime, I'd like to share something with you. It's a post written by one of my favoritest bloggers, Kiala. She's been on a bit of a sabbatical recently, too, but I hope this latest piping hot blog post is a sign of pure awesomeness to come.

Now, you've prolly noticed that I don't go for a lot of cursing and foulmouthery on this blog (though foulmouthery is such a very, very large part of my non-blog life. weird, huh?), but Kiala? She has no such qualms. And every time she uses one o' them "F" words or calls someone an a-hole, I giggle like a 9-year-old.

She uses both curse-jar-words in her latest post about dealing with a-holes and ridiculously delicate dogs at the dog park. I tell you this for free: I agree with her 100%. I hate dog parks for those exact reasons, and I should point out that I am the (somewhat)proud owner of a crazytown dog. You know how I avoid being one of those jackhole dog owners? By NOT TAKING SAID CRAZYTOWN DOG TO THE DOG PARK.

And it works. Believe that.

A purchase I won't be making.

2010-05-09T20:28:00.000-07:00

Chillin' in the local Goodwill store, I spied this bad mammer jammer:

You like?

Happenstance and Serendipity.

2010-05-06T06:47:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, Jay and I left home early to drive three hours south to Roseburg. A friend of ours lost his dad to prostate cancer, and - though we both hate funerals - we wanted to be there to support our friend. We planned on hitting the service, then searching out a hotsprings near Roseburg and camping out for the night. But once we got into the sunshine, we didn't really feel like heading into the forest, so we headed for the coast instead.

The unfortunate thing, which we didn't realize until we'd been driving a while, was that we weren't exactly on a highway to the coast. In fact, after a tick, we were barely on a ROAD anymore. The pavement turned to gravel, which turned to pothole-ridden gravel, which turned into giant, car-sized potholes.

It was SKERRY.

I was convinced we were going to come upon a big ol' road wash-out, or maybe a band of toothless bandits or gypsies or something. I kept whispering to Jay "we're gonna die out here, baby."

The cool thing is that we did come upon some pretty amazing sights - the road was along this river or stream or something, and it was all lush green and mossy and rushing water and old growth trees and fantastic. At one point, we heard all this crazy noise and the next thing we knew, we were right next to this big ol' waterfall. Totally beautiful.

Anyway, despite my fears, we did eventually reach paved road again. We made our way out to the coast and began checking out campgrounds to see if there was anywhere cool to spend the night. We'd sort of lost our enthusiasm for the whole camping out thing, though, so when we stopped for dinner in Florence, we decided to call Jay's parents and tell them that we'd be showing up that night instead of midday on Sunday.

Well.

We arrived at the inlaws' and caught up with the 'rents for a while before I started fading and headed to bed. And when I decided to go beddy-by-bozos, I grabbed the glass Jay had been drinking from and filled it with water. Jay's mom was all "Oh, you can have your own glass!" and I replied "Jay doesn't let me have my own glasses. Anymore." But the thing was...I was joking.

Anyway, I placed that bad boy on the nightstand next to me, got snuggled into bed, turned off the light and promptly smacked that glass down onto the table, shattering it and sending water everywhere.

Jay carried the shards of glass out into the kitchen and passed his parents in the family room, saying "This is why I don't let her have nice things."

And really? I've just got to wonder what was running through their heads about our relationship at that moment.

So after that horribly embarrassing scene, we peaced out and slept til the 'morrow. And on Sunday morning, I suggested that we check out a local farmers market (mainly because I'd finished reading the local paper and all that was left to do was: 1) stare at each other, 2) stare at the television, or 3) go to church.

And I wasn't down with any of those options.

Jay's dad elected to stay home, so the three of us went down to the farmers market. The market wasn't really happening, we instead of getting out of the car and strolling around, we headed down to the University of Oregon campus to check out the new athletes' study center.

Unfortch, we hit a roadblock because the Eugene Marathon was still going on, so we backtracked it downtown and went to one of my favorite places in Eugene - the 5th Street Public Market. We checked out some stores and were just backing out of our parking spot and heading home when I saw a familiar blonde head - my friend Tiffany!

As I struggled with the door (damn childproof locks!) I saw her mom round the corner and I leapt from the car and started bounding over to her. As I gave her a big ol' hug (omigod! can't believe I ran into you here!), I saw her sister Amy and their dad come around the corner, too.

Okay, so here's the crazy part about it. I live west of Portland. Tiffany lives in the same town west of Portland. Amy, also a good friend and the wife of one of my favoritest former coworkers ever, lives in BOISE. Their parents live along the northern Oregon coast. It turns out that Amy was flown in for fancy shindiggeries at the UO, so her sister and parents drove down to meet up with her.

AND THEN WE ALL RAN INTO EACH OTHER!

- If Jay and I had gone to the forest instead of the beach, I'd never have seen them.

- If we'd camped at the coast the night before, I'd never have seen them.

- If we'd stayed longer at the farmers market, I'd never have seen them.

- If we hadn't been turned back by the marathon, I'd never have seen them.

- If we'd left the 5th Street Market even a minute or two sooner, I'D NEVER HAVE SEEN THEM!

But we didn't, and I got to run into two fabulous friends instead. It was fate and magic and happenstance and serendipity, all rolled up into one, and me?

Well, I loved everything about it.

I have a very full concert calendar.

2010-05-05T20:16:00.000-07:00

May is looking real good. In a concert-going kind of way.

I like to get in some live shows on the regular, and April's been a real lame month in Portland-town. But May is more than making up for things. The unfortunate part, however, is that all these shows are hitting in what has been - and will continue to be - A GIANT BIZZATCH OF A MONTH at work.

Don't get me wrong, I'm lovin' it. Great projects, working with great people (for the most part, I mean, c'mon - you know I'd be lying if I said everyone was my bestie) and feeling like I'm actually accomplishing things. It's a good time.

Except I'm a little apprehensive about clockin' all these shows while things are so busy. Cuz, you see - these things are on school nights. Exclusively.

I've got Freelance Whales and Shout Out Louds on Sunday the 16th

and

Frightened Rabbit on Monday the 17th

and

John Butler Trio on Wednesday the 26th

and

Local Natives on Thursday the 27th.

Back to back shows two weeks runnin'! It'll be insanity! It'll be madness!

But just gimme some preventative hydration, celebratory cocktails, and recovery caffeine and I'll be fine.

Just fine.

Utilikilts = Muy Malo.

2010-05-05T20:00:00.000-07:00

Sweet jebus! When did I mean to post this? Yeah, that's mid-April, yo.

Whoopsie!

Anyhoots, last month, Kams and I attended that secret Passion Pit show and we stumbled out of the darkness into the mid-day brightness of the streets and were greeted by this:

A freaking UTILIKILT, people.

I don't consider myself a fashion plate by any means. Any means AT ALL, but I know when something doesn't work. And folks, this utilikilt thang ain't happening.

Now personally, I don't think utilikilts should ever be worn. But if they *holds nose* must be worn, there's a right way and a wrong way.

The right way involves muscled, tan calves, combat boots and a devil-may-care attitude.

The wrong way?

That fella up above.

I mean, my god...tennis shoes? Ankle socks? That fella needs to get TOLD. Like, immediately.

Pardon me, but I need to go bleach my eyeballs. Be back in a minute.

Passion Pit!

2010-04-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

This post should alternately be titled "I'm a WINNER."

Cuz you see, I scored two free tickets to this super-underground, 4-song, acoustic set by Passion Pit at Mississippi Studios. And it was good. I try to avoid local radio if at all possible, but every once in a while, I tune into 94.7 KNRK, Portland's local alternative station, and it totally paid off for me in this case. I happened to be listening at the right time, blasted a text off to the radio station and BINGO BANGO! Free secret show entree!

Passion Pit is an electronica band that's heavy on the synthesizers, and I wasn't at all sure how their music would translate in an unplugged format. They played the Sasquatch! festival last year and the crowd was a giant, seething mass of sweaty, stinky humanity. And that ain't exactly the sort of scene you typically find at Miss Studios.

So my girl Kams and I headed to N Portland - full of curiosity - to catch the (shhhhh!) show. The house wasn't packed, but there did seem to be a nice amount of upscale Portland Hipsters in attendance. Meaning, there seemed to be more people with cocktails rather than cans of PBR tallboys. It put me in a true vodka tonic kind of mood.

Kams told me these shows were usually pretty quick, but what we heard, we liked. The band normally runs with a five-person set up, but only two fellas were on stage for our show. The frontman, Michael Angelakos, was chatty despite having woken up just an hour or so earlier, and made some cute commentary about softpack cd cases, sustainability and understanding the Portland demographic. Silly hipsters and their "choosing green" and whatnot.

PS - Angelakos' giant afro was complete adorbs.

The family that shoots together...

2010-04-13T22:53:00.000-07:00

...stays together?

Well, I don't know about all that, but my fam certainly gave it a "shot" anyway recently.

There's an indoor shooting range in town that offers a pretty sweet deal for nonmembers wanting to try out different handguns. For $35 bones, you get a lane on the range, all the requisite personal safety gear and rental of a wide variety of handguns.

During our visit, we got an even better deal because I went ahead and purchased a membership for myself. $10 lanes! $5 rentals! Once we loaded up on ammo and targets, we headed out to the lanes.

Pops and Knuckle Len square up on some baddies

Pops and I sampled a few 9mm semi-automatics, while the Knuckle and my brother-in-law A-lux picked out a revolver and a .22 long rifle handgun.

A-lux digs shootin' shiz

Pops and I shared a target - his are mainly the ones that hit the four black targets - mine are the wild ones that hit every which way.

Blam blam!

But that's okay, I'm cool with getting more practice...

Don't know if I mentioned...

2010-04-12T21:34:00.000-07:00

But mah mans and I recently celebrated our TWELFTH wedding anniversary.

That's right...1 - 2.

I can barely believe it either, but there you have it. Our anniversary happened to coincide with our annual trip to Central Oregon with Jay's fam, where we kicked it at Eagle Crest for a few days.

I thought there was something particularly hilarious about waking up the morning of our anniversary in these here twin beds. Happily, the housekeeping staff went ahead and made them up into a nice ginormous king-sized bed for us later that day. And of course we continued to sleep on our own twin beds, all sprawled out, for the rest of our stay.

Cuz we're romantic like that.

Why yes, that IS a shotgun on my bed. I call her "Starla."