In an attempt to make more friends here in the Portland, or at least friends who also eat meat and/or love karaoke (because I love my vegan roommates and all, but really), I joined some meet-up groups. And Saturday night I went to my first event, a karaoke night in NE PoPo (my new nickname for Portland. you like?).
See, I love the karaoke. If you've been reading since my birthday or since I lived in California, you're well aware of this. I loooooove karaoke.
I was unsure what to think. I've yet to find a karaoke joint I truly love yet here in the port land, at least not like my old haunt in So Cal where Morgan and I would walk in the room and the KJ would put our names in. Good times. So I was hopeful that this would be the spot.
Incidentally, back when I was dating Love Interest (remember, y'all? the dude from PDX?), we drove by this same joint and he made fun of it. So it's with great pleasure that I announce I had a blast.
Let me just say right off that this place is intense! Not a bar that happens to have karaoke. This is a karaoke joint. With a big stage area and a HUGE catalog of songs (even though they didn't have two songs I wanted to sing). They had all the colorful regulars and flashing lights and a bubble machine and a dance floor in front of the stage. Super crazied out, I tell ya!
Also, I was not sure at first. Everyone knows if you want to get some songs in, you gotta go early. And it was just me and the group organizer for a while. They were threatening to make us move to a smaller table from out cushy prime real estate by the stage when the rest of the group started showing up and I made a new soul sista with the most hilarious girl on the planet along with meeting some really cool people.
I sang 3 songs. Drank two beers which is one beer more than this little girl can handle. Danced with a drag queen. Flirted with a hot lesbian server who has a girlfriend (sad face). Sold one of the rings I made and wore. And generally laughed until my throat was raw.
So. Much. Fun.
I will be going back.
Lesson for today: don't look for what you don't want to find. The other night, on a whim, I looked up my biological father on Facebook.
I have no clue why it never occured to me before. I've know my birth parents' names since I was like 22. I think it never occured to me to look on FB because I really don't think about them that often. But I was searching for some other people who might still be too old to be on but thought I'd take a chance and the thought just popped into my head.
But I didn't search right away. I thought, nah, I don't want to know and went to sleep. Except sleep I did not. So I got back up and opened up mac.
I actually searched for my mom first but she has a super common name and I don't know what city she's in now or even where she lived when she gave me up. I'd spot a picture that maybe looked old enough but no dice. Oh well.
Then I searched my dad. And there he was. Only guy with that name. And happened to be the right city as well. Crazy.
He's well, not like my dad at all. At all. I don't want to say anything cruel, but really.
Oh and so I knew I had one biolgical sibling, two years old. Turns out? I have three. All sisters. One 33, 31, and 28. That means that I either had two siblings when they gave me up or the girl a year older is really a half sister or maybe a step sister I guess.
I have to say, it's disheartening to find that out. I mean, I didn't mind the one sister and I knew the story there. But to think there was another kind of makes the story lose water. Kind of hurts my feelings just a smidge.
Years ago, a friend of my dad's called him to say he saw me at a Dodger game and he wanted to say hi but didn't want to bug me with all my friends. My dad was like, she wasn't at a game. Always figured it was the sister I'd never met.
Recently, a friend who is a reporter took a photo in my former town and posted it on Facebook asking me who the hunky guy in the picture with me was. Except, it wasn't me in the picture. Looked a hell of a lot like me. I even thought maybe, but no, I don't have a purse like that. She looked that much like me. Right? Weird. So weird.
And now there are two girls out there who potentially look like me. I know the third doesn't because her FB profile isn't private and...yeah...we have similar cheeks, but the similarities end there. And it would make sense that we have different mothers since my parents had split up. But isn't that weird? Maybe only adopted people get this. Try to imagine there are people in the world who come from the same gene pool, who potentially look just like you, but you've never met. So bizarre.
Except I must go back to....these people are not like me at all. At least not from my dad's page.
And I'm reminded that even though my childhood was tough, I am so glad I have the family I do. Not that there was ever any doubt. My dad is awesome and my cousins are like my sisters and I love them dearly. Not to mention the cool aunts (and even the crazy aunt in Vegas) and our circle of friends who were like family growing up. I had aunts that weren't really aunts and friends who were like siblings.
And all I have to say is: thanks, parents, for adopting me. Thanks.
Life is a funny beast.
There was stressful event this past weekend that I fear I can't talk about not because of discretion, though that would be nice of me, but because I don't want to poke at rabid animals. You remember what happened Old Yeller right?
By the by, why does everyone cry in that movie? I was always like, what the fuck is wrong with that dog? Somebody shoot it!
Yeah, I may have seen the movie too young.
Anyway, I just want to make a declaration for my own peace of mind: dating and relationships are hard enough already without bringing your crazy all up in here.
If you suspect you might be a nutjob, get some therapy before you go on a date. Maybe some medication.
Also, don't tell girls you're available when you really aren't. That makes them want to punch you in all sorts of soft places. And not in a way that you would like, pervy.
Oh and just one more thing: dating is like trying on clothes. Some things fit, others don't. The nice thing to do when something doesn't fit is to nicely and gently hang it back up on the hanger, put it back where it goes, and tell it it's not a bad pair of pants just because it didn't fit you, but will probably fit someone else's ass quite nicely.
When a girl does that, tells you it was a bad fit very sweetly and nicely (even when she didn't have to), that is not cause to turn into a douchecanoe nutjob . Mmmmmk?
So fuck you and the crazy you rode in on.
I just poked the rabid dog didn't I? Eh, screw it. I own a baseball bat.
If you don't know, I've been looking for more work to supplement my current meager income. With Jeté's medical expenses and my own need to make money, I've been applying for both big girl writing and web content editor jobs and part-time retail jobs. I'll take what I can get and it's sad but true: one can only work in their pajamas for so long.
And if I do get more work, I bet my blogging schedule will have to adjust. I just won't have time to keep up the pace I've maintained here. Sad face, but true.
Unless one of you rockstars needs a content editor or writer. I rock lobster! Just sayin'.
The Raw Photos Contest is coming up again! woot woot! Start shooting now and submissions open the day after Thanksgiving and close December 4th. Click here for rules since I'm much too lazypants to post them for you again.
The theme is: LOVE.
Whatever love means to you. Maybe it's friends or family or a person or a child or a pet or a coffee mug or a book or a symbol or your surrealist interpretation of this crazy thang called love. Whatever.
Submit photos here.
1 year ago