Homesickness, Anxiety, and Other Ailments

A thousand years ago, I promised you wonderful peoples a post about my anxiety and stress and how I've been struggling to keep hold of my wits lately. And then I never wrote it because when I'm battling my stress levels, I tend to neglect the things I love to do most. I let the necessary obligations rule (because, what choice do you have?) and any free time is spent trying to recuperate and rest. The last thing I want to do after being anxious and stressed all day or all week is use up any more brain space I might possibly have left. 

The sad part of that is if I'd make myself write or take photos, I'd probably be happier. Thus is the constant dilemma of the creative person who needs to pay the bills. I never even posted the gazillion photos I took of the snow. They're just sitting on my hard drive, forgotten and lonely and cold (they're cold because they're of snow. duh). 

And it's not even my job per se. It's me. I can't seem to handle the smallest amount of lately, though this isn't the first time I've been through this. The last time I had major issues with stress and anxiety, it was due to other things that I hadn't dealt with. I'm fairly certain that's the case this time as well and one can only overanalyze herself so long before cracking up. 

I really do need professional help sorting through it all and I've been looking for a therapist, but, so far, nobody is taking new patients. Do we just not have enough therapists in Portland? There's certainly a surplus in LA, so what's the deal? I did get a couple of recommendations from friends and I'm waiting to hear back if they take my insurance. Cross all your appendages, people!

It often feels silly that I'm struggling when all seems to be going well in my world. I'm with the best man I've ever known and he's been impossibly supportive and patient through all this, something I don't always know what to do with because I've never been treated so well. I have a decent job with many duties that I truly enjoy doing. And, of course, no work is without stress and I've been wondering what's wrong with me that I can't handle any sort of stress. Maybe, even though I'm capable of a lot, even though I'm creative and intelligent, maybe I can't handle putting so much of myself into my work. Does that make sense? I'm the type of person who does her work 100%, but what room does that leave for any personal happiness? I really struggle (and have always struggled) with how to maintain that balance. 

At any rate, it's easy to fantasize that a mystery relative with bequeath me a fortune and I can be self employed and just write and take photos and travel. Wouldn't that be the life? Le sigh. 

I'm sure a lot of this stress and anxiety is due to issues popping back up again, my childhood abuse, my adoption. Certainly a major part is that I spent most of my youth trying to earn a love that my mother would never give and I've found myself in a loving relationship and I think, deep down, I'm scared as hell of fucking it up (you know, because it was always "my fault" that my mom beat the shit out of me). I'm running ragged trying to keep it all in place. When it's most probably not that fragile at all. But I can't help but revert back to past fears because that's what one does. 

Hello, therapists! Hello? 

And, I have to say, I'm really homesick. When I moved from California to Oregon, I never anticipated that I would get homesick or that it would be such a production to go back to visit. It's a long way! California is a long-ass state, yo! So not only does it take a pretty chunk of change, I have to make the most of it and see every person in every city in the LA and San Bernardino area. It's a production. 

We are planning a trip down there this summer. We've been talking about it forever and, dammit, we have to make it happen. Boyfriend hasn't met anyone really and I need to see them too and, of course, we must go to Disneyland. Obvi.

I don't miss most of it. I still maintain my reasons for leaving, namely the heat and smog, but also a faster, more shallow way of life. 

Would YOU miss that? COUGH COUGH

I love Portland in so many ways. But it's truly difficult being so far from most of my friends and family. At least one of my best friends is here! I don't know that I could deal without her, because I don't actually have all that many good friends here. Sure, I have friends and I have my boyfriend's friends and we hang out and have a good time, but that doesn't compare to the lifelong friendships and connections I left behind, people who just know me so well. I miss them like mad.  

It doesn't help that Portland traffic is making me crack up. Honestly, I never thought that, after battling the Los Angeles freeways, I'd complain about traffic in sleepy little Portland, but I am. It's not the gridlock of major cities - it's the people. 

It's the drivers, the bicyclists, the pedestrians. Either people don't know the rules of the road here or they just don't give a fuck. There's no zoning out on the drive because you never know what someone will do. I have near misses every single day, no exaggeration. I'll almost hit a pedestrian who runs in front of my car. I'll almost hit a cyclist who runs a red light. I'll almost hit many many many cars who cut me off and drift into my lane and run stop signs and do crazy illegal things you would never think someone would do. EVERY DAY. Just this morning, I was cut off three times by cars and had to stop for two pedestrians sauntering across a 4 lane highway. Sauntering. Like they owned the goddamn world. 

And that's not even counting how many times I've nearly been roadkill by cars or bikes while I'm walking. I understand why people jaywalk here because crosswalks offer no protection. It's no wonder Portland is known for its great mass transit. They have to have reliable buses and trains because nobody here knows how to FUCKING DRIVE. Don't get me started on merging. 

Deep breaths. I'm getting all worked up just thinking about it. 

Clearly the answer to all my problems is money. I need to be rich so I can afford a helicopter to take me places (or, better yet, teleportation). And if I'm that rich, I won't need to work so I'll have less stress and I can afford any therapist I want to deal with my issues. AND I can afford to travel anywhere I want and bring anyone I want along. 

See? Money really can buy happiness. 

Anxiety and Driving in the Snowpocalypse

I have been planning on writing a post in which I tell you how I've been struggling a bit lately with anxiety and life changes and am looking for a therapist.

But then the snow happened and so clearly I need to tell you about that first.

BUT! First, a little about the anxiety. Years ago, before I moved to Portland and before I went through therapy the first time, before I cut off contact with my mother, and before I really started finding my own happiness, I used to suffer from what I lovingly call Random Anxiety.

Basically, it was anxiety that would come on with seemingly no trigger or with an illogical trigger, meaning something small that wouldn't make a regular person bat an eyelash would give raise my heart rate, get me all flushed and itchy, and short of breath and often in tears. I've never had a full on panic attack, thank goodness, because those are actually fairly scary and physically debilitating.

I've never had social anxiety, though being around lots of people for extended periods can exhaust me; my issue was more like high stress but I'd feel it even when I wasn't under that much stress.

I never really told anyone about this, except for my therapist (and my doctor before that), because I was so embarrassed to need medication when my mother was (and is) a prescription drug addict. Not that anyone should be embarrassed of needing medication! You do what you need to to survive this life, I say. But I was scared of taking meds, because of that, and so didn't want anyone to know.

The other reason I kept mum was because I worked very hard to display an air of confidence and control and I just didn't want anyone knowing just what a mess I actually felt I was.

Anyway, glossing over the next few years, I went to therapy, figured out my anxiety was triggered by all sorts of emotions I had buried as an abused child, and once I let myself feel, I was able to wean off my medication and learn how to handle stressors and have felt pretty great for years now.

Then the last few months, with some major changes (hello, moving in with my boyfriend!) and stress, and I've found myself having Random Anxiety once again (along with some other issues, which I'll tell you about another day). But, this time around, I knew the signs and what was happening and I've been good at doing the things I learned in therapy to calm myself down. And I've been looking for a new therapist here in Portland to help me work through these issues and get to a healthy place again.

As of yet, I haven't found a therapist.

And then two days ago, Thursday, the Snow with a capital S hit Portland. Snow hardly ever comes to Portland and certainly never this thick. Between the city never being prepared for snow and nobody (including me, the California girl), knowing how to drive in the snow, the whole city shuts down.

At 1pm, the powers that be decided to close the office, but I had an errand to run with a coworker that we couldn't get out of, so we headed to do that first. Everyone was trying to get out of the city (where I was) and the streets were packed.

Took this about 1:30 as I'd sat through 7 or so cycles at this stop light

We spent 2 hours driving 2 miles or so and then I could finally try to make my way home, which was 6 miles away. I was already fairly cabin fevery in my car, hadn't eaten lunch, though I did have some veggies and a nut bar in my purse and a bottle of water (which I was scared to drink because I didn't want to have to pee).

I finally made my way down to what I thought would be the best and easiest route home and came across a little fender bender blocking the only way. We were rerouted the opposite way and then U turned around back going south (the right way), but this placed me several blocks back AND behind some train tracks and of course there was a train and of course the train was going slow because of the snow traffic. I sat in that spot, not moving at all for about a half an hour.

Just sitting

Then I crept, block by block, for several hours, not making much progress, and trying not to lose my mind. I nibbled on my veggies, charged my phone, kept checking facebook, and called my boyfriend a lot to try to stay calm. He also kept offering to come get me and I was like, "Um, unless you have a helicopter, no. Your car would then just get stuck here and then we'd both be stuck in snow traffic."

There was just nowhere else to go. I was stuck there. Occasionally I'd get out and scrape the ice off my windshield wipers and run back in my car soaking wet, so at least there was that.

My anxiety was obviously rising and I'd waver between feeling okay or sardonic about the whole situation and feeling like it was the end of the world and I was going to have to spend the night in my car and freeze to death and goodbye cruel world.

Creeping along

At some point, I had the wherewithal to call my dad, who is a retired firefighter, and he pretty calmly told me I'd be fine and to keep checking in, and gave me a few practical tips. Thanks, dad.

Though, as dramatic as I am and as anxious and trapped as I was feeling, really the worst hadn't hit yet.

At about 5:30pm, I was able to get off the main road and get onto a side road I knew that I could cut over to my original route much further down. And, it was pretty wide open. Harder to drive on, to be sure, because the snow was getting pretty thick (and believe you me, I don't have chains), but at least I was moving!

I made my way out of the city and followed the backroad I knew, driving slowly, and sliding around here and there. When I turned to make my way up the small yet steeper than you'd think hill to get to one of the two main roads to my house (not including the freeway), I promptly got stuck in the snow. Every time I tried to go up, I'd slide back. So I braked and put my hazards on and started crying because I didn't know how to drive in the snow really and my car is so not 4 wheel drive.

Then a cop car pulled up behind me and helped me back up up and go another way. Thanks, random Portland cop who showed up at the right time! Seriously great timing on his part.

I headed toward the other route I knew, which I wasn't super hopeful about because it's a smaller road, but what choice did I have? I called my boyfriend and put him on speaker to keep me calm, because I was pretty much freaking out by this point. It was dark and icy and the snow kept coming and I was definitely scared of not getting home and, since I saw no Tauntauns around, I'd probably freeze to death.

So then, of course, there's quite the windy hill on this other road and I got stuck in the snow yet again. And, this time, every time I try to back up, I slide more and more around so that I'm getting perpendicular to the road. And I'm crying and freaking out. I try to pull over to the side, thinking maybe I can abandon my car on the side and walk to Starbucks or something where my boyfriend, with his  4WD Subaru (the official state car of Oregon), can come rescue me. But it's not working. I can't get to the side because there's too much snow.

Finally, I was able to back up into a side road and turn around and head back where I came. Boyfriend told me to go to a grocery store on that road, where he'd come get me and I could leave my car until the Snowpocalypse had passed.

I get to the grocery store about 6:15pm, sooooo excited to walk around and thought to by some gluten free bread (we were out) and wandered around, stretching my legs, and Boyfriend called, saying he can't get his car up our steep driveway.

And then I really did flip out. He offered to walk to me (what good would that do now?) and I just kept yelling and crying that I'd FIGURE IT OUT! Sigh.

I can't remember how I decided to try to find a route to the freeway, but that's what I would try. I stopped to get gas just in case and backtracked toward downtown, looking for the freeway entrance (I didn't know that route at all) and, again, keeping my boyfriend on speakerphone.

It took a long time, but I slowly found the freeway and crept along with the surprisingly few other cars all the way to my exit and then home, where I found Boyfriend standing in the snow, waiting for me. I wandered inside, cold, tense, and completely exhausted at 7pm. I'd been driving in the snow for 6 hours and it took me 4 to go 6 miles.

Then I spent a half and hour telling everyone who was worried about me that I'd made it home safely. Finally.

It's been snowing steadily since and, except for going out to take tons of photos and play around, I am not going out in that. No way, no how. You couldn't pay me anything to get in a car in the snow again.

Here are some crappy iPhone shots of what it looks like today. Better shots coming soon once I actually finish taking them and then editing.

Pretty sure my plants have died. And our front step is completely gone.

Anyone have a shovel?

Pretty

This is our driveway. Yup. Promise.

Photo of the Day: Around Downtown Portland

I don’t always take photos of flowers and cats. Sometimes I love me some architecture and a clear winter day in downtown Portland is especially lovely. The light gradient absolutely slays me. That sliver of light is just delicious. 

See more here. 

Photo of the Day: All the Changing Leaves

Because I can never get enough of those Fall colors.

See more here. 

Photo of the Day: Wet Leaves

Wet leaves are as much a part of Portland Fall as the rain itself. It also means that, however pretty, one must walk carefully so as to avoid falling on one's ass in the street.

See more here. 

Photo of the Day: Hat on Mount Hood

Some days I’m so happy I live in Oregon.

Photo of the Day: Rainy Days

Today I am sick in bed so I’m sharing a shot with you I took last fall. Fall in Portland is pretty much like Spring in Portland: rainy. Only you get slightly different colors. Click here for more rainy day photos. 

Photo of the Day: Shades of Wheat and Gold

I've decided, in what might be an all too ambitious plan, to start Photo of the Day back up over here on the blog with coordinated posts over at Double A Photography. That's the plan anyway! Enjoy! Click here for more.

Ch ch ch chaaaanges

Hideyho, friends. It has been an insane month, which is why I haven't written. Like at all. Because I was dealing with the madness. All the madness.

So much madness.

As of last Thursday, I am officially an unemployed person. For reasons which I can't even get into and to which I've come to terms. It wasn't easy, let me tell you what. I really struggled with this for a while and I felt my toes dipping into the pool of depression, which I don't think is unreasonable. Anyone would get sad and scared and feel a bit lost when making a huge life change and also face the possibility of not supporting oneself.

I don't think it's unreasonable to avoid homelessness. That's really all I ask.

Not that my friends and fam would actually let me be literally homeless. But you get what I mean.

And I was grieving the job I worked so hard to fit in to for the past two years. You work so hard to make yourself one way and when it turns out that it's not actually possible to change yourself, it's a bit of a hard fall. Sometimes you can't make yourself fit if you just don't fit.

And I've decided that's okay. The bottom dollar is that it's not just about my happiness or following my dreams or whatever, which are important and which I'm going to do, but if I'm not the person for the job, then I won't succeed. I can't set myself up to fail anymore and so I won't. I'll follow my passion and work my ass off to do so and hopefully the money follows.

And that passion is photography. And writing and any creative endeavors I find, of course. But it's all about the photography. I think, I know, I have a talent for it and it's work that I do well because I love doing it. It makes me truly happy.

So I am looking for some steady employment in the mean time, but the end goal is professional photographer.

I can do it all, from weddings to engagement sessions to family, baby, and pet portraits, to business photography like head shots and real estate photography. Because I'm just starting out, my rates are reasonable and I'll work with you to find an affordable package for your budget.

Tell your friends! I'll need YOUR help to make it as a photographer and I'm counting on your support, friends. I've appreciated you guys so much over the years and I know you're in my corner.

There's a link to my photo site in the top navigation (expect a more dynamic site as I start to make money) or you can find it here. Also, please go like my photography facebook page! And you can still find me on Twitter @andygirl.

I'll be blogging more here as well, at least that's the plan, and you can still find me at Spocket Ink.

Is...how you say...freezing!

It's been colder than Santa's balls here in Portland the last few weeks. I assume Santa's balls are cold on account of the North Pole being pretty chilly and he doesn't look like he gets much action. So, as you can imagine, pretty damn cold.

We've gotten a little snow here and there, though nothing to brag about, but it's mostly been just damn cold and clear and icy and foggy. Most Portlanders would kill me for saying this, but I can't wait for the rain to come back. But that will warm things up a bit! Yikes it's cold out there.

So last weekend, Eminem and I drove a good three hours out of Portland to a cabin his folks have and then I promptly started to get a cold, which made me, per usual, a cranky, dramatic pain in the ass. But, my man handled it like a champ. As he always does. Which is why I love him.

But, even though I was getting sick, I refused to drive all that way just to watch football and movies and eat enough gluten free cookies to last me through the apocalypse, so I drug our freezing asses outside and we walked around a frozen lake and I got some great photos out of it. Totally worth losing my nose to frostbite, but that's what committed photographers are all about.



Then I came home to a week from hell. Between this cold that threatened to be the flu and feeling some immense stress from work and then some other shit which I just can't talk about, it was hard. Super hard yo.

Then a friend told me (so, you know, a very reliable source) that historically, that's the most depressing week of the year. Something to do with it being fucking freezing and everyone's stressed from coming off the holidays, blah blah blah. So that made me feel better.

And Saturday I got to go to my very first Trail Blazer's game. And even though they lost and even though I thought I might get into a LA girl throw down more than a few times (because that's how California girls do it. so don't fuck with us.), I had fun!

Still, even though it was freezing all night, a great reward for trudging along in the cold to do something with your guy that he genuinely loves is always cuddling with a human radiotor that makes you tea and breakfast in the morning. In case you missed it, my boyfriend is a human radiator. The man emits heat that could cure a hypothermia victim. Hospitals should keep him on standby.

As one parting thought, I've never liked the term "pussy whipped" for what I hope are obvious reasons. It's a horrible term. But I now own apparel for pretty much all of my boyfriend's favorite sports teams (except the Pats. because I'll always be a Niners girl).

So you tell me who's whipped.

there and back again

Oh, Internet. I’ve given up at this point trying to post every week. Every two weeks feels about right with my insane schedule. And I have several posts going in my head all the time, but finding the time to sit down and write them is proving problematic.

And it’s not like my schedule is even that insane. I don’t have kids. I don’t have to cook or clean for anyone but myself. But between how tired I am once I get home from work, social commitments, and trying to have some kind of enjoyable personal time, I just don’t write much. But I think that’s okay for now. I’m navigating this part of my life and I think the best thing is that I’m kind to myself through it. We all know what a perfectionist I can be, perfectionist bordering on masochist. So whatever happens, I just want to be less hard on myself.

Anyway, here I am, finally writing. I’ve yet to find a coffee shop in my neighborhood I really like so I’m installed in a Starbucks for the time being. It’s not ideal of course. It’s so corporate and the paper cups just aren’t as conducive to creativity as huge, funky mugs are. Does that make sense? There’s something about a cozy little neighborhood shop with its quirks and oddities that make my brain flow. But oh well. First world problem. Shit, plenty of writers pen their greatest works in annexes and bunkers and shacks. I should stop complaining about the Starbucks.

And, hey, I love how Starbucks is supporting women’s and LGBT rights. So there.

It’s been a crazy time, Internet. First, I had the Black Plague for a whole week. Otherwise known as bronchitis. And it knocked me on the ass. Not being able to breathe properly will do that to you. I finally drug my ass to the doctor, which we know I’m loathe to do because of my hypochondriac, drug addict mother.

When I was a kid, she drug me to the doctor for every damn sniffle, had them put me on antibiotics (the woman knows how to get her way), and kept me home for inordinate amounts of time (and trust me, I would rather have been in school learning and playing with my friends).

So anyway, I go to the doctor and describe my symptoms and tell him I just want to make sure I don’t have the plague. He listens to my lungs and tells me I have bronchitis and then looks at me disapprovingly and tells me it’s viral so I can’t have antibiotics. Like I had asked for them. I hate that fucking look and I get it all the time because of people like my mom who just want their Z Packs so they can get all better. I’m not that way, though. I’d rather my body fight it off if possible, but if I’m sick for a whole week and can’t breathe, I do want to make sure it’s not serious. I don’t really want the drugs, doc! Ugg. Pisses me off.

Fucking doctors. Fucking hypochondriacs.

Then I finally got better and Portland got a little bit of sun for two whole minutes, two whole minutes of glorious, glorious sunshine. I went running and I walked around downtown and it was AHHH! Then it was shit again. Fuck this, weather, Portland. Fuck it. It’s April. I do expect a little rain still because, face it, it’s Portland, but this freezing cold muck is making me insane. We even had snow a couple weeks ago. True story.

You’re really testing my love for you, Portland. It’s time for Spring already.

It’s time for ballet flats and lighter jackets and flowy scarves. It’s time to get outside and run and hike and take photos of flowers. I took a chance today and went out to take photos. I got about 10 minutes in and the heavens opened up and dumped the sky upon me. My poor camera just couldn’t brave it.

Sigh.

I really wish I could afford a weekend in SoCal right now. I’d get to see my friends and fam and get some Vitamin D while I’m at it. But I am going down to Humboldt Easter weekend to see my cousin and her immensely pregnant belly. There will be a photo shoot. Oh yes. Expect lots of photos.

I wasn’t going to share this next bit of news, but I think I have to because it’s just too delicious. I saw my ex last weekend. And while it was only minimally awkward, mostly because he tried to talk to me a couple times and I just didn’t have anything to say to him (I just don’t want to tell him about my life and I couldn’t give a flying fuck about his), I did feel a little good about myself. Like, let’s face it, I looked good. And he, well, he looks...different.

Ahem.

But more than that, he was the same old idiot asshole and, not that I needed any reminding (I honestly have been thanking my stars that ending for quite some time), but every time he’d say something asinine, I’d just feel such a huge wave of disgust. Disgust for him and disgust for myself that I ever found that guy attractive (I wanted to write man, but let’s be honest. He’s not a man). And it just felt like I’d dodged the biggest bullet ever, the bullet of an asshole idiot lush. Just saying.

And the guy who would’ve been my date couldn’t be there and that’s okay I think. I was awesome all on my own and that’s that.

You may at this point be wondering who my date would’ve been. And I confess, I’ve been keeping the best for last, Internet. I’m sure you’ve been wondering about Eminem. And that’s still going. Going really great actually!  It’s nothing like my last relationships. It’s easy and fun and full of butterflies and laughter. I know this probably seems obvious but I forgot what it was like to date someone you just get along with so easily. We just get along so well and make each other laugh and eat lots and lots of really yummy food.

This is the best, people. Of all the things to have in common, I’m so glad we both enjoy food. Seriously. I’m talking about truly enjoying food.

Yesterday, we were eating at this amazing Greek place in NW Portland and as I was eating these melty, zesty, zingy, heavenly potatoes, potatoes that were making my tongue orgasm, I realized that moments like that are just what I love about life and it’s so nice to have someone who gets that and to share that with.

We have a longass list that is still growing of places we want to eat together. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t both get huge. This is another reason I need spring to get here. So I can go running and counteract all the gluttony. That and all the sex. Sex is a great workout.

Any to the way, my point is that it’s so far so good. I’m understandable cautious. I don’t have the greatest track record after all so I’m just taking one day at a time and seeing where it goes. And thus far, it feels really good.

I have a couple cool things in the works for myself, like voice lessons (eek!) and possibly starting yoga again. So stay tuned!

In other news

Oh my gourd, Internet, it has been two whole weeks since we last talked and so much has happened! I have no idea where to start so I guarantee this post will be disjointed, rambly, and altogether random.

Let's begin!

A few days ago, I almost died. For reals. And it was so scary that I cannot stop telling the story.

I was walking in a crosswalk in downtown Portland, on a green, clearly having of the right of way, when a big SUV barrels around the corner going pretty fast. Clearly they weren't looking and they weren't going to stop either. I had to run to get out of the way and they missed me by maybe a foot. And they just kept going! Never even paused. Probably never even saw me. If I hadn't been paying attention, I'd be roadkill right now.

On the upside, I am loving my new place! Hobbes is happier there and it's so nice to see him sitting all over the furniture and watching out the windows. I know the tension in my old place affected him too. Bitch roomie did try to fuck up my happiness again but it's all settled now. I don't even want to get into it, suffice to say she's leaving me alone for good and I never want to see or think about her again.

There is one major lesson I got to relearn because of all this though: One's happiness is the most important thing. I'm not talking about making sacrifices or doing what needs to be done, etc etc etc. I'm talking about not putting oneself into situations that are not only happiness suckers but unnecessary and I'm talking about setting aside one's attachment to pride and money and all those other things we place before happiness.

I am confident that had I had to go to court over this drama, I could have made a damn good case and I would have won. But did I want this to drag out months and months? No. I know I didn't have to pay any more money but did it make the problem go away? Yes. Sure, I handled it legally and covered my ass, but when it comes right down to it, money is just money. It's not worth as much as my happiness. And my pride? Not worth as much as my happiness. I don't need to prove I was right. I don't need to win anything. What I needed to do was walk away and put the whole thing behind me. Worth it.

So that's over. Hoorah! Let's all drink to that.

And I got my tax return so I have money again! I may have gone a little crazy at the grocery store buying luxury foods I've been denying myself for the sake of my measly budget. Hey, after weeks of baked potatoes (which I do love) and soup, how can a girl resist ice cream and chips and gluten free cookies? I guarantee it will all be gone in a few more minutes. And then I'll have to buy fat clothes.

Oh and I had the weirdest night the other night. So I'm hanging out at my new fave bar with my new friends and ex new guy is there, which was inevitable and which was also awkward awkward awkward as all holy hell. But that was okay for the most part.

But there's this other guy in the group that I am interested in so he and I are talking and flirting and that's all great. Then the roommate of an ex boyfriend walks in and he and I talk a bit and I'm looking around to make sure that ex isn't there too (wasn't, thank the lard), but it's just a bit weird and coincidental at this point.

THEN, this other guy walks in, a guy I went on a date with forever ago and it was NOT a good date. Like probably on the list of worst dates list ever in the world. But it doesn't end there. Turns out Bad Date is friends with my new friends. But wait. There's more. He comes over to me, sticks out his hand, and goes, "Hi, I'm Bad Date." (See what I did there?). And I go, "I know, we went on a date once.

You should have seen his face. It was like an episode of Friends. You know the one.

And, truthfully, it seemed like he felt really badly for not remembering me and to be fair, I look quite a bit different now. He was like, "I take it it wasn't a good date?" And I was like, "Yeahno." It took him all night to remember and he apologized and we had a good laugh. But holy fuck, people! Really?

So not only were all the men I've ever dated in Portland converging in one bar one night (that could be a good book plot) but one didn't even remember me. Awesome. Thank heaven that HP didn't walk in and complete the circle of awkward. Plus, now I'll have dated like 3 guys in this group. I'm that girl. Oh joy.

And yes, you read that right, I said 3. Which means it's going well with the other guy I was flirting with, who we'll call Eminem (even though he's nothing like Mr. Mathers in any way really). I'm gonna keep this under wraps for a while but I'll just say we had a lot of fun.

Oh and I cut off all my hair! I donated ten whole inches to Locks of Love.

Holding my locks

The stylist was super sweet too. He was like, "some bald kid is gonna look gooood now." Which is so wrong but so funny. I do have lots of hair, or, I did anyway.

Anyway, here's my hair now:

I realize I'm a huge dork. That's why I included an artsy shot too.

So I must stop myself there. How've you been, Internet?

Photo of the Day: Portland's version of snow

It snowed for 2 whole minutes the other day in my neighborhood so of course I ran outside to get lots of photos, which ended up just looking like raindrops because it was so wet the damn snow wouldn't stick. Le sigh.

the wearing of the red

The point of this post is meant to be happy, but I'm in a fairly cranky state due to my drinking entirely too much for the third weekend in a row, thus incurring a most evil hangover. My head is just doing that womp womp womp and I kind of want to rip it off and trade it in for a better one. Maybe one with better eyesight and less sensitive skin, while I'm at it.

Point being? This post may turn out a little manic.

Incidentally, mulled wine is an incredible invention. As my friend Kim put it, it's like Christmas sangria. And that is the damn truth.

Anywayyy, as I mentioned last week, I've been really focusing on what I need and want, etc, focusing on what makes me happypants.

The first things I did were easy, but make a huge difference.

I started wearing more red. Why? Well, chickadees, I'll tell you why. Most importantly, red looks great on me. I wear bold colors well if I do say so myself. Plus, red is the color of bravado. Red is the color of fuck yeah I'm awesome and you can fuck off if you're too much of an idiot to know it and walk away from alllll this. mmhmmm. That's right. This lady is smart and funny and looks hot in red lipstick and red lace panties too. Yup, red lip gloss, red nails. I bought a new red scarf and matching gloves.

Then! And this is the exciting one....I changed my hair!

Wait...here's a before:

And here I am at the Aveda Institute getting my herr did (LOVE that place!):

 

When you have as much hair as I do, you get the royal treatment

 

Waiting for my hair color to process

 

Right after

Then, I went home for two days and decided I wanted more bangs and trimmed the sides myself. This could have been BAD, but turned out awesome. Because I AM awesome after all. Dur. Haven't you been paying attention? 

Here's the hair last night at the epic Ugly Christmas Sweater party (where I drank all that delicious mulled wine):

 

Christmas threw up on me

I know it looks good because Johnny, the approximately 65 year old concierge (and a shameless flirt) in my building told me I looked hot. He also called me Marlo Thomas. 

 

I'll take it.

He was also super impressed I knew who Marlo Thomas is. But, like I said, I'm awesome.

So I bet you're thinking that after the red and the hair, there's really nothing left, but I assure you, you're wrong. So very wrong.

I've been working out as much as I can (which I would like to be more, but getting into a routine is a challenge) at the free gym in my building. I really wanted to join 24 Hour Fitness but the 24 gods hate me and it's looking like that's not meant to be. I can't even explain; it would take too long. 

Plus, there's the art. I've been really trying to bring art back into my life, taking as many photos as I can, when I can, and visiting museums and places with cool architecture. 

A couple of weekends ago, I spent an entire day in Portland Art Museum and had the best time. I hadn't been before because I was being really snobby and judgey. See, PAM charges 15 smackers to get in. And I'm like, I paid less to get in the damn Louvre (of course, I was an art history student at the time, so I got in for free.) and I paid $10 at LACMA to see Lichtensteins and Warhols, why would I pay $15 to get into Portland's dinky museum? 

Well, hit me with the asshole stick because it's an awesome museum. They have quite a few Impressionists, including Rodin, Van Gogh, and Monet. They had a small Titien on display (though not my fave of his) and they have an entire building for modern art (which really gets me happy) including a Chihuly and Rothko. 

Plus? I took my camera. And what I love about museums which let you shoot (hehe) is that it challenges my photography skills in so many ways. One, it's a blast to make new art out of other art, capturing installations from different angles or in front of paintings. But also, the lighting in museums is so changeable and not always conducive to photography that it really keeps me working hard to get any decent shots. Needless to say, so much fun. 

 It's ME

 It also inspired me to get painting again. I haven't painted since I was a kid, mostly because I got discouraged when my skills didn't match what an instructor asked of me. I'm never going to be the girl who paints a still life or a portrait. It's not what I like and not what I'm good at. What I do love are textures. So I'm interested in getting into some abstract work that plays with texture and mixed mediums. It will take a while, because spendy, but I can't wait.

Oh and funny story. I go to the museum cafe to get a tea and I notice these little gluten free granola bars next to the register. The girl then tells me that they also have a gluten free cupcake. Yes. And I say, "I don't remember the last time I had a cupcake!" And she says, "Well then you need it." And so I got it. 

It was pure, decadent, moist, sweet, blissful heaven. I think I frightened the other museum patrons as I devoured the cupcakey goodness.  And do you see the sparkles? The sparkles! THE SPARKLES!

Sigh.

And that's just for starters. I've also been drinking too much wine. That counts right?

Peace the fuck out, Portland

Off to California, kiddos. There will be lots of burritos and In n Out. Hot Pants will be meeting, well, everyone. There will be beach time. And most of all? There will be vacation!

Don't miss me too much (like I ever post anymore anyway)

Random Thoughts of a Crazy Lady

I love Oregon. I do. I love it here.

Except for one thing. Merging. As in, on the the road. You know?

Like merging onto a freeway. Or from one road to another where you don't have a stop sign and are meant to simply merge.

Not too hard right? Wrong.

Because Oregonians can't merge. They can't do it. They stop and they freak out and pretty much drive me batshit crazy.

If you did that in LA, you'd be dragged from your car and beaten.

And that would be reasonable.

FUCKING MERGE! That's what you can hear me screaming from my car at any given point whilst I am driving.

Fucking merge.

~~~~~~~~~~

I have always worked with people. Whether in retail or with clients or whatever, people. People's files, people's names.

And what I have discovered after all these years of seeing people's names? I am a 12 year old.

I can't see the name Warren without thinking, His name isn't Warren? I thought his name was Warren. My name isn't fucking Warren!

Name that movie.

If I see a name that happens to be a character in a film or a famous person (or even sounds close), I can't help myself. I start quoting (or just giggling most annoyingly). I once met a customer named Jake Ryan. Jake Ryan! As in, "Is your dad a big man, Jake?" And, "No more yanky my wanky. The Donger need food!" Yeah. You know what movie I mean. If you don't, I'm not sure we can be friends. I'll have to really rethink things.

Sigh.

The other day I saw a client file (which are labeled last name comma first name comma the type of file) and this file had the guy's last name and his first name was Tu and the type of file was PAC. So it said Tu PAC. I swear. Tu PAC.

Like I said, 12.

~~~~~~~~~~

Soooo remember when I went kinda gluten free? I'm pretty much all gluten free now. Except I don't go so far as to check what kind of barrel my wine was fermented in or anything. But for the most part? Gluten fucking free.

And it's fucking fantastic.

I feel so amazingly better you wouldn't believe. I'll never go back. For me, it's all about realizing my body wasn't processing the gluten and not about a health choice. BUT, because I feel so much healthier, it's just win-win.

Yeah, certain things were hard to give up and I still crave occasionally. Namely, bread. I have found a couple of decent gluten breads, though there's just no replacement for a good French bread or flour tortilla. But I don't miss that stuff much most days anymore.

And since I discovered gluten-free beer and ciders? I've gained all the weight back that I lost going gluten free.

It's awesome.

~~~~~~~~~~

So I'm dealing with a leetle drama with my old landlords, which I suspect I can't even discuss in case we go to court (for reals! to motherfucking court!), but the assholes are trying to screw us the fuck over and it's a stressball of epic proportions.

I am trying my best to just do what needs to be done and not freak out until I need to freak out. But DUDE! this  totally completely utterly supremely sucks hairy monkey balls. I exaggerate not.

Please send us all your good anti-asshole landlord vibes because if I have to pay these people, I'm gonna cut a bitch. 

~~~~~~~~~

The Raw Photos Contest is in full swing! The theme is people, but we encourage you to get creative with it.

Speaking of which, I've been a phenomenal dork and keep telling folks to "go shoot some people!" Because it's awful and mildly disturbing and in poor taste and therefore funny. Right? Until someone I tweeted that right after the Oslo shootings (being completely innocent because I'd been so busy that I hadn't read the news or been on the Twitters!) and my friends told me I was being an asshole. Yeah, sometimes I just have bad timing. Extremely bad timing.

Anwayyyyyy,

Submissions close Saturday so make sure to get over there and submit and see the awesometastic submissions! Sun and I are gonna have a hellofa time choosing a winner.

Happy Anniversary to Me and Portlandia

I've just passed my year anniversary living in Portland. 

When I decided to leave California and then moved to Oregon, it began a long string of questions from every person I talked to. Why are you moving? Why did you move? For work? For a guy?

The guy was everyone's favorite assumption. No way any sane girl would quit her job and move to a new state for any reason other than a guy.

Of course it must be a guy! Of course!

No one can conceive that anyone would simply move because they just want to move.

That would be insane.

And, well, we all know my sanity is questionable at times.

But I think a move for my own reasons is perfectly reasonable. Why the hell not?

I moved for me. I moved because I wanted to be someone else. Because I was looking for a change. Because I wanted the things this new place would offer.

I moved to escape the heat, the smog, did I mention the heat? I moved to escape the confines of Southern California (which, don't get me wrong, I'm homesick for), the culture, the cities, the towns. I needed more. 

So at the end of the day, I guess I did move to Portland for love. I moved for the love of the city. Cheesy as it may be, 'tis true. I love this city. It makes me happy. Not every day, but isn't that love is about anyway?

Portland wasn't so sure about me at first. She sent me some harsh times, friendship drama, a stalker, cat cancer. But I think the Port Land, she finally warmed up to me. Now we're in lurve. I even put a bird on it.

Don't be jealous. Not everyone's city can be this cool.

She's so pretty

Tattoo tease no more

I'm back, bitches! Did ya miss me?

I thought that for my first post back I'd share some exciting news. Just this past Saturday I finally got my panties out of my twat and got my fourth tattoo!

It's not even what I planned nor is it original artwork. My bestie Lynnette found this art and thought it seemed so me and I fell in love with it instantly and knew I just had to have it.

It's feminine and whimsical but also a little sassy and creative. I'm so happy to have it. It's just so me.

Now, I must say that it hurt like hell. People lied to me when I got my first tat and said it wouldn't hurt. It did. Like a motheruckingbitch. But it's worth it.

This time, the shoulder was THE WORST and I even had a little woozy, low blood sugar, almost pass out/barf moment. I didn't pass out or barf, but it was pretty embarrassing. But two juice boxes and ice packs on my neck later, I felt great and finished it up like a champ.

And see that little star on my neck? I also had the guy touch that up so it's actually a black star again. If you're thinking about getting a neck tat, I highly recommend it. It's been the easiest spot I've ever tattooed.

Speaking of my tattoo artist, I'm am loving Adorn East (in Portland of course) and I saw Ulyss, who I really, really liked. You can see his work is super awesome, but he was also super friendly and kind and totally listened to me and what I wanted. Just what you want in an artist. Plus he was so nice about my little woozy moment. It was a great experience and I fully expect to go back to Adorn for my next tat. 

Photo of the Day: Downtown Reflections

I love downtown Portland, especially on sunny days when you're not sure where the buildings end and sky begins.

Photo of the Day: Like Velvet

Do you like tulips? I like tulips. They're not my most favorite flower, but I love them nonetheless.