I HAVE BEEN AWFUL

AT MAINTAINING THIS.

I Tread Like the Concubine

I will never slip on a freshly mopped floor again.

"Good Sir, You Shot the Rainbow."

...I'm gonna try to keep up a streak of things-said-at-work titles.

This and that:

-MOVING SO SOON. And my awesome roommates-to-be have been (successfully) scavenging furniture, so...we's gonna have an eclectic mess. Fuck. Yeah.

-So, my job. I work at a cupcake bakery (Cupcakery? That a thing?) that also has a shave ice cart. (Mrs. Boss runs the shop, Mr. Boss runs the cart. It's adorable.) There's way too little space for everything and everyone and we fight about leaving unintelligible notes for each other and who gets to pick the music. Basically, we're like newlyweds on a road trip... Except there's eleven of us. And we make cakes. No big deal.

-Today, Mr. Boss was in the walk-in, getting syrup to refill cart stuff, slipped, and took the top shelf with him. What was on the top shelf you ask? Every syrup flavor known to man, milk, and an industrial-size jug of vanilla. It looked like someone had not only murdered the Kool-Aid Man, but massacred his entire family. And as we all heroically ran to his aid...Down we went. Well, 2 more of us did, anyway. Chivalry stains and bruises, yo. Fast forward, 3 of us on the ground,  Mrs. Boss comes back in from running errands, doesn't miss a beat, looks down at us with a perfectly straight face, "...Honey, this is why we can't have nice things." There's a bruise on my knee and a rainbow of carnage on my pants. 

Customers were watching. It was awkward. I'm calling it a bonding experience.

-On a rather different note, people are fascinating. Each person has so much beautiful, weird, wonderful...ness that they bring to the table and it really bums me out when folks feel, I don't know, like they have to be...broken? To be interesting. I'm not quite sure that's what I mean. Incomplete? A lot of people do it, though. I think I do. Maybe. Like, when feeling happy for however long makes you feel almost guilty. Or maybe your problems are the only thing that don't feel trivial...so you hold on to them. Me? I sort of cling to being on edge, restlessness. Finding something that makes me comfortable or feel safe eventually wigs me out. I'm not sure if I'm afraid of losing something that I've come to love and depend on, or it's the thought of not-doing. Like, finding something that makes me feel whole might eventually seem like a kind of trap. Being stuck sounds a lot more dangerous than never finding home. Or something. That got a little off the map. 

What I was going for: A lot of the time, it feels like the negatives are the only things that "matter," so that's what we dwell on, talk about, give power to.

We can make stuff, you know... Really cool stuff.

Let's do that instead.

It'll be okay. It'll be great.

It's International Left-Handers' Day?!

Apparently, that's a thing.

Coincidentally (IN CELEBRATION), my boss surprised me with left-handed scoops today! So pumped! Now, I can portion cupcake batter without the weight of oppression!

Joke. That last bit.

(It's honestly not much more convenient, but the fact that she noticed and even bothered to seek out and order some specifically for me is the nicest damn thing. And I still have a big, stupid smile on my face.)

Sorry for the two-in-one-day thing, but that made me happy and I wanted to share.

With you.

And by "you," I mean that rad Australian chick and the handful of inexplicable Russians that read this.

(How did that happen?)

Or whoever. Whatever. I dig it.

That's Okay, We've Got Triple Sec!

So, I keep doing this thing where I say that life is really crazy/chaotic/busy/ridiculous/weird/messy/hectic ...right now. Now. For now. Recently. Of late. At the moment.

Right.

Not sure what that's all about, because that(the hectic thing)'s been pretty consistent for the past mmhrrnfhrm, and I don't have any real intentions of changing that. Kind of wondering whose benefit I use the short term for, actually.

Yeah... There will always be so, so many things on my plate. And I put most of them there. Sometimes, I get all overwhelmed and WHY-y about it...but no. I crave it. I dig it. I am addicted to this (semi-)organized hurricane.

Let's just admit it. Stuff is always gonna be out of control. That's, apparently, just how it be and how I roll. Right now, there's the work thing, I'm moving in a week or so (yeah, again, what of it) (WE JUST FOUND A HOUSE, AND BY "WE" I MEAN YOURS TRULY AND A PACK OF MY FRIENDS' YOUNGER BROTHERS BECAUSE I HAVE THE BEST TASTE IN ROOMMATES), fightin' the Man on financial aid and school scheduling crap, doing that guinea pig thing, and am rehearsing 3 plays. Bend's been pretty...fruitful...(?) in the stuff-that-sucks-up-a-lot-of-time-and-energy department. Which rocks, but what I've been lacking this year have been close friendships/connections/stuff like that. It's not that I feel like a mindless cog or something, I genuinely like that there are things I contribute to. The places I go are sort of awesome as fuck, and I end up in plenty of weird shenanigans and spontaneous hoopla around all of the structure, so it's not a humdrum experience a-happenin' right now. I guess I could have condensed that into: I feel so freakin' alive, but kind of alone.

Not exactly in a bad way. It's free. And I like that a lot.

Bah. Redo. Kinda.

Point is: My friends are flippin' amazing and I want, miss, need, love being with them. I've been kinda bad about visiting this year, but have started committing to it in recent months. You know what? Once you just...do it, it's the easiest thing in the world. No matter how much is going on, you can find/make room for what's important to you. And maybe it's a little backward that I'm starting to split my time back into Eugene. And want to give more attention to friendships from high, middle, elementary school instead of slowly getting around various boundaries here. But I don't care.

They're my family. And I love them. Feels good to say. I love them. I love them a lot. Butt-tons! So much! Oodles of love! From here to fucking Jupiter.

No matter where I go, there will be a school, a job, a theatre, a team, a whatever, a place. I can leave a place. It's in these people, some person, that I'm gonna find home. Life with a capital "L." You get room, feelings! Sorry about being a butt to you.

I am going to be so there for the folk I care about.

I want to do this. So, I'ma do it.

As for the title: At work (which, by the by, is the best job ever) we've taken to replacing missing ingredients (like lemons, or vanilla extract) with liquor. And it's hilarious.

OUT.

Wrock On

I had my first Harry and the Potters experience on Sunday night.

It may, or may not, have been spectacular.

General picture: My TD was all like come-to-Portland-with-me-and-my-visiting-internet-friends-we're-gonna-see-wizard-stuff-also-Hank-Green.

...You had me at "internet friends."

But yeah. They picked me up from work (update on that front: it is the best damn job in the world), intros were made, and the road was hit.

Now, it is probably time to mention that my love of Harry Potter is about on par with my love of tortilla chips. Pretty casual. Yes, maybe I've worked at wizard camp, but the series wasn't exactly a game changer for me. And it had definitely never occurred to me to seek out Potter-themed music. (I was pretty much just in it for my second favorite Green brother and the why-not factor of the situation.)

Long story short: As I stood in the sea of nerdalicious enthusiasm and varying degrees of wizard attire, listening to happy tunes and gloriously literal lyrics, I remembered that music can just be so much...silly fun. And sometimes, it's just nice to be excited about something because it exists and that fact alone is ridiculous and great. Sometimes, you just gotta groove about Hagrid.

Hours on the road: 9

Hours in Portland: 3 1/2?

Dark Lords defeated with the power of love and the magic of rock and roll: 1

Wizard rock, thou hast wooed me.

BATMAN.

See it.

Just...

Please.

We Found Carmen Sandiego!

She was in the trees.

Oh, Fair.

This year was a pretty good one. Hectic one. I miss it already.

Jumble:

-There were a lot of glowsticks, and circus people, and naked people, and funny smells.

-Stumbled across a delightful band called Wide Mouthed Masons. They have a cello.

-Stumbled across a delightful juggling trio called Jugglypuff. (Dat name.)

-Such good food. There was french toast and fruit salad and cheesecake and chicken wraps and beignets and noodles and chocolate dipped ice cream sandwiches and artichokes and lemonades of every shade. It was fucking magical.

-YOU KNOW WHAT WASN'T AS GOOD? All the motherfucking glitter.

Anyway.


There was a little too much physical contact from people I did not want to physically contact, but hey, it comes with the territory. And I'm thoroughly pleased there were no fiascos this year (like the Unintentional Shroom Ingestion of 2010).

Oh! Oh! Also, I met Chris Funk. It happened. Right outside the salad booth. I SHOOK HANDS WITH ONE OF THE DECEMBERISTS. WE CHATTED. Highlightofmylife.

And I got punched in the boob.

Fair rocks.


(Wow, this is a sloppy post.)

The point? So not ready to be back in the real world...

(You know. The one where I hang out at a theatre and bake cupcakes all day... It's a hard-knock life, yo.)

For Fair

It's that time of year again.

Fair time!

For those of you unfamiliar: http://www.oregoncountryfair.org/

It's...I guess it's like a poor man's Burning Man? Basically, it's a week of hippie, artsy-fartsy fun in the woods. There are a lot of tall puppets.

Gettin' ready for the bus to Eugene, and then off to sell Pad Thai, see people, and get dusty! Or muddy. And muddy? Whatever.

Fairwell, personal hygiene. Hello, OCF 2012!

A Story

I'm not sure where it came from, but here's a little story:


Once, there was a little house

(Well...a shack)

By the ocean.

In it,

Lived a very old man

And a fairly young goldfish.

They were basically friends.

The walls had once

Been brightly striped:

Thick blue, thin white.

Now,

It was barely two shades

Of gray.

Not that either of them minded, really.

The old man hadn't cared about

Such things in years

And the fish was colorblind.

Every morning, the old man

Made coffee and Pop-Tarts 

And almost went for a walk.

The fish noticed the days he actually stepped outside.

The rest of his day belonged

To the newspapers that

Were stacked about the house.

They were from decades ago.

Years and towns he thought he remembered

Covered every surface.

They smelled old.

The fish liked to watched his

Frantic movements

As he read, and cut, and scribbled.

He'd show the fish when he thought he'd found something big,

A clue, a connection.

Waving the page, he'd grin and ask what it thought.

The fish seldom had an opinion, but liked feeling involved.

The old man would pin important clippings to the

Wall, and mark the connections with

Yarn.

When he needed to sleep, he'd turn out

The lamp and slump over where he sat,

Because his bed was full of newspaper.

Sometimes, he forgot to feed the fish.

Next to the fish bowl

The old man had spread out

Some crossword puzzles.

They were mostly empty

Except for a few

Wrong answers.

The fish wished it knew how to use a pen.

Crayon Therapy

Scribblin' like nobody's business.

“We’re Inside a Robot’s Vagina.”

Part 1:

Some changes a-happening. It’s our (the Beard and yours truly) last night in the house and the occasion was celebrated with cigars and grapes on the roof. Pretty fitting, considering his old man-ish brand of swag and my…habitual fruit eating. I’m gonna miss living with him. Oh. Except he’s been rushing to finish a bunch of art stuff before he lives in his van for the summer, so he/the house always smells like horrifying chemicals nowadays. Solid dude. We’ve sort of bonded being the last two in the house, and I think it’s because we tie up loose ends in a similar manner. For example, he has nowhere to store his (surprisingly large) collection of nude drawings/paintings, so we’re leaving them tastefully taped up for the landlord’s inspection. Deposit be damned!

And, Gaga, here I come.

And I got a new job! Like, today! Yesterday? Anyway, I get to bake and decorate and sell cupcakes and it’s a really good thing. It’s just a really good thing.

Oh, and I’m getting paid to be a guinea pig over the next three months. The hospital and college are doing research on heart functions of people who were born prematurely, so I’m gonna pedal on a stationary bike and run around and get surprised by things with other things stuck to me. Just…you know. Making lemonade. First session is this Sunday, so, we’ll see how that goes? Kinda nervous.

Part 2:

Blue Valentine just broke my heart. (The quote I picked horribly misrepresents my sentiment here, but come on. Robot’s vagina.) I don’t know, maybe it just freaked me out.

Part 2 ½ or 3?:

Okay, so… I spend a lot of time pretending to be a totally unromantic person. I don’t mean that like beneath-this-harsh-exterior-I-long-for-roses-and-prince-charming: My exterior isn’t all that harsh, and I’m not a roses kind of girl. But, for a lot of my life, I’ve been pretty damn tomboyish, and shunning “silly, girly stuff” like “feelings” and “caring” and stuff was a big part of that. Realizing that a lot of that isn’t so much “stupid,” as “human” is still kind of a work in progress. And I’m still learning to balance that out with my natural bluntness, odd turn of phrase and standard adolescent anxieties.

Feelings, man. They’re hard.

Anyhoo, this usually manifests itself as me telling a guy “I like you and want to touch your face and other bits, but being an official couple sounds overwhelming. Let’s just hang out or whatever.” (Yes, I have said that before. Verbatim. Smooth operator.) Then, in the event that he doesn’t respond by backing away slowly, we become a Whatever. And, granted, there are a lot of nice things about being a whatever, but what I’ve been realizing recently is that, I’m…a fan of the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. You know? The relationship thing.

It kinda caught me off-guard, frankly.

…But yeah. I like holding hands. I like being someone’s big spoon (or, depending on the height situation, their jetpack). I like being around their family and want to expose some poor fella to mine. It feels really…nice to have somebody to share things with, make forts with, give head rubs to. Someone who feels comfortable enough to wake you up in the middle of the night when they’re having a nightmare, or to talk about religion, or tell you how the thing that would freak them out most in an apocalypse is illiteracy. Someone who will brush the hair out of your face when there’s flour on your hands and you can’t do it yourself. Someone you trust enough to let kiss the inside of your wrist or between your shoulder blades. You know? Someone you trust enough to push.

That feeling of being on your toes all the time, but somehow totally safe with them? It’s kind of awesome.

I like…liking. Connecting? Loving? That.

I’m not sure if I crave, miss, or just appreciate these things. Or some combination. Or something else entirely... But yeah. Stuff.

It'd be sweet if saying that in person wasn't weird or scary-like... Then again, that's probably why it feels worthwhile.

Or whatever.

I'm Gonna Read a Lot of Cormac McCarthy This Summer

I've been on a year or so long YA fiction and Murakami/magical realism kick. Now, it's time for some grit. Classics, too. Time to get my Faulkner on. Maybe some Steinbeck up in here. (Ayn Rand is not invited.)

And poetry. I am so freakin' in the mood for poetry.

And eccentric, mildly unsettling art projects.

Maybe more piercings or tattoos.

I'm feeling kind of classically, pretentiously, young and rebellious...and I'm sort of okay with it. Well, maybe that isn't the right word, but I'm going with it. I feel like it's time for some depravity. Some lesson learning. Some life. (Granted, I'm typing this while drinking apple juice out of a box with a bendy straw, but still.)

It feels like a run away and join the circus kind of summer. An excessive skinny dipping, blackberry picking, urban exploring, muddy, screaming, flaming shenanigans kind of summer.

A good summer for a felony.

Or romance.

Tomato, tomato.

(Also, my lease is up in just over a week, and another roommate hit the road this morning. Pretty soon, the Beard and I will be parting ways. Where am I headed, you may ask? The hilariously low-ceilinged loft of a man who goes by...wait for it...Matty Gaga.

He's got a turtle. I'm pretty psyched.

Oh, life.)

I FELT NOTHING LIKE ALLEN GINSBERG! Also, I saw a parade.

Hey. 

I'm a little (more) frazzled (than usual) at the moment, but I figured I'd post while the World Wide Web was accessible. I swear I'll put more thought and lovin' into the next post.

Probably.

For now, an array:

-Weekend. 

Decided to be horribly irresponsible (HOT DAMN, AM I BUSY) and head up to Portland for couple of days. Mostly because my best friend lives there (along with a decent migration of high school buddies) and, sometimes, you just gotta go kick it with your sister from another mister. Random community event-wise, I think I picked a good weekend.? There was this night parade that came out of nowhere, and this mildly mediocre LEGO expo/convention thing that had these blinking LEGO shoes and Kermit and someone made Martin Luther at the Diet of Worms. So, that was cool (hilarious?).

Three of us went on a mission to the porn stores, because I've sort of been on the hunt for an offensive novelty mug (not a euphemism) for a while. Mission unsuccessful, but people...really like their leather. So, that was hilarious (cool?).

Oh. And all of us were freaking out because finals are coming up and our leases are up soon and people and work and obligations and BLAH and it was awesome to just pool our collective nuttiness and...I don't know. Eat stuff and yell with each other in the rain and excessive piercings.

Also, I saw a lot of good hats.

-Disco Pigs.

I think I liked this movie? Good, solid Irish discomfort. Plus, Cillian Murphy sets my heart a-flutter. (What can I say? I like 'em creepy and gaunt.)

-Typewriters and Upcoming Finals.

Dead week is really...inconvenient without the internet at your house (back at good ol' Shari's). Long story short, typing a final paper on a typewriter (which the fella that lives in the garage inexplicably has on hand) was not the bees knees. Now, you may be thinking, "but that sounds so retro and cool and beatnik-y!" Nope. Just slow and loud. It was a disappointment about on par with when I shave my legs and there's no majestic chorus, like in the commercials. How dare my life differ from expectation!

There's some non-report about my day-to-day stuff I probably wanted to write about, but... You know. I should finish the mountain of homework I'm half-concentrating on.

Speaking of, currently doing research for a write up in my medical anthro class. 

You know what's awful? 

Tuberculosis.

Sorry.

Eargasms or And Then There Were Three

Dude.

Full weekend.

Lots of work stuff, and cool stuff, and switch-y stuff.

I got to see the Shins! They were at our amphitheatre on Friday with Blind Pilot and the Head and the Heart. And they were great. Good mix of old and new songs, went with good people, just had an excellent time groovin’ and listening to our TD geek out about how much nicer their lights were than the theatre’s. Golden evening.

Saturday night: Same venue, but with… Wait for it… Tenacious D. Oh. Sweet. Moses. Now, I can honestly say I’ve never wondered what a giant, inflatable, penis-shaped phoenix would look like, but whatever expectations I didn’t have were blown out of the water. (They used confetti in a way confetti ought never to be used.) Basically, JB and KG are golden gods. Oh! And I unexpectedly ran into some friends from high school, so we got to rock out with our respective unmentionables out and belt along with the D. It was glorious. (Totally made up for the impressively mediocre opener.)

Later, came back to the house to find a bunch of people trippin’ balls, which is usually fine, but this time… BITCHES ATE MY APPLES. I was peeved. Plus, there was some middle of the night naked time, followed up by throwing up (both of which sounded uncomfortably similar), that took place in the living room. So, that was cute. Got a stain on our carpet that kind of looks like Tennessee, now.

Highlight: Super terrific Eugene/Monmouth folk were visiting. We wandered around and took an obscene amount of pictures (well, they did) and made ice cream and hung out with their parents and it was the best. I’d been missing just hanging out and talking and watching movies with people.

(I’m pretty sure I like Bend and all, but there isn’t really anyone who I have long-into-the-night 

conversations with here.)

(…Yet?)

Last, but not least, the tall one and the lady one moved out this morning to work at their respective state parks. The times, they are a-changin’.

( Incidently, they took the internet with them, so I’m reporting to you from Shari’s. The next month is going to be interesting.)

Aaaaaaaaaand, back to my research paper and mozzarella sticks…

Livin’ the dream.

Mike Tyson Has Said Some Gloriously Unsettling Things

Not sure why, but I felt compelled to research some wrestlers/boxers during class this morning. One thing lead to another, and I found the treasure trove that is Mike Tyson's wisdom. Holy moly, that man is nuts. 

And it's awesome.

Here are some gems:

"I don't want to be a tycoon. I just want to conquer people and their souls."

"I'm not Mother Teresa, but I'm not Charles Manson, either."

"He called me a 'rapist' and a 'recluse.' I'm not a recluse."

"I probably have a 20,000-word vocabulary. I'll match my wits with anyone on literature, science and the arts."

"I want to rip out his heart and feed it to him. I want to kill people. I want to rip their stomachs out and eat their children."

“I could sell out Madison Square Garden masturbating.”

Aaaaaaand my personal favorite:

"I don't understand why people would want to get rid of pigeons. They don't bother no one."

Dude goes hard. 

To be fair, Tyson seems to have mellowed over the years. ("I ain't the same person I was when I bit that guy's ear off.") But good googly moogly.

Women, men, children, journalists, mirrors, Jesus, Russia, and ears, beware...

Pigeons, you're cool.

Let's Just Go

Hey.

Never mind about rehearsal and finals for a while. And work. Responsible people worry more about work than I do...

Come on an adventure with me. Big or small.

We could drive to New Orleans and pinball through as many states as possible on the way. Maybe think of some kind of scavenger hunt along the way? Sweet Local Radio Station. Underwhelming Roadside Attraction. Buffalo. That kind of thing. Maybe not get there, maybe decide to stay, maybe keep going. (Hope your AC works...)

We could go on a mission. Let's see where your favorite movie was filmed. Find the weirdest museums. Hit up some kind of festival. Hit up tons of festivals. Or amusement parks. Or rodeos. I've never been to one of those.

Head down the coast until we get tired of beaches and light houses and aquariums and mist and weird coastal towns and sleeping in the car and seagulls. Salt for days! Booyah.

Take the train up to Canada? Do stuff. I hear there's stuff there. In Canada. Canada stuff. Let's do Canada stuff.

Maybe just something for a day or so. Find a place in the middle of nowhere for a little. We could climb things and explore and paint our faces with mud or just mellow under a tree or on a rock or next to a creek. Swim. Try to do cartwheels. Get drunk and cloud watch and read to each other. That sounds nice.

Or OMSI! Ooh, let's OMSI it up.

Walk somewhere, bike somewhere, drive somewhere, fly somewhere, hop a train and see what happens?

Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?

...Who are you?

Let's go.

Pillow, a Haiku

My eight-legged friend,
That is not where you belong...
OKAY, THE BED'S YOURS.

Irony Impaled My Foot

That might even be a pun. And I hate ambiguously present puns...

Alternate title today is "THE ONE DAMN DAY I WEAR SHOES."

Background information: My feet are generally naked.Well, this side of the year. Once the ground stops being all frosty-like, you can pretty much count on me being barefoot (with the exception of the workplace, because apparently the health inspector frowns upon dust and cooties or whatever). It's not a hippie thing, I just...like it. I like not wearing shoes, I like getting tough feet, I like the gravel massages.

Anyway, today (yesterday?), I had a couple of shoe-requiring activities in a row, so I left them on in between.

And after.

This, lady and gentleman, was a mistake.

I fell down.

I was walking along this cement/cinder block-ish thing, slipped, rolled my ankle and this wire (hopefully?) got all up in my foot's business. Unsavory things were yelled... I fell down.

Oh, cruel Mistress Irony.

Now, realistically, I understand that, shod or not, I am clumsy human being... But damn it, I'm blaming shoes!

Maybe I'm just bitter because I caved into the you-have-to-wear-shoes and it's-dangerous and stuff that I've been getting recently. Maybe I just have a ton of unwarranted shoe-hate. Well, MAYBE, if they hadn't been imprisoned, my petite and creepily dexterous toes might have saved me from pointy stuff!

Once the wrap's off, my feet are becoming hecka nude. 24/7.

Shoes...

We'll Eat You Up. We Love You So.

Maurice Sendak died yesterday... And it's a bit of a bummer, ya know? The man created some truly wonderful things.

Now, to be honest, I probably thought he was dead already. Well, maybe not, but I'm fairly certain I've never given the status of his pulse any thought... I guess what I'm saying is that I'm not really qualified to mourn him, but certainly to remember.

Okay. His stories are the bomb diggity. They're odd, they're perfectly illustrated, nonchalantly sentimental, plenty adventurous, occasionally musical, and (possibly best of all) full of nonsense, but free of bullshit. The amount of trust he had in children and his respect for the imagination is tangible on every page. (I love that they're written to a child, and written to an equal.)  Oh, and he managed to put in blatant morals that didn't feel preachy or overstated. That's super impressive, considering that, sometimes, the moral is literally "care about stuff, or a lion will eat you." HE MANAGED TO MAKE THAT SOUND NATURAL.

Also, he said this and I like it: “Children do live in fantasy and reality; they move back and forth very easily in a way we no longer remember how to do.”

Alright, this is becoming an inarticulate, sleepy ramble...

The point: He was all up in my childhood. He taught me that it's never not time for chicken soup with rice. He taught me that I can count with more than just numbers. He taught me how important it is to care, to love (or at least helped with that).

He taught me how to be a wild thing. And I will forever be grateful.

Sleep tight, you strange, brilliant man.

Cinco de Mayo is a Questionable Time to Feel Brave

Gastronomically, anyway.

There are several things that I enjoy and there are several things I do not enjoy. "Bonding experiences" falls into the first category. "Refusing dares" lives in the second.

Coincidentally, I'd place the sensation of eating a raw habanero somewhere between the Rapture and a dragon orgy on my tongue.

Tonight, I learned just how desperately 6 dudes can want milk and just how hilarious the fight for that aforementioned milk can be... And as we all alternated crying, laughing, swatting each other in the stomach, and trying to grab the gallon from one another, I could only think one thing: We are the poster children of friendship.

Stupid, excruciating friendship.

We then proceeded to eat things and set stuff on fire and prove that none of us can really play guitar.

Rock on?

In other news:

-The play I'm working on opened the other night. So, that was cool. (Readers: If either of you happen live in Bend, you ought to check out Sordid Lives at 2nd Street Theater. There's yelling and casserole and lots of bras.)

-I just figured out what "YOLO" means. Boo, humanity... Boo.

-Made flan tonight. Considering the reverence with which its name is generally uttered, it's disappointingly un-weird. Tasty, though.

-Midterms.

Awwww, yeah.

Escorts Don't Care To Be Haggled With

And a couple of other recent discoveries.

1) Making trips for a random, silly reason feels excellent. You have a mission. Like an assassin. Except, you know, instead of killing somebody with your ninja skills, you bus on over to see your friend's play and go to Humble Bagel. Adventure and a sense of (mildly trivial) accomplishment? Win. Win.

2) Never let your third day of being awake coincide with tech rehearsal. Sound effects and lights will blast your britches, you will forget who is talking to you, and your to-do lists will become gibberish. The TD will get mad about something that will be simultaneously confusing and uncomfortably tragic. Your incessant blinking will make people uncomfortable. You will briefly forget how to tell time and it will make you cry. Publicly.

1) Farmers' markets own. Everything smells amazing, people-watching material is surprisingly abundant, there are so many colors, and you even want to eat the things you don't want to eat. Except that weird thing with the purple bit. That looked a little jenky.

3) Escorts of central Oregon don't like being asked unorthodox questions. The good people at Candies do not appreciate your curiosity (however genuine it may be) and they won't give your friend a birthday discount.

4) Playgrounds are still wonderful places and late-night park hopping is the best. It's a perfect kind of nostalgia. You get to frolic and swing and play tag and climb trees (all which, by the by, are way more difficult METAL in the dark) and the fact that you're having so much fun takes away that WHERE-HAS-MY-INNOCENCE-GONE edge. Because this isn't some past-you enjoying this. You're you. Current you. You, who pays rent, and votes and whose former classmates are having babies or whatever. You just won that round of tetherball. You are struggling to dismount from the tire swing. You are it. You don't have to relive your childhood or something, or go back anywhere. That stuff can belong here, too. Gotta dig on that coexistence.

That about sums up the last two weekends.

(I am Jess, waitress and lava monster. I pay taxes and I fucking love bagels and tetherball. Also, I really need to sleep.)

Out.

Cosmo Jarvis

You're welcome.

Three Statues of Liberty

All about inconsistently-timed posts.

I'm a big fan of my household. Yes, they are all horrifically early risers and have a weird habit putting oats in everything, but you gotta love being able to walk into your living room to find a Beethoven-fueled push-up contest or a huge sculpture made out of recyclables or the truly awful smell of homemade wine(?) gone awry.

We're a house of eclectic adventures and hippie-esque tendencies. And I dig it.

(Rundown of the roommates:

Tall Roommate: Jolly. Always has a huge grin on his face, plays the cello, loves his family, works for various state parks. Can see him as a park ranger some day, hiking around, teaching kids about leaves and critters.

Lady Roommate: This girl is burl. Climbs, skis, runs, rows, you name it. Wants to be some kind of outdoor guide, has an unfortunate taste for chick flicks, best planner of the group. Ladyfriend of Tall Roommate.

The Beard: Hippie-est. Art major, loves him a drum circle, fishes naked, puts seeds and spelt in places they do not belong. Like pancakes. Awesome at finding camping spots and edible plants.

New Roommate: Moved into the garage a week-ish ago. Knows a ton about music. Handstand wizard. Has a poncho with these freaky eyes on the back. Approved.)

Wandering to the point: I usually don't get to partake in the spontaneous road trips, as rehearsal/shows dominate weekends...and it has really been starting to rustle my jimmies.

Wandering, still: The other week, I had to go down to California for a funeral and ended up having to hitch most of the way back and, a couple weeks prior, I had this really odd conversation with a local homeless woman (that'll get articulated into a post soon). They got me thinking about connections and honesty and happenstance how much I thrive on random escapades. Made one of those say-yes-to-adventure-and-communication-and-stuff promises to myself. Like, I truly do love being almost too busy, but if I end up with too much of a routine, or situations where I need to filter what I'm feeling and thinking... Monster alert. Nobody likes to feel trapped.

I've been needing to just go with the whims. I need to share a little too much. I need to just...to.

The point: About 3 days after deciding I need more spontaneous gallivanting, Beard came up to me after my last class, en route to the laundromat, and was like "I'm going to Sacramento to visit my girlfriend. She wants to meet you and New Roommate and Basevi (indeed, his real name), you in?"

"Umm...F'sho'. When?"

"Couple hours."

"...I have rehearsal until 9:30."

"Then 9:30."

Damn, I like him.

And off we went! (Some words about the vehicle: The Beard drives a fantastically jenky van that he got (for free) a few years ago. It runs on sheer willpower and currently contains a drying...something from the ocean. Sponge? Kelp? At any rate, it smells like Grim Death lapped up the sea and then threw it back up... He attempts to cover this aroma with incense.) We drove for about 5 1/2 hours, listeing to 90's-tacular cd's and set up camp a little bit past Redding. Set off in the morning with Christian power pop a-blasting, were embarrassed by the aforementioned Christian power pop for the 20 minutes we had a hitch hiker, pulled over to steal some oranges, drove about an hour past our destination, and finally made it to Che Beard's Lady.

Holy crap. She is the nicest girl ever. We got there and she was like "I made you lunch and we have towels and deodorant for you guys! Hugs for all!" And her house is gorgeous. Also, she has this super ballsy hen that will come up to you, like a goddamn ninja, and take the top bread off of your sandwich. You win some, you lose some. We went hiking on these rad trails, and played with her dog, and then went to this really cute, kind of tacky little town called Nevada City.

On the way we:
-stole more oranges
-saw three men dressed as the Statue of Liberty, waving signs reminding us to pay our taxes
-got lost
-successfully Chinese fire drilled

Then, we went back to her house and ate stuff and hula hooped.

We left around noon-thirty on Easter, and actually got to, you know, see all the mountains and towns on the way back. It was cramped and gorgeous.

...I really, really like road trips. Even the mundane things turn into a sort of epic quest, you always meet someone new, and, best of all, even though you're in a metal box with wheels, you just feel so free.

So, if you're gettin' a little stir crazy, it might be time for you to speed along I5, eating contraband citrus and belting along to some Neil Young.

Or, you know, whatever floats your boat.

Hideous Cupcakes

I have just made the World's Ugliest Cupcakes. Like, these poor little suckers deserve a prize. Yikes.

Context: 2 of my roommates have surrounding birthdays, so their joint birthday/St. Patrick's day shenanigans are goin' down at our house in about 20 hours. And, because I live with loons, I have been commissioned with cakes. 3-ish of them. Two normal cakes, and herb-infused cupcakes. I got back from the show I'm currently stage managing at around 10:30 and the magic began...

Now, the cosmos were against the little guys from the start. I've never actually made special food before (due to my socially crippling square-dom), so... I don't know if that affects the baking process or what. It also maaaaaaaaybe has something to do with my having forgotten to grease the pan. I'm not sure that fully explains the absurd amount of lumps they've managed to grow, though. Seriously. Their repulsive visage cannot be overstated. I just made 24 gently chocolate/violently weed-scented quasimotos.

Mama Bear is so proud.

Blueberry bundt and German chocolate, HERE WE GO.

You're welcome party-goers.

Update: Blueberry is beautiful, but will probably grow up feeling inadequate with of all the guilt-love I bestow upon the mutant cupcakes.

One to go.

Just Let It Happen, Yo.

Hey again.

So...a lot of funny things get under our skin. These trivial, silly things, but people can reeeeeeally go to the mat over their little annoyances. Don't get me wrong, I have a long list of nonsensical pet peeves myself... But today isn't about that. Today is for you, Things I Find Acceptable. This list is in your honor.

9 Things I Don't Hate (But That You Just Might):

1) The Word "Moist" - So, somewhere along the way, "moist" gathered an impressively large entourage of haters. Passionate haters. Now, I've never found the word "gross" or "icky" or unpleasantly "pornographic." It just makes me think of cake. And moss. And right after it rains. You know, nice things. Leave moist alone.

2) Uncomfortably Personal Conversations With Strangers - Too good.

3) Buying Condoms - All the better if the cashier gives you some knowing eyebrows as they tell you to "have a nice night." Thank you. I SHALL.

4) Loud Shades of Orange - Okay, maybe I'll never truly like this color, but I have to respect the power of a shade that feels like it's assaulting all of my senses at once... I guess this one's more of a surrender than a declaration of not-hate.

5) Having Braces - Well. Had. Man, those things were cool! You got to pick the colors, and stick magnets to your face, and look like a damn robot. Plus, you got straight teeth out of the deal. Braces own.

6) Halloween Sluts - (As long as they don't complain about being cold or try to deny the majestic sluttery of their costume.) Just let it happen, yo.

7) Puberty - Honestly... It just wasn't that bad. I mean, I lived and everything.

8) Scars - They are nowhere near a flaw. They are stories, they are badass, and they are beautiful. Wear them with pride.

Oh... and:

9) Nicholas Cage - There. I said it.

Feel the love. 

Or, you know. 

Close enough.

Here Goes.

Alright. First blog.

I guess insomnia gets the credit/blame for this starting up... Late night thoughts need to end up somewhere, after all. So, why not the internet?

Okay, a couple of things you ought to know up front: I'm fond of lists and have an...avant-garde sense of grammar, vocabulary, and coherent narratives. Sorry. Just the way this swing swings.

Carrying on with the whole get-to-know-you thing.

I'm a theatre dork, an Oregonian, an anatomy and linguistics enthusiast, a college student, and a girl. For lack of a better word. I've got awkward taste in music, a love for trivial facts, and a horrifying suspicion that I have a huge crush on Nikola Tesla. I played rugby for 2 1/2 years, but had to quit due to a head injury (and the time-consuming monster that is theatre). Oh. And people. People are my favorite thing.

General life update.

I moved to Bend, Oregon (from Eugene) about 5 months ago, which was a bit of a swap. Still working on the settling in and all. I kinda like the feeling of being on my toes all the time, though.

Doing things. Roughly all of my time is divided between A) school, B) this addictive place called 2nd Street Theater, C) work, and D) awkward gallivanting.

Almost wish sleep made it in there, but then it wouldn't be an adventure...

There's probably other stuff, but I assume that'll become apparent as the blogging continues.

We'll see how it goes?