Project 100

Day 17: love our postal carriers

2010-10-08T12:10:00.000-07:00

You know what? We don't say thanks enough.

For example, our postal carrier walks all over our neighborhood in the hothothot sun and the wetwetwet rain, putting miles on those shoes, fearing dog bites, picking up cans for the annual food drive, decoding incorrect addresses, and carrying that heavy bag full of red Netflix envelopes and porno mags. We expect our mail to arrive every day, and at approximately the same time each day. And, sure, I might wave hello when I see my neighborhood carrier on the sidewalk ('specially if he's a hottie), but have I ever stopped to say thanks?

And I've lately realized that I haven't said thanks because I've been walking around with this latent sense of entitlement that I'm somehow owed mail. That these people, dammit, are doing their jobs and getting paid, so what else do they need? Duh, Eva! Duh! They need what we all need: acknowledgement, purpose, validity, joy, peace, techno music, and stockpiles of toilet paper in case of the Apocalypse!

But I am thankful for my sweet postal carrier (who I once saw at my local cafe. And who, upon my introduction, recited my address to me, all the way down to the apartment number and zip code!) and I wanted to give a little gracias.

So I got together with a pal and wrote some little thank you notes!

Of course I wrote this one!

Do you hate the Val-Pak as much as I do?

I challenged Frank to include the subject of Rollerbladers in his love note. Nice work, Frank!

$5 Starbucks (I know, I know! Start throwing stones now! I just wanted it to be something accessible and those damned Starbucks are e'rywhere) gift cards attached to every love note!

We drove all over the neighborhood and deposited the notes in the big blue mailboxes! Yay!

We ended up making about six little love notes and making the world a little nicer place to live. And I'm going to make a donation to a Colombian coffee farming family to make myself feel better for supporting Starbucks.

Day 16: MAX rush hour dance party!

2010-10-04T14:03:00.000-07:00

A photo essay...

Brett and Ruby shine in the sunlight, dancing to The Jets

Eva knocking it out in low-res, baby

Andrea, Jamie, Ruby, and Jane challenge you to a dance off!

Kat gets down while a nearby employee gazes out from her corporate prison wishing she were us.

Our music man, Andrew Ox

Lucie wearing the Sparkle Jacket (a Hobby Horse Original)!

The first ever MAX rush hour dance party proved to be a startling success, despite the many challenges imposed upon us. Turns out, 8:30am is a little early for a party, and our crew was plagued by oversleep, lack of motivation, and tardiness. And it also turns out that boom boxes are not welcome in many of Portland's public spaces. We were repeatedly asked to turn the music off and were even threatened by a cop in Pioneer Square! Who knew, but "amplified music" is against the rules without a permit.

Dear fellow citizens of Portland: in what kind of city do we live? We live in a city in which ya gotta have a permit to get down! A PERMIT! TO GET DOWN! It's like Orwell's 1984. No, not really at all. It's more like Footloose. And I am Kevin Bacon, only with better hair, sparkles, and fifty percent more bitchin' dance moves.

But, all in all: awesome.

Day 15: bake a cheesecake with Jane

2010-07-22T14:46:00.000-07:00

Jane's awesome. This was the first time we hung out and she inspires me. Plus, the cheesecake was super good, even though it was loaded with dairy products and was gluten-free.

six whole eggs, two egg yolks!

Beating the cream cheese!

Yes! Two of them!

Bake that shit!

Fresh rhubarb compote, from rhubarb grown in Jane's backyard!

Day 14: the pet psychic

2010-07-22T14:37:00.000-07:00

Those of you who've met my K-9 companion, Ralgh, know he's very special. He's an anxious rescue who always sleeps with one eye open and is afraid of flashing lights, cameras, sirens, skateboarders, compact discs, the vet, fireworks, people, children, anything that beeps, the oven, and (of course) the vacuum cleaner. He's undeniably a giant pain in the ass, a truly difficult dog, but dang if I don't love the crap out of him. He's my sweet little boy. We understand each other and keep each other safe.

Scared of the camera!

On day 14 we had an appointment with a pet psychic named Patricia. I could tell in the conversations leading up to our appointment that something was off. She needed to be constantly reminded of who I was and what I wanted. She insisted on a telephone reading because she wanted to know as little about Ralgh as possible, including what he looked like.

At 11:00, our scheduled appointment time, I went to a coffee shop and rang Patricia. No answer. Tried her again at 11:05. She finally called me back at 11:08, saying she was embarrassed to admit it, but she was stuck on the toilet when I had called. Professional! Next, she said, "So, we're going to talk to George today!" "Um, no, his name is Ralgh," I corrected. This was not going well. "Oh! Oh, Ralgh! There he is! I see him now. Oh, he's a sweet boy. He's medium sized, and he's brownish? He's floppy! He has floppy ears."

Not so much floppy. I'd more lean toward describing him as tense...

I really wanted her to give me something I could believe in here. C'mon, Patricia (or should I call you Pamela? Close enough, right?), I want the smoke and mirrors, the velvet curtain, the crystal ball! I want to see you get all possessed with Ralgh's spirit and start speaking in tongues. Anything! Just give me something...

I want the crystal ball, dammit!

The conversation continued to enlighten me at every turn. I found out that Ralgh likes his food, he sleeps a lot, he loves watching TV (FAIL, Patricia! I don't have a TV!), and one of his favorite things to do is sleep in my bed (WIN, Patricia! You got that one right!). The gravy on the metaphorical dog food? She said that Ralgh wanted her to tell me that he saw a squirrel. WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY?!? There's a squirrel in my house?! I swear, if I go home and there's a squirrel in my house I don't know what I'm going to do! How do you catch a squirrel? My best guess is with nuts and a shoebox, but that could be pretty messy. Oh, Patricia, thank you, THANK YOU for the warning.

But I got home and there was no squirrel, which leads me to believe that Ralgh was lying to Patricia. I'm going to have to have a chat with the little guy about that.

Day 13: learn to throw a punch.

2010-07-17T12:45:00.000-07:00

I believe in peace. I remember screaming, crying, and jumping in the middle of a playground brawl that my older brother, John, got himself into as a child. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" I yelled. And I broke it up. I hate war, I'm disgusted by bar fights, I despise arguments... Physical aggression and yelling have no place in my life, unless they're, you know, consensual. *wink!*

But Dan Darling gave me this fabulous idea that I should get in a fight as one of my hundred things, and well, I was intrigued. I've never experienced the adrenaline rush of fist on skin, the crack of my knuckles as they break a nose, the anger and release of anger. Plus, I just wanted to know how bad I'd be at it. Or maybe I'd be good at it?

You want to be the red guy!

I started by doing what anyone would do: I googled "how to fight". Just reading the tips that came up was enough to talk me out of it. One website told me to punch my knuckles together in order to destroy or desensitize the nerves. Another page taught me how to head butt, bringing my head down onto the bridge of another person's nose to disable him. I learned the importance of not letting my opponent get me to the floor (you're pretty much getting your ass kicked if that happens) and what to do if I end up there anyway.

No bueno.

This fighting is serious business, folks, and I don't want to get hurt. Am I a wimp? Am I just being a chicken? I'm not sure yet, so I decided to start by taking a safe little boxing lesson. Maybe I'll get in a real fight by the end of the Project, but for now, just knowing how to punch is enough.

I showed up at Northwest Fighting Arts during a tai chi class, still not believing what I was about to do. I let the slow, detailed movements of the students calm my nerves. I filled out paperwork, sweat a little, and acted very serious and respectful, mostly concealing the fact that I was sort of checking out all the dudes. But I swear, I spent more time being nervous than checking out dudes! Then Jeff came and collected me from my bench. He had me kick my shoes off and put on some boxing gloves, then we went for it.

Sometimes I think we adults never try anything new because we aren't okay with not being perfect the first time. Looking like an asshole is uncomfortable; messing up is humbling, admitting you're not perfect takes patience and practice. And I wasn't perfect. My million trillion years of dance training didn't really have my back here; Jeff immediately taught me to lift my shoulder to my cheek when I punched, which is exactly opposite from what I've always practiced. It was foreign movement, the rules had changed, and I was at the edge of my comfort zone. I squeezed my shoulder to my face and tried to be okay with not being perfect. I threw some punches, blocked my face, chased Jeff around, ducked, and smiled. I smiled the whole damn time (which I think would be unsettling to my opponent were I in a real fight... could put me at an advantage. I've gotta remember that.).

So, now I know how to punch. Maybe someday I'll get to use this new skill! Oh, god, who am I kidding. I'm not going to be getting in any fights.

Day 11: scoop ice cream, Day 12: Elephant's Deli

2010-07-14T14:30:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine, Chad Drazin, owns a kitschy little ice cream business called Fifty Licks out here in Portland. I say kitschy because it's based on creating "Portlandy" ice cream flavors like "Maple with Bacon," "Stumptown Coffee," "Pineapple Jalapeno," and (vegan) "Coconut Lemon Saffron" sorbet. Anyway, the annual Mississippi Street Fair was on Saturday and Chad needed some extra hands around to scoop perfectly spherical balls of ice cream for a needing crowd. I'm a sucker for things like this, especially since beginning Project 100. I'm so desperate for ideas of new things to do that I can't really say no anymore. And that's the fun of the whole project, really: saying yes to things I've never said yes to.

So I drove up to north portland on this eighty degree Saturday, and entered the fair (wouldn't you know it was packed to the gills with people and the absolute first person I saw was my ex-boyfriend. Errrr, good sign!). When I got to the ice cream stand, there was a line ten-deep of sunburnt-nosed folks pointing and rubbing their greasy fingers on the glass shield of the freezer case. This, my readers, was human enthuisam in its most unadulterated form. Read my next sentence out loud while sighing and groaning and you'll get the picture. "Goddamn bacon-flavored ice cream on a hot Portland day" I realized I was actually scared when Chad handed me the "Zeroll," an expensive high-tech professional grade ice cream scoop engineered specifically for rolling the frozen cream into perfect balls with a penny-saving hollow center.

Rolling ice cream is tougher than it seems! It took me a good three hours of scooping to get it down. It was a joyous three hours of practice, though. By the end of the night my sticky wrists hurt, but my face hurt more from smiling so hard. People are happy when they get ice cream. Seeing this pure enthusiasm was a dose of good medicine. Shiny. Happy. Fat. Lactose tolerant. Joy.

I will only say one thing negative about the experience: I didn't hear nearly enough magic words. I gave free samples all day to folks demanding, "Let me try the Carmelized Apple," or "give me a sample of the Tahitian Vanilla." In case you haven't been told, the proper way to ask is, "May I please try the Pineapple ice cream?" It's not simply a question of manners, but something more troubling. To me it speaks to bigger issues of entitlement and pretension. It makes me feel a little yucky.

On day 12 I woke up grieving. Had a good cry again with Trina in public, then met my friends Lucie, Kat, and Christine for our weekly coffee date at Coffee House Northwest. We decided to go to the Portland International Rose Test Garden because I'd never been there while the roses were in full bloom. Turned out to be a bad idea, though. It was crazy busy. A total madhouse. Instead, we made our way to Elephant's Deli, one of those fancy delis which sells high-end cheeses, wine, and charcuterie. It's a deli made for people who know what charcuterie is. I liked it though. I bought a big sandwich: fresh mozzerella, basil, and tomatoes on a baguette. It was perfection. Way more up my vegetarian alley (sounds dirty) than I thought it would be.

Lucie and Kat consider what it must be like to drink coffee at home.

Christine in her element. She's a fancy lady.

Day 10: try not to talk for a whole day

2010-07-11T16:48:00.000-07:00

Born with the gift of gab, I was. There's just so many things happening all the time that are worth sharing! Look around you. Look inside. Look underneath. Listen. Feel. We're so immersed in sensations: physical, emotional, auditory, visual - shouldn't we be relating these wonderful and terrible things to each other?

I think I talk to bridge the gap between myself and other people. We people tend to keep our relationships superficial, especially during the beginning stages. We limit our conversations to our occupations and our pets, which, mind you, is a perfectly acceptable way to start. But I want to know you and I want you to know me, the real me. The real me leaves her job at work when she clocks out. The real me explores feelings and asks lots of questions. The real me has a lot of demands of the world and ideas that run so so much deeper than the average conversation goes. I think most people can say the same, so why are we being so... secretive? I think that if I share some of those deeper thoughts with you, maybe you'll feel safe enough to share a little more of yourself with me.

We have to talk about things which are important to us, so we can evolve as a society. We have to talk about the funny stuff so we can have a little laugh in this crazy stressful world. We have to talk about the meaningless stuff just to pass the time on a hot day. We have to talk about sexy men just to make sure we all agree!

On Friday, I accepted a challenge to not speak for the whole day. I made it all the way until 4:00. I was silent through my visit to the grocery store, when the cashier tried to start a conversation only to be met with silence and miming. I was silent at the gas station, when the attendant asked me what I wanted and I could only point. Both of these people thought I was deaf, I think, because after they realized I couldn't talk they looked me right in the eye and enunciated very well, moving their lips clearly just in case I needed to read them. Which I found to be very sweet. I could hear though. Just couldn't, no, wouldn't, talk.

The story of my failure isn't a very interesting one, I'm afraid. Of course, I'm going to tell you anyway. We've already established that I'm a sharer and this shall be no exception! When I fell off the wagon, I simply forgot that I was on a wagon and began my normal chatter with Ralgh. It was exclamations of joy over making it to the Oregon coast, mixed with disciplinary commands, mixed with questions. Yes, tons of questions. "Do you want some water, Ralgh?" "Are you a good boy, Ralgh?" "Do you want to go for a walk, Ralgh?" A half an hour into our gabfest, I interrupted, "Shit! I failed!" And Ralgh totally didn't care.

Day 9: pub trivia!

2010-07-09T12:44:00.000-07:00

"Patrick Swayze!" Frank, a member of our team, Pop Tart Assassins, excitedly blurted upon hearing the first two words of the question. If it's possible to yell and whisper that the same time, that's what it was. A quiet, but excited, exclamation.

RIP

We were huddled around a booth in the Space Room on SE Hawthorne for my very first pub trivia night. The sun filtered in through tiny holes in the shades, and the thick air pressed down on us and the maybe thirty other people crammed into the space. I was invited by a couple of my jazzer-students, Tiffany and Matt, after they found out about Project 100 (which, by the way, is an awesome side effect! I've been hanging out with folks I've never hung out with before just because they get excited about what I'm doing and want to contribute. New friends every day!). We were joined by two of their friends, Maya and Frank.

The cool thing about pub trivia is that you feel like a million bucks when you get the answers right, but you aren't too hard on yourself when you get them wrong. In the end it an ego booster. There were twelve teams and we came in sixth, but we left feeling like rockstars for getting the answers we got. I've realized that I have particular talent in regards to identifying dog breeds, even though I didn't get points for writing "sweet wittow baby" under one photo of a Newfoundland.

While I'm on the subject of dogs, I find it apropos to mention that I, just this minute, received a phone call from the pet psychic who is going to do Ralgh's reading as a part of Project 100. Excitement!

Aside to Tiffany: when I was looking for dog breed charts to use as an image for my blog, I saw quite a few photos of Border Collies, and I agree with you; that first dog really did look like a Border Collie. If I'd seen one prior, I probably would have agreed with you at the time.

So, pub trivia was a blast and an awesome thing to do with new people. It's its own ice-breaker! Highly, highly recommended.

Day 8: DIY lessons from the queen, Jen Neitzel

2010-07-08T20:11:00.000-07:00

I've always been a hobby dabbler; I get really excited about some medium, like painting, then spend about six months or so obsessed with it. After six months, the supplies gather dust and I'm on to the next big thing. In the past few years I've had obsessions with knitting, painting, drawing, jewelry making, baking, dancing, photography, yoga, and blogging. I've always considered this a good thing; there's a part of me that thinks I'm pretty special for being sorta decent at everything I try (except cooking. I habitually overcook things and have absolutely no herb and spice comprehension beyond salt and pepper, although I do tend to be pretty good at the part where I drink a glass of wine while the rice slowly burns on the bottom of the pan. Then I can drunkenly flirt with the pizza man when he shows up an hour later...).

Anyway, after all these years of trying to make shit and being moderately successful, I've learned how to recognize talent when I see it. Jen Neitzel, dear readers, is the DIY champion of the extended universe and a legend in her own class. And she just happens to be one of my friends (and a Jazzerciser). When she offered to let me sit in on one of her projects, I snapped up the opportunity like a Cabbage Patch Kid in 1985.

Check the butt for the birthmark!

The project: makeover a discarded roadside find into a totally (insert current slang adjective here) piece of furniture for a pre-teen boy's room. The piece: a plaid hide-a-bed loveseat with cat-clawed arms. The plan: reupholster the arms and create an embellishment for the back to bring the design together.

Jen had already started the project before I arrived, but she took a few minutes to break it down for me. It was cool to watch her work; she just seems so at home with her ideas and her scissors. She never hesitated or questioned herself. Then I realized that that's what it is that really makes her special: she never lets the fear of making a mistake stop her or slow her down. For Jen, there is no such fear. There is no expectation of perfection that we adults usually carry with us everywhere we go. She has learned by doing, while many of us just never bother to try because we we're afraid of what it means about us if we fail.

Has nothing to do with the blog, but it's kinda funny.

Another Jazzerciser, Jocelyn, was also along for the tutorial, which turned out to be more like a daytime slumber party than serious crafting time. The three of us drank wine, talked about marriage and divorce, learned about each other, and wiled away a hot Wednesday afternoon. And you know what? We created a perfectly perfect little day for ourselves on the very first try.

The work in progress.

Day 5, Day 6, and Day 7: grab bag

2010-07-08T00:09:00.000-07:00

Day five was the first day I ever had to kick someone out of the bar at my new job.

On day six I woke up early, whipped up a frittata, wrapped up some dog treats, and jumped in the car with Ralgh to find the elusive Mt Tabor off-leash area (or as Ralgh and I like to call it: the bark park). Mt. Tabor is one of my new favorite off-leash areas in Portland. It's mostly natural and is situated on the semi-steep side of an ancient volcano. From the park you can see stunning views of downtown from seventy blocks away and there are tons of trees and trails for the pooches. Ralgh and I had a good exploratory session there, then retreated to the vacant playground to enjoy our picnic.

On day seven I drank my first Chenin Blanc. And I sang a heartrending solo performance in the car to Michael Jackson's Man in the Mirror. What's that you ask? Have I really never sung along to Man in the Mirror? Of course I have, as I find it to be one of the most inspiring, touching, and moving songs off the Bad album! But this was the first time that I really belted it, including all the YEAHs, HOOs, OWs, and pouts, from the top of my lungs while driving down the road on my way home from work at 3:30 in the morning. Have you ever really given a HOO your all? Try it with me, folks. On one, two, THREE!

(insert your biggest and best HOOOOOO! here)

Lyrics from lyrics007.com, including the bad punctuation and capitalization. But I did like this version because it includes all the above-mentioned exclamations. Follow along!

I'm Gonna Make A Change

For Once In My Life
It's Gonna Feel Real Good
Gonna Make A Difference
Gonna Make It Right...

As I, Turn Up The Collar On
My Favorite Winter Coat
This Wind Is Blowin' My Mind
I See The Kids In The Street
With Not Enough To Eat
Who Am I, To Be Blind?
Pretending Not To See Their Needs
A Summer's Disregard
A Broken Bottle Top
And A One Man's Soul
They Follow Each Other On
The Wind Ya' Know
'Cause They Got Nowhere To Go
That's Why I Want You To Know

I'm Starting With The Man In The Mirror
I'm Asking Him To Change His Ways
And No Message Could Have Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place
(If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place)
Take A Look At Yourself, And Then Make A Change
(Take A Look At Yourself, And Then Make A Change)
(Na Na Na, Na Na Na, Na Na, Na Nah)

I've Been A Victim Of
A Selfish Kind Of Love
It's Time That I Realize
That There Are Some With No Home
Not A Nickel To Loan
Could It Be Really Me
Pretending That They're Not Alone?

A Willow Deeply Scarred
Somebody's Broken Heart
And A Washed-Out Dream
(Washed-Out Dream)
They Follow The Pattern Of
The Wind, Ya' See
Cause They Got No Place To Be
That's Why I'm Starting With Me
(Starting With Me!)

I'm Starting With The Man In The Mirror
(Ooh!)
I'm Asking Him To Change His Ways
(Ooh!)
And No Message Could Have Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place
(If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place)
Take A Look At Yourself And Then Make A Change
(Take A Look At Yourself And Then Make A Change)

I'm Starting With The Man In The Mirror
(Ooh!)v I'm Asking Him To Change His Ways
(Change His Ways-Ooh!)
And No Message Could've Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place
(If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place)
Take A Look At Yourself And Then Make That...
(Take A Look At Yourself And Then Make That...)
Change!

I'm Starting With The Man In The Mirror
(Man In The Mirror-Oh Yeah!)
I'm Asking Him To Change His Ways
(Better Change!)
No Message Could Have Been Any Clearer
(If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place)
(Take A Look At Yourself And Then Make The Change)
(You Gotta Get It Right, While You Got The Time)
('Cause When You Close Your Heart)
You Can't Close Your...Your Mind!
(Then You Close Your...Mind!)
That Man, That Man, That Man, That Man
With That Man In The Mirror
(Man In The Mirror, Oh Yeah!)
That Man, That Man, That Man
I'm Asking Him To Change His Ways
(Better Change!)
You Know...That Man
No Message Could Have Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place
(If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place)
Take A Look At Yourself And Then Make A Change
(Take A Look At Yourself And Then Make A Change)
Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!
Na Na Na, Na Na Na, Na Na, Na Nah
(Oh Yeah!)
Gonna Feel Real Good Now!
Yeah Yeah! Yeah Yeah! Yeah Yeah!
Na Na Na, Na Na Na, Na Na, Na Nah
(Ooooh...)
Oh No, No No....
I'm Gonna Make A Change
It's Gonna Feel Real Good!
Come On!
(Change ...)
Just Lift Yourself
You Know
You've Got To Stop It.
Yourself!
(Yeah!-Make That Change!)
I've Got To Make That Change, Today!
Hoo!
(Man In The Mirror)
You Got To
You Got To Not Let Yourself...Brother...
Hoo!
(Yeah!-Make That Change!)
You Know-I've Got To Get That Man, That Man...
(Man In The Mirror)
You've Got To
You've Got To Move! Come On! Come On!
You Got To...
Stand Up! Stand Up! Stand Up!
(Yeah-Make That Change)
Stand Up And Lift Yourself, Now!
(Man In The Mirror)
Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!
Aaow!
(Yeah-Make That Change)
Gonna Make That Change...
Come On! (Man In The Mirror)
You Know It!
You Know It!
You Know It!
You Know...
(Change...)
Make That Change

Day 4: Walk with no plan, end up at The Grotto

2010-07-04T16:49:00.000-07:00

I didn't actually plan my "first" for day four. It started in my chest, a feeling so compelling that I almost mistook it for determination. Determination it was not, however, but a broken heart desperate to find a distraction. I knew I had to get out of the house, but didn't want to eat, didn't want to drink, and couldn't stop weeping. I grabbed a book and my writing tablet, stuffed earbuds into my ears, and put the iPod on shuffle, hoping that an idea of where to go would come to me.

An honest picture of me being sad... and having a bad hair day.

And I walked, and I walked. I knew I needed to walk until I didn't feel this pain anymore. I found myself on Sandy, one of the top two ugliest streets in Portland, but the pain wasn't going anywhere, so I continued to walk. I let my robot brain go to work on the processing of those repetitive thoughts, he always let me get my way, which proves that he is a better person than me. He never understood me, our values were just too different... I looked up and realized that I'd walked forty blocks and it felt like just the beginning. I was still crying, but had also begun singing loudly, and continued to do so even as I passed the open doors of Asian grocery stores and gritty strip clubs. The music continued to play, If I had a heart I could love you, and I just kept walking.

Sandy Blvd

Breakups: so ordinary. sigh... Such an ordinary source of extraordinary pain. Like the quotidian sunset, they are an everyday and common human experience, yet indescribable in their emotional intensity. How do you describe "broken"?

The Grotto

And I kept walking until I ended up at 84th and Sandy, at The Grotto, where I called on Trina to rescue me and I cried some more with her. She always has a way of setting me straight. I'm too hard on myself. I will be happy. It's natural to grieve. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to miss him. It's not my fault that we weren't right for each other, in fact it's awesome that we could admit this and walk away from each other peacefully and lovingly. Then she fed me a beer and a VooDoo Doughnut and you know what? That pain loosened its grip on my heart just a little bit! Trina dropped me off at home. The sun was out and I walked some more, this time with Ralgh by my side. Then I took a shower, crawled into bed, and fell asleep by 8:30. Things are going to be okay.

Day 3: Write a letter of praise

2010-07-04T15:14:00.000-07:00

Day 2: go to First Thursday

2010-07-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

First Thursday is a monthly art festival in Portland, and I can't believe I've never actually made it there. It's just one of those... things. You know? The Pearl District, the area of town which is host to the FT action, is a renovated industrial district boasting million-dollar modern lofts, fancy restaurants, impermeable surfaces, and white people with small dogs. It's an area of town to hit if you want a nice glass of wine or some pommes frites, so it has it's purpose. But I guess there's never really been much draw for me beyond that.

But, this being the time in my life for doing new things, I put on my fanciest t-shirt, my Wonder Woman shorts, and my rain boots and made a night of it (have to admit I was looking extra foxy, if not exactly looking the part).

I started, in true Pearl District spirit, with a glass of my favorite wine, Far Niente, a Napa Chardonnay. That shit is like licking a silver butter dish covered in honey and pears (and, of course, butter!), and at $20 a glass, is reserved for the rare fancy occasions in my life. As I sat drinking my wine, a text came through from two of my dear friends, Brett and Adam, who were mere blocks away. Hence, just like that, I had my official First Thursday posse. We hit the streets.

Not so much ready for that first one...

If there's one thing I learned from my first First Thursday, it is that things change dramatically once you cross the park blocks. East of the park blocks, bumping elbows with Chinatown, reside the small funky galleries, which are chock full of sexy breakable boys in tight pants, dirty beats dropping from elaborate sound systems, and art with hip themes like bicycles. Cross that park, though, and it gets all shi-shi frou-frou blown glass, cello music, and folks who know what Far Niente is (and not because they worked as a server in a fine dining establishment). I'm obviously an east side type, but the Westies did okay by me. It was a pretty good time.

Adam contemplates "east side" art.

Giant plywood beaver. It's a beaver... made out of wood. My head's exploding from the irony.

Self-portrait. Art inspires art, inspires art...

First Thursday gets a thumbs up in my book. I'll be back!

Day 1: ride a scooter

2010-06-30T20:31:00.000-07:00

Folks who know me well know that I'm not good with modes of transportation. Sure, I'm a good defensive driver, have flown around the world on planes, and commute by bike, but I like my feet on the ground. Fast moving vehicles make this lady tense, and even navigating traffic on a bike stresses me out.

Growing up, we had a little Honda 80 motorcycle and the sibs and I took turns riding it around the yard. I was scared out of my mind when it was my turn. I started it up, took off, panicked, and fell over on the first lap. On another occasion, I confused the gas and the brake and drove a four-wheeler directly into a tree on my first attempt at riding. I get sick on planes, anxious in cars, nervous on bikes, nauseous on trains, and stiff on rollerskates. Yet, I've always had this fascination with those Italians on their little mopeds, cruising down the skinny streets... It just seems so romantic. I knew I had to try it.

Here we go!

Lucie thinks I'm going to crash!

Thanks to Tiffany for the idea, and to Lucie, who taught me how to ride and nervously looked on as I drove away screaming and laughing on her Spree. When I took off, I got scared and almost fell over immediately. Turns out it's pretty easy, though, and what a hoot!

Yea-hooooo ha ha ha ha!

An awesomely fun first adventure!