The Night Starts Here.

Hello friends! So it’s Friday night. Today was payday, the planet didn't collide with an asteroid, and I came home to this incredible care package from my forever Valentine:

Now I’m wearing my sweatpants, sipping Valentine’s homemade booze and watching The Sarah Silverman Program. I’m not sure how this is my life, but it’s pretty fucking phenomenal. The chainsaw grumble of Doris’ snoring couldn’t be more soothing. As some of you may have noticed, yesterday was Valentine’s Day. I hope you felt loved in every single sense of the word, because I know I did.

This Valentine’s Day involved delicious food [note: I cooked, so maybe I’m a little biased], homemade caramel apple pecan pie, and amazing company. You guys, did you even know that caramel is a thing that can be made from scratch? Apparently it’s just butter, sugar and heavy cream. Or in this case coffee creamer, which is essentially the same thing as heavy cream? At any rate, it was fucking delicious. I ate my weight in baked goods, got a geography lesson, sat on Lew’s couch listening to stories about J’s mom and lemon jolly ranchers. I hugged Mo’ Money all the times because I could. All in all a successful night of low key revelry.

I didn't realize V-Day was such a loaded holiday for me until I actually thought back on the last few years. And then I had all the feels and maybe wept openly for awhile. It's cool, Doris didn't judge me too harshly. She was just mildly concerned. 

This is Doris offering to hold my hair back if I puke tonight. 

Last year Valentine’s Day: we ate greasy cheeseburgers at the Mo Club and watched a burlesque show. We went to frozen yogurt. I didn’t have a date, or I did but I don’t remember who it was because we were the Forever Alone Klub. We were happy enough being a little sad together. She wasn't talking to me, but I pretended that was ok. The year before that was the wine tasting. We were children in formal wear, but we sat at that table like adults. We ate the five courses and drank too much wine. That night she drove us home and couldn’t remember her hands on the wheel or her wheels on the freeway. But we made it to my house, and I remembered my hands on her body regardless. Remembered her head on my pillow.

Earlier, 2010: I met my forever Valentine over a beer pong table and I couldn’t remember her face the next day. We went to the Vagina Monologues, sat with my girlfriend and the girl I thought I loved. I adore Valentine. She has scraped gravel out of my teeth and loaned me her alarm clock. She has listened to me sob myself to sleep, and made sure I got to work on time the next day. I love her because sometimes I’ll be walking down the street and I miss her in a way I can’t quite grasp. That nostalgic aching sort of missing. We were different people when we knew each other.

I’ve lived in Portland for nearly one year. Last February everything I owned was packed into the back the Biscuit. One year ago I drove 582 miles to pursue my career as a rap artist. Clearly that is really panning out for me. But seriously, last year I left Missoula with no fucking idea what I was going to do with my life. And to be honest, I still have no fucking idea what I’m going to do with my life. But I’m paying my bills on time and I’m well fed and I’m writing poetry and ridiculous blogs semi-regularly. I’m still breathing, and some days that’s the bravest thing a human being can do.  

I hope you’re all still breathing. I hope you all know how much I love you. Seriously, creeps. My heart feels so warm and swollen every time I think about you. Thank you for sticking with me!

 All my love (and kitten pictures).

-b

Is This The Real Life? Is This Just Fantasy?

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.

Hello tenderhearts! I promise I intended to post this last night, but then Teen Jeopardy happened. And wine. Also I attempted to assemble an oscillating fan for all of the lesbian points. I’m still convinced there were pieces missing from that box. Seriously, what are you supposed to do when there’s no extension rod? As some of you know, this is my second unsuccessful attempt to get back on a Thursday/Sunday writing schedule. I hate it. There are so many things I forgot to share with you! For example, the other day Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty walking hand-in-hand down Powell Boulevard, because why wouldn’t that be a thing? This is Portland fucking Oregon.

I know I’ve been slacking on rehashing the mundane details of my life, but I promise I’ve still been creating words! I’m currently cobbling together my first book of poems to enter the Phantom Limb chapbook competition. The deadline is February 25^th so I’m in crunch mode. If you’re interested in reading some poems, let me know. I can totes hook you up. Goal: to have my original written works fully assembled in a real book with a table of contents and original cover art and numbered pages by July 1^st.

Lately That Cat thinks she’s a latchkey kid. Also because of the rainy weather her fur has been matting really horrifically. Solution? I tossed her in the cat purse and took her down to the Boulevard for a shave. Now I own a very small alpaca instead of a cat. Hopefully she feels better, because god knows my day drastically improves every time I blatantly laugh at her.

This is not Murphy, but there's a striking resemblance

Here is the story of my life: I didn’t have many friends for a long time and now suddenly I have several. So obvs I’ve been doing All the Things to make up for lost time. I've come to the realization (again) that this is not a sustainable lifestyle. Adulthood is a strange thing because one morning you can eat cake for breakfast but the next morning you have to do your damn taxes because government. One day you can watch Pitch Perfect four times in a row, consume 84 meatballs and drink 5-9 bottles of wine. But the next day you wake up in a panic at 7am because maybe the landlord is coming over, and the dog needs to be walked and hello hangover. My real adult life means drinking the good tequila J stole from her parents, saying “cheers to new friendships” then playing games geared towards elementary school children until 2am. Drunk cognizance is essentially the same as being 8 years old.

Also, in an attempt to grow at least one muscle I’ve started doing crossfit. Actually, I’ve started working out with Beastfit Nation because:

  

All they ask in exchange for a kickass workout is that you click through some ads on their website and perform one act of kindness per workout. The pay it forward movement is still alive and well! Thus far my good deeds have been “offer to babysit for free” and “pay for somebody’s parking meter”. Is that illegal? For some reason, my brain says that’s illegal. But it’s still a pretty great thing to do because nothing sucks more than parking tickets. Except maybe being shot in the kneecap.

I don’t really know exactly what I wanted to say with this blog except that I’m still alive. I have new friends and I think they’re fond of me. Maybe they’ll even keep me for a while. Tonight I’ll probably go sing karaoke with them because Pat Benatar is my spirit animal. Or I won’t, and that will be fine too. Somewhere over the last year I learned how to be alone. In fact, I got pretty damn good at it. Now I need to learn when to stay in and when to go out. Or just when to go home after going out, because sometimes you fuck that up. I guess in the end it’s another learning experience. And the lesson we learned? Don’t get to the bar too early, start drinking tequila, get cut off, and sing Don’t Stop Believin’ at karaoke. Seriously, don’t. Those high notes are a real bitch.

Happy Friday, you bunch of creeps! All my love.

-b