I’ve Never…

Okay, there are a few things I’ve never done. AND THIS LIST WILL SHOCK YOU.

1) Despite my legion of lezzie friends, I’ve never kissed a girl in that way. (I mean, I’ve kissed a girl for a jock with a camera and then he gave me mardi gras beads and told me my video would be up on myspace and maybe I’d get a cut of the earnings, but I’ve never really kissed a girl that way.)

2) I’ve never won anything at all at a party. In fact, one time I’ll tell you the story about the bachelorette party I went to (the only one I’ve ever been to) and I waltzed in wearing heels and a tiara and my thighs were taut after an at-home practice session of dip the dildo in the beer mug because I heard girls play these games at these types of parties and goddamn it I was going to win one fucking game at a party for the first time in my life. And I was like 25 and I couldn’t look like I’d never been to a stupid bachelorette party before. Stupid going to school in San Francisco and being friends with the feminists. Stupid feminists always ruining all my party prowess!

And I walked into the bachelorette party and found nary a tiara, but rather a group of women in gunny sax dresses listening to the pastor’s wife give a sermon about a wife’s value — she cooks and cleans, FYI. And then there was a game involving safety pins and trading things and trivia about the bride and groom and at the end it was just me and some girl left and I said, “I’ve never won anything at a party” thinking she was a good Christian and maybe not a selfish cunt and she wouldn’t trade my safety pin for something I don’t know and I’d win the game. Well, she was a Christian and a selfish cunt and she did trade my stupid safety pin and I didn’t win. And that is why I hate Christians.

3) I’ve never had a one-night stand. No kidding. Two nights, yes. One night — I’m not a whore.

4) I’ve never slept with a man in a relationship with someone else. This one is not so much about my fierce sense of morality (where’s the html code that indicates irony?) because lord knows I am not innocent, however, guys with girls don’t do it for me. And I can live with casual flings, and I get getting together with someone as a one-shot thing, but when a woman is on the phone with a guy with a family for a thousand minutes a month, then I need to agree with a friend of mine, this woman is amoral and I don’t want to be her. Because that karma is going to be a bitch on the return trip.

5) I’ve never been given a phone number in a bar. I used to say that I’ve never been hit on in a bar, but then Kiala gently reminded me of that time we went karaokeing and a tiny black man called Micro began chatting me up. Thank you, Kiala.

I don’t know why I’ve never been given a phone number in a bar. I like to believe it’s because I’m brilliant and famous and intimidating as hell. Because I like crushing men’s souls. I mean, I’m not an ugly person.

Is this the spatula of an ugly person? No. So why else wouldn’t someone give me their phone number in a bar? WHY?

Clearly I cook. With an apron on. And I smile occasionally.

They’re intimidated by my brains, I know it. I KNOW IT BECAUSE I’M SMART.

6) And this one is my main concern these days: I’ve never been recognized on the street. Now, I never really knew bloggers were recognized on the streets until one day about six months ago, my friend Brewcaster was recognized in a restaurant or a bar or something. I don’t know. All I know is that I was insanely jealous supportive of my friend. And I might have thought, “but…but…I’m a famous author!” And then I started talking to my Portland friends, who happen to be bloggers, (what can I say, bloggers are my people) and ALL OF THEM have been recognized on the streets. Every single one. Except me.

Now, I’m no shlub. First there was Rick Turoczy saying I was the second coming and the most interesting, remarkable, special, brilliant, fantastic, exceptional person he’s ever had the pleasure of giving business advice to, and then, I Want to Come Back as my Cat called me an “off the wall” person. And I appreciate that because I keep picturing this, and like MJ pre-skin bleaching and cosmetic surgery, I am cool and classic and aaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllll natural. Except my hair color. And my breasts. I kid. I’m naturally brunette.

And Fermented Fur gave me an award — Brilliante Weblog. I know. Two people calling me brilliant in one week. Next week – the Nobel. And then THE WORLD!

This is all to say, with all of this adulation, why hasn’t anyone recognized me on the street? It’s making me sad. Very sad. And by sad, I mean I ride my bike in lipstick and heels because I’m pretty sure TODAY IS THE DAY.

But today has not been the day. So I thought I’d take matters into my own hands. I thought that I’d have a contest. The contest would be whoever sees me on the street first wins this. That’s right, a Back Fence PDX mug. I know. Don’t all of you rush out to St. John’s and start driving the streets.

Here’s how it works — you see me and you talk to me. And if I’m with Archer, you need to spend a minute with him while I use the restroom in peace because that’s all I really want in this world.

You can’t have met me before. We can’t be arranging to meet each other. You must speak to me. And then you win a mug.

How does that sound? Desperate? Excellent.

Let the games begin.

Me and Everyone Else

I got a call yesterday. It was from a focus group company. I had called them earlier in the day because they were looking for women in their 30’s who drink tea each morning with breakfast. Totally. Me. So I called. Plus I wanted the $100 for two hours and because Back Fence PDX is interested in things like this and I thought I could do a little research. So the woman calls. And she needs to screen me first.

Here’s how it went down:

Focus Group Woman: I need to ask you a few questions about your tea drinking and breakfast habits.

Me: Okay.

FGW: Do you have children living at home with you who are under 18?

Me: Yes, I eat them for breakfast.

FGW: I’m going to give you a list of grocery stores and you tell me if you shop at them.

Me: Okay.

FGW: Whole Foods

Me: Do I look rich? And republican?

FGW: Wild Oats

Me: The name of that place makes me think they don’t wash their floors.

FGW: New Seasons

Me: Yes, when I feel like a baller.

FGW: Trader Joes

Me: When I know I’m not a baller.

FGW: Fred Meyer

Me: When the mighty have fallen.

FGW: Do you shop in the natural and organic foods departments?

Me: Well, I’ve taught several classes on food politics and I know that natural or organic doesn’t necessarily mean it’s better for the environment or for me. For example, organic strawberries in winter that are shipped from Venezuela are probably not winning any environmental awards, so I just try to shop wisely, locally and within my budget. In other words: yes.

FGW: I’m going to give you a list of teas and you tell me if you’ve bought them in the last month.

Me: Okay.

FGW: Bigelow.

Me: Do you know who you’re speaking to?

FGW: Numi.

Me: Gah.

FGW: Tazo.

Me: I’d rather swallow toilet water.

FGW: Republic of Tea

Me: I can see that you’re never going to get to Ahmad Assam Golden Tippy Long Leaf and you won’t understand if I have to explain it to you that I had to go to San Diego to find this particular tea and what the fuck Portland, are you too good for a decent Middle Eastern market? So, I’ll say yes to this one.

FGW: Medicinal tea.

Me: Ah hell no.

FGW: What other liquids have you had to drink in the last month?

Me: Beer. And Margaritas. And a single skunky Stella — seriously, why do people like that shit beer?

FGW: Coffee?

Me: I’m a delicate flower and I can’t consume coffee because it spirals me into a deep, dark depression.

FGW: Juice

Me: Yes.

FGW: Now I need to ask about your breakfast habits.

Me: Shoot.

FGW: Have you eaten the following foods over the past month,

Cold or hot cereal?

Me: Yes.

FGW: Bagels, muffins or toast.

Me: Yes. Except bagels. I just don’t love them, what can I say?

FGW: Yogurt?

Me: Hello, it’s how I lost weight for LA. Except I didn’t lose any weight at all so FUCK YOGURT.

FGW: Granola

Me: You know, granola is actually very fattening. But I have snacked on it here and there.

FGW: Okay I need to stop the screening here because we’re looking for a diverse group of people and your answers are just like everyone else’s.

And then she said (I’m not kidding) “you Portlanders are all alike.”

And then I took my phone away from my ear and stared at it. Because, right?!? What the fuck? She asked me if I ate the most common breakfast foods and if I drank the most available teas on the market and I said yes to both and suddenly I’m just another honkey on a fixey? Well, shit and goddamn.

I put the phone up to my ear waiting for the joke or whatever and she asked if she could call me again about some other things like my voting habits. Right, because I’m sure my vote will be waaaaaaaaaaaaaay different than my fellow white, liberal, 33 year old, female Portland residents. Except I’m voting to ban all two-wheeled transportation and force everyone into SUVs, to make gay people wear some form of rainbow paraphernalia every single day (a scarlet letter of sorts), that blacks should not only have their own schools, but their own drinking fountains too and, finally, instead of composting, every Portland resident should have their own tiny toxic waste dump in their yards that they turn and nurture and add to. I’m progressive.

I hung up and wondered a little at the fact that I am just like every other Portland woman who drinks tea in the mornings and then I decided that what should happen is we should start a gang. The Portland Tea Drinkers. And what we’d do is kick the shit out of all the coffee places around town and torch all bagged tea and Nazi goose step down the streets in our brown uniforms and talk about a superior cup and a superior race and we’d take over the world.

So that’s my new project. Everyone is welcome!

Oh My

I went out drinking last night with my brother-in-law. Who is 255 pounds. And I am not. And we went to a number of gay bars. Gay bars can be sort of confusing to me because I understand these men are gay but I love the way men smell and I think it sparks something in my reptilian brain because I stand there and inhale and think oh my god, I love men. And then I realize these men don’t love me back. Like not at all.

But my brother-in-law is actually sort of a genius because after we had our 87 drinks, he said, “McDonalds or Mexican?” And I said, “Nsduh fjshy nfjgo rolled tacos. Three. Guacamole.” And I ate Mexican food before going to bed and I actually feel okay this morning. Not barfy. A little tired, but not barfy. Thank god.

And last night, I had my flip camera with me. I shot a few videos. They are not for the faint of heart.

Here we are starting the evening at a bar called Pecs. I know.

[vimeo 1117582]

And then we went to the Flame, which is sort of known around San Diego as a lezzie bar, except there were no lezzies and when we asked for the lezzies, the bartender informed us that there was a new owner and now there were no more lezzies. This video is extremely scary because my brother-in-law starts necking with a drag queen. Ugh.

[vimeo 1117621]

And then we went to the Lei Lounge. I always think it’s so cute when San Diego tries to be hip and stylish. This bar is yet another attempt at that.

[vimeo 1117656]

And finally, I’ve documented my brother-in-law’s pure drinking genius.

[vimeo 1117810]

Me at 6:55am

This blog post is dedicated to Surviving Myself who wants to hear me speak and to Kiala Krazybee — my muse.

Recovering Straight Girl posted today about going to hang out with the Governor of Oregon. Because RSG is a lezzie a writer, she hasn’t worn tights or pantyhose for many moons and has forgotten, I’m sure happily, what the rules are to this plain oppression of women fashion choice. So I reminded her about the perils of tights and pantyhose and she was a little at a loss because when you meet the Governor, you need to look proper. For me, as a Californian, that means rolling up in a Hummer and transforming into a robot when shit pisses me off. For Oregonians, that means dressing nicely.

I gave her some advice on the matter: get cotton tights and don’t wear panties. And then she included my advice in her blog post. But she didn’t say why, because boys read her blog. Well, boys read my blog too. Well, they are manly men who aren’t afraid of the truth and the functions of women’s bodies. Anyway, her readers are confused about tights and panties. And my male readers are strong, masculine men who are fearless.

So I filmed my response.

[vimeo vimeo.com/936340]

I got nuthin’ today

Here’s a sweater I finished yesterday. It’s the puff sleeved feminine cardigan from Stephanie Japel’s Fitted Knits. I used cotton wool yarn, instead of all wool. I did this because I had enough cotton wool in my stash and because I don’t want to wear a short-sleeve sweater that’s all wool. The problem is the cotton wool doesn’t have the stiffness of all wool so now the sweater fits me sort of weird, hence the prop in the picture. Look at the lemon, not at the sweater that makes me look like I have no waist. OMG, I almost used a lower case I instead of an upper case I. I have to say that using lower case i’s on the internet makes me batty. Please people, there’s a shift key. Use it.

Is that enough of a blog post for today, gentle reader? I can’t really do much more because I went lezzie dancing last night with the RSG and her HG. We went to Crush, which is a general homo bar where the gays and the lezzies co-mingle. And then we went to the Egyptian Room where it’s lezzies and more lezzies and more lezzies.

I had written a whole thing about the Egyptian Room here where I said the Egyptian Room specializes in lezzies of the bull variety but I realize that might be offensive, so instead here’s a sample of two of my conversations at the Egyptian Room.

RSG: Are you scared?

Me: Yes.

*later*

Me: I need to pee.

HG: Are you scared?

Me: Yes.

RSG: I’ll go with you.

Me: Thank you.

I did some karaoke. I did She Bop. Except I sucked at it because I had no memory of how that song went and I thought I’d do it because there was only so much Melissa Ethridge and Creed karaoke I could take. RSG did a song too and let me say, that girl knows how to sing. And do karaoke. I danced for her because that’s what lezzies do, I think.

RSG and I danced a bit and then when we were leaving, they said I’d passed some sort of lezzie test and now we can go to the lezzie bars where there are more women and less womyn, if you catch my drift.

I would like to add that I have no idea why the RSG and the HG hang out with me, but I’m glad they do because I have a blast. Even if they do not, but rather become exhausted by my constant questions about the homosexual lifestyle.

I came home at about 1:30. I filled Steve in on my lezzie antics. And then I went to sleep. Archer got up at 4. And now I’m tired. I’m sorry if this post sucked. But I’m in that moment of exhaustion and post-alcoholic depression where anything I say or do will fill me with dread and anxiety.