Can’t Look
Posted on | June 9, 2010 | 3 Comments
Um, I was going to tell you all about Archie’s graduation from preschool, but I can’t. It seems like sort of a cruel thing if I dwell too much on the all ages party I went to on Saturday, then my kid graduates from preschool on Tuesday followed up with my 35th birthday on Thursday. I need a good cry is what I’m saying.
I will say that Fancyhats met me at A’s school. He was leaning up against the wall in a crisp white dress shirt, slacks and polished shoes. It was um…well…I might have collapsed on the ground and thanked whatever is up beyond the clouds in the sky for sending me one of the most handsome, grown up, smart, on-time, reliable men in the entire world. I might have done that, but I’m not dwelling.
Landslide
Posted on | June 8, 2010 | 5 Comments
And to answer Will’s question, I will not be having a birthday party like I did last year. Last year I think I had enough birthday party for several years. It was a lot. A lot of fun, but I think all of us still have a tiny hangover leftover. OMG.
Also, I was going to write a post about hair elastics and DO THEY SPROUT LITTLE LEGS AND WALK AWAY? Because I resisted buying a pack forever. I know how they just disappear and I wanted to see if I could make my last two last until I don’t know when.
Well, I broke down and bought a pack last week and now they’re half gone. RIDDLE ME THAT, INTERNET. I go three places throughout the day — work, pool, home. I think I’d see them again in my routine, don’t you? WELL I DO NOT.
I see other people’s hair elastics on the streets and on the floor, but I do not see my own.
Here’s my point: MY BLOG HANDLES THE TOUGH ISSUES.
And thanks to Ben, I now have this song in my head. I want all of you to have it in your head too.
Confession: I sometimes drive in my car and listen to Fleetwood Mac and think about Fancyhats and cry. It’s cathartic. I think I cry because I love him so much. Or whatever.
I Have the Olds
Posted on | June 7, 2010 | 6 Comments
Dear Internet,
I wanted to tell you all that I have the olds. Saturday night Fancyhats, Kiala, Dane and I went to the Mercury’s 10th birthday party. We had dinner first at The Farm where we had a cheese plate and various ravioli and Manhattans and salads and everything came from a small farm with a dramatic story about people saving the planet one roasted duck breast at a time. In other words: yum.
Then we went to the party. First, a little background for my non-Portland people, the Mercury is one of our alternative weeklies. We have two. I’ve written for both. The Merc is like your bratty little brother. It’s very amusing and there are some seriously awesome turns of phrase, but I pretty much read it so I know what the young people are talking about. Also, they still let me write for them. IT’S LIKE THEY DON’T KNOW I’M A MOM AND ALSO 34. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I had to drink do some deep breathing before going to this party.
It started out as an all ages affair, but we had VIP passes which allowed us into the free bar. And the patio. Where we stood and chatted with other people who could drink.
AND THEN.
AND THEN.
The VIP part ended and the patio opened up to anyone. Kiala and I had claimed a small bench on a corner and I was trying to breathe as shallowly as possible because I’m pretty sure that along with not being of an age to actually remember when red Ray-Ban and athletic wristbands were really cool, everyone up there was a chain smoker. And every girl up there, with the exception of me and Kiala, were dressed to make bad decisions with men after one too many drinks.
While Kiala and I could really entertain each other in any situation, and have (OMG KK, REMEMBER THAT READING WE WENT TO AT THE ACE?!?) I was sitting there feeling my swimmer’s lungs filling with smoke and realizing that I could be the mother of several of the young people crowding me. At that point, I had to pause the conversation and ask Kiala permission to express something. That something was this:
I HATE THIS, I HATE EVERYONE HERE. EVERYONE!!!
She took pity on me and we gathered Fancyhats and left. But on our way out, we needed to stop and grab some Koi Fusion tacos. While we were waiting, Mayor Sam Adams was standing there. So I marched up to him and said, “Hi Mayor Adams, I’m Melissa Lion.” And he didn’t recognize the name. And I said, “I co-produce Back Fence.” And he said, “Oh yeah! Hi!” And we shook hands and chatted about Gavin Newsom, the Mayor of San Francisco who, despite my best efforts, I never met. He was very nice and complimentary. And then Fancyhats and I took Kiala home and then we went home and I took a shower to wash the smoke out of my hair and I feel asleep before midnight.
To sum up:
The Mayor and I are totally buds.
+
I hate crowds.
+
My birthday is on Thursday
=
THE OLDS.
Going off the Reservation
Posted on | June 3, 2010 | 6 Comments
Can I just say something to you all? I’m going to say it.
IT HAS RAINED HERE FOR ONE WHOLE MONTH.
I am not even kidding. And when I say rained, I mean torrential downpour. I asked Fancyhats the other day if the Willamette River was going to flood. He didn’t answer me seriously, so I guess not?
It seems like we might get a break today and then it’s back to rain all weekend and maybe Monday we’ll see sun again.
Do you have any idea what my body feels like right now? It feels like a wet towel.
So.
In homeopathy they do this thing were they give you a bunch of whatever you’re reacting to. And then by some ancient wiccan/pagan/shopping at Chicos and/or the Saturday market depending on age, tradition you’re cured.
So to combat my sodden state I’m going to try swimming on my lunch hour. I figure the pool is about three minutes from work, two minutes to change, fifteen minutes of me feeling like I’m going to suffer a brain hemorrhage, then shower and change and back to work. Should be plenty of time. I’ll let you know how it goes, Internet.
Wish me luck. And also pray that the Willamette River doesn’t flood.
Breathe
Posted on | June 1, 2010 | 5 Comments
Each time I go swimming I tell myself I need to focus on a different part of my body to see what I can be doing better. Usually it’s whatever part of me is like YOU ARE GOING TO DROWN IN 4 FEET OF WATER!
On Monday, I focused on my breathing. You know what I realized? I get about a third of the way into the length and I hold my breath. You know what’s weird? THAT DOESN’T WORK. By the time I’m at the end of the pool, I’m gasping for air and I really am thinking I might drown.
So this time I made myself breath with every stroke. I have no idea if this is right or what, but that’s what I did. And it was better. I still was able to do only seven laps, but still. I didn’t get out and want to vomit. Much.
It’s too bad I didn’t realize this on Sunday when I went swimming and afterward had to pull my car over and eat a piece of gum because I was really going to throw up.
I didn’t. But it was close.
So Tempted
Posted on | May 28, 2010 | 9 Comments
We were on a walk last night and Fancyhats said to me, “In New England, if you grew even one rose bush that looked good, your neighbors would stop to ask you about it.” I agreed that the same is true in San Diego. Well, Portland not so much. Roses are very happy here and most everyone has rose bushes with flowers blooming right about now — even me! (I’m as shocked as you are. It’s all Fancyhats and his “watering” and “feeding” the roses.)
You know what else grows like crazy here? Peonies. My most favoritest flower ever. And on our walk we saw several huge peony bushes that were just going crazy with flowers. And these flowers were right by the sidewalk. WHERE I WAS WALKING, INTERNET.
There they were so full and beardy and crazy looking and WHAT IF I BROUGHT SOME HOME WITH ME?!?!
That’s what I was thinking as I made Fancyhats and Archie stop at every bush so I could inspect them. We planted a few peonies but they’re like three inches high. So I stood there inspecting these full fantastic bushes, but what I was really doing was determining if once night fell I could tell Fancyhats that I had a date or an urgent need for malt liquor or some toiletpapering business to attend and then LEAVE MY HOUSE UNDER THE COVER OF NIGHT and pick a seven million peonies and put them all over my house and wake up and say OH MY GOD LOOK! THE PEONY FAIRY BROUGHT ME FLOWERS! Because Fancyhats would seriously be mad if he caught me poaching flowers from the neighbors.
It’s tempting. I do love me some malt liquor at approximately 9:45pm.
Banana Republic, I Rue the Day!!!
Posted on | May 27, 2010 | 3 Comments
Have I told you guys about my identity crisis yet?
No?
Okay, it goes a little something like this — I don’t recognize myself sometimes. Let me give you an example.
The other day, Fancyhats and I were having dinner and he asked me about my day. And I said this:
“Oh, it was good. I bought some clothes from Banana and I joined a gym.”
Say what?!?
Did I also go to a bachelorette party and raise my hands in the air like I just didn’t care?
Did I retroactively join the high school cheer squad and marry a day trader?
At some point in my life have wine coolers been the answer?
In my defense, Banana sends me 40% off (yesterday!) or even 50% off (today!) coupons to use SO I HAVE TO USE THEM, RIGHT?
Damn you Banana. GIVE ME BACK MY IDENTITY.
Liar Liar Pants on Fire
Posted on | May 26, 2010 | 5 Comments
Thank you for the swim cap advice. I will just disregard swim caps and when someone yells at me, I’ll pretend I don’t speak English, then shamefully go get a silicon one or a spandex one. Until then, I will feel the water in my locks!
Because I’m a working lady, I have a bit more disposable income. And because I haven’t had this for a while, I’ve been on a clothes-fast. BUT NO LONGER, INTERNET. I do a lot of clothes shopping on line. I also know what size to buy so, you know, I get stuff and don’t return it because it fits. OOPS.
Here’s my online shopping strategy– all tops are medium. All skirts are misses size 8. All pants are petites, size 8 or 28. Basically, I’m right down the middle on all things. And I’ve been making a point of buying things I normally wouldn’t wear. Trying out new colors and styles. Sometimes I leave the house and I look just like Kiala. And I think, “Oh, I look just like Kiala. I’m very stylish.” Because Kiala is very stylish. And when I steal her look, I too am stylish.
Here’s my other shopping strategy — read the reviews. Here’s what I noticed in the reviews, EVERY SINGLE WOMAN WRITING THEM IS A SIZE 0. Or a 00. And they say things like, “Oh, you really have to size up with this dress. I’m a size 00 and I had to go up to a 2!”
Seriously, go to any shopping site — modcloth or banana or whatever. And read a few reviews. “I’m a size 0 and it fit perfectly, if not a little baggy in the bottom.”
Now, here’s where I think these women are lying. I know a lot of people. Hundreds of people come to my events. I belong to a gym. I see a lot of bodies at one time. I’ve seen maybe two women who I’d guess are a size 0 my entire time in Portland. So why do it? Why write an anonymous review and then lie about your size? Is this a girl thing? Am I so sheltered with my girlfriends who don’t lie about their sizes and have normal bodies that I don’t realize there’s a whole world of women out there who are a size 00?
AND WHAT IS A SIZE 00 ANYWAY?
If you live in a land full of size 00 women, please ask them why they’re always writing anonymous on-line reviews and not spending time eating hamburgers.
I am the Weakest Link
Posted on | May 25, 2010 | 13 Comments
My swimming obsession continues.
You guys know that I don’t know a lot of stuff. Simple stuff. I like I have no idea how to put on eye makeup. I don’t wear any sort of eye shadow. I don’t even wear blush or foundation or anything but lipstick and powder and mascara occasionally mainly because I don’t know how to put it on. My point is there are a lot of things I don’t know how to do and one of them is GO SWIMMING.
Saturday I was going on to Fancyhats about how the salt water in the pool makes my hair look good. My hair is best when extremely damaged and I was telling him how my hair was getting good and damaged and didn’t it look great?
And he said, “You don’t wear a swim cap?” with a face that said, “WHY ARE YOU SO GROSS?”
And I said, “No, but I do wear goggles. And also my Popina swimsuit (there’s always room for fashion!)”
He suppressed a scoff. Barely.
And I said, “what?”
And he said, “you have to wear a swim cap.” And I argued about that for a minute, explaining that I wasn’t going for speed and unless the thing was going to help me float, I had no need for it.
After a few minutes, I went to Fred Meyer and bought a swim cap.
We did a little test run for putting it on and after several attempts, I got it on my gigantic head. Have I also mentioned that I have an enormous head? I do. Literally.
So I get to the pool, change into my Popina swimsuit (fashion!) and get in the water. I insert my hands into the swim cap like Fancyhats has shown me and pull it apart. And it flips off my hands. I try it again, flips off. And again and again. I can’t get the stupid thing open enough to fit over my head before it flips off.
I’m in the pool, people. So what do I do? I use an audible swear word, throw the cap to the side and swim anyway. As far as I can tell, there are no rules posted about swimming — though I do shower before going in. And I can’t get the stupid thing onto my head. Also, it’s stupid. And dudes are in there swimming all the time without a cap on.
But, friends, I am the only one in a fashionable swimsuit.
Suggestions for getting a swim cap on are encouraged.
Preaching to the Choir
Posted on | May 24, 2010 | 3 Comments
First up, Ben had a good comment on the last post. I think women are always on the defensive in these situations, whether that’s societies stranger danger fear factor or something that’s true I don’t know. But I don’t like it in myself either. And to Ken, if we were all together in the same place I would hope we’d have something better to do than go to my gym. But if we were like all vacationing together, then yes, I could see it. K8 — big shout out to I Blame the Patriarchy. I remember reading that blog when I started blogging. Loved it.
I’m reading Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food. I have no idea why I’m even reading it other than the fact that it makes me feel REALLY SMUG. But he is spending almost an entire book exploring the idea of America’s food as medicine obsession. I first heard this from V who is a French woman. And she said to me, I don’t understand why Americans think food is medicine. I can’t remember what we were talking about but I’m sure it was a) smart and b) sunny and warm outside. (Sorry all, we’re on day eight of pouring down rain and I’m back to using my heater.)
Pollan calls it nutritionalism but basically what it is is eating something simply because it has something specific good for you in it. So, it would be like eating blueberries for the antioxidants. Eat blueberries because they’re good. The flip side of this is cutting things out because they’re bad. He focuses a lot on fat and how we’ve been basically doing it wrong when it comes to fat since the invention of margarine. And how our fat fear has led us to all sorts of scary places like NON-FAT YOGURT!
I had to scream that last one because Pollan is also blaming processed food for a lot of America’s obesity problems. And I was reading and thinking how smug I was because I don’t eat a lot of processed foods and I really don’t eat food that make health claims. Mostly because things in packages give me heartburn. Like if I eat a meal replacement bar I’m totally curled in fetal position with heartburn. So there I was feeling smug and Pollan drops a bomb on me. He says that non-fat yogurt and milk, etc is not only way processed but it also contains milk powder, which according to him is satan’s serum. Linked to all sorts of heart problems. OMG.
I eat a lot of non-fat yogurt. But like a good American, I didn’t believe him about the milk powder thing. UNTIL I WENT TO THE MARKET AND LOOKED FOR MYSELF AND SURE ENOUGH! In my Nancy’s organic non-fat yogurt: milk powder.
Gah.
Basically, I’m considering making my own yogurt now. From my own cows. That I will raise in my yard. City codes be damned.
