My first story was published on The Daily Beast. I’d love it if you all went over there and read it. And commented too.

If you don’t know what The Daily Beast is, it’s a blog run by Tina Brown who was the editor for The New Yorker and Vanity Fair. Yes. I know. I KNOW!

So click now and comment if you’d be so kind.

Also, for those of you who don’t want to click, the story is about a stripper and her boobs. GO NOW!

Okay, so I’m officially a single mom! Yay me!

We hear about the plight of the single mom and how hard it is on her, and granted there are things that I’m sure will be very hard, but I’m telling you that two nights of time to myself, to just be alone and to not have to clean up after another adult is just making me so blissed out. To have my own space again and decide, you know what? I want to paint that wall bright yellow because I can. I CAN. Feels so incredibly free!

I’m also in a lot better place than most single moms. My parents will be living in Oregon within the year. My best friend from high school just moved here. I’ve got a ton of dear friends here in Portland and a ton of projects and cool stuff I do, so you know, it’s totally exciting.

And, oddly, though I’m spending a lot of time with Archie, I’ve gotten my energy back about it. We were at the playground and for two days in a row, I actually played with him. I ran around and climbed and chased him and didn’t just sit there with my sunglasses on and knit. I was so excited to see him this morning, it took everything in me not to wake him up earlier.

And I just interruped my precious blogging time, to build A a little fort out of the mattress box.

I’m sure there will be days when I’m totally burned out, but today, the first day of my official single-momdom, I’m all good.

Maybe it’s because I slept so well on my 600-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.

I got a new bed. Remember my old bed?

Because, right? That seems like a bed a guy would want? Well, that turned out to not be “mine” so I had to get another bed. And that’s actually for the best, because I went to Ikea with this thought: I will find the girliest fucking bed in this store and I will buy it and build it and sleep in it.”

And so I did. Presenting my new bed!

You guys! It’s white enamel. WHITE ENAMEL! Swear to god, I’m never giving up this bed. NEVER. I also bought a memory foam mattress from costco and also those 600-thread count sheets. In cream. I’m going to get new pillows too because now my pillows seem like crap.

I assembled it all myself. Moved the mattress, put the sheets on and then went to bed after a hot shower. I slept, under my heavy covers, with the windows open and it was delightful.

In a few weeks, we’ll have a painting party where we will primer with the mold-killing primer and by August, my house is going to be so beautiful and GIRLIE. Did I mention that my best friend from high school is an interior designer?

Here’s today’s hippy-dippy moral (stop reading here because the irony train has ground to a halt): when you make the right, hard, but right decision, the universe opens every door wide open. Opportunities flow and life becomes so much easier.

And before you all jump on the tube-tying bandwagon, please note that I have an IUD, only the greatest birth control ever (along with my unwaivering fear of pregnant women and reproduction). I have the Mirena IUD, which, I swear makes me think (for one second) that there might be one single doctor in this world who loves women. I know that’s probably not true because doctors are evil (I have a doctor fear and a fear of heights). BUT someone invented birth control that is put in once and is 99% effective AND it makes my periods go away. I mean the menstruating part. The crazies are still there, as well as the breaking out. GAWD. But the period itself — nada. Or very little like every six months. Hello awesomeness! And I’m not getting fat and having my brain short circuit making me not want sex at all like what happened on this pill, which is, I think, the pill’s magic formula. Make a girl fat and crazy and that’ll shut her knees up tight.

Also, I want you to look at this picture from BikePortland.org. [Did I do that right? PHOTO CREDIT BIKEPORTLAND.ORG. Right? Right?]

The Portland Naked Bike Ride thing was Saturday night. And I did not participate because I believe that a girl (me) looks better in some undergarments than completely naked. And plus, the position you’d have to be on while riding is not the most flattering for a lady who has been preggers before and who nursed. And because it’s called the naked ride, I didn’t think I could wear delicate underbits. But it turns out you can and now I’m in love with this girl. I love you bike lady.

Finally, did you get your Back Fence tickets? Back Fence is taking a break after our June show, so get your fix now. We’ll be back in Fall.

Also, my birthday is in less than a month. And I don’t really enjoy people wishing me a happy birthday and FOR FUCK’S SAKE, no one sing to me because that makes me crawl under a table, but I do like a chance to get together with my friends and party like it’s 1995 (and I am 20).

But, I’m a little bit concerned about this year, because nothing sounds better to me than heading out to a bar and drinking for a goodly portion of the night, then going dancing, then (and here’s where I’m worried) going to a strip club. Because apparently (and this is just my reading on the situation) there are strip club people and karaoke people in Portland. Both diversions are very popular here (it is paradise, in case you’re wondering) but it seems that nary the two shall meet.

And so. What to do?

I am not particularly good at the karaoke. Ask Will Radik. He saw me in true karaoke form, which is where I stand there absolutely still, clutching the mic for dear life, blushing to the tips of my hair, singing poorly and berating myself internally for believing this would be a good idea.

I am, however, excellent at sitting at the rack and watching girls get nekkid.

So, friends. Anyone have any suggestions?

Or better, if there’s a party planner in the Fan Club, would you mind just planning the whole damn thing? It must involve drinking and music and my friends*.

*Bonus points if someone wrangles Kiala up here.

So the big girl space. It also holds a lot more people. 250 total.

For our first two shows at the Mission, it was comfortably crowded. It’s a great space (with a balcony) and our crowd mingled and had comfortable chairs and no one was sitting on the counter like people were at our second space where I was actually worried that someone would pass out of heat exhaustion or lack of oxygen.

But in the smaller space, it was sort of cool to see people crushed against the walls and not able to move more than three inches in any direction. And I want that again. Sure, no one else really wants that, but I do. I DO!

We’re rolling out all the publicity in these next two day. So far, we had that awesome article in the Oregonian, and we’re in the Merc’s My What a Busy Week. We’ll be in the Willamette Week somewhere. And the bloggers, the tweeters, the Facebookers, will get the word out too.

What can you do to help us sell it out?

I have no idea. But I’d like you to help.

So…think of one thing you can do to sell tickets to the event. And do it. Do it. For me.

If you haven’t gotten your tickets, you might want to do that here. You can see that the Fan Club has been mobilized…god help us all.

Also, I own no bikini.

So, my exciting news is sort of not that excited for like everyone except me and Steve, so really, you don’t have to make a comment today or you can just jump right to the comments and say something about bikinis.

I went to one of my former places of employment the other day to harass my ex-editor and rifle through the galleys. AND I FOUND THIS:

ZOMG IT’S THE NEW GLEN DAVID GOLD!

I have been waiting seven long years for a new Glen David Gold novel. His first book, Carter Beats the Devil, is one of my and Steve’s favorite books. In fact, it’s one of the favorite books of every single bookseller I’ve ever worked with. It’s a perfect entertainment novel. It’s funny, has a great plot and *there’s magic on every page* (that was a little in joke between me and Steve.) There’s not magic on every page, but Carter (the hero) is a magician. And it’s set in California (specifically Oakland) at the time of the earthquake and Carter is such a great guy and it’s just OHMYGOD I love that novel. I’ve read it three times.

It’s also Gold’s first novel. And I feared it would be his only novel. I feared this because his wife is Alice Sebold of Lovely Bones fame and I thought, well, we’ll never see a book from Gold ever again because I sold so many copies of the Lovely Bones in hardcover, I still have the ISBN memorized (0316666343). It’s not logical, people.

Anyway, I just want to say THANK YOU to Glen David Gold, who one time came into my bookstore and I WAS NOT THERE, but he read my little handwritten review (it’s called a shelf talker, for you non-bookselling people) and he liked it. HE SAID HE LIKED IT!!! This made my year. Except, I also thought, huh, WHY DIDN’T YOU RETURN, GLEN, YOU LIVED UP THE STREET????

I have sort of a complicated relationship with Glen David Gold.

It’s internal.

Voice-driven.

He doesn’t know I exist.

(God, please let him have a google ego search. I HAVE A VERY POPULAR BLOG *Shush, Fan Club*, MR. GOLD, I WILL TOTALLY INTERVIEW YOU AND POST IT HERE! EMAIL ME!!!!!)

So, I started reading Sunnyside last night and so far, so good. Sooooooo gooooood. Except I read just three pages because the night before I went out drunking, which involved a lot of bourbon and a pitcher of sangria — alcohol allergy: CURED! And then I had four hours of sleep and so I went to bed at 8. And read three pages, which I enjoyed very much before I slept. So, anywayz, I’m a bit late on the draw pitching this for a review for money. So, I’m going to review it here, Internet. HERE! When I’m finished. It’s 550 pages.

Look for it in the distant future.

Happy Monday!

And if you see me passed out on the sidewalk, just pour some water on my lips and let me be.

Too bad.

Because I’m about to tell you more about my weekend. Mainly because I had a weekend.

I don’t go out much at night mainly because I am a mom of a three-year old and I suffer from Stockholm Syndrome and so I cannot go out because Archie makes the aliens tell the voices in my head that it is not okay for me to have a life beyond The Lorax and If You Give a Mouse A Cookie. DAMN YOU MOOSE, ALWAYS ASKING FOR THAT BLACKBERRY JAM!

But I was forced to go out on Friday — RSG’s birthday. And Saturday — Frayn’s sketch comedy event. Somethingsomething support my friends something something. So I went out on Friday and you read about that yesterday, and I went out Saturday to Frayn’s event, Eastland Academy.

Eastland Academy was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a theater. It was so dark and so uncomfortable and Fan Club, I know you would have thought it was damn funny too. I wish you were there. And it was an unofficial Brain Trust Meeting (unofficial because Kiala’s in San Francisco and boys were allowed) and I saw people I knew.

I headed out with my pal Tyler, who has no blog, but is on Twitter. (I do not understand this either, Fan Club. WHY DOESN’T EVERYONE WANT TO HAVE ENDLESS CHARACTERS WITH WHICH THEY CAN FILL THE INTERNET WITH THE MINUTIA OF THEIR LIVES?!?)

I’m sorry about all the caps. I think the pineapple juice is still eating away at my stomach lining.

We went to Eastland Academy, then to this fancy pants ad firm here in Portland, where they were celebrating the seventh anniversary of the war by having 24 hours straight of live classical music. I thought we ought to celebrate the war by running over brown people with our SUV’s (I still have room for a few party people in mine!) but what the hell do I know.

So we checked out some live classical music and that was excellent. And because I was OUT and it was just 1:30 in the morning, and I was OUT, I said to Tyler, “You hungry? Let’s get some food.”

It didn’t matter if I was hungry, really. All I wanted to do was grab Tyler by the arm and shout right in his face: I HAVE NO THREE YEAR OLD CLIMBING ME! WE’RE GONNA PARTY LIKE IT’S 2005!

I didn’t. I just said I was hungry, which I was. The place next door to the ad firm was open so we rolled in there.

I need to fill my non-Portland fan club members in on something. Portland loves hamburgers. This city has a hamburger on every single posh restaurant menu. There’s a blog devoted to Portland hamburgers. It’s just a thing. Like running over cyclists and hideously expensive coffee and passive aggression.

So the place next to the ad firm was very posh and they had a hamburger. Well, it was a cheeseburger with bacon. And so Tyler and I got cocktails and posh bacon cheeseburgers and mourned seven years of war by consuming red meat and alcohol. That’s right, right?

And I had a very, very good time. THANK YOU, IRAQ AND AFGANISTAN! Here’s to seven more!

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!