HUNGOVER PORTLAND

BBQ. Foot rubs. Dinosaurs. MOTIVATION.

And also truck rental service?

My neighbors from the midwest shared this gem with me.  Just watch the fucking thing.  Then watch it again, because you'll need confirmation that it really happened.

And then we ate and everything good kept happening. EFF YEAH LOMPOC.

The hike in the early afternoon through Forest Park was, as mentioned, wonderful.  I didn't really force down much food before going - I wanted to really earn the right to pig out on a casual b-day lunch/dinner.  At some point during the walk back down to the car, we started talking food, and by the time we started driving, were straight up retarded hungry.  I wanted a place where I could get a delicious beer and sit outside; I wanted McMenamin's-type food without going to one.

As luck would have it, our drive towards home passed the New Old Lompoc.  OMG, did you guys know about this place?  I had never been, and I could not have dreamed up a more delicious and perfect place to enjoy the afternoon. 

We sat in the shady patio and I asked for a summery beer. The bartender brought me out their gold ale, which was so fucking refreshing and flavorful that I had two.  Remember that: GOLD BEER.  16 oz of summer perfection. 

The food was DOPE.  I got a portabello sandwich with all sorts of northwest-style yuppie accoutrements.  Deliciousville is an apt description of the experience.  My bf got a French dip that he won't shut up about.  He sent his compliments to the chef AND told some stranger outside to go in and order one.  That is how good this shit was. 

I didn't realize when I ordered, but the pub has happy hour drink prices all day Sunday, AND they have a $3.25 bloody mary special.  Say WHA?!  Yes.  That is correct.  Why would you EVER go anywhere else?  I hope I don't.

We had parked near a McMenamin's, and as we got back into the car, I could only pity the suckers at sidewalk tables, most likely silently fuming over their inconsistent service and tired menu.

Summer has technically been here for 1 week, and there have definitely been some sunny weekends here and there, but I now feel like summer is truly starting.  I've got my birthday out of the way, this is going to be a short holiday week in the high 80s, and I have found and appreciated two of the most awesome things in this city in one fucking magical birthday from space.

It is going to be a good summer, my bitches.

On aging gracefully, Part 2: The Forest Park Chronicles.

Being 27 isn't that bad!

I have had THE BEST weekend.  Today is the big day, but I and some wonderful friends celebrated yesterday with a bbq featuring mayonnaise-based salads, kebabs, squirt guns, and a shitload of sangria.  Wasn't yesterday's weather just perfect?  I had no problem at all drinking fruity wine for 7 hours.  I maturely paced myself to not pass out before my guests departed, and I WON.

Surprising nobody, I awoke to my 27th year with a hangover.

But it was great!  My bf and I appreciated the day of my birth with a hike through Forest Park.  Even though I could barely pee this morning and my head ached something wicked, I knew that I needed to recharge with city forest air and some movement.

Isn't it so annoying how good it feels to exercise with a hangover?  I totally could have spent the day drinking and eating and watching tv, and if I had, I am sure I would still feel as terrible as I did when I woke up 8 hours ago.  Instead, having trekked up some steep hills for a few hours, then admired the city from the Pittock Mansion, I just feel much more content with my age, and with my life in this city. 

How have I lived here so long without making such a thing a routine activity?  I'm not sure, but I tell ya - I drank like an old alcoholic fish yesterday, but don't feel a day over 35.  Thank you, city nature and darling bf, for such a wonderful day.

People: get outside and enjoy your youthly hangovers.  There is no way to feel but better.

On aging gracefully...

...does anybody know how?

My birthday is on Sunday.  I'll be 27.  I suck at birthdays.  Well, I've sucked at the last 5 or so.  I remember older people telling me in my teens that birthdays just aren't fun after 21, and I never really bought it, because PARTY WOOOO!!!!! 

Each year is just a confirmation that my teenage self was an arrogant know-it-all punk.

27 isn't really THAT old, but it is older than 26, and a lifetime away from 22 and 23.  I graduated college at 21, had a grown-up job at 22, and haven't really done much since then. I don't have a more expansive resume or a graduate degree or a juris doctor, all of which I'd imagined I'd have by this point in my life.  I didn't really try that hard for them, though.  I loved being 22 and 23.  Those days were good and easy.  I guess I spent 24 and 25 and 26 trying to hold on to it.

Okay, to be fair, the last year of my life has been rather wonderful, what with my dreamy boyfriend and excellent job switch and definite plans for grad school and mortgaging my soul for home ownership and a fancy degree.  That's good, I suppose.  I accept that, by taking on that shit, I am really closing in on actual grown-upness, and moving beyond the non-grown-upness of my early 20s which was nothing but a regular celebration of being legally allowed go to bars and having a little of my own money and not having term paper due dates. 

It's a good thing all around.  Truly.  I am happy with where I am at this point in my life and look forward to the future.  Still, each time I have to stop myself to remember I am a different number, it stings a bit.  This little blog will surely seem less charming the further I get down the path to "maturity," or some semblance of it.  And I love this blog!  So that is sad.

But I'm not there yet. And tomorrow I'm having a bbq in my yard and will get hammered and on Sunday will be a washed-up 27-year-old in search of several sparkling lemonades, a couple of bloody marys, a shower, and a review of my longterm financial planning and credit score. 

Yeah, what?  You're all getting old, too.  Cheers.

Adventures at The Bins.

I would like to be a crafty person.  Or at least I think I do.  I've made some stuff, and have ideas about making more.  But I need shit to experiment with.  So today my bf and I made the long journey from North PDX to the Goodwill bins down beyond Sellwood.  I hadn't been to that bins before, and I tell ya, I am glad that I had such a sturdy breakfast to help me power through.  It is fucking exhausting!  I was so overwhelmed by the amount of absolute crap one has to pick up and move just to look at something that could maybe be worth the 25 cents it costs. 

Anyways, I have been thinking about making some little-kid style oil paintings and wanted a canvas to work with.  I got this:

Is that not the uglist fucking thing you've even seen?

I picked this one because it seemed to have a sturdy frame that could easily be painted another color.  I had too much faith in that, I guess, because the frame snapped after wheeling it to the car in a cart piled with hip vintage kitchen table chairs and old stereo parts.  I didn't care, I just needed to stop digging.

This art project is something I will mention periodically on the blog.  I think my hangover is deluding me into thinkinking I can finish such a thing.  We'll see, I guess, right? 

I also got a pink mumu.  That may be featured on the hangover blog more often.

As for the bins as a hangover outing - definitely recommended for the ability to zone out and daydream and see cool stuff, but not recommended for a hungover person who is hungry, dizzy, stoned, or otherwise better suited for watching tv.  The bins are the opposite of watching tv.

Happy Solstice, and good DAY!!!

Then came breakfast. Not totchos, but still bomb.

As I just mentioned, I had some internet issues this morning, so I couldn't blog about my breakfast immediately after eating it.  And here we are.

So, my bf, who was all stony at the bar last night, would not shut his trap about the fucking totchos we ordered.  (For any of you smalltimers, totchos are nachos with tator tots in place of tortilla chips.  I think they are okay.  [But not the ones at Triple Nickel.  It could have been nausea caused by the foul secondhand smoke of the old days, but those made my bff and I yammy after eating.]) 

I was hammered and insisted I could replicate them at home for breakfast.  This morning I was awake so early that I totally could have had time to run to the store and buy frozen tots and salsa and other nacho things, but there was no way I could put on pants and get in the car.  So I made do with a couple of potatos and a yam.  I roasted them for a long time with a shitload of salt and bacon salt and pepper.  Then as my bf started stirring, I scrambled a few eggs, then threw the shit in a bowl with diced tomatoes, lots of sharp cheddar cheese, LOTS of sour cream, some salsa, and hot sauce.

This is what it looked like after I'd already started eating and realized I needed a photo:

 I was so, so hungry.  You know when you fart a bunch and then feel completely starved?  It was like that.  And the food was sooo awesome!!  Totally not the same as totchos, I realize, but still!  I thank the folks at Side St for giving me the inspiration to make something besides a breakfast sandwich today.

And since I am writing this hours after eating, I can tell you that the breakfast made a good strong energy base to power through the day.  Yes to breakfast non-totchos!

I wish I'd slept longer, but goddamn do I love my cats.

[I wrote this about 7.5 hours ago, and then our internet connection shit the bed.  I would move on, but it was really annoying, and I really like excuses to post about my cats, so here you go, no edits!]

Good morning.

Jeez, I got d-RUNK last night!  Since Friday was so low-key, I decided to really give it my all last night.  We lasted a while at the Side St with several beers, a party pizza, and some totchos, and then moved over to friends' house for some more beer and some board games.  WOOooo PARTYYYYYY!!!!! We rocked the Taboo until close to 1am, and when we got home stayed up even later watching...something super duper awesome and cool that was NOT Norah Jones on Austin City Limits.

Anyways, I'm not normally one to stay up very late, and I've been known to feel crappy the morning after drinking 8 beers.  I guess you'd think I'd be pretty disappointed to be wide awake before 8am, right?  No!  Well, kind of. 

A little bit ago, as I stirred in bed thinking about my headache and impending gas, I noticed that our cat Maggie was sleeping between our pillows.  Awww!!  And THEN I realized that below her, smushed even deeper between our pillows and our headboard, was our other cat, Steven.  And they were licking each others faces.  It was the cutest fucking thing in the world, and an absolutely wonderful way to wake up.  I stared in awe for a while, and once I decided to risk dizziness and hop out of bed to grab my camera, they took off.

Since I missed that photo op, let me instead share with you a recent pic of their adorableness.

And on with the day! 

We will be SATISFIIIEEEEDDDDD!!

Coffee + Atlantic Starr = a super awesome Saturday morning.

I mean - just take a good fucking look at this album art:

I pretty much feel like I'm riding my own majestic white horse over snow-capped space mountains right now. 

This will be a good day.

xoxo

Fun at Freddie's

Dude and I just made a quick run to our neighborhood Freddie's for toilet paper, and undetermined snacks.  We grabbed the a large package of tp first and then wandered slowly towards the salty things.  And I said, jokingly: "We should get this tp and a bunch of laxatives and a box of condoms, but not do u-scan."  And we laughed, because it would be so creepy.

And then we thought: what is the grossest combination of 3 items you can get at Freddie's? 

Or not necessarily the grossest, but the one that will raise the most eyebrows in line.  Really freak out your neighbors, you know?

A few we considered: lube, a baseball bat, and a tarp.  Whipped cream, a turkey baster, and children's underwear.  Four 2-liters of mountain dew, adult diapers, and the newest Final Fantasy. 

Anyways.  Get stoned, go to Freddie's, and take a good long look at how weird you can look buying some of the shit there.  Have fun!

xoxo

P.S.  It took forever to find the right snacks, but we settled on tortilla chips and animal crackers. No regrets.  NO MERCY.

Anyways...Staycation!!!

I guess I was a little drunk last night! It was not intentional.  I got too little sleep and awoke to a wine headache, monster cramps, and little energy for work.  It's now 8:30 on a Friday night and over 4 hours have passed since I put on my pajamas.

Last weekend was different.  I'm gonna talk about it now.

My bf and I celebrated our love for one another and our love for this fair city with a recession-friendly staycation.  He booked us a nice big room for both nights of last weekend at the Jupiter Hotel.  (Beware the hyperlink.  That website is noisy and annoying.)  It was SO FUN!!  Such a treat to feel like one of the indulgent out-of-towners and do Portland stuff I normally wouldn't do.

I'd never partied at the Jupiter before, although I hear it is a hip thing to do.  The hotel did stay rather noisy until rather late, but it was definitely quiet in the morning.  The bed was comfy, the room was colorful and fun, there was a neat chair, and nice-smelling shampoo and lotion.  Oh oh oh, and there was cable television.  Shit yeah!  Free stumptown coffee in the morning, and an expansive patio to drink it and smoke cigarettes.  How Portland!!!! Talk about a place to have a hangover.

It looked like this:

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