The Adventures of Claire

Blocked Blog

2009-03-06T17:04:00.000-08:00

The geniuses at my work block certain websites that are "inappropriate" for work.

This blog is now blocked.

Wordle

2009-02-16T16:55:00.001-08:00

go to www.wordle.net for your own:

Conclusion: I say "like" and "really" too much. I sound like a really dumb valley girl.

Shit, there I go again.

READ MY FAX!

2009-02-06T15:05:00.000-08:00

Hey you guys, remember in Back to the Future II when future Marty gets fired from that Asian dude and he sends him a fax that says "YOU'RE FIRED!!!"? Too funny. Faxing is obsolete... and it's not even 2015 yet.

What brings you to Portland?

2009-02-02T16:19:00.000-08:00

I have yet to tell anyone the truth about why I moved here. I embellished a few of the more minor reasons, but the true MAIN reason I moved here was for a guy I "loved", but love is such a stupid word and infatuation can feel stronger, but isn't love. I used to tell everyone who loved that they were naive and "love" is nothing more than the equivalent of eating mass amounts of chocolate in a single sitting. I believe this to be true. But said individual whom I "loved" didn't live in Portland. He lived in Philadelphia. Plot thickens.

Here's the back story: Chris and I knew each other for a long time in Kansas City. We partied together, but were never more than friends. In fact, the thought of being more than friends had never even crossed my mind. I didn't feel "that way" about him. I thought of him as a friend, and nothing more, but I knew he felt "that way" about me. I always knew.

He went away. He moved back to the east coast and eventually found his way to Philadelphia where he lived for years. We still kept in contact, every one in a while a phone call was made just to catch up on things. I like to keep tabs on my friends after they've gone.

I began having dreams about him. "Distance makes the heart grow fonder"? True. I felt very strongly that I messed something up. I couldn't believe I let him go away.

I called him late one night, after a few too many, and confessed. He told me he felt "the same way" about me. For months, we continued a phone, long-distance "I love you" relationship. Fucked up, huh?

The dilemma: Chris lives in Philly, I live in Kansas City. What to do? Chris and I fantasized about moving to the west coast. He wanted to expand his musical career and I wanted to get away. I was feeling trapped in Kansas City. "I feel 40" I said in a journal entry. I decided to move away--closer to him. In order to do that, I needed to sell my home. So I moved in with my parents in Michigan while the house sat on the market for 167 days. No buyers. I couldn't stand living in Detroit, not finding work, and STILL being away from Chris. This was getting pointless. Didn't I move away to be with him? So why am I stuck here? I cashed out my 401k and ran away--again.

I went, where else? Philly! I wasn't nervous about seeing Chris again for the first time in ages until I finally entered the city. I had a blast there. I loved the oldness and I loved New York. But Chris and I didn't pursue and loving, deep relationship like I thought we would. I mean, how do you do that when you haven't seen the person in years? We sorta "dated" but really never romantically did anything. Ever. I was quite disappointed that I had changed my life so much and for next to nothing. We continued together, as friends, and took all summer finally getting to Portland.

"Love" shouldn't have been the reason. But it was.

I felt betrayed. I felt like he had used me to get here--an elaborate plan to expand his music career. Like I was a wagon or something. "Sure! I'll give you a ride!" We were roommates, until I moved out, and I learned that he was... not the person I thought. What will years of being apart do to a person? Think what it did to him. Think what it did to me.

Chris and I barely talk now.

.
.
.

In the last few weeks, I've been wondering what I'm still doing here. People ask, "What brings you to Portland?" I can't tell them the truth. It just sounds so pathetic. Wait... it is so pathetic. So I tell people I just needed a change, which was true, and that I couldn't get work in Detroit, which was true, and that I felt trapped in Kansas City, which was true, but all these things were not the main reason for moving and changing my life.

What brings me to Portland? Nothing. I've been here for 6 months already, and I still feel like an outsider. I've been trying to stick it out. Find some cool friends and have a good time. I have found cool people and friends, but it's tough when I think about the hundreds of friends I have/had in KC. Tough to think that I can never go back there, for fear of being perceived as having my tail between my legs. Before I left KC, I had a going-away party and Will said, "You're not moving." I proved him wrong, but for what?

Either way, I'm pathetic. Pathetically sad and still lost. Lost in an ocean of apartments and drowning. When I get close to the surface to break for air, something grabs my leg and drags me back down to the bottom.

I continue to drown.

Hideousness

2009-01-21T14:56:00.000-08:00

There's this Avon lady who comes by my work all the time to peddle crappy makeup and hideous accessories. She comes by the front desk (where I work) and gives us 6-7 Avon catalogues and we act like we're really excited to see them. Then as soon as she's gone, we trash them.... except today. Today I'm pretty bored, so I decided to flip through the catalogue a little bit, just to kill time. And that's when I saw the most hideous shoes I'd ever seen in my life:

I mean, platform moccasins?! Is that what they're trying to convince people to buy?! Those are just plain nasty.

But that got me thinking... you know, there are probably more hideous shoes out there. So I google imaged "hideous shoes" and I found them. The most hideous and COMPLICATED shoes on earth:

Tangents and Wikipedia

2009-01-21T11:29:00.000-08:00

I often bring up the term “conversational tangents.” Picture this: A friend and I are having a conversation over a spliff or whatever, we’re on the porch, because we’re porch monkeys (I decided this term isn’t racist, we call ourselves porch monkeys because we hang out on the porch a lot). We’ll be on the topic of high school, remembering stories and how much cocaine I sold to people and guaranteed good grades until graduation. Then we’ll start talking about school buses and about the time that my friend Jade threw Stephen Carter’s left shoe out the window on the highway. Then we’ll start talking about the color of the school buses and who decided to make school buses such an unattractive color. Then we’ll start talking about other hideous colors like baby poop green. Then we’ll start talking about the fact that when babies are first born, their poop doesn’t stink until the first week is over and then it smells like the worst smell you’ve ever smelled. And so on and so on. First we were talking about high school and now we’re talking about fowl-smelling baby shit. I call these occurrences “conversational tangents.” That’s all conversations are: a series of tangents.

I get lost in Wikipedia. I simply love it. I’m on a wiki page, and then some of the words are clickable links to their Wikipedia page. It’s fantastic! I’ll be reading about Hawaii, then I click on “highest mountains”, then I click on “Mount Everest”, then I click on “Great Trigonometric Survey”, then I click on “India”, then I discover that the population of India is 1,147,995,904!! And then I learned something. I love surfing Wikipedia. I could do it for hours… and do.

So, in many ways, conversational tangents are a lot like Wikipedia.

End of post.

2008

2008-12-29T13:06:00.000-08:00

What. A. Year.

To review:

At the turn of the year, I was living in Kansas City, MO, and really loved it there. I was willing to look beyond having a crazy ex-boyfriend stalker writing letters and hand-delivering them to my home all creepy-like. I had a fantastic job that I really loved, my own office with a door and a window... at 23. I was on top of the world. And then it all came crashing down--I got fired in February. I was devestated. I decided I wanted to move because I needed to get away. So I attempted to sell my home in Kansas City empty and moved in with my parents in Detroit. Couldn't get a job in Detroit. I really tried, too. Couldn't sell my house in KC. Couldn't afford mortgage and insurance. So I leased the house to some crazy IHOP people (that's International House of Prayer, not Pancakes. It's kinda like a cult) with shaved heads and a pink bus (this is all true, btw). I left Detroit and went to the east coast. Met up with an old friend. We drove to Portland and become roommates with some other old friends. Never spent a day in my life here, just heard it was "cool". And it is. Lived in bliss in Portland, got a good job that I love (and still do), until mold was discovered. Didn't pay rent, because I didn't feel it was owed. Got homeless. Couch surfed. Moved into an apartment with my best friend and her daughter, but because of an apocalyptic "arctic blast", we couldn't get our furniture moved. We live on the floor... to this day, still do. We'll have beds and furniture next year, hopefully.

I can't wait for this year to be over. Start anew.

It's funny how a person playing poker, for example, will remember the worst beat he'd ever experienced, lost a small fortune in one pot, but forgets when he wins big. Why does one remember the bad times more than the good?

It hasn't been all bad, though. There were great times. I had a lot of experiences that I will remember for years to come. I saw my cousins that I hadn't seen in years. I made a ton of new friends. I discovered new aspects of myself and realized a lot of things about myself.

But I'll still be glad for this year to be over.

apt lease begins

2008-12-19T09:55:00.001-08:00

For all of you worried about my well-being, I got an apartment. I move in tomorrow.

Continued bitching...

2008-12-18T10:44:00.001-08:00

Okay, the internet is back up at work (thank god), so I can fully bitch about the weather like I originally wanted. I love my phone, but typing long emails and posts on a touch screen keyboard takes forever.

Here's a lesson for all you non-Portlanders:

Portlanders and Oregonians (yes, they actually call themselves this) are total fucking pussies. Really. We get an eighth of inch of snow... and it's the fucking apocolypse. All the highways have those big signs that say "CARRY CHAINS OR TRACTION TIRES." I'm like, puh-leeeze. This is nothing. Having come here from Detroit, I think people are insane. It really pisses me off. I think people out here just use the "snow" as an excuse to "work from home". Which is total bullshit, in my opinion. Anywhere else in the country would have a eighth of an inch accumulation and say to someone trying to call in, "Get your ass to work." But not here... except for me, of course. The receptionist HAS to stay. In fact, I'm answering all the calls in the reigon except for Honolulu. Not that I have anything to do but aimlessly walk my homeless ass around the the streets of Portland.

The Most Boring Day of my Lufe

2008-12-18T08:13:00.000-08:00

I know. I put "lufe" instead of "life." it wasn't intentional. I'm blogging from my phone and the keyboard is tiny. It's usually pretty good at correcting words for me but it likes "lufe" apparently. I was going to correct it myself but thought I should just leave it for effect. I'm blogging from my phone because the ibterneh is down at work. Internet I mean.

Anywho, today is and will continue to be the most boring day of my life. It's snowing in Oregon. Actually it's not snowing. It rained last night and now it's 37 degrees so that's cause for people to think that the roads are covered with ice so no one cones to work. Except me. But Angie is not here. There's no Internet. Best. Day. Ever.

Please excuse any typos

okay, so I am homeless

2008-12-16T07:58:00.000-08:00

There's something heart breaking about hearing your best friend of forever scream at you at the top of her lungs, "Get the fuck outta my house!!" When it's our house and it's been our house for several months.

I refused to pay rent for December, for obvious reasons. I told her this last Friday, but I guess she misunderstood. I was shocked that anyone paid rent, and felt sorry for those who did. Our house is condemned. The landlord terminated the lease because the house will not be inhabitable until March. He gave us 30 days to get out.

Tell me, am I being ridiculous for refusing to pay rent? I don't think so. There's a big sign on the plastic door with a biohazard symbol that says "WARNING: DO NOT ENTER." It's fucking condemned.

I furiously grabbed some things, just enough for a day and my space heater.

I was so angry when I was arguing with Adrienne. I left hysterical--bawling and crying like I had just been dumped. I've never felt so weak and so alone. I don't have a support system here aside from my roommates, so I did the stupidest thing I could do. I called a guy I've been seeing. This guy is great, I really like him, but I feel that we're not exactly on the same page. I feel like I'm smothering him for it being a new relationship. We're not a couple. But I called him like we were. I was crying and told him the situation. He calmed me down and I felt better, but I acted like a small child in the woods who comes upon a wild animal and runs toward it screaming and clapping. Now I fear that I won't hear from him again. I just clapped too hard.

I drove to my friends Alex and Jameson. I called first and asked to crash on their couch. When I got there, I was still visibly upset and we proceeded to get drunk off--you guessed it--Jameson whiskey. They started watching a dvd and I fell asleep. I woke up at about 5 freezing (they don't have heat). I lied there for a while weeping. I was thinking about all the shit on my plate. I hate eating shit, but sometimes shit happens. I returned all the Christmas gifts I purchased. I just don't know how I'm going to come up with some money to move into a new place.

This blog is for venting purposes, too.

The Kitchen Womb

2008-12-03T10:25:00.000-08:00

Guess what! I'm not homeless! I never thought I'd be so happy to be not homeless. Homelessness has never been a huge concern of mine, I always just figured that I'd have a room in which to sleep and a kitchen in which to cook. For all of you who take shelter for granted, have shame. It can be plucked away from you in two shakes of a lamb's tail if you're not careful... or have a broken dishwasher.

So, to elaborate on my last post a little: we had the genius dishwasher replacement man come by our house to do his job, and he pulled out the dishwasher and said, "you guys have a serious mold problem" and I'm in fear for my life. Then he shot through the window like a bat outta hell with a trail of smoke behind him. Okay, so I made that last part up, but he high-tailed it. Long story short, "mold experts" tore out the floors, counters, cabinents, drywall.. pretty much everything in the kitchen and the basement. All of the basement's contents (including 2 roommates) are now in the living room. Oh! and same with the kitchen's contents. So, basically, I live in a madhouse... with cats.... and lots of roommates... that live in the living room. yay?

They've plastict off the kitchen and basement with an elaborate plastic thingy and lots of tape. It requires one to unzip and zip to go in and out. It's kinda funny lookin though. The other day Chris came through the "zip door" with a basket of laundry and it looked like the kitchen gave birth to him. I think mold spores have a way of not being able to penetrate through tape and plastic. It's like a lead barrier.

On the bright side, we'll have a brand new kitchen when this disaster is over. I'm being pretty upbeat about it. If I bitch and complain, I fear my life, because it's the roommates in the basement that are really inconvenienced. I'm glad I don't have to awaken with people hanging out in my room watching TV everyday.

ah, everyday truly is an adventure.

Mold Rocks!

2008-11-25T17:20:00.000-08:00

broken dishwasher + floor = mold

mold + 4-5 months = dangerous levels of mold

dangerous levels of mold = homeless Claire! For at least 2 weeks!! WOOT!

by the way, that was the most sarcastic "woot" in the history of "woots."

Bassnectar

2008-11-20T14:33:00.000-08:00

My cousin, Scott, who has been in the Army for his entire adult life, was in town from the Philapines to see his baby in North Carolina being born. He was on base in Tacoma, so he came into Portland last Friday to see his dear Cousin Claire. Now, Scott is straight as an arrow. He hardly drinks, doesn't do drugs and I don't think he goes out too much. So, where did I decide to take him for a night on the town? A rave.

My friend Jameson told me about a Bassnectar show at the Wonder Ballroom for $20, and I really, really wanted to go. I asked Scott if he was into it, and he agreed, so we ran some menial errands with Jameson and went to the venue to pick up some tickets. Jameson warned us that the last time he tried to get into the Wonder Ballroom, it sold out. We decided to get there pretty early to ensure that we get enough tickets for me, Scott, Jameson, Alex and Nate (my guys). The guy at the bar said the doors opened at 8:30, and tickets would be available then. So Jameson waited at the box office and was first in line at 8:15. Scott and I decided to go pick up Nate. Pushing through some hassle with the door guy, we finally got our tickets and entered the venue (the show was completely sold out by 9:30).

The Wonder Ballroom is basically just one big open room with a balcony and a bar on each level. We started out the night hating the opening djs, and standing on the balcony drinking $4 16 oz PBRs. Yes, I know, that sounds delicious, and trust me, they were. Anyway, we just kinda talked and drank and finally, bassnectar went on. Finally.

The main floor was packed. Literally packed. You couldn't walk through to save your life. However, I have a gifted ability to walk through enormous crowds with little effort. Here's the secret: just run through people as fast as you can. It's extremely rude, but it works. People get over it... eventually. Anyway, we got to the very front of the floor. Right in front of the stage. I don't know if any of you have ever heard bassnectar, but the music is compelling.... you have to dance. We started getting down like there was no tomorrow. The air was thick with smoke and sweat. You could barely breathe that close to the stage. There's no keeping your clothes on, it's just too damn hot, so we took our shirts off and danced the night away.

Scott had a blast. I've never seen him like that. It was almost funny to see him move and sway to the beat with his shirt off and sweating. I was so happy to see him so happy.

All in all, it was a great reunion. He headed out to North Carolina on Saturday morning before I woke up. I wish him luck with the baby and congratulations.

I took a few pics at the show:

Good God, Good Show.

The Best Public Notice Ever

2008-11-14T11:02:00.000-08:00

This was on the fridge this morning at my place. The dishwasher has been broken for as long as I can remember. Pure hilarity:

Click to zoom

Note: Adrienne (the note leaver) has been my best friend for several years. She never spells my name right, and I always correct her.

Buttons Don't Get Enough Credit

2008-11-12T15:30:00.000-08:00

The blouse I'm wearing today is too small. The 3rd button down is so stressed, I feel at any moment it's going to give, and not be a functioning button anymore. I really like the idea of somewhat tight blouses, because it gives off that sort of sexy secretary look, but that 3rd button down endures such hardship because it holds my blouse together at its weakest point... the point that is sometimes called "no mans land"... the point that stretches across my breasts. Here, let me give you a visual:

I can't believe I just posted a picture of my breasts. Anyway, you see what I mean? I feel like saying "Thar she blows!" like it's seriously getting to that point. Even the fabric around the button is stressed. If shirts could scream, I think mine would be right now.

I just unbuttoned the button and I think I heard a sigh of relief.

¿Por qué?

2008-11-11T17:03:00.000-08:00

I was dumped at 3:11 this afternoon. I'm not really heartbroken, I'm just grieved that, like all my relationships, it was a big waste of time and emotions. Don't get me wrong, I'm upset. Considerably upset, but only because it's times like these that I feel that I will die alone and miserable. I'm too choosy with the men in my life. I want someone very specific, and because of the specificalities, I end up settling on one or more conditions/stipulations to my ideal mate. Those settlements get me into trouble. But it's impossible to find one that meets all my requirements. It's stupid the way I do this. I should just drop all the stips and go out with everyone who asks. Then decipher their flaws and eliminate the guy based on my discoveries.

It's seldom that someone has the balls to walk up to me on the street and ask me out, but it happened yesterday, coincidentally. It was so adorable. He was this little Mexican (I think) guy who asked if I was free for coffee. I turned him down, but maybe I'll reconsider based on knowledge that came to light at 3:11 this afternoon. Hopefully he's still standing there.

I don’t know why I felt the need to blog about this. I know I do get somewhat personal about things going on in my life on this blog, but not that I was dating someone. We weren’t in a serious relationship, but it still hurts to hear that he no longer wishes to see me.

I’m not looking for pity. Please don’t take pity on me. I’ll find someone else soon enough and all this will be dust in the wind.

To those who put their shit where it doesn't belong: (an open letter)

2008-11-11T09:13:00.000-08:00

To whoever shit in the shower this morning (and anyone else who shits in places other than the toilet):

You're sick. There's nothing like waking up at 6:30 in the morning, going to the shower to bathe, and finding someone else's SHIT (or mud or whatever) on the floor of the shower. I mean, SERIOUSLY?! I hope you weren't planning on keeping that little bundle of joy, because I cleaned it up and flushed it. Don't try to blame it on the cat. The cat doesn't jump in to a bathtub to shit on a hard surface. Plus, that was a lot of shit. I think I can distingush human shit from cat shit. In the future, if you accidentally don't make it to the toilet, please be kind enough to clean up your shit. Don't leave it for someone else to clean.

To everyone else, be ever-mindful that shit is everywhere.

Keep your shit where it belongs,
Claire

*UPDATE: So we found out that one of the cats is very sick and is shitting in places other than the litter box... apparently.

Blogger Blockage

2008-11-06T10:13:00.000-08:00

I have blogger's block. And I've been sick, so I should be chugging NyQuil, inducing a coma, and while not deep in hibernation, blogging. but I can't. I have blogger's block! It's so frustrating! I started writing about how my friend's neighbor tried to take down a 40-foot live tree with a chain and a 2-wheel drive Toyota pick-up and the hilarity that ensued, but it wasn't funny. At all. So I trashed it. It was one of those things that was really funny when it was happening, but not really funny on paper (or on screen). So, why would I bore my readers with not funny stories about rednecks doing redneck things with their trucks? Thanks, but I'll spare you. I'm blaming my blogger blockage on the fact that I've been a total hermit and haven't left the house in 3 days, except for the random errand to get more NyQuil, or Kleenex with lotion in them--and aloe (God help me if I get chaffed nose). I haven't been able to interact with interesting people or situations, so you get this post: My blogger blockage post. I know! It's lame. Hope you enjoyed it. Good bye.

HA! Just kidding, I'm not done. Let's talk current events.

News Flash: This is not a political blog, so please refrain from comments about how it's the end of the world and the country is being run by a Muslim socialist. I don't care what your republican parents or children told you.

Another news flash: anytime someone starts out a statment with the words "News" and "Flash", it's probably not going to be positive. It's probably going to be slightly passive-aggresive... or it's going to be an actual news flash on a news program.

anyway, Obama is the prez elect. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty excited about it. He is truly someone I can believe in, and I think he'll do great things for this country. I've liked this one since day 1... or like day 236, but still. I liked Obama for a while and voted for him... twice. however, he has quite a mess to clean up.

The gays are all up in arms about Prop 8. I heard that they started a protest in LA yesterday, which turned into a parade, which turned into a "gay riot", which was basically gays swarming cars occupied by Tila Tequila, but whatever. Gays can riot, too. I think people should do what they wanna do, end of discussion. Marriage should be between 2 humans (preferably adults), without any questions asked. I makes me kind of angry that we live in a world that 1 out of 2 people thinks that gays shouldn't have the same rights as straight people. It's sick. 1 out of 2 people look at a homosexual and think, "that's not a real person that should deserve the same rights."

that's all for now, everyone. have a pleasant rest of your morning and afternoon.

Next to the Bong

2008-10-28T15:01:00.000-07:00

This reminds me of the time my mom found a pack of circular brass screens and thought it was for a school project. She gave them back to me.

*UPDATE: that looks like ditch weed anyway. He probably kept the good stuff somewhere safe and dry.

Things I Do While Wasted

2008-10-27T16:02:00.000-07:00

I don’t drink much. When I do, I find that I embarrass myself a great deal. Not because I’m sloppy and fall down and crash into things and wake up with bruises and have no idea from where they came (that happens, but that’s not why I’m embarrassed)--I get honest. Brutally honest. If I ever write a book it should be called Brutal Honesty. While wasted, I start telling people secrets and other things that no one should know about me. Like the time that I told this kid Chuck that I stole $100 from him way back in the day during a weed for money exchange (“drug deal” sounds so… illegal). Needless to say, he cared. And I now owe him $100 (I’m still in Chuck debt). I also tell people about their faults and flaws and why I don’t like them or do. Like the time I told Johnny, “I used to not like you, but then I decided that you can’t really help being a pompous asshole, so you’re okay in my book.” Or that I’m in love with them. That doesn’t happen so much, because I’m not in love with a whole lot of people.

What really scares me is when I don’t remember what I said nor did, which, thankfully, doesn’t happen often. I wake up on a couch with no recollection of the night after 2 a.m. It’s noon, so I take it I’ve been sleeping for a while. Everyone is in the living room watching football with my drunk-ass laid out on the couch. GREAT! Have I been drooling excessively? Snoring? Both? Did I say anything to hurt my friend’s feelings? Did I confess my love of Frankie Avalon? Most of the time, people say I keep my composure, but I have my doubts. Then the next day I send a text to a friend that’s really nonchalant, like, “What are you doing for the game tonight?” If I don’t receive a response within an hour, I start to worry. “Shit, I probably said something really, really stupid or mean or both.” Then I send another message that says something like, “I guess you’re really mad at me because I said something really stupid or mean or both. Please accept my apology. I’m a drunk-ass.” Then they call and ask what the fuck I’m talking about, and I just wave it off and say, “Never mind.”

Now that’s embarrassing. I swear the next day that I’ll never drink again, but that thought is out the window next Friday.

Speaking of Trannies...

2008-10-24T16:50:00.000-07:00

I found something quite disturbing the other day. I have a laptop that I use for personal use and I had set up a user account for my little sister when we lived together. I decided to change it from "Rachel" to "Everyone Else" because my computer gets a lot of use by my roommates. I decided to check out her user account and delete things that didn't need to be on there. I logged onto it, and found multiple jpg files on the desktop. I figured they were nothing, but I decided to check them out. The first one I clicked on was this:

ummm..... o...kaaaaay.

Now, my sister is not a lesbian... nor a gay man. but this was just bizarre. I was even more curious. I clicked on the next image:

This is getting ridiculous! Why the hell does she have these on the computer desktop?! I'm not sure who this is, and whether she actually knew this person, or if she just found these on google images and... well, I don't know, wanted a cool desktop picture?? The next one is a little more disturbing than the others:

I couldn't help but think, "Whose bed is that?! And... umm... WHAT THE FUCK???! Is he supposed to look like an seductive action hero or something?"

and finally, hooter's girl:

put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Transvestites and Trip Wires

2008-10-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

After work yesterday, I took the train home, and I was standing in one of the aisles. All of the sudden I got a bump on the shoulder and heard a voice say, “Excuse me.”

I moved and turned to look at (what I thought was a) her, but it was a Latin transvestite! Yay!! I’ve always been a fan of trannies (or is it “trannys”?), but this one truly took the cake. She was wearing gray sweatpants, the kind that gather at the ankles, and a flannel button-down shirt that she had tied up all Daisy Duke style. She also had dark brown lip liner and no lipstick (ew). She was obviously a crack addict and/or prostitute. She walked by me, and her walk is the point of this entry. She marched down to the other end of the train like a well-trained Clydesdale. Like, really high-stepping. She had her belly pushed out waaay in front of her with her shoulders waaaay back and each step, she lifted her knees up to almost a 90 degree angle. Do men really see women walking like that? I mean, was she stepping over multiple invisible trip wires? I couldn’t help but giggle at the scene, as did everyone else around.

One guy turned to me and said, “This ain’t California!”

It sure ain’t.

Word.

2008-10-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

My favorite word is "word." This has been so for a very long time. I use the word "word" very often. "Word" is a great word. It works on so many levels.

To be in agreement with a statement:
"Those shoes are hideous."
"Word."

To answer “yes” to a question:
"Are familiar with the quadratic equation?"
"Word."

To express delight:
"My parents died, but they left me a buttload of cash!"
"Word!"

To be used as a question after a statement, in the place of "Really?":
"I just cured cancer!"
"Word?"

The common meaning:
"A word is a unit of language that carries meaning and consists of one or more morphemes which are linked more or less tightly together, and has a phonetic value."

And, finally, the Microsoft word processing program, Word:
"Dude, Word sucks."
"Word."

WORD.

To My Internet Stalker (not my real life stalker… you are creepy):

2008-10-15T14:51:00.000-07:00

Please don’t ever stop stalking me. I rather enjoy the mysterious conversations we have. I love that you know Latin abbreviations (e.g.: i.e.). It’s really kind of flattering that I have a stalker. Makes me feel loved. I’ve made a list of my perfect guy, and (in my head) you fit into each category. Here’s the list:

he’s funny; he’s smart (…er than me); he speaks English and uses it well; he loves corny movies; he is not an alcoholic or drug addict (pot head acceptable); he wears sandals; he loves the outdoors; he is an auto mechanic (this is so I can own a classic muscle car without having to worry about costly repairs, he could also just be rich); he’s creative and loves art; he’s attractive, but not too attractive; he’s at least 6’; he’s not jealous of my guy friends; he wants to have children one day; he is not married; he’s not... really hairy; he thinks electronic music is the dopest shit ever; he’s geeky; he’s at least a little Irish; his last name goes with “Claire”; he uses words like “esotericism”; he’s a collector of esoterica; and he loves his mother.

If this is not you, lie to me.

I do, however, think that our stalker/stalkee relationship is probably unhealthy.

Thinking fondly of you and waiting patiently for your next stalker comment,

Claire

I Live in a Fucking Hostel

2008-10-15T10:57:00.000-07:00

My roommates (the lease holders) just decided to let 2 more people move into our house (sort of). They live in a school bus in the driveway. I couldn't make this shit up. So now, we're up to 9 humans: Adrienne, Josh, Chris, Jessica, Kylie, Ernie, the other Chris, Desiree and me; and 6 pets: 4 cats, 1 bunny rabbit, 1 dog... and a partridge in a pear tree. The agreement is the 2 noobs don't have to pay rent, they just help out with utilities. It doesn't make me angry or sad or happy to have a bazillion roommates, I'm kind of indifferent, but it's never lonely at the house, that's for sure.

And my rent is $150/mo.

if you need a place in Portland, I think there's still some room on the roof and in the backyard.

eBay Pimps

2008-10-13T17:21:00.000-07:00

I just found this and had to share:

I'm a Bathroom Zombie

2008-10-13T14:17:00.000-07:00

I use the restroom at work a lot. I've just returned from it, and I’ve made a discovery that I had to share. You see, after using the toilet, I go to the sink and wash my hands. I typically use the sink that is the furthest away from the paper towel dispenser. Reason: none. After washing my hands, they are drippy and wet (for obvious reasons), so I hold my arms out stretched out in front of me to avoid water dripping on my clothing and shoes, walk to the dispenser, and dry. It dawned on me looking in the mirror while doing this that I totally look like a zombie. After making this realization, I said, “Brains” in that all-too-familiar zombie monotone. Luckily my boss didn’t walk in.

Why Plaid Pantry is pronounced PLAYED Pantry

2008-10-08T14:45:00.000-07:00

Ryan and Rowdy (some "dready" friends from Santa Cruz) were in town. I had been gladly taxiing them around town, and we stopped at Plaid Pantry for beer and cigarettes. Plaid Pantry is like 7-11. A convenience store, that doesn't sell gas. We went inside and picked a sixer of PBR (we po') and proceeded to the cashier. She was a young girl, maybe early 20s, kinda goth-y (I'm not normally the kind of person that puts stereotypes on people, but she was, in fact, kinda goth-y) and obviously in a bad mood. She asked for ID, which Ryan quickly obliged and then the cashier said, "I need hers, too." and pointed at Rowdy.

Now, Rowdy isn't the type of person to carry around her identification for reasons I cannot divulge, and she put up quite a fight, claiming that the cashier was being discriminatory to them because of the way they looked. Rowdy hadn't touched the beer and she was not paying for it, so why do they need her ID? The cashier explained that anyone accompanying someone else purchasing alcoholic beverages must prove that they are also over 21.

Ryan was pissed. He and Rowdy exited the Plaid Pantry and got halfway to the car when Ryan doubled back and went back in. "I forgot to get cigarettes" he said to the cashier. She looked around, as if to check if anyone was looking, and said, "I'm technically not supposed to sell these to you because she didn't have her ID, but I will this time."

He looked shocked. "So... you can break one rule, but not another?! Sell me the beer then!!" Ryan shouted, making a scene. The cashier asked Ryan to leave, without selling him anything, and he did, but not before announcing to the world, "This is the PLAYED Pantry!"

To this day, we still call it "Played Pantry"... or just "Played" for short.

I judge homeless people... even when they're not homeless

2008-10-08T12:27:00.000-07:00

Taken from scribblings in my notebook last week:

The clothes dryer at home is really screwy right now… it doesn’t get hot, so clothes generally take about 3 days to dry. I need clean clothes before then, so I’ve taken all my dirty clothes (which basically consists of ALL my clothes) to the laundromat up the street. I had a huge laundry basket full and a large trash bag full. Just getting them in the door was a task. I love it how people will stare at you struggling when you obviously need an extra hand, and continue to stare like you’re disrupting them or something. It really helps.

The only guy in the place is an elderly gentleman who looks homeless. He’s balding and has a patchy beard and dirty-looking clothes on. I suppose it could just be laundry day for him and he is, indeed, not homeless, but whatever, we’ll just assume he was and is homeless.

I looked fantastic. I had on a once-red now ruined-with-blue-dye zip-up sweatshirt, old jeans that are torn near the crotch and turquoise crocs. It. Was. Fabulous. I am a fashion felon.

I start sorting through my laundry: whites, blacks and colors. I put the detergent in the washer and then throw in a white wash. I start rummaging through my wallet and discover that I only have 4 one-dollar bills and a twenty. The washer is $2 to start. I easily have about 4 loads for the washers. I frantically look around the small room for a change machine, but, OF COURSE!, it only accepts one-dollar bills. The homeless guy noticed that I did not posses the correct increments of change, but said nothing… continued to pretend to read his Forbes Magazine. “I could ask the homeless guy for some money” I thought… wait a minute, did I just say that?! That makes absolutely no sense. But I tried it anyway: “You wouldn’t happen to have change for a twenty, would you?” He replied, “No. Sorry.” “Who has change for a twenty, right?!” I exclaimed. He said matter-of-factly, “Maybe last year”, a reference to our horrible economy that people blame for everything. I snorted a small chuckle and exiting the building.

When I turned around, I read the large sign above the rows of washers:

“Absolutely no greasy clothes washed in machines.

Please do not leave clothes in washers or dryers unattended.”

“Fuck.” I thought. “I hope I didn’t put my white clothes in a greasy washer. Sick” I went back and forth in my head about the situation. I could empty out the washer and put ALL my clothes back in the car and drive to Plaid Pantry for change. I could leave everything and get change. I could just say fuck it, and drive home and never do laundry again. Woe is me! I finally decided that mulling it over was taking forever and the homeless guy was beginning to scare me. I bravely left all my clothes in the laundromat and calmly got into the car and started the engine.

The whole time I spent in the car and I was imagining the homeless guy saying, "Jackpot!! What a moron! She left her expensive clothes here! With me: THE HOMELESS GUY! Muhahahahahaha! Idiot."

I decided speed was the only way to thwart the homeless guy's plans to steal my clothes and sell them for crack (did I mention he's a crackhead, too? Becuase he is... in my head). I got to the conveinence store in about 2 seconds flat and ran (literally ran) into the store and bought a pack of smokes and asked for the $16 change to be all ones... I figured, who knows how much this is going to cost? Better get as many ones as possible. The cashier looked at me weird and I looked at him weird, and he gave me the change. I walked back to the car (I forgot I was in a hurry) and returned to the laundromat to find that my clothes were completely untouched and sitting in the exact same place they were before. I washed my laundry and returned home with a mountain of clean clothes. My roommate asked, "How your experience with the laundromat go?"

I replied, "Fine."

Text messages that ramble on and on and on and...

2008-10-07T14:58:00.000-07:00

I just got the longest text message I've ever received. It's from my boy-toy friend Jay, who's a little weird (as you'll gather). This text message has not been altered in any way, it came to me in several separate texts:

"Okay, probably I shouldn't be taking away from my research and your trials and tribulations to clutter your inbox with trivia, but the new furniture ...

is installed, and I'll of course want your opinion ~ how much time can you free up this P.M.? (Always assuming, that is, that you aren't yet completely ...

fed up with my awkwardness and inanity ~ not to say incompetence and imbecility ~ really, how anyone of your singular talents puts up with me for more ...

than fifteen minutes at a stretch is more than I can fathom ~ possibly I should take one of those fabled "mental health days" I keep hearing so much abo ...

ut and see if I can't figure out how best to amend my waywardness... no rest for the wicked, though, or so 'tis said, and precious little for yours truly.)"

I responded:

"New furniture? What new furniture?"

Crispin Glover, you toy with my brain

2008-10-06T17:10:00.000-07:00

As some know, I'm a die-hard Back to the Future fan (I can recite most of the movie's dialogue verbatim), and I had no idea that George McFly’s character is played by someone other than Crispin Glover in both sequels. It seems that some dude named Jeffrey Weissman played George in the sequels while using some scenes from the first movie of Crispin Glover. I guess Glover sued, but whatever… that’s crazy that I had no idea! It’s like finding out that there’s no Santa Claus!* Also something I found interesting about the movie: Michael J. Fox was 3 years older than Crispin Glover while filming—the dad younger than the son!

*To readers under 10: Just kidding, there is a Santa Claus. He’s REAL. Trust me. To readers over 10, who still believe in Santa Claus: grow up.

UPDATE: I just found out there was also an animated series in the 90s. Here’s the intro:

Weird!

Commence Blogging

2008-10-06T16:17:00.000-07:00

I've discovered that writing in a notebook on the bus and train aches my little digits and is very hard to read when completed. It also takes longer to write than type. So, while I will continue to jot little thoughts into my notebook on the bus and train everyday (pending inspiration), I've created this blog to do the same. So here's the intro:

Hi. My name is Claire Quin. For those of you who know me... hi. How ya doin'? You bastards better tell your friends that I'm funny and smart and to visit my blog. For those of you who don't know me... what's up? I hope be become friends. By the way, you rock.

Tell your people about this! Even if you're the only reader (which you probably are), entice people to visit and read the tales and adventures of my thrilling life! Be prepared to be jolted into fear when I tell the tales of my ailing eyeball and feel heartfelt contemptment when I talk about arguing with my mother in Detroit for 3 hours. Also, did you know that contemptment is not a word? It's not, I just made it up. It sounds like a real word doesn't it? Be warned that I make up words all the time and sometimes they sound like real words and other times, well... they don't. I add "lisious" to the end of lots of words. It's wordlisious.

I think I'm getting a little off-base here. The reason we're here today is because I am one of the many people of this world who have a lot of thoughts, but they don't particularly come in order. It's often random thoughts that enter our heads... and as the great Lucas from Empire Records once said, "Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear!" My point is he had a point. While this blog will be very random and non-cohesive, I plan to one day make it into a cohesive, non-random book (or novel, or greeting card, or whatever).

And with that, I say, commence blogging. Stay tuned for more.