Well here I am... As expected

Dear self: I was happy... But now I'm not.

Self-realization epiphany

I should stop bracing myself for a fall that might not even happen.  Just relax.  I'd say this is out of my character, but I'm also beginning to realize my self-portrayal isn't always accurate.  You say something enough, you start to believe it.

Fiction/non-fiction

I think I'm going to squeeze in some fiction stories here as well. You'll know the true ones from the fake ones becuase I'll tell you which ones are which. Plus, these are mostly be adaptations from real life (of course)... just slightly exaggerated.

[Fiction fade in]

Via some coaxing from my mother, I decided to try internet dating. I signed up with a website and spent an afternoon creating my profile, making sure to create an awesome caricature of myself, taking cool things about me and exaggerating them. Being a writer/rambler, my initial profile was maxed to the character limit. So I deleted a couple paragraphs. Don't want to give the idea that I talk too much!

Then I began the search. I narrowed results to single men between 25 and 40, at least 6' tall in the Portland area.

As I scrolled through my future dates, I noticed men on internet dating sites aren't as unattractive as I thought. Being a little self-conscious and fearing rejection, I decided to only click on moderately attractive profiles. Once I found a guy that I was moderately attracted to, I clicked on it and read it. I looked for things like similar interests, sarcasm, sense of humor, etc...

I messaged a guy named Adam. He must have been in some sort of band and kept referencing a band I'd never heard of. I wrote:

"Hey you. I don't know the music you like. Sorry. I guess I could google and fake it but I'm more of an up front kind of gal. Im open to new music... Or anything new for that matter. Unless it involves bodily fluids in my hair.

Shit. I have trouble censoring myself. Since this is text, I should erase that part about bodily fluids because *WEIRD, but I'd rather you get to know the real me instead if the idealized online dating profile version of myself.

Your 'message me if' section is what prompted this message... In all honestly, fucking ditto.

Ok I've spent too much time on a first-time message already.

Do you like me? Circle one: Yes. No. Maybe."

Brilliance, if I do say so myself.

He responded and we did a little online banter, and then switched to text messaging. Then we set a date at a bar that I frequent for Friday night at 8.

My first reaction was that he looked nothing like the blurry photos I'd seen on the internet. He had long-ish curly red hair, pale skin and a serious acne problem that I hadn't seen so horrible since my high school years on a kid we called Pizza Face. Adam was telling me about himself and his job, but I couldn't stop thinking about Pizza Face and trying to remember his actual name. It was some kind of nickname-sounding name, like Smokey or Butch or Skip. What was his name??!?!? Then I started thinking about why people call those with acne "pizza faces". Maybe the potpourri on acne is supposed to represent pepperoni on a pizza. Do they rub pizza on their faces before they go to bed? I'm sure the grease from the pizza would clog pores.

Then I pictured Adam rubbing a greasy, hot pizza on his face every night before he went to bed. How else could adult cystic acne get so bad??

Who knows? Maybe we'd be the perfect couple. I do have a sick fascination with zit popping (which, I know, gross). But could I really introduce this guy to my friends and family?
The shallow-ness in me faked an emergency text message and I apologized and quickly left. I'm sure Adam was a great guy, but I don't like popping zits that much.

I'm back

It's been over 3 years since I've posted here. Every once in a while, I get an email that someone has commented and I just assume it's spam and insta-delete.

I was feeling nostalgic today and decided to read my old journal posts from purerave. Then one of those posts mentioned this blog, and I surfed on over here too.

I miss writing. It seems like when I was writing, I had a much more interesting/chaotic life. Things have simmered down a bit, but that doesn't mean that there's nothing worth writing about now.

This blog was treated more as a personal journal than anything else. I never invited people who knew me from real life to read it. Mostly because I want to keep my private life public. Plus, I talked about them all the time.

Things have changed. The "hostel" house on 64th is no more. There was a big falling out between me and my friends--most of whom have since moved back home to their respective home states (quitters), but I've made new friends. They're just as weird and trashy as the old ones, but they've gotten older and uglier ;)

Anyway, the point is, I'm back. I look forward to documenting my strange thoughts and conversations with y'all again.

Love, Claire

Blocked Blog

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

This blog is now blocked.

Wordle

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!

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?

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.

.
.
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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

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

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

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

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

Continued bitching...

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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.