Day two...

In California, it's called the beach. In Oregon, the coast. Here in New England, they call it the seacoast. I don't know why, it's a bit redundant and twice as many syllables. That's far too many for the gal on the go.

Today's big goal was to drive the entire coast line of New Hampshire. We knew it wouldn't be a big deal, since it's a mere 18 miles long. There were sand beaches and rock beaches and crappy drivers on back highways. With the sun and the wind and the creepy tilt-a-whirls it felt like being at home.

On the way east (it was weird driving east to go to the coast!) from Concord, Tara and I missed our exit and didn't even know we'd ended up in Maine until we left the state and ended up back into New Hampshire. We were too distracted by this amazing giant chair in front of a school. We were taking each others pictures and posing when a garbage man with a sweet New England accent on his lunch came across the street to take our picture for us. Then we chatted with someone who worked at the school and we all agreed that, as Americans, we like our kitsch either tiny or gigantic. Nice guys.

Another good day.

Day one of REAL vacation.

Yesterday ended on two high notes. So high they almost make all the pain (both emotional and physical. Seriously, my legs hurt from all the running I did at the airport. Oof.) of the day go away. When I finally landed in Boston around 10pm I went looking for baggage claim. I wasn't sure where I should go with the whole American/Alaska debacle hanging in my head. I ended up at a random baggage claim stall and guess what was there!? If you said my bag, thanks for paying attention. I said a really loud "Holy Shit!" for all to hear, apologized, then remembered I was in Boston and that no one cared. It made it. My bag made it on the flight that I hadn't.

The second high note? After I picked up my miracle luggage I went to the rental car place where they'd been so busy all day they didn't have my reservation. So instead they gave me a super fancy and new SUV to ease the trauma. Tara and I will be taking a few mini-day trips, so I picked the smaller car because of the gas mileage, but when a gigantic new car with a camera for when I back up is waved in front of my face, I can't help it. I'm American, for craps sake.

After a day of travel Tara and I decided a day settled in Concord would be nice. We wen to the buffet for lunch, did a little grocery shopping (the prices here are AWESOME, all of my fancy gluten/dairy/egg-free foods are like $1 cheaper than at New Seasons), and even went in to the NH State House and saw the governor's office. It was pretty sweet. A good day.

Day "one"...

I wrote this yesterday in an airport bar.

It's 3:30pm. I'm not quite sure where I am as I step off the plane. It's been a long day so far, and all I really remember from the morning is that I got on a flight that was headed in the basic direction of my final destination. Then I remember: Dallas. Right.

First? Bathroom. Second? Booze. The only way the second leg of this pieced together flight will be bearable is with beer. I walk up to the host and ask if they serve booze and where the quickest I can get some is. He says, "just go up to the bar, sweetie" and later tells me he thought I'd order a double of anything.

So I'm in Dallas drinking a Texas sized beer. Seriously, this thing is huge. When the bartender asked "regular or big?" I assumed he meant the difference between a glass and a pint. Hell, no! I'm in Texas now so I better drink like it. It's dark, delicious, and everything that's happened finally starts to sink in. I have an actual seat for my flight to Boston so I'm not worried about being on stand-by anymore. I go through the morning in my head.

1. Exhausted.

2. 100s of people in PDX saw me cry. Awesome.

3. First missed flight ever.

4. I have no idea where the hell my bag is.

5. While I was in PDX waiting for my flight to Boston, Travis Outlaw was paged over the loud speaker. I had to stop myself from making a break for it.

At least I'll be in Boston tonight. A few hours behind schedule, but a gigantic dark beer will help me not worry about that. Plus, one of the waitresses is wearing a bolo tie and somehow that makes everything okay.

This job would be great...

Customer: Do you have coffee?

Me: Yes…

Customer: Yes?

Me: You can have espresso or brewed coffee. We are a coffee shop.

Customer: Well, you’d be surprised.

Me: Would I?

__________

Customer: Do you have any hazelnut gelato?

Coworker: No, not today.

Customer: Okay. Can I try the crème brulee?

Coworker: Sure.

*Customer takes the sample out to his dog and then comes back into the shop*

Customer: He just really likes hazelnut. I guess we’ll come back later.

In which a woman gets smacked

Part three.

Because Henry’s is a bit fancier than my usual dive, I try to keep my inappropriate noises, my swearing, and my wild arm movements under wraps. I failed with the arm movements, smacking a woman in the face as she walked behind me. Please don’t ask, I was obviously telling a compelling narrative. I think I did okay with the swearing, but truth be told, it’s such a part of me I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time. (Hell damn fart. Crap boobs crap.) Did someone say something?

Inappropriate noises? At this point there was no need to worry. Even after two beers and a mai tai I hadn’t made a peep. Not even to stifle a burp. No small feat, trust me. I just burped typing that sentence. It’s serendipitous, if you really think about it.

Finally, Allie and I had stalled long enough: I’d spent my allotted amount of money for the evening and I’d bruised my ass. That meant it was time to head over to the aforementioned unnamed bar. We walked back to the car (I would like to point out that I found a parking spot a mere 2 blocks from Henry’s. On a Saturday night. In the Pearl. Please take a moment for a hushed awe), drove down to China Town (again, I found a spot only 2 blocks from unnamed bar. It was parking kismet) and started walking to the bar.

All that moving around must have jostled something loose because just as we passed the Classical Chinese Gardens I belched. Not just a regular burp. Not an “I just drank Pepsi for the first time in weeks” burp. Not an “I just ate an apple too fast” belch. (Don’t tell me you don’t burp after eating apples.) It was a definite winner and I was feeling like I had made room for some more beer. Then someone yelled out “Nice one!” from inside a car half a block away. I turned around and yelled “Thank you! Appreciate it!” “I’d give it a 7!” He yelled back. I curtsied to show my gratitude but then called back "It was at least an 8." It was a lovely interaction and now ranks as the second best thing anyone’s ever yelled at me from a moving car.

What’s the first best thing you ask? It’s a bit of a digression, but because it’s so amazing I’m compelled to share. Plus I’d forgotten all about it until Saturday night.

I was living in Corvallis and it was… 2003… I guess. I was walking through downtown on my way to the post office when it happened. Are you ready?

“If you drop 5 pounds, I’d bone you!” There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t know where to start. My first reaction was to look around and see if anyone else had heard it. Second reaction? To scoff at his use of the term ‘bone.’ Really? Bone? Ugh, I shudder just typing it. Final thought. 5 pounds? That’s all?! I’ll head over to the gym right now and get started, maybe I’ll get some! Of course that was 15 pounds ago, I’m not sure I’d be so lucky now.

Coming up: Crowds give someone gas. And it’s not pretty.

In which the evening takes a turn

Part two.

I promised specifics and to start I can simply focus on the incidents of Saturday night. First up? Dinner at Henry’s Tavern in the Pearl with Allie. We were going out for a friend’s birthday, but they weren’t going to be out until 10. That’s 10 at night. I’m usually in my nachtzeug and glasses by then.

Even when I was in college (the first time) I found it unnecessary to start parties so late. I never really understood that concept. Now that I’m almost 30 it makes even less sense. Not only were we going out past my bedtime, but also heading to a bar with karaoke, ugly people making out, and nowhere to sit. (I’m old and I’m wearing heels! Just give me a freaking bar stool!) So Allie and I decided to have some super happy best friend time first with beer and… more beer at Henry’s.

Side note: Walking Man Black Cherry Stout from Stevenson, Washington just might be the best thing ever.

Of course we all know what happens after a beer or two. I tried to put it off as long as possible but nature won over. I was on my way to the ladies room and took a wrong turn. I could use this to mention I’m not good with directions either. I started walking toward the server station when I realized I couldn’t get through that way so I stopped sharp and promptly fell right on my ass, kicking one of my legs up in front of me in the process.

Because I was wearing my heels (the cute purple ones with no traction) and since I already have issues with balance, I really should have known this wouldn’t end well after booze was added to the equation. Fortunately it was only in front of half the patrons and servers, including ours. I can handle that. I’m used to restaurant employees thinking I’ve had too much because of tripping, falling, and knocking over menu stands… not that that’s ever happened to me…

But it did give me an excuse to slip “ass bruise” into conversation later. Always a plus.

Coming up: Burping in Old Town.

In which NJ goes out in public

Part one.

There are quite a few reasons I don’t go out often. One could even say myriad reasons. But I won’t. I don’t want to sound pretentious. The problem used to be that I worked too much. I’d be at two jobs 60 hours a week or more and not have the energy to do anything else when my shifts were over. And all that working made me angry and bitter. Even more so than usual. And who wants to hang out with that? Then I quit one of those jobs and went back to school. So now I have work AND school as an excuse. The best part? I can use the "I'm a poor student" cop-out and it works every time.

I have been able to be out and about this past week (Spring Break ’09!) and hang out with people I actually like on the cheap. On Monday I hung out with my brother who’s home from school and watched the Blazer game at my favorite bar.

Side note: I’ve decided the Blazers lose whenever I watch the game, so I’m going to steer clear the rest of the season. (Except on Tuesday because I’ll actually be AT the game.) Once the regular season is done and if and when we get into the playoffs, that jinx is over and I'll watch every game.

Wednesday I got to see an old friend home for the week from NYC (hi Zack!) and Thursday was a fabulous night full of Star Wars, Deschutes Brown Ale, and boys way nerdier than me. But all of these nights out were in my comfort zone. Monday - George’s. The bartenders know my name and my drink. Wednesday - Lucky Lab. Lots of space not many people. Thursday - Chris’s house. Only people I know and feel comfortable around. Don’t get me wrong, I blend in with the normies well enough to avoid suspicion.

Occasionally I’m accidentally mean and more often than not I make a reference no one gets. But I’m okay with that, I’m over being embarrassed. I just feel bad for the people around me; they (usually) don’t deserve it.

I’m forgetful and klutzy. I say inappropriate things and make inappropriate noises. I hate small talk and stupid people, and more specifically small talk WITH stupid people. These are the general reasons home is safe and the outside world is scary.

Coming up: The specifics.

My jacket sleeve bio

One of the last assignments for my fiction class (it's almost over!) is to write a 50 word bio for my hypothetical book.

This is what I came up with:

"Nicole was born in Orange County, California, but after living in Portland for 20 years considers herself a true Oregonian. Reading, writing, and photography are her passions, but she will probably never turn off the TV. She loves sarcasm and hates clowns."

Spam!

I know this isn't an original complaint, but I'm still fully justified. I get e-mails from AARP. I get e-mails from Runner's World. I get e-mail trying to set me up with Christian singles or to get me signed up for a mortgage.

All of these things could not be any further from the person I am.

I'm not old. I'm not Christian. I don't own a home, and I'm fairly certain if any of these places had access to my credit, even they wouldn't be wasting their time.

And I'm certainly not a runner. I used to cheat in junior high whenever we had to run a mile - I'd cut through the parking lot or something - I hated it back then, and I was just a kid. Now I know that running will be my punishment when I end up in some fiery level of hell. (And yes, I acknowledge that even though I'm not Christian I can still joke about hell. Suck it.)

And though I know there's no specific person or entity from the interweb powers that be that can stop this, after putting up with it for so long, I think it's funny.

Also, I really think I'd like to meet this old, single, Christian runner that's having mortgage problems. Maybe she's me in the future. Maybe she was hanging a picture over her toilet, fell and hit her head and invented the flux capacitor and now... no, I've lost my train of thought. But now I really want to watch Back to the Future.

I crossed two bridges today! (Real not metaphorical)

It was very exciting.

Today was a super busy, really long, quite strenuous day at work and the flying bits of flaming artichoke didn't help much either. (How's that burn, Cassie? My hand finally stopped smelling.)

Even though I was really tired when I finally got home, I knew that I had to utilize this possible last day of sunshine. I took the MAX downtown because I am NOT one to drive if I can get away with it. Add up the cost of gas, the road rage, and the fact that I always, inevitably, get lost, it's best if I take public transportation.

I started off at Waterfront Park, walked down to the Steel Bridge, over to the (Vera Katz) Eastbank Esplanade, down to the Hawthorne bridge and back to 2nd and Morrison to take the MAX home. It was quite uneventful except it seemed that EVERY SINGLE runner felt the impulse to spit just as he was running by me. It got old fast. Blech.

So the mini-day trip was all well and good. It was the MAX ride home (as usual) that compelled me to write.

The girl sitting behind me was having the most amazing conversation with her boyfriend and because I didn't want to forget a word of it, I spent the whole time transcribing into the notepad on my cell phone. Looks like that 2nd job as a transcriptionist and my 80wpm typing speed have finally paid off. That's right. 80wpm. If I set my sights high enough, I could be a receptionist.

"He asked me if I speak Spanish and I said, "No, I'm not Mexican!"

Classic. But it gets better. Much better.

"I know he's from Guadalajara, but if he's your friend, why is he always trying to get on me?"

I don't even know what that means, but I loved hearing it!

"Can I beat your girlfriend up?... Are you starting to care about her?... Because first you said I could beat her up and now you say I can't... That's messed up, you're always telling me you love me. So are we together or not?"

This is when my logical side started thinking this is not a MAX conversation she needs to be doing this in private and my gossipy side was begging that the conversation would go on forever. Guess which side won another round? Here comes the best part.

"Okay, because if I get pregnant, then what are you going to do?... then forget about that girl... WHAT?!... then forget about both of them."

If I hadn't been sitting RIGHT in front of her, I would have burst out laughing, but alas had to settle with a stifled snort or two.

It was then that we went through the Washington Park tunnel and her phone cut out. She did call him right when we got out, but unfortunately it was my stop. I fully and completely would have stayed on the MAX with her but I really had to pee.

The most horrifying part? When I got up to leave and got a good look at her, she was no more than 16 or 17. I wanted to smack her and tell her to get her shit together but instead I just sighed apathetically and got off the train.

Grammar 101

Today while listening to my classmates give their speeches I noticed a few... slips of essential grammar rules. Just thought I'd give a little refresher course on the basics.

We'll get the easy ones out of the way first and work our way down (or up? depending on your views on grammar) to the tougher ones.

Reoccuring and irregardless are not words. Don't use them. It's recurring and regardless.

Please avoid filler words such as actually, typically, basically, ultimately, and literally. These are all used way too much and it drives me nuts.

Feel free to use the word 'myriad' (even though it's totally a buzz word) but please use it correctly. Its literal meaning is 10,000 of something and since it is an adjective, when you say "there are a myriad of stars" it is not correct. Say "there are myriad stars out tonight." and everyone (read:me) will think you're super clever.

Although I'm not a fan of it, subconscious and unconscious are interchangeable when talking about brain stuff. I prefer subconscious but can no longer judge people when they say unconscious. The dictionary says so.

Use the word 'fewer' when referring to a specific number of something. As in, "I've had fewer beers tonight than usual." Use the word 'less' when referring to volume. As in, "I usually drink less wine, but it's a Thursday, so what the hell." Fewer dirty clothes, less laundry. You get the point.

'Further' is used when discussing time. 'Farther' is used when discussing distance.

'Good' is an adjective and used to modify nouns. "This pizza is good." 'Well' is an adverb and used to modify verbs. "Class is going well."

Here's where it starts to get fun.

The difference between colons and semicolons is surprisingly easy to understand. Use a semicolon when separating one sentence into different, but still related clauses. Use a colon before a list, but make sure it's after a complete sentence. "NJ has two favorite food groups: beer and bacon."

Adverbs are your friends, please use them well and wisely. Tell your friend to "drive safely," not to "drive safe."

The easiest way to decide whether 'whom' or 'who' is appropriate is to answer your own question. If the answer is him, her, or them then whom is the correct pronoun. If the answer is he, she, or they then who is the correct pronoun. I could talk about the difference between the subject and the object of a clause, but I don't want to.

And now the universal favorite!

When do we use affect and when do we use effect? First, it's good to know that affect is a verb and means something along the lines of 'to influence.' As in, "the wind affects my hair and makes it all frizzy." Effect is a noun and is closer in meaning to 'a result.' As in, "the de-frizz conditioner I use seems to have no effect on my hair."

In some cases affect becomes a noun, when discussing psychology in the form of an expressed emotion. And effect becomes a verb when used to express accomplishment.

But we won't get into that.

Fiction? Sure.

School started this week. I'm always a little nervous before class, it's a little like starting a new job. Sweaty palms, growly stomach. Will I know anyone? Answer: Almost never, and I like that. Will the professor like me? Answer: Always. I'm a renowned teacher's pet, even unwittingly, since high school-despite the incessant chatting.

This term I'm taking my second of four necessary math class, but I'm not worried about that one, it's the same professor I had last term and I know what to expect. Algebra, fractions, and graphing. The suspense is gone.

I'm also taking a speech class. For a Journalism/Communication/English major I need to take almost all of them. Working in the... "hospitality" industry has finely tuned my ability to speak in front of others. I really don't mind it, almost enjoy it as much as I love being the center of attention, but I do mind being critiqued and graded based on hitting every point laid forth on my outline. Since it's the 111 class that everyone has to take I'm surrounded by the dregs of society. The nerdy boy that feels the need to say something "clever" constantly, the wanna-be sorority girls that pass notes back and forth-yes, that's right, they're still in high school, and the rest don't really seem like they should be allowed out in the daytime.

Finally, my term's coup de grace, writing. Again, because of my finally) chosen major, it's necessary for me to take a multitude of writing and English classes, but I don't mind at all. I was planning to take Creative Writing Non-Fiction since that's where I plan to make my money in my super ultimate master plan. I know it's not the best plan, and don't worry, I'm not planning to make a LOT of money, I've gotten quite used to being semi-poor.

But I digress. I couldn't take non-fiction for some reason or other that I really don't remember now. So what's on the agenda? Creative writing FICTION. Yikes. Fiction. I love to read fiction and I'm always creating elaborate scenarios in my head that never pan out, but I don't know how I feel about having to express them all via pen and paper.

I haven't written fiction since I was six years old. That phase involved many stories of kittens getting lost and other such nonsense. I drew pictures to go along with the stories and everything. Don't worry, the kittens always made it home safe, but that's not where I'm going with this.

I don't know how to write fiction! I read a lot of it, I know what I like to get from it, but I don't have the faintest idea how to do it. I've had the first sentence of a story in my head for at least three years now, but nothing has ever come from that. Our first assignment is to write 250 words about two people meeting. And to involve paint. I already have an idea of what I'll do, but how the hell am I supposed to keep a story under 250 words? If my phone allowed it, I would text more than that at once. I'm fairly certain even the running commentary in my head is pages and pages long daily.

I'll manage. I always do. And if all else fails, I'll just plagiarize and hope the professor doesn't notice.

Kidding. Or not.