Shouldshine

Image found here

It's sunny, and the Oregonian in me feels like I'm wasting it by sitting inside. My pale legs are literally glaring at me for choosing my couch over a blanket paired with a patch of itchy grass. My inner voice is screaming at me for not jumping on this opportunity to log some sun-time.

And, all I want to do is tell the me inside me to calm down. My pasty legs can stop being so judgmental, and my inner voice can just shut the hell up. I get it.

Here, in this particular patch of the Pacific Northwest, the sun does not have a consistently reliable presence. Therefore, ignoring a beautifully warm day like today seems somewhat neglectful. History might indicate that this behavior is even disrespectful to this kid.

And still, here I sit, giving my overly-adored couch a little extra appreciation. You know why? Because the Olympics are on, I feel like snuggling, and I have faith that the sun will return.

So, my chalk-colored legs can give it a rest. Even if I'm wrong about the weather, I know you can't store up sun-time and save it for a rainy day. It doesn't work like that. If that gaseous beast were to spontaneously disappear, I'm no worse-off than George Hamilton. I won't have forgotten what life in the light was like, and I regardless of the opportunity, I will not regret the one afternoon I took to do what I wanted.

Let's Not Listen to That Guy Anymore

The unexpectedly beautiful sunshine today and unpredictable weather of the past week or more has reminded me of a particularly fond memory that I would like to share.

Our last summer in Portland was rather chilly. It rained often. When it didn't, a dingy nebulous haze sealed off the Willamette Valley. It was gross, and demoralizing.

The most stressful part about the whole situation was explaining it to the kids that I worked with. Usually in the summer the weather gets warm enough that we are able to bring out the sprinklers and wading pools, and let them be typically developing kids for a  few moments. I'm not going to even pretend this is anything less than awesome. There's something about seeing a small child totally drenched and gleefully sprinting around a playground that energizes your soul.

Before Summer came, we had told all the kids how amazing it was going to be. We promised them pools, and picnics. We said there would be entire days of playing outside in the sun. Only, the sun barely ever came. A significant portion of the season was spent inside watching the clouds pass by, and the mist trickle down. Nevertheless, we pressed on. We assured the kidlets that the sun was on its way, and the heat would eventually make all our dreams come true.

But, company policy dictated that the weather had to be a certain temperature before we could allow that particular breed of merriment. Imagine trying to explain this to your average preschooler. Now, try and figure out how to word it to a group of preschoolers who have cognitive, developmental, and emotional delays. It's incredibly difficult, and the fall-out is a superior form of suck.

Not wanting to take the blame for any of it (because the physical and emotional repercussions would be of tantrumtastic proportions), we blamed it on The Weatherman. We told them that he had to predict excessive sun, and early-morning heat for the fun to start and the pools to come out. Naturally, they kept asking, and we kept relaying his inconsistent messages. Then, the local forecasters began erroneously predicting heat waves. How did we respond? Of course we got our hopes up and declared it to all the kids. Glee, ecstasy, and anxious anticipation ensued as we prepared for the tardy summer weather to arrive.

Only, it never did. Frustration set in amongst all involved. The kids lost faith in our words, and, despite our attempts, we began to lose the will to foster their hope. Finally, one day a particularly adorable child approached me after peering longingly out at the muggy and overcast skies. He widened his doe-eyes, shrugged his little shoulders, and with a comically large sigh said,

"All the time The Weather Man says 'it will be sunny' it's rainy, & all the time he says 'it will be rainy' it's sunny. So, I think let's not listen to that guy anymore."

Even still, the only reply that seems logical is: Here, here good sir. I agree. I mean really, who is he to tell us what's up anyway?

Sunrise, Sunset

Sometimes when I lie in bed at night I close my eyes and make believe I'm in my old room.

I pretend that I am a little girl at home and everything else has been a dream. The train in the distance sounds the same as it did back then. The approaching whistle blows as it pulls into town; enveloping me in a tranquility that makes the rest easy to imagine.

The thud from above is not my upstairs neighbor moving around. It's my brother shifting in bed one room over. The door slamming just below, on the second floor, is actually my dad taking out the trash. The footsteps in the hall don't belong to visiting strangers. They are my mom's as she comes to announce lights out.

When I wake up, the train is gone. I keep my eyes closed and savor the silence. That's when I slowly begin to realize that my neighbors aren't actually taking a break from their raucous morning lawn mowing, because my next door neighbors don't have a lawn anymore. Then I open my eyes and survey my reality.

Somewhere between watching the night sky, and hiding from the morning light the windows changed, and I grew up.

Poignant Transit

Since my return to the scholastic world, I have been frequenting the local public transit. This has many advantages. It eliminates the concern for traffic issues along my commute, I can occasionally kick my feet back and relax, and I'm able to use the time to finish my numerous reading assignments. Aside from these benefits, my favorite part of commuting this way is the opportunities for observation.

I am endlessly fascinated by what I witness as I pass through each community along my nearly 90 minute ride. I never know what I am going to see. Sometimes it's educational, or inspiring. It can also be entertaining, perplexing, irritating, or downright appalling.

Lately, I've noticed a consistent theme of concerning issues. There's nearly always a troubled child and piss-poor parent combination. There's frequently some defiant and deviant teens who lack both volume control and personal filters. Then there's the ever-present drug addicts, the tired and worn-out working class, and the clueless retail shoppers.

Most people are buried in an electronic device; dead to the outside world. They barely notice the other people crowding the aisle and sharing their leg space. Blank stares and oblivious expressions abound while children beg for attention. I see toddlers repeatedly ask unanswered questions, indiscriminate youth climb over seats like a jungle gym, and  incredibly young-looking adolescents loudly discuss their illicit drug use and premature sex lives.

Add to that the hacking and wheezing homeless and the vacant and fatigued proletariat, and the scene becomes overwhelmingly depressing. The despair is magnified as they step around litter piles, bypass the displays of poverty, and ignore the various levels of suffering surrounding them en route to their destinations.

Maybe the season and the time of day are to blame. Overcast skies and short days can impact anyone's mood.  Whatever it is it's too much. I'm ready for the ride to be entertaining again.

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Image found here

This post began as a laborious rant about how the universe was out to get me today. I intended to tell the tale of how my afternoon was filled with neurotic episodes of ignorance and uncertainty. I planned to depict the histrionic periods of despair I experienced over my inability to function without my parents. I wanted you to feel my pain as I described the moment I stood (surrounded by busy holiday shoppers) outside the mall food court, and felt so alone while I suppressed tears at the thought that one day I will actually have to deal with this concern. Then, I was going to make you laugh as I explained the circumstances that led to my melodramatic melancholy. I wanted you to be humored and sympathetic over the story of how I locked my keys in my car, left my wallet at the movie theater, broke my really nice earrings, and had to park three blocks from the grocery store on a day I chose to wear heels.

However, it wouldn't come out right. I wrote the whole thing two or three times, and it was enough to exhaust any loyal readers away. It filled too many pages, and sounded increasingly absurd and peevish.  What am I even doing here?! I thought. Then, for the third time today, I cried. 

Torn between anger and amusement at my inability to control my emotions, it all came back to my parents, as I suddenly remembered a childhood interaction with my dad.

I can't recall what had led up to the conversation. It was most likely some inane series of events not unlike those I experienced today. It's not really important. What matters is that I had become upset over something that, in the grand scheme of things, did not really matter. I had found myself sobbing on the floor at the corner of the staircase. I was hysterical, and my father had somehow been tasked with pulling me out of it. So, he pulled out one of his infamous pep-talks.

"Really Mindy? This is what you're crying about?" he said. "This is not even a big deal.  You're wasting your tears over nothing. What's going to happen when something really serious happens? Like when you break your leg, and find out you can’t cry anymore because you used it all up over this? Imagine how you'll feel then."

Not necessarily the most helpful advice to give a little girl on the brink of adolescence, but sooner or later I got the message.

So, I'm going to take a page from my past. I'm putting my big girl pants back on (which is funny because this whole thing began when I tried to get my pants hemmed). I've had myself a good cry, or three, and I'm done now. I’m going to save the rest of my tears for the day when I really need them.

Blessings from Beyond

Before I tell you this story I must provide a caveat.  You need to know that I would not classify myself as religious, or spiritual in any way.  I don't really put much stock in "signs," ghosts, angels, or a higher power.  I'm not saying that this stuff doesn't exist, but none of it really makes a whole lot of sense to me.  That being said, let me walk you through my last 24 hours or so, to bring you to an unexpected spiritual experience that has just occurred.

"Fort Awesome"

I had a final exam today. So, naturally I spent the entire day studying yesterday. Well, all except for for one brief break that involved a glass of wine and building a fort with a good friend.  -- Stop judging me.  It's a perfectly acceptable way for two grown adults to spend a Monday afternoon.--

Around 5pm, I came home to get some dinner before heading out to a  five hour study group.  When I arrived home, I found a note from my apartment manager explaining that they would be installing new cabinets and drawers the next day, and I was expected to have them all (kitchen and bathroom) emptied out by the morning.  This irritated me.  I know the policy is 24 hours notice before entry, but when it requires me to uproot my entire residence, I think it warrants at least considering an extra day notice. I mean...right?

Nevertheless, after riding my bike home (uphill, in the cold November air, carrying a 20lb backpack) at 11pm, I stayed up in order to empty out all my drawers and cabinets.

Today, I awoke to a developing sinus infection, which made navigating my morning routine amongst all of my items in boxes on the floor or strewn about on counter tops all the more bothersome.  It was a nuisance, and not an environment conducive to studying. In an attempt to avoid any unintentional cranky attitude with the nice cabinetry installers, I left for the day. I spent the day downtown studying in preparation for a test that I was sure to do poorly on.

Despite all those irritating circumstances, my day was actually quite lovely. The sun was shining (which is a rare occurrence for a Portland November). The air was crisp, and the trees were a delightful variety of fall colors.  All things I adore. I spent the morning and afternoon studying and giggling with a pair of lovely ladies.

Then came the exam, which was as highly stressful as I had expected it to be. However, on the MAX ride home, I took part in a cathartic debriefing that was beneficial to my mental well-being.

Before re-entering Portland city limits, I received an e-mail announcing that my score was available.  I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I had gotten an A!  This was entirely unexpected, as I my previous exam results in this class were...um....well...let's say: "less than great."

At this point, I had almost completely forgotten about the whole cabinet and drawer debacle. While I searched for my keys in the hallway outside my unit, I prepared myself for the headache of seeing my apartment in shambles over a cosmetic "upgrade" that was not needed.

Imagine my astonishment, when I encountered some very aesthetically pleasing new additions to my kitchen.  And...

...a few random items not belonging to me.  These were mostly throw-away items, like a receipt for Crate &  Barrel belonging to a previous tenant, a few unidentified ziploc bags, an old tag from an item of clothing which was probably also belonging to a previous resident...and this:

My initial thought at seeing this was, "how sweet, my apartment manager left me a birthday card." (FYI tomorrow is my birthday).  Then it occurred to me that this did not happen last year.  So, now I'm confused.  I then open it up to read this:

"My lovely Granddaughter - I think of you with much affection and love. Have a wonderful birthday. With my love and blessings, Grandma F."

Now, I'm utterly bewildered.  I swear to you, that is my late Grandma Francis's handwriting! I also promise you, that this card is exactly the type of card and message that I received from her every year of my life until I was 18.

The logical, grounded, agnostic in me is compelled to point out that obviously this coincidental. It was found amongst a pile of garbage, that had clearly been discovered while reinstalling the cabinets and drawers.  It means nothing.  For goodness sake, it was included with a receipt to a store I have never visited, some busted-up garbage ties, and a few wrinkly old ziploc bags!  It's nothing.

However, another part of me can't help but feel overcome with emotion.  I don't know what this means, but it seems like something. Is it a sign?  I mean, it's as if my deceased grandmother is here with me, and trying to tell me something.  I know that she wasn't, but I just can't shake feeling, like she visited my place today, and I just missed her.

Is that absurd?  Has anything like this ever happened to you?

Rebel on Wheels

OKAY! Fine! Let's talk about it.

I have a bike now.

If you actually know me, you can be classified into one of two thoughts on the subject. One of the groups is probably thinking something along the lines of: "so what?", "haven't you always had a bike?", or "why is this a big deal?"

The other group thinks this is really exciting. They think it's great that I've finally come around, and some of this group may even think I'm assimilating into bike culture. This group, however, may continue to be baffled by how someone of my pedigree has made it into adulthood without a bike (to which I respond -as if it's a defense- "I have a bulky old mountain bike that I keep at my parent's house and never use").

The back story here is that I've been around bikes and "bike people" my entire life. My childhood consisted of cramming into the backseat of a blue mini van named Pewee, or a red jeep with a porcupine rack loaded up with bikes of all types. We'd travel throughout the state listening to books on tape, and playing I-spy Alphabet, until we came to whatever location in which the lycra-clad were convening that particular weekend. At races, you might have seen me running around collecting rocks or pine cones to sell to my neighbors (no joke). Or I'd hop into the passenger seat of the follow vehicle with a My First Radio blaring the soundtrack to Beauty and the Beast, in order to help my mom by writing down the numbers of riders who fell off the back. Heck, to this day the basement of my parent's house is like an episode of Hoarders: Cycling edition.

One SMALL corner of my parent's basement.

For some reason, my unwillingness to get on a bike and ride confuses people who know my past.  I think it's obvious.  It's like the summer that I discovered bologna sandwiches. I thought they were delicious!  I ate them every day for a ridiculous length of time.  Then, one day I woke up, and just the sight of that Oscar Meyer package started the bile production going. It may not be that extreme with bikes, but the point still stands.

Also, we can't discount the rebel theory here.  I'm a good girl, and I get along with my parents really well, but everyone's got to rebel somehow.  It's a natural part of life. But, how does a good girl rebel?

When you're a Murray it's simple.  Don't get on a bike.

So, about two months ago, I was sitting in my apartment, which seems to be located right in the center of Portland bike-culture.  I was reveling in the irony of my existence at this particular location.  - In my neighborhood I'm surrounded by hipsters on color coordinated fixies doing track stops at every intersection and acting as though they don't want attention for it. Well guys, I'm not impressed.  I've seen it all before. -  I started to come around.  I thought, "maybe commuting on my bike isn't such a bad idea."

About two weeks later, after consulting with my father, I wind up with, of all things, a modified track bike, that has been christened "Mindy's Man Chaser." -- The story behind that title is a bit long, but I may share it at a later date. Now, I'm tooling around my neighborhood, and running errands on my bike.

What has happened here? I'm experiencing some kind of identity crisis. For one, I'm a Murray.  That means I should know what I'm doing right? Wrong.  It means I know what I'm SUPPOSED to be doing. I'm like the ultimate poser, and coming to grips with that has been quite an experience.

I am playing both the part of the official, and the dork with the big helmet and the older sister starter.  Check out my brother the speedster on the left though!

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Everything and Nothing all at Once

My life is a bit disorganized as of late.  It's probably a stress reaction.  I've noticed that when I get stressed out, I throw everything out the window and focus on relaxing.  As a result, I often don't notice that I'm tense. I mean, I'm spending most of my time relaxing. How could I possibly be worried about anything if I have the time to chill out like this?  I have to admit, it's a nice coping mechanism. Until...

I look around and realize that there's dirty dishes all over the place.  I haven't put away my clean laundry, and now there's nowhere for my dirty laundry to go.  There's receipts all over my car, and I haven't logged any of that in my financial tracker. Therefore, I don't really know how much money I have right now.  Then I start to panic.  Obviously, this means more "chill-out" time with my good friend The Couch. This begets the arrival of Murphy's law, and suddenly I'm locking my keys in my car with the engine on, and forgetting to take my Trimet pass to the MAX with me, and rent is due before I know it.

Unfortunately, this disorganization is not only external.  It took some self-reflection, but I have realized that my physical world is actually pretty representative of my mental world.  At the moment, there is a veritable whirlwind of thoughts spinning through my head. However, these thoughts haven't gathered themselves into anything coherent. Instead, they're leaving dirty dishes in the corners of my mind, and sprinkling receipts throughout the cabin of my brain. Of course, disorganization only leads to further disorganization, and pretty soon it's cognitive chaos.

It's a viscous cycle, and I've decided to end it today.  Right after I finish this cup of coffee I'm going to clean up my act, both literally and metaphorically.  I owe it to myself to organize my world.  I've got some pretty deep considerations bouncing around in my skull.  It seems there's the potential for a pensive revolution in here, if I could just clear away the junk.  So, that's what I'm going to do.


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Reasons Not to Help People

Location: Hawthorne District
Mood: Affronted

The Walgreen's in my hometown called me right away when my medications were ready. So naturally, the lack of a call from my new local Walgreen's led me to believe that my prescriptions were not ready. It had been a while, so I called this morning, and they informed me that it was indeed ready and had been for some time.

So, tonight I'm on my way home from my weekly night at my parent's house, and I swing by Walgreen's to pick up my prescription that should have been ready on Monday. As the attendant hands me my prescription I casually ask if my number was correct in the system. It is.

"How come I didn't receive a call?" I ask. The woman responds that it can take up to 3 days for a call to go out, and if I absolutely "have to know immediately" I am required to sign up for text-messaging alerts. So, I explain to her that I pay for my text messages. The woman shrugs in response, and indicates that she does not care about my financial woes. I don't blame her. Why should she? Then, out of pure curiosity, I ask why I used to get called immediately when I frequented the Gresham location.

Wow! You would not believe the attitude! It was like I had grossly offended her with my curiosity. She steps back and says "well, you know we put out over a hundred of these a day!" What I wanted to do was inform her that:
1.) I had not taken offense with the company policy
2.) I had not asked her what the branch productivity was and
3.) She needs a customer service refresher.
Instead, I just smiled sympathetically, thanked her for her time, and walked away. 

As I ventured out and through the rain drenched parking lot, I heard a bang and some crunching sounds.  When I looked over my shoulder to investigate, I discovered a crazy elderly woman driving her Buick station wagon directly into a shopping cart. No, she didn't side swipe it, or grace it backing out of her spot.  She quite literally drove the front end right into it, and continued to drive for about 5 seconds. When she stopped, I figured I'd be a good Samaritan and assist her.

I approached, and moved the cart for her, as she very slowly attempted to get out of the vehicle. Once out, she walked around to the back of her car and surveyed it. I'm not entirely sure what for, as the impact was clearly on the front driver side corner. She then walked around to the passenger side of the car, looked at it, and looked around while I quietly pushed the cart over to the side walk. Not sure what she was doing, I stood on the curb and watched for a moment. Coming to no solution, I attempted to make my way to my own car, all the while going unacknowledged by this crazy old bat. When she returned to the rear driver side she looked up. I smiled responsively at her and waved. I mean, what else was I going to do? 

I know what you're expecting here. Obviously she gushed over how sweet and magnanimous I was. She clearly noted how amazing it was to have a world with people like me who are willing to help a little lady, and not ask for anything in return. She then explained to me that she is a quadjillionaire, and offered to pay for my upcoming grad school tuition, and buy me a house. Also, she has a handsome single doctor grandson who she wants to set me up with. Perfect!

Surprisingly, that's not how it went. I know, I know...calm down.

In reality, the woman glared at me as if I was some nefarious teenager causing havoc in my neighborhood just for shits and giggles. It was like she thought I had pushed something into her car. She watched me with her angry expression as I walked to my own car. It was so unsettling that I immediately locked the door, and clutched my phone in case I should need to call the authorities. Eventually, she got back in her car and drove off. (This is the part where I would make the lackluster sitcom flop noise "wah wah," but you can't hear it. So, it doesn't translate).

Seriously though...what is the world coming to? Why are people so needlessly cranky?

Anticipating Summer

Location: Apartment
Mood: Restless

Usually I don't care that much about summer. Don't get me wrong. I like it, but I'm not completely enamored with it like most of my peers are.  I have a number of theories to explain it.

 I think it has a lot to do with how pale, and therefore sensitive to sunburns, I am. I spend a lot of my summertime indoors because any extended time (and by this I mean about 15 minutes) in the sun equals guaranteed discomfort the next day.

I also think a lot of it has to do with my childhood.  Historically, summer has been the most active time of year for my family. It's bike racing season. Until very recently bike racing has been synonymous with my surname in the state of Oregon. When I was a child, my parents were at ALL OF THEM.  This means, I was at all of them. I actually have some very fond memories of suffering in the back seat as I shared space with my two older siblings and the entire OBRA collection of race gear.  Eventually, we grew, and OBRA (i.e. my parents) accumulated so much gear that it was borderline abusive to shove us into such a confined space. So, OBRA/my parents bought a trailer, and we got some leg room.

Wow, did I get sidetracked reminiscing.  My point was, that as a child when my school friends and neighbors were out exploring the nearby creek, or visiting the beach with each others' families I was reading Archie Comics and Animorphs under a sun tent at Alpenrose Velodrome, or playing on massive dirt piles in a criterium parking lot. As I matured, I began to express my distaste for attending bike races, and my parents allowed me to stay home. However, I wasn't sure what to do with my time.

Another of my theories for my lack of summer enthusiasm was my physique.  I've never been in great shape, and I've always been rather insecure about my body in a bathing suit. This is because of a combination of lack of toned muscles and my day-glow white skin which is blinding when exposed to direct sunlight. Really I stay indoors for you people.

Despite all of these factors, and probably several more that I can't think of,  I awoke this morning to a stream of warmth and light from my window.  It immediately conjured images of bathing suits, rivers, beach houses, warm days of reading in the park, and cool hikes in the Gorge.  Needles to say, I wanted summer.

Also, I've decided that I'd like to have a summer crush this year. Where can I get one of those?  Do you just post an advertisement at your local coffee shop?

Salt, Fire, Underpants. Is this for real?

Location: My Apartment
Mood: Bemused

Let's talk about my day. But let's start first with a rundown of my week. My ENT thinks I have Meniere's, and he wants me to try cutting salt out of my diet.

We hate my ENT right now. Salt is delicious. Salt is everywhere, and in all things that are amazing. As a result: I'm starving. I can't eat anything I like, so I've lost nearly five pounds. However, the one good thing here, is that my ENT recommended that I do a low salt diet for a few days, and then try to eat a bunch of salty foods to see how I react. My all-knowing father, doesn't think one attempt at this is enough to prove the diagnosis. This has led me to instituting Sodium Sundays!

I woke up this morning knowing that I'm going to gorge myself on deliciousness, and it's going to be wholly unhealthy. I thought to myself, "I'll be a good little girl and go for a run." Usually on my run, I can run for just about a mile, then I have to stop and walk for a few minutes before I run some more. Given that I'm down in poundage, and up in healthy food, I assume I'll be able to run longer. WRONG. I can run barely two blocks. Do I turn around and go home? No. I decide to keep going at my approximately two block intervals of running. And It. is. AWFUL. It's cold. I'm exhausted. My legs feel like led. Just when I decide that I hate it for real, but I'm going to stick it out...it starts to rain. Icy, freezing, skin-stinging rain. So, I take an abrupt left and head for home.

When I get home I decide to prepare myself for the day, and go get nachos at a local restaurant. After showering, I blow dry my hair. For some reason it poofs out into what can only be described as a Caucasian afro. But, I don't really know anyone, and I'm starving. So I decide to wear my afro with pride. I bring my kindle along, and prepare for salty-delectability. The nachos do not disappoint, but my kindle does. The battery suddenly goes dead, and I'm left alone at my table staring at those around me. Do I go home? Eh.  I'm okay. I'll stick it out.

When I get home I put on the last month's worth of 30 Rock, and set forth to do some house cleaning. However, just as I'm starting the second episode, the fire alarm goes off. This is the second time this week, and I'm starting to get irritated, but like I've always been trained, I evacuate (not without grabbing my coat and purse first).

Outside, I complain to a neighbor who missed the alarm from last Thursday evening. I tell her about how she can expect to see the fire engine in about five minutes, and it'll come slowly down the streets with only lights on. Then the firemen will get out one at a time in their sweatshirts, and slowly walk into the building. As I'm describing how relaxed the whole thing will be, a fire engine comes roaring down the street with lights and sirens. It stops abruptly. Three firemen run out in their coats and hats, and into the building. Another firefighter quickly unravels the hose and attaches it to the building. I eat my words, as a second fire engine comes up from the other direction, and three fire fighters peel out in full fire-gear.

Now I'm nervous. So, I do what any full grown adult does in this situation. I call my mommy. I explain to her about how there are two fire engines, but as I'm saying that another one rolls up along with a battalion chief SUV. Then a fourth fire engine rolls in on the cross street, and a second SUV, but all their occupants seem rather relaxed. They're still in full garb, but their coats are opened, and their walking over to one another and chatting. Neat. A firefighter reunion on my block. Eventually we all learn that an 87 year old woman on the second floor had some stove top difficulty that resulted in a couple charred pots and pans. They let us go back in.

The rest of my day is relatively normal, despite the BBQ smoke smell in and around the building. I ended it by going to McMenamins for some Cajun tots with a friend. I devoured almost the whole order by myself. Then I got home and realized that I've been wearing my underwear on inside-out all day, and I thought "that seems about right."

La-La La La La

Location: I-84
Mood: Ridiculously Nostalgic

While driving home from my parents house this Christmas evening, I was struck with a random high-school memory. It is the type of memory that everyone has. The one that assures everyone that this particular period in their life is supposed to be absurd.

I think that the memory occurred because I was noticing all of the cars on the freeway in the rain, and I was wondering what portion of them were headed for The Grotto. *The Grotto* *The Grotto* *The Grotto*
(Why yes that was a fading echo narrating the transition into the memory)

It was mid December. It's Oregon, so that means it was raining. I was in my family's Subaru Outback with my former best friend, and my wankster boyfriend. We were on our way to one of my choir's numerous holiday performances. This particular one being at The Grotto. I don't know what we were talking about, but it was most likely something important that would cure the world of all it's problems. This potential world peace solution was never fully realized however, because Kelis - Milkshake came on the radio, and we went biserk.

Teenage pandemonium broke out in that station wagon. Two teenage girls began to sing at the top of their lungs, and dance in their seats. I don't remember how the guy reacted entirely, but I do remember him spurring a lively debate when he said, "have you seen this music video? Gurl is ugly. Her milkshake definitely would NOT bring me to the yard."

This led me to ask a number of very naive questions such as: Who is this? What's a milkshake? Where is this "yard"? Why does she want the boys to go there?

It would be years before I answered most of these inquiries, but apparently the memory of rocking out to Milkshake before a holiday choir concert in one of Portland's most sacred places will stick with me forever.

Gloria the Congested Giantess.

Yesterday I worked a bike race at Mt. Tabor. It was rainy, and cold. However, the rain stopped and it warmed up just in time for my drive home. Given the change in surrounding, I thought it might be fun to play around with my GPS. I set the GPS to take me home with the "fastest" route. It had me scheduled to arrive home at 4:26pm, 20 minutes from my departure time. I followed it a little, but then I noticed that it had planned for me to drive on just surface streets. Normally, this is the route that I too would have chosen for myself. However, as I drove past the freeway on ramp I thought, "I wonder what time I would get home by if I took the freeway."

On an impulse, I turned at the very last minute to get onto what looked like a mostly clear freeway. About 60 seconds later... I was at a standstill. Nobody was going anywhere. I imagined (as someone with my facial anatomy would) the freeways were actually the sinus system in some giant's face, and they were clogged. No movement in or out. For what felt like an eternity I sat there and watched the estimated arrival time move further and further away. 4:28pm. 4:29pm. 4:30pm.

Then we began to inch towards freedom. I could see the I-5 & I-84 junction. I knew I was almost there. After a few more minutes, I merged onto I-84, and everything opened up. The estimated arrival time began to drop. 4:29, 4:28, 4:27pm. I thought "I'm gonna do it! Despite all that drama, I might actually beat Gloria the GPS home!"

I thought wrong. Just as the thought occurred to me, I noticed brake lights ahead. I merged right hoping to get off the freeway before the congestion. But, alas, it would not be. We were stuck on the freeway. More stuck than before. Somewhere, in my fantasy world a giant was applying heat packs to his forehead, and attempting to flush out his nasal cavities. Poor guy.

The estimated arrival time crept back up. 4:30pm. 4:32pm. 4:34pm. Bye bye dream.

Gloria Peurterschmidt laughs in my face, "FREEWAY OFF RAMP ON THE RIGHT IN 2.0 MILES!!"

That bitch. It would be 10 minutes before I could even see the off ramp. Minutes went by faster than distances. Five minutes. 1.7 miles to go. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Instead I laughed. Of course this would happen to me.

Eventually we crawled past a pretty bad car accident. I saw the EMTs loading someone's body into the back of an ambulance, and I felt bad for my little game. I looked ahead, the freeway opened back up, and it was time for me to make another choice. Stay on the freeway, get off and use surface streets.

Well as that day's weather systems had indicated, the beauty of sunny skies was not going to last. Open freeways, but a drizzle had started. An ominous feeling washed over me. I'd just passed two different clogged up giant nasal passages, caused by the mythical loogies of car accidents. It's probably best if I get off the free way before the hail came back.

So I did just that.

Is that the end?

Of course not. Have we met?

I exited the freeway, and began actually paying attention to my GPS, which I think is what she wanted all along. I turned off 181st onto Burnside only to discover....

CONSTRUCTION.

Clearly the giant had decided to bite the bullet and get reconstructive surgery. A mystical month's worth of back up was in store. I sat there thinking "just my luck." I turned the radio on, and accepted my fate. The estimated arrival time climbed higher than ever before.

I get it Gloria. By the time I got home it was 5:15pm. Never again will I tempt fate, and race against your vast knowledge of highways, bi-ways and surface streets.

Okay, let's be realistic, I'm probably going to attempt a similar feat sometime in the near future. As you can probably tell, I get bored.

I'm Never Leaving The House Again

Do you ever have those days? You know what I'm talking about. Those days where you wake up, and everything just seems to be working against you. Those days where you realize at some point that you just want to scrap the whole afternoon and go hide in your room. Right around 12:30 this afternoon I realized that I wanted to just call "DO-OVER" and re-start.

How do I even begin to tell you about this day?

Well, you need some back story. It all begins last Thursday. I was at work. I missed a call from someone at a local child welfare office. They wanted to schedule an interview for me. I work Thursdays and Fridays, and have very little time to return calls. This is especially true on Thursdays. I work from 8:30am-5pm. At which point I drive like a frantic crazy woman to get to my next job which begins at 5:30pm.

I really want to work for child welfare. So this past Thursday I thought it would be a good idea to return the call as I drove from job 1 to job 2.

BAD IDEA. I was completely frazzled. I hadn't worked out what I was going to say. I left a message for this woman that made me sound like a bumbling idiot. I don't remember the exact message, but it went something like this:

"Hi...uh..." (I had hastily written the woman's name down. I couldn't read my writing, and it was a big long name. So I paused for a second as I tried to drive and decipher what on earth this name was). "...um...Ms. Bridenheagenshsmendhaer" (that was me mumbling her name) "This is Melinda Murray returning your call about the..." (missed my turn) "...interview. I'm sorry I missed your call. I was actually at work all day, and I will be at work all day tomorrow. I'm very interested in coming in about this job." (Coming in about this job??! Really?!) "I guess you could call me back." (I guess you could call me back?) "I'm free most other days of the week..." (At this point I have realized that the message has made me look like I am suffering from some form of mental retardation and it is best to just end it all). "I will...uh...try to reach you again tomorrow after 5pm. Again this is....Melinda...Murray." (OH MY GOD MINDY! FAILURE! THIS IS AWKWARD!! BAIL!! BAIL!! BAIL!!) "Sorry this message is so awkward." *Click* ---> and yes I actually said that last part.

Now, if you're thinking what I was thinking: I know!! What is wrong with me?!

At this point I am assuming that they are never going to call me ever again, and I have lost my chance. Fair assumption? I think so.

On Friday, I received a call from someone else in this office. The original woman, with the unpronounceable name doesn't work on Fridays, but they wanted to touch base, and tell me they are only doing interviews on Monday. I think this is my chance to redeem myself. I'll call her when I get off work.

She wasn't there. I left a less awkward message. However it was still strange. It was me explaining that I can come in any time on Monday, and if someone could please call me at their earliest convenience. I told this new woman (whose name I wrote down very carefully) that I would make any time work in my schedule.

All weekend goes by, and I receive no call. I have lost my chance at this job, but I'm not really surprised. This has been a seriously awkward game of phone tag. No one, but me, could pull this level of awkwardness off.

Then, Monday comes around. I get up early, and I go to the gym. Now, I NEVER take my phone to in with me, but for some reason I did this Monday. I'm still not sure if this has worked to my benefit.

It rings.

I answered, frazzled, and out of breath. It is the same office, different person (this is three people I have been awkward with now). They have one interview slot open Tuesday at 11:30. I say "yes I will be there." However, I have no pen, so I don't ask for the address or anything.

More information you need to know about me. I HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, being late. This usually means that I am EMBARRASSINGLY early to things.

Today rolls around. I get up early. I get ready. I find the address to the office. I set my resume and application to print. I perfect my outfit. Surprisingly, I look pretty good. I get ready to leave (allowing enough time to be there 20 minutes early). I go to the printer to gather my papers. The damn thing was out of paper! I have to find some. That takes about 10 minutes.

I leave. There's a smog advisory, and it's hotter than Hades out. However, everyone seems to think that driving is a good idea. So, all the morons of the world are out, and driving at a slow and leisurely pace. PLUS there's construction everywhere. (Thanks for the jobs Obama, but today it's not really working for my schedule). I get to the address I have written down, five minutes late.

OMG I'm late.
OMFG, the place doesn't exist! I'm at the wrong place!

At this point I am thinking. "Just go home Mindy. You have completely botched this whole thing from the very beginning. There's no point in attempting to save it. Just go home, curl up in a ball, and cry for a few months." BUT, This week I'm testing the boundaries of my comfort zone. So, I call my mother, and she finds their phone number. I call their office, and tell them that I'm lost.

I'm sure they are thinking "this lady is a complete fool." I would be. Why are they wasting their time with me? Why have they gone out of their way to bring me in for an interview when I have yet to demonstrate one redeeming quality? Actually no. I have clearly demonstrated my ability to socially flog myself and come back for more. How appealing.

They debate whether or not they should continue with the interview. I'm not speculating. They actually told me this is what they were doing.

By some strange grace of god they decide to let me come in a half an hour late (because that is how late I will be at this point). I thank them, but am seriously wondering if I should let me come in a half an hour late.

So, I drive in the opposite direction for 15 minutes, and pull into the parking lot of a Walgreen's. They have told me they are located at the corner of Powell and 122nd, and all I see here is a Walgreen's.

Kill me now.

Every fiber of my being is now screaming "GO HOME!" My anxiety issues are kicking in BIG time, and I hate myself for being this late.

Really it's amazing I didn't just completely loose it there in the middle of Rockwood. BUT, I held it together, and discovered this weird little hole in the wall marked "Child Welfare." I take a deep breath, and walk into this building.

There was no front desk to check in at. Really there wasn't much of anything. It was like a big empty room with a conference room attached.

I scream internally. My inside voice is shouting "TURN AND LEAVE, TURN AND LEAVE!"

A few people look up at me and stare. I'm sure they are wondering who this nicely dressed, but clearly frazzled young lady is. I wish I knew, people. I wish I knew.

After what feels like hours, but is really only seconds, a nice man comes out and says "are you Melinda?"

OH THANK GOD!!! YES I'M MELINDA!!! SAVE ME NOW!!

Normally, I advise against following strange men around after entering vaguely marked offices in the middle of trashy east P-town, but at this point I had NOTHING to loose.

So, I swallow the blue pill and follow him down the rabbit hole.

The interview lasted about 10 minutes, which isn't advisable. However, I felt like it went okay. Against all odds, I think I pulled off this interview.

When it ended I practically ran out of there in my heels. I had to make a quick stop at the grocery store, and then I was home free. Literally. However, even that didn't go as planned.

When I went to the store, I was followed around by two trashy looking teenage boys in over sized tie-died shirts. They don't know I saw them, but they were stalking me. Then, as I was leaving, my gas light came on. Which is beyond my comprehension, because I had a quarter of a tank this morning.

I make a quick stop at a nearby gas station, and I think "you deserve an Icee Mindy." So, I go in to pay only to discover that this is apparently the one gas station mini mart on Earth that does not serve Icees.

PERFECT.

Well, I've gone in, so I've got to get something. I get a pop. The lady doesn't take my credit card. Of course you don't. I make it work. I get in the car, and now I can't get out of the parking lot in the direction I want to go. I have to drive around in a ridiculous 4-block circle just to get back on track.

I think that the heat has actually seeped into my brain. The temperature is making a brain omelet inside my head.

Finally I make it home. The interview location was 15 minutes from my house, but I managed to get stuck outside, lost, confused, upset, and frazzled for three hours!

As I mentioned earlier, it is hotter than the fiery pits of hell here. On second thought, that might be where I am. I woke up in hell this morning. God that explains EVERYTHING!

Living for Hope

Image found here

Location: Home
Mood: hopeful
 
I experienced something truly great last night.

In my lifetime, Americans have seen a lot of things happen. Some of them horrible, and some of them good. But last night was the first truly awesome thing that I have ever taken part in.

I am, of course, talking about the election of Illinois Senator Barack Obama to the highest office in the land.

There was no doubt in my mind that he would win the popular vote. However, having witnessed the 2000 elections, I’d be lying if I didn’t mention that I was nervous for the potential of dangling chads, Governor relatives, and conspiracy at the polls.

In the beginning, with only two states, McCain was ahead, and I was nervous. Then Obama seized a lead, and I began to feel the excitement. Shortly after that, McCain picked up a few more states, and the nervousness snuck-up on me again.

Then, around 8pm (Pacific Time) ABC news announced the closing of the western pools, and the Nomination of Barack Obama. Part of me didn’t entirely believe it.  And then John McCain appeared on my screen. He delivered one of the greatest speeches. No doubt, it was one of the greatest speeches that I have ever heard, probably second only to Obama’s acceptance speech later that evening. As he ventured onto the stage, and began to speak I was enveloped by the enormity of his words. My father wisely pointed out “if his entire election had been anything like this speech he might not have lost so hugely.”

For the past week, I have actually been temping with Multnomah County Elections, and I was scheduled to go in to count ballots at 10pm. I was delaying my departure because I did not want to miss Obama’s acceptance speech. There was something in the air, and I just knew that it was going to be great.

Of course, the news cut to Obama walking on stage at the exact moment that I was putting my coat on. I quickly ran outside and tuned my radio to NPR, a station that I normally try to avoid (Talk Radio makes me car sick). As I drove into Portland, I was completely moved by the words of President Elect Obama. On a few occasions I welled up just at the significance of his words and his election.

When the speech ended, I continued to listen to NPR. This is entirely out of character for me (as I mentioned, NPR makes me car sick). I think that this was mostly because I just did not want the moment to end. Over the chatter of the news, I heard a bang and looked up to see fireworks light up the Portland Sky.

Suddenly, I realized that there was some honking and yelling. I quickly turned off my radio and learned that all the commotion was a celebration on the streets of Southwest Portland. Cars were honking their horns and people were cheering and hugging on the streets. At this moment, it really sunk in for me. I was living through one of the greatest moments in American history. I was experiencing something that people all over the nation were experiencing. The entire country was elated at the selection of the first African American president.
I reached the elections facility, and parked my car. As I walked the block and a half to the building, I passed people cheering and singing. I stood across the street from the building, and watched as people knocked on the windows giving thumbs up to the the staff inside. I crossed the street, as cars were honking and celebration filled the air. After I began to work, a band set up in the middle of Morrison blvd (the street Multnomah County Elections is located on) and began to play. It was as if all Portlanders lost their calendars and thought it was New Years Eve.

It was truly bizarre to be a part of the election at such an historic moment in time. It was especially bizarre spending the entire night/morning counting ballots when the country had clearly already come to a decision.
In any event, I have never been more proud of my fellow man. When I arrived home, at 9am, I fell fast asleep. My mind was at ease. Sure, I am anxious and hopeful, but after a night like last night I am confident that the American people have made the first step in a good direction. I am so filled with pride, and excited for what is to come.

Way to Go America, and congratulations President Barack Obama!