So Hard To Say Goodbye

 So, I'm not doing graphics or Jason Momoa or Ryan Gosling. 

I'm too sad.

Look, I know the last 4 years have been the most divisive years ever. 

I just didn't know i would have to lose a friend.

If you read my shit posts regularly,  you know my friends are EVERYTHING to me.  

Life is so fucking short and if you find your humans, YOU EMBRACE THAT SHIT FOREVER AND YOU TELL THEM EVERY DAY.

My Matty C was one of my favorite humans in high school. 

He was so sweet and  funny and heartfelt.  

I loved him. He made my days so bright. 

FFWD to 2012 and he is all about my anti Obama posts , he laughs and talks shit with me

FFWD to today and he is the worst, most terribly misogynistic person in my inner circle. 

How do you cut someone  loose when you remember how happy you were to see them every day?

How do you cut the cord when the cord ties you to the person you tried to be every day?

I fucking loved this kid. 

But I hate the way his mind works today.

So...now I say goodbye to my favorite kid ever. 

Do I do it because he is a Republican?

Nope.

Do I do it because he is a QCumber?

Nope.

I still loved him through all of that because he was my buddy and we had been through too much to let that be barriers. 

Tonight,  with his vicious,  misogynistic  rhetoric, he crossed a line we can never get back from. 

I am so sad 

So. So. Sad.

I have loved  this kid since 1992.

It's 2021.

You do the fucking math.

I'm heartbroken 

Literally crying over him when I have WAY bigger things to cry about. 

But, I am crying for him.

My friend.

Later days, dude

 

.

To The Sales Development Representative That Played Me False

About a week ago, I posted on my Facebook about how a genius marketing dude offered me breakfast burritos to meet with him.
Like...

DUH.

Alas!

I replied enthusiastically, got a weak counteroffer as a reply, and was prepared to let the whole matter drop until......

Well, read for yourself, let's just say I was a little hangry this morning.

Dear Austin,

I am not entirely sure you are a person or if, perhaps, you are a bot shooting insincere offers of breakfast burritos out to an unsuspecting populace.  Regardless, you need to be informed that offering breakfast burritos with no intention of delivering said tortilla-wrapped deliciousness is not very comme il faut.  

I replied to your rather bizarre, but oddly tempting offer, in the affirmative, albeit somewhat reluctantly.  I don't need yet another sales pitch from a marketing company, but it can be argued that I do need breakfast burritos occasionally.  In addition, I found your assertion that millennials were an 'under-served' demographic rather intriguing, and was looking forward to hearing how your company would address that issue.

The response I received was somewhat perplexing -- you counter offered with coffee on Wednesday -- quite a downgrade if you ask me.  I didn't reply until now, because I was convinced at that point that the original email was spam.

After a hectic morning of rescuing abandoned kittens from a dumpster in unseasonably frigid weather, my Assistant asked me about the burritos; looking, I believe, for the kind of physical and emotional pick-me-up that something as glorious as a warm breakfast burrito could surely provide.  Imagine her dismay when I informed her that your burritos were not offered in good faith!  She was quite disappointed, "Austin", and I was immediately moved to write to you in response to that, as good Assistants are like gold dust and I try to make sure mine stays happy.

In closing, I feel the need to inform you. "Austin", that offering breakfast burritos to potential clients and then using coffee as the 'switch' is bad form.  Not only does it besmirch your company's reputation (A***O will always be synonymous with dodgy sustenance offers to me), but think of all of the poor millennials that will continue to be "under-served" because I don't know how to reach out to them.  Perhaps in the future you, or the person that created the email to spam out will be more careful with what you offer.

 Good day,

If that offer was genuine, the poor dude won't know what hit him, and rightfully so!  False offers of food should be right up there on the criminal justice scales with disorderly conduct or disturbing the peace.

Me in my feelings!

Thank heavens for Door Dash!

Do You Call This An Anniversary An Annual Heartache, or Just Something You Never Forget?

Three years.

36 months.

1095 days.

That’s a long time, isn’t it?  A lot can happen in 3 years. 

A newborn goes from a helpless little creature to a walking (trash)talking toddler in 3 years.

A shrub goes from a seedling to a thriving, healthy plant.

A new car is no longer new after 3 years.

So why does it feel like 3 years ago was yesterday? 

I work in the same office I worked in 3 years ago.  I don’t sit at the same desk, I am now the HBIC, but I still remember exactly how I felt, phone in hand, nagging and lecturing Jim to go back to the hospital.

He had checked himself out, AMA, and was blabbering on in his 'I-know-more-than-anyone’ way he had.  “No, you don’t understand,“ he rumbled into the phone.  He then proceeded to tell me all the reasons he had for not needing to remain in the hospital, one of which included ‘needing’ to get out on the Harley….

I was super mad and let him know he was going to get it BIG TIME when I got home.  I also called him an a*hole.  In the nicest possible way, though. 

When I got home, he conveniently wasn’t there, so I just started making dinner for me and Lexi.

And then I got the call….

The next few hours were a blur that I was unable to recall for a couple of days.

Went to the wrong hospital.  Don’t even remember the drive to the correct one, I just know it happened in about half the amount of time that drive would normally take.

Waiting, phone calls, waiting, waiting. 

Nothing.

Over.

Never again.

Getting Lexi the Hell out of there because I did not want her finding out in that place in front of all of the people that were gathered there, hoping and then broken.

More blur.

Days, weeks, blur.

Moving out of our house.

Holding a service and spending time with his amazing sister and niece.

Coping.  Coping. Not coping.  Trying to hold it together for Lexi.

Finally turning a corner after reaching out to a friend from high school in the middle of the night 9 months later and her just really breaking it all down for me.

Days, months, and – incredibly – YEARS have passed since we said goodbye to Lexers' Daddy, my BFF, platonic life partner, and constant adversary in all things health-food and money-saving.

There is one constant through all of the things that have happened since Jimbo took his last ride – Love.

Lexi and I have been surrounded by love every minute of every day, week, and year since August 2, 2016.  Not only by our family, who we could never have got through this without, but also by Jim’s friends. 

All of his friends knew of or had met Daddy’s “Roo”; he talked about her all the time, and took her to the bar for T-bone steaks in his office multiple times a week on school breaks when she wanted to stay home with Daddy.

I knew some of his friends a little, and some just from all the gossip he would tell me at home.  But it didn’t matter one bit how well I knew or didn’t know any of them.  They just showed up and loved us and took us into their lives and I am so grateful.

Clearly, thanks to Lexi, knowing Jim made my life better.  He was a great friend, and truly part of my family – he watched out for my sister and my niece like they were his own kids, and one of the last things he did was show up at my sister’s house unannounced and drop off a pack-n-play for my new niece Harlow.  No one had asked him to get it, he just showed up with a gift because that’s what he did. 

Besides his legacy – both literal and physical – in my family, Jimbo left me with amazing friends.  He left me and Lexi with a crazy diverse tribe of whack-a-doodles (kidding!) who check in on us, who invite us to do things, who hang out with us at the Farmers Market, check in daily, weekly, or monthly on Facebook and just really have become part of our lives.

Three years is a long time.

The friendships that were brand new in the days after Jimbo’s death feel as vital and vibrant as friendships I have had since childhood, for which I am super grateful.

But three years is also no time at all when I think about what it felt like to look at my niece and shake my head no to her unasked question while I was loading Lexi into her car.

It feels like it happened yesterday.

Lexi and Daddy headed out for a ride on Daddy's 'Girlfriend'.  He loved taking her out on that thing! <3

Here Comes The Sun

Daylight Savings Time has come, and I could not be more happy.

There are an infinity of news articles relating a spike in strokes, heat attacks, car-smashups, and unproductive days on the Monday following DST, but I just don't get it.

When you have insomnia, DST literally means nothing.

"Spring forward", lose an hour of sleep.

"Fall Back", gain one.

Blah, blah, blah.

Living with sporadic insomnia, none of those times mean a damn thing when it comes to sleep patterns, REM sleep, loss/gain of hours.

For about a decade, DST has meant absolutely nothing to me -- coming OR going -- which makes DST just about as life-affecting as my FWBs. 

However, going off of DST in 2018 had a massively profound effect on me.  

Why?

No fucking clue, it just did.

November 2018-December 2018 were 2 of the hardest months of my life, and I have no actual reason why.

All I know is that I was so depressed when the sun set as I was wrapping up my work day, that I didn't even want to leave my desk.

Anyone that reads this blog on the regular -- hellloooo, Russians, according to my 'stats; -- knows that I have gained a shit-ton of weight in the last 12 months.  Some of it was guilt, some of it was gluttony, but most of it was just because I was so depressed at locking my office door in the pitch black, that the concept of cooking food in my house made me want to rip my left arm off and club myself over the head with it.

If you knew how much $$$ I have forked over to DoorDash the last 4 months so that my child doesn't get scurvy from eating food solely out of boxes or cans, you would be sick.

I know I am.

Literally sick.

Every dollar I spend, I equate to how many hours at work it took to earn it.  Granted, I am paid very well (thanks, MT and ARS!!), but I legit could be driving my new Charger to Hawaii with the money I have squandered on delivery food recently. 

It's so bad that my daughter -- who avoids the 'w' word - work - like the plague, suggested I start driving for DoorDash in my 'spare' (HAH!) time to offset the money I am hemorrhaging.

Anyway, in addition to not cooking, I have holed myself up in my bedroom, drinking sparkling water (seriously, it's an addiction), and trying on clothes that will no longer fit over my ever-expanding girth, and them throwing them on the floor.  My closet looks like a graveyard for hangers, and my bedroom looks like Goodwill vomited all over the floor.  

There was some very brave (deranged) woman that posted a pic of her crazy, messy kitchen on Insta and explained that depression was unwashed dishes, food thrown out and not eaten, and un-mopped floors.  

While I would never be crazy (brave) enough to post a picture of my bedroom on any social media site, let it suffice to say that my bedroom is a direct expression of my mental turmoil.

This year, the dark affected me worse than it ever has.

This year, the dark crept into my windows and over my heart.

I, legit, don't know why.

I just know that the early dark made me want to run away and hide from everything I would have normally done -- oil change, laundry, eating right, cooking dinner, reading stories, hanging up clothes, recycling Vos bottles and Lacroix, Bubly, Perrier, and Dasani cans, watching movies, listening to music, etc.

I have spent less time with family and friends the last 4 months than I ever have in my entire life.

I packed an additional 15 pounds of pure lard onto my small, but manly, frame in the past 4 months.

I have not gone out and done anything on the weekends, except when I absolutely had to, in the past 4 months.

I have dissembled, prevaricated, cancelled, and flaked more in the last 4 months than I ever have in my whole life.

I am not entirely sure why that is.  As someone that is far more comfortable with self-deprecation than introspection, I have managed to do a fine job at shoving all of this into the Scarlett O'Hara-approved, "I-won't-think-about-this-today-I-will-think-about-this-tomorrow" box, which may not be the best way to handle things.

Until today.

The kiddos wanted to stay inside and play video games, but I insisted on a trip to the park.

They ran and played in the gloriously sunny, but chilly and windy, day.

I played too.

I jumped on a swing and went so high Lexi cautioned me against breaking it -- but that may have been because she was assessing my girth vs. the 75lb kids the swing was built for, and not because of my aerodynamic excellence.  

Just saying.

I didn't care, though, I just pumped my legs and got so high the chains went slack and snapped on the way down.  When I went up I went so high it felt like I could have done a loop-the-loop over the top bar.

Exhilarating.

Just like third grade.

I went down the twisty slide so fast, it spilled me out onto the bark chips.  

Bliss.

I raced my 12-year-old child and she beat me twice -- beat me, the 100 and 400 yard-dash blue ribbon-winner (clearly a sign I need to get on the treadmill STAT), but I just laughed and ran back to the play structure to go down the slide one more time.

When we went home, I sorted the thrift-shop-explosion on my floor into 'Keep because you are too fat for everything else", "Donate because you haven't worn that in 5 years", and "Keep because you will wear this again when you are not a fucking hippo" piles.

I recycled the sparkling water containers, and then smudged my room with cedar and lavender.

Am I turning over a new leaf?

Studies would tell you that an old dog (moi) can not learn new tricks.

But I can tell you that I saw this at 7:15 tonight.

LIGHT.

And it was enough.

Enough to get me fired up.

Enough to get me excited about tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and the day after that.

Enough to smile at the darkness, knowing it will be shorter tonight than it has been for months.

That's enough for me.

Shook

Shook.

It's a buzzword for being shaken up…very disturbed.

I have been through too much to get 'shook' easily.

However....

When someone you love has a medical crisis, it has a way of isolating your thoughts and rendering you 'shook'.

My parents had a medical crisis in the Summer of 2017, and I drove 10 hours down to CA as soon as I could, trying to manage it.

My older brother, who is friend, brother, and quasi-father-figure has a health-crisis that has me on Google constantly, trying to find ways to help.

If you read this blog on the regular, you know how Lexi and I lost Jimbo very suddenly in the Summer of 2016.  You probably have inferred that I inherited his nearest and dearest, and that helped Lexi and I navigate the treacherous waters of our loss in the days/weeks/months after it happened.

I have always known that H was Jim's soul brother.  He had a ton of friends, most more like family.  He loved H as a brother, though.

He sent my little sis to H when she was ready to buy her first car, and H took good care of her.

After his passing, H went far toward filling the gap of 'Big Daddy' to our group.

He is always there.  Responsible, full of advice, and always funny.

Now H is having his own health issues.

H dispenses wisdom, gives advice, and throws a blanket over any drunk that happens to crash on the couch after too much booze one New Year's Eve -- or maybe that's just me.

His wife, C, is our Earth Mama.  

She calls us out on our bullshit without being crass or offensive.

She gives out raw, take-no-prisoners truths when we try to hide behind our own bullshit.

I love them both so much.

Now that H is vulnerable and unwell, I have to give thanks for the fact that I even have them in my lives.

I have to give thanks that H is doing well and recovering as well as anyone can expect to be doing after his ordeal.  

I have to give thanks for my friends.

It’s got me ‘shook’ to know that someone that means so much to me is having such a hard time.

Get shook.

Wake up.

We are so fragile…humans, that is.

We take so much for granted in our daily lives – it’s crazy!

Every moment should be precious; Every. One.

One would think, after losing BD so precipitously, that I would be all about ‘seizing the day’, but sadly I get bogged down in the minutiae as often as I used to.

I suggested C and H ‘just breathe’ together post-surgery, but I haven’t taken that advice.

Life is short and precious, and days when you worry about your loved ones are long and difficult.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

And wait for the day you can sit down and eat terrible tacos with your friend so he can play pool on the good tables.

Happy Birthday!  Don't take it personally that your wife is looking like she wants to kiss me!!  ;)

Mutton Dressed As Lamb, Part 2. - I Am Too Old For This Shit

Post sock-rocket-guy, totally shook, we enter Dirty and go to the bar.

Need a calming cocktail, stat.

Watching one dude bust a sock full of rocks against some guy’s side and then get beat down makes one thirsty…but not THIRSTY, you know what I mean?

Ahem.

Like I said - $10 for well liquor.

Gross.

I was a bartender/cocktail mattress for about 11 years collectively, so I am not a cheap drinker but, I MEAN!

$10 for well, I had best be getting some entertainment.

Sadly, no.

In fact, the three of us practically-senior-citizens were getting more than our fair share of attention from the little wigger contingent in the club.

A sea of well-dressed, uncoordinated children, woodenly lurching around to Drake and Migos.

We settled for a table by the dance floor so we could watch the truly awful bump-and-grind from the cracker 22-year olds on the dance floor, while we turnt it up tableside.

Sorely tempted to dance, just because dancing is life, I hesitated, sipping my drink and checking on my kid through the medium of Messenger.

C and T did the same.

You can find me in the club, mommin up while drinkin bub...

Wait, WHAT?

The club filled fairly quickly, and then our tableside dancing became a point of contention to some people that did not appreciate old white ladies with their tatas half-exposed, shakin it like salt-shakers.

Since the DJ was unable to produce some Nicki or Sicko Mode for us, we left.  We Ubered (is that an adjective now??) the three blocks back to the car, since none of us had dressed for 30 degree weather with -2000 wind-chill.

We drove back to Vantucky and stopped by Brickhouse to pick up the most HILARIOUS boys ever.

Did you know it was possible to have no game on Bumble?

If you call a lady...well, a lady..you have NO GAME!

Also, you get in trouble for drifting in a neighborhood with an HOA.

Things old ladies don't know...

We ended up at Cascade Tavern, eating grease, playing pool, and commiserating with people around the fire pit about the inequities of Portland's nightclubs.

Note - apparently, if you wear a reindeer onesie to go bar hopping, you are a VIP.

Also, when squeezing through a crowd, if you accidentally brush up against a breasticle.... prepare to get knocked the fuck out.

Good to know...

I was ready to go home, but apparently everyone else needed to go do karaoke until the cows came home.

Being a cow myself, and quite ready to go home – I bounced.

Deuces, toddlers!!

I collected my child from the sitter, drank a bottle of sparkling Dasani (lime, as if you care), put on some fluffy PJs, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.

10 years ago, I would have been drinking, karaoking, and …well….un entertaining until dawn.

When dawn hit on Sunday, I had a pour-over Verona with cream and cinnamon in one hand, and a book in the other.

#Winning

Mutton Dressed As Lamb Part 1.

I went out on Saturday.

Like, OUT, out.

Not meeting up for after work drinks or Taco Tuesday, but full-on, dress-up, try-and-fail-to-apply-fake-lashes out.

C is turning 40 on Tuesday, and we decided to go to DXV.  Unfortunately, DXV was booked, so we settled for CCS and got to sort-of watch drag queens for a bit. (sort of, because the dance floor is the stage, so we could barely see from the back of the room)  We did, however, enjoy thong-and-roller skate guy, golden hot-pants guy, and swipe-your-card-guy (see below) who kept the waistband of his pants a good three inches below the top of his….um…intergluteal crevice (I just used that phrase 2 days ago, I hope it doesn’t become a habit!).

After CCS, we decided to go to Ds.  Line was too long and downtown PDX was like a freezer but with festive arctic wind effect, so we gravitated to the bar across the street with the tented entrance and propane heater sending off a welcoming glow. 

As we were waiting to get in, having our cover generously covered by some gentleman, we noticed this fella giving the cashier an utterly psychotic stare.  He stood a foot away, eyes locked on her, completely ignoring the 6’6’ 300+ bouncer politely asking him to move along.  Another bouncer came out, grabbed Starey by the elbow and encouraged him to leave, asking him what he wanted as he was met with resistance.

What do I want??  What do I want??”, he asked as he slid his hand inside his jacket and started pulling something out….

No lie, I dropped straight down to the ground, heart racing.

After about three seconds, I peer over and see that he has a sock filled with some very heavy objects, and as more bouncers approach him, he begins swinging it around until –THWACK – I don’t know where he hit that bouncer – arm, shoulder, side - -but it wasn’t enough.  Within seconds that dude was being picked up and slammed down on the pavement, each bouncer taking turns, until it was clear there was no fight left in him. 

I am fairly certain that I yelled, “Hey!” really loud when he first started swinging, because merely one block away were about 7 of Portland’s finest, removing barricades from the street.  No dice.  They certainly didn’t hear me yell, and they definitely did not notice the 6 on 1 taking place in the middle of the street just south of them. 

We all kind of stood there stunned, and then C walked up and said, “Okay, I think I want to go back to Vancouver.”

Instead, we decided we may as well go in and check it out, certainly we needed a drink after that display.

Said drink costs $10.  Vodka/soda/lemon in a red solo cup = $10….ummmmm.  Maybe we should have gone back to Vancouver.  

Three 40-ish women in a hip-hop club full of 20ish white kids who didn’t know how to dance?

What could be more fun?

I soooooo wanted to put things down the back of that kid's pants, but not anything I would need back!!