Goodbye Chicago, Goodbye [Cherry] Ride

GOODBYE CHICAGO

It's Monday night and I'm tired and heading to bed. It has been a long, emotional day of packing, moving stuff and saying goodbyes.

Tomorrow morning I'll be up at the Crack, leaving Chicago and heading east to DC. In many ways, this move has been a long time in the making, and yet even 6 months ago I wouldn't have believed it. The next 16 months of school will be an adventure. It will be intense, scary, (hopefully) amazing and a little fun. Over the last few weeks I've been alternately excited, nervous, sad, giddy, and petrified about moving back to DC and going back to school.

I'm really going to miss Chicago. The last 100 days have been so truly great; it has been the best summer of my life. When I moved back to Chicago 3.5 years ago, I don't think I would have imagined that I'd miss it as much as I already do. I'll miss the summers; the swimming at Ohio St. Beach; the different neighborhoods and festivals; the pizza; the salty and chocolatey smell of the Chicago River in Spring; the dirty hipster boys & girls; the late-night bicycle rides through River West, Logan Square and Roscoe Village.

GOODBYE [CHERRY] RIDE

As I say goodbye to this city and this chapter of my life, I'm also saying goodbye to this blog. I started the [C]R around the same time I moved back to Chicago, and I think it is fitting that I end it now too. For the most part, this blog has been a great source of enjoyment for me. 

The past 3.5 years have been kinda strange, and it has been great documenting it through this blog, and of course I've met some great people because of it. But since I haven't been blogging much in the last year, I feel like it is time to do something new.

Thanks to everyone who has stopped by and said hello.

I'm not giving up on blogging, I'm just doing it at a different location -- new life chapter, new blog. For those who are interested, send me an e-mail (cherry_ride@hotmail.com) and I'll send you the link.

Take care, Chicago. And take care, folks.

PROPER!!!  

They're Not Lying - It Really Is Better in the Bahamas

[Yep, this is really where we stayed.]

Instead of spending my last possible weekend in Chicago hanging out on the beach, grabbing some good grub, and enjoying a few libations, I travelled to the Bahamas with my family where I instead... hung out on the beach, grabbed some good grub, and enjoyed a few libations. Life this summer has been tough.

The Miss Universe Pageant was happening and hosted at our hotel. Which might sound cool, but it wasn't. For example, when we wanted to ride The Current, we had to wait for those bitches to finish up some lame contest/PR stunt on the ride site before we could get on. I was this close to calling management.*  

However, at one point in the weekend I saw Miss New Zealand walking through the hall (along with some other contestants) and yelled out, "Kiwis Rule!" That declaration seemed to startle and confuse her, not unlike that whole panda sneezing You Tube vidja.

Other highlights from the weekend included:

• Sharing the flight from Chicago to Miami with Erik Estrada. Would have loved to approach him and ask if he had a license for that taco.**
• Sitting a table over from Debbie - sorry, Deborah - Gibson at dinner.
• Seeing Dick Vitale at the resort's Ben & Jerry's (hun?). Would have loved to approach him and say, "That Chunky Monkey's awesome, baby!"***
• Skinny dipping - not once, but twice - in the ocean at midnight. 
• I also learned that I might possibly be allergic to shellfish/seafood. So I've got that going for me. 

Also, I realize that doing a swim workout while buzzed can be fun and make the time go by really fast. But that's a whole 'nuther post....

* Not really, no. I was too drunk.

** Please tell me somebody gets this reference.

*** Not really, no. I was too drunk.

Welcome Back to Portland...

... where Dinner consists of 3 PBRs and one of these:

That's right, it's the "O Captain My Captain" Captain Crunch donut from Voodoo.

And lunch today was Fire on The Mountain.  

It's good to be back!

I Owe The City of Chicago Approx. $1,680 in Parking Tickets

This might come as a shock, but I can sometimes live in a state of denial. 

Here's a current example: Every July 1, the city issues a new parking permit sticker and a resident has a 2-week window - until July 15th - to purchase the new permit and stick it to his/her car windshield before the cops start passing out tickets. 

Then there's me, who thinks that because I'm leaving Chicago in mid-August I won't bother buying the new permit. I mean, why pay the $75 for an annual sticker that I'll only need for 4 weeks? 

So like clockwork, July 15th rolls around and I go out to my car and lo & behold there's a ticket - a $120 ticket - on my windshield. I curse, put the ticket in my glove compartment and go about my day. The next day, I go out to my car and lo & behold there's a $120 ticket on my windshield. You see where this is going.

Damn, I think. Maybe my strategy for flying under the radar and quietly slipping out of the city with neither a '09-'10 sticker nor tickets should be re-thought.

"Well duh," a friend of mine told me that day. "How do you think the city makes its money? Off the fines from idiots like you who are too lazy to get their stickers on time." 

But before I had the chance to buy a new sticker - you know, because these days I am so busy - I racked up a crapload of these bitches. Last Tuesday, in fact - I got three - three! - because I'd been driving around and parking in different parts of the city. That's $360 worth of ticket fines on one day alone. 

At the City Clerk Office I told the woman I was moving in a month and because of this, was there some kind of temporary or prorated sticker I could buy instead? "Nuh-uh" she said. "We don't do that here."

Law-abiding citizens would pay their tickets. 

I may not be one of those people. 

Instead, I'm thinking of making cute little origami swans out of them, then passing them out as party favors at my going away party next month.

Is This Thing On?

With Operation G.O.N.A.D.S. in full swing, last night I attended my friend Katy's Movieoke Night at the Whistler with my friend Jason.

Katy has been running Movieoke there for several months, as a fundraiser for her Vintage Theater Collective, and it is a kick in the pants. For those of you living in Chicago, you should check it out next time (Here's the Facebook page for it.)

In the past I've done scenes from Airplane ("I like my coffee black, like my men"), Good Will Hunting ("How ya like them apples?"), and the sweet American Psycho "Huey Lewis" monologue.

To say I brought the house down with any of my renditions would be, well, a slight exaggeration.

Anyway, last night I did the answering machine scene from Swingers (see it here). Before it started, I told the crowd I was dedicating my scene to my friend Jason, "who will always be the Vince Vaughn to my Jon Favreau." 

Dead silence. 

"Really? That's all I get?"

Dead silence.

[Me tapping the microphone.] Umm, is this thing on?

Screw you, self-important Whistler hipsters.

So I Am Officially Old Today...

... big deal.

I'm going out to eat a cheeseburger.

And dance around my apartment in my panda costume, singing along to the Cure's "Why Can't I Be You?"

PROPER, bitches!

GONADS

OK, so the rumours of my return might have been slightly exaggerated.

But I'm back, and here to tell you why I have not been blogging much these last few weeks.

GONADS.

I have not been blogging because of GONADS.

GONADS is an acronym for "Go Out Nightly And Do Shit." Which I have been following quite regularly these past two weeks.

As this is my last summer in Chicago, I made a pledge to myself to take advantage of everything the city has to offer by, well, going out every night and doing stuff. Instead of having a quiet Wednesday evening at home, for example, I am pushing myself to instead be out and about. Visiting friends. Going for a beer. Or a stroll. Or a ballgame. You get the picture. The goal is for when I leave for DC at the end of August, I can say that I had the best Chicago summer of my life. Thanks to GONADS.

I'm thinking of making t-shirts. Who is with me?

Open Letter to My Statistics Professor

Dear Professor:

You and your Statistics class can go Suck It. 

Seriously. 

I'm not kidding: Suck. It. Hard.

Your final class and exam this Friday night cannot come fast enough for me. You know what the two best days of this semester have been/will be? 

1) The day I got my acceptance letter to Georgetown; and 

2) This Friday night, after I hand in your Stats Final and walk out of your fucking classroom forever and never have to think about Statistics and your shitty class ever again. Seriously. 

What's that you say? That I will have to use Statistics in my future career? Actually, no. No I won't. So you can go back to Sucking It again. You saying that I might need to calculate a binomial probability at some point in my future career is as ridiculous as those college counselors who say that "college is the real world." Total fucking joke.

You want to see a regression line? Here - here's my equation for a regression line. I'll regress my line all over your sorry ass if you'd like.  

PS - Oh, and my P value for a Z-test? Right here buddy.

Have a good summer. Smooches.

The [Cherry] Ride FAQ

Yeah, I'm back. Some of you have questions. Let me attempt to answer them....

So, why are you back?

- Hell if I know. It is going to be an interesting couple months/year ahead of me, and I want to keep a record of it, I suppose.

What did you do while you were on hiatus?

- Went to the Obama election rally in Grant Park.

- Did really well in school last semester, despite the concept maps.

- Stopped working full-time so I could go to school full-time instead*. In fact, pretty much stopped working altogether.

- Cursed the Chicago winter - daily from about Nov. 1 through last week.

- Bought the new Kelly Clarkson album. Don't judge, bitches.

- Went to a friend's wedding in Boston with some old friends, including ReckenRoll. And let me tell you that woman knows her way around a sushi menu.

- Got accepted to my #1 and #3 nursing school choices (screw you, OHSU!) and am procrastinating on making a final decision.

I used to see/hear/get texts/get comments on my blog from you, but you pretty much stopped going out/calling/texting/reading my blog over the last six months. Dude, what the hell happened to you?

- I have no good answer for this. I just sorta checked out, I guess. On the plus side though, I really got my money's worth on my Netflix subscription.

Anything new and exciting to report?

- Every Monday and Wednesday, I eat a lunch consisting of: corn nuts, two chocolate donuts, and a Coke Cherry Zero big gulp.

- On a daily basis need to fight the urge to Stab somebody. Just for the hell of it.

What's troubling you these days?

- Why it is so impossible to find a pair of flat-front, low-rise slim fit khakis? I mean, WTF people?

- Glenn Beck

What's in store for the summer?

- I'll be staying here in Chicago through mid-August and I've developed some pretty "ambitious" plans, which include:

- An Abnormal Psych class M-Th mornings.

- Buying a wetsuit for daily 2-mile swims at Ohio Street beach after class.

- A Rowing class with the Lincoln Park Rowing Club a few nights a week in June.

- Maybe a Fencing class in July.

- Pitchfork!

- Pre-reading on Pathophysiology while laying in the sand at North Ave. and Hollywood beaches.

- A book a week, every week (not counting the above mentioned Abnormal Psych and Pathophysiology).

- Summer shandys, shorts and flip-flops. Every day.

 

What do you think of this whole Swine Flu thing?

- People just need to calm down and wash their hands. That, and maybe start amassing bottled water and firearms for the coming armageddon.    

* Some may say this decision was mine to make; others may say the decision was pretty much made for me. Details, really.

No, I Will Not Follow You on Twitter (Or: Why My Blogroll Has Shrunk)

Sometimes when I read my last post before my hiatus, I get a laugh at the parts where I wrote "I'll probably be gone for a month or two..." and "... But I won't be completely gone - I'll just live vicariously through those on my blogroll."

Hah. Turns out, I lied about both. 

Up until last week, I hadn't looked at another blog since the day I stopped writing mine. So earlier today when I decided to start catching up on my favorites, I was surprised to see that some of them no longer existed, or are also on hiatus. Or worse, they're no longer "blogs" and instead are "Tumblrs" or "Twitters" or "microblogs" or some shit like that. Dude, I can barely feign interest in your regular-size blog; what makes you think I want to follow your cutesy little one? 

See, you have to understand: The last time I was blogging I was still heavily involved in the hi-tech industry. Now I'm not. The part of me that used to care about fancy high-falutin' crap like that has been replaced with - indifference. In fact, I'm actually regressing in my technology lifestyle - for example, I traded in my iPhone for a shitty $9 Go Phone (not kidding). So your request to follow you on Twitter? Not going to happen. But good luck with that. 

My blogroll has been adjusted accordingly.  You're welcome.

Don't Call It A Comeback...

So I have been planning a return. Maybe next week. 

There's a lot* to catch up on, but today is a big day. Last week I was accepted to Georgetown's accelerated Nursing BSN program, and today I find out if I get the scholarship I've applied for. With it, G-town is affordable and worth attending; without, hella expensive and I'll probably go elsewhere.

So I'm talking to my dad a few minutes ago and he asks me how my day is going so far and I tell him it is fine, but I'm nervous about this scholarship news (which should arrive in my email inbox any second now) and his response: "Well, you should be."

Thanks, Dad.

* Not really, no.

State of the Blog: Flatlining

Saturday afternoon I attended a barbeque and had a conversation with two friends, one of whom is currently a blogger, the other a former blogger. Our conversation went something like this:

Ex-blogger: "So, are either of you blogging these days?"

Blogger: "Not so much these days."

Me: "Not really, no."

Ex-blogger: "Yeah, it just got too tedious for me."

Blogger: "Plus, it's cyclical. Right now there's nothing really exciting going on in my life that people would want to read about. Who cares that I went out and had a few drinks last night?"

Me: "Exactly. Plus, who has the energy?? I mean, I could go out on Friday night and try to have some fun, or I could just stay home and eat ranch flavored Wheat Thins with EZ Cheese while watching HGTV and continue to not study."

Ex-blogger: "Exactly."

Blogger: "Totally."

Me: "Fuck yeah."

The above conversation pretty much exemplifies how I feel about blogging these days. It would be one thing if I was too busy (I'm not) or was focusing my energies elsewhere (I'm not. Sorta.), but neither of those things is true. I'm simply just not really into it right now. And it has been that way for many many many many weeks now.

So I'm taking (yet another) little hiatus. A breather. Probably for a month or two until hopefully I re-charge my blogging batteries. Maybe longer, maybe not so long. But I won't be completely gone - I'll just be living vicariously through those on my blogroll. 

Ciao for now, bitches. Proper!

 

PEST FEST [b!]: The Ride Home (Part 2)

(Ed. Note: Part One is here.)

So I make it out of Wyoming into South Dakota, and it's the middle of the afternoon and it's hot and I've been drinking this 3 liter jug of water just to keep from dying so of course I have to take another leak. Like real bad. Luckily the South Dakota Visitor's Center is just inside the border so I stop and make a dash for the bathroom because I have to go so bad that I'm practically pinching my peen like I'm a 4-year old kid.

I walk in the door and I'm immediately assaulted by the old volunteer couple working the front counter: "Welcome to South Dakota! Where you from? Where you headed to? Do you need a map?" Christ, it's like if these two gam-gams don't find out every little piece of information about me that very instant they're going to die or something. Within about 22 seconds I learn that the old guy used to teach at a prison in Oregon, and the old lady loves steak and is recommending places to eat in Rapid City. 

I couldn't get a word in edge wise, and all I want to do is book a leak! It's like these two are so starved for conversation like I'm the first person they've seen in about a decade. Swear to God, if I ever retire and say that I want to volunteer at some visitor's center, just shoot me dead right there.

So after I go to the bathroom I feel like I need to talk to them a little or else they'll commit suicide or something, so I ask the guy to recommend the best way to get to Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse. He says that I could continue on 90 and get off at some exit, but that he'd recommend the scenic route, so I oblige. 

What a load of horseshit that was. What the old guy failed to mention during his painfully detailed description of Route 385 is that it is some crappy 2-lane highway full of bullshit tourist trap towns and that I'd likely get stuck behind some cement mixing truck (which, no joke, I did) and that what could have been a 40-minute excursion to Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse turned into a 2-hour ordeal. 

And I'm sure the old coot wanted me to stop in one of these towns for some special "black hills taffy" or some crap like that to support the local businesses because he probably gets some kickback for every sucker like me who stops in. Swear to God, if I ever see that old guy again I'll show him What's. 

Fast forward about 90 minutes and I finally make it to the Crazy Horse Memorial. Not to be a dick or anything, but what a load of crap that is. They charge you $10 to get in, and all that does is get you is admittance to the Visitor's Center, which is a full mile away from the face of the mountain and has all the usual tourist bullshit - Native American crafts and photos and a concession stand and stuff. You can look out the big picture window and see the progress of Crazy Horse, but it is pretty much the same view from the highway. If you want to get a closer look of the Monument, you need to take a shuttle bus which is another 4 bucks. Total scam. So I snap a photo or two and get the hell out of there. I mean, how many Dreamcatchers can I guy look at, anyway?

So the moral of this story is if you want to go see Crazy Horse, don't bother paying the 10 bucks and going in. Just pull your car over to the roadside and snap a photo that way. And under no circumstances stop into the South Dakota Visitor's Center because the old guy will just convince you to take the long way where you'll die of boredom.

Tune in next time where I tell you about Mt. Rushmore. Another load of crap, that one is.  

PEST FEST [b!]: The Ride Home (Part 1)

This is what a large part of Montana looks like. Thrilling, isn't it?

Ed. Note: As [Cherry] is still mentally on vacation, he'll be (once again) channeling Holden Caulfield to help write the next few posts. Enjoy.

So for some reason I thought it might be a fun bonding experience for me and Edmund to drive all the way from Portland to Chicago. What a load of crap that was. Swear to God, there are phonies and idiots everywhere in this country, not just in the major metropolitan areas.

Like on my first travel day Edmund and I decide to drive until we get tired. So around 1:30 in the morning I'm driving through some God-awful town in Montana called Rocker (just try to find it on a map) and the only place to stop is a Flying J Truck Stop so I pull into the parking lot in the back where there are a bunch of other cars with people doing the same thing as me. So I pull up next to another car and the guy in the driver's seat is awake and looks at me and asks, "So you're sleeping here too, huh?" What a ridiculous question. What the hell else would I be doing here, you idiot? Swear to God, it was like the guy wanted to cuddle with me he wouldn't shut up and all.

And then the next day I'm stopped at another rest stop (still) in Montana to take a leak and this old guy comes up to me and asks me all about Edmund and gas mileage and blah blah blah. And the whole time he's talking to me he's gnawing away on this apple. Just going to town on this thing. As if he didn't finish eating the goddamn apple that very minute he was going to die of starvation or something. God, I can't stand people like that. You can't put the apple down for a second when you're having a conversation?

And then he asks where I'm heading and I say Chicago and he says to me: "Oh, my wife and I just came from there and we had a miserable experience."

Huh? A miserable experience? I can think of lots of places that are miserable -- Port Arthur, Texas? - Miserable; Zacatecas, Mexico? - also Miserable. But Chicago? Gimme a break, asshole. I mean, why would you tell someone from Chicago that you had a miserable time there? What a douchenugget.

What I wanted to say back to him was, "Yeah, I can relate. I'm having a miserable experience just standing here watching your ass-face power through that apple, you asshole!"

And you can tell the guy was just jonesing for me to ask him exactly why he and his wife had a miserable experience in Chicago but I was having none of it. At this point I wanted to just get the hell out of there and away from all those phonies.

And speaking of miserable experiences, come back later this week to hear about South Dakota and Mt. Rushmore. What a bunch of bullshit that was, I tell you.

PEST FEST [b!]: The New Car

Cheerio.

I'm Edmund, and I'm [Cherry's] new car. The [Cherry] Ride's new cherry ride, if you will.

He's asked me to guest blog for him because the bloke's too busy to do it himself, apparently. What, with all the running around eating and drinking and socialising. He gets up in the a.m., comes round to pat my bonnet and wish me a Good Morning and then he's off on his bicycle (and what is the point of that, I ask you?) and then I don't see him until the evening -- and even then he's usually right pissed. I see more of his dishy mate Shauna than I do of him, actually. It's bollocks.

He finally got around to picking me up from the dealer this past Friday, after putting a down payment on me over three weeks ago. Thought the pisser had forgotten about me, but then here he was and boom! here I am.

We've had a few good times so far, but not sure this whole thing is going to work out so well. Sure, he treats me right, like a good owner does, but he's a bit of a pansy, methinks, with all this "I love you, Edmund" chatter. Off his trolley, that one is. I mean, shut up already and take me for a drive down the Coast if you truly love me.

He spends more time with the bike than me, and he's purchased some awful skateboard and is trying to get good enough with it to take that around as well. (But considering he can barely stand on it, I think it will be years before he'll be going anywhere. Besides, he was practising the other morning and went arse over elbows on it -- he'll be dead before too long!)

And to be honest his taste in music is shite. Absolute crap. He says it is because the stations in Portland are no good, but I've had to listen to him belt out some God-awful bloody Celine Dion or something (he asked that I not repeat that, actually). He's barmy!

He also goes on and on about his last car, called Simon, and how I have big shoes to fill and blah, blah, blah. Complete rubbish. I am my own car and won't be compared to anyone. Besides, I'm strong(er), fast(er) and quite rakish. Devilishly handsome. And I've got both a sun and a moon roof - I'm quite stylish.

Alrighty then, enough for now. Apparently in two weeks I'll be driving [Cherry] back to Chicago -- you know: stretching my legs, showing him what I'm made of and all that. Which will be just fine, unless his taste in music doesn't improve.

PS - for those of you tossers thinking that Edmund is the name for some fat kid who wears glasses and eats paste, Piss Off! I'm the dogs!

The [C]R Interview: 6 Questions with Classy & Fancy

Yes, the much-missed 6 Questions Interview is back this week, with Ms. Classy & Fancy boldly stepping up to the plate.

I started reading Classy's blog about two years ago, immediately drawn to her wit and love of pandas, Anderson Cooper and Monchichis. But when she revealed that one of her all-time favorite words is ointment, well, I was hooked.

Since then, we've crossed over to the dark side and become friends in real life, starting the award-winning* Liar's Club (with Niner and Dr. Ken); we've hung out at Lollapalooza and Smith's Night at Danny's, and she's (kinda) witnessed me vomit. We're tight.

Classy is also going to learn me the Little Superstar dance moves, which she once revealed at a St. Patty's Day party and brought the room down.

PS - It is Her Birthday today too!

So let's get to it:

1. True or False: It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp. False. You’re all good as long as you keep your pimp hand strong, have the right mixture of ladies (maintain an open market) & don't have to compete on Wayne Brady's turf.
2. Song Played at My Funeral? The song I want played at my funeral is Sandstorm by Darude because it is one of the most ridiculously awful songs I’ve ever heard, but when played will be sure to make people laugh and possibly do some weird club/euro dance moves. Also, I’ve been known to do a wicked impersonation of it accompanied with some stellar club moves circa 1993. I’d like for that to be the parting memory of me.
3. Name three actors/actresses who will play you in the movie biopic of your life, ala I’m Not There: The Early Years: Ke Huy Quan (of Short Round and Richard “Data” Wang fame) and I would make him say “Indy, Cover Your Heart!” I would also have to give some halfsies/hapas some work: Meg Tilly (don’t get her confused with her high pitched, buxom sister, Jennifer, maybe this movie will be the one to get her out of retirement); Maggie Quigley (she was in Balls of Fury, I think she could use the help).
4. If you could change one thing about yourself, it would be…? My inability to finish a book in the last two years, I blame HGTV & HDTV.
5. Fill in the blank: A ________ is not a _________. A refrigerator is not a food closet.
6. Word Association: Donut? Holes, Shia Labeouf (that’s three, sorry).
   

* Award for being the most awesome blog ever.

PEST FEST: Randoms

One week into PF[b!] and things are good.

The rikety old bike that I'm borrowing for my stay is a nasty old bitch of a bitch and I'm not a fan. It is like trying to pedal a lawnmower. I'm on the handlebars even when I'm going downhill. And every evening I have a big hill to climb. It is Total Bullshit, but since I'm sauced most evenings for the ride home, I am surviving.

I purchased a skateboard yesterday. Hilarity will ensue, and stories will be posted shortly.

I am potentially merely a few short hours from being an uncle.

People are really starting to buy the Olympic Fencing Team line. So much so that I'm thinking of taking it up. Or at least reading up on it so that I know what the hell I'm talking about.

Somebody handed me a mango fruit popsicle yesterday afternoon while I was walking down the street. I love this town. (It was wrapped.)

No "Fuck Off Friday" today, but for all of you haters out there, "6 Questions" will be back in all its glory next week.

Gotta go. July is over and I am ready to Rip August a New Asshole.*

* and you can interpret that any way you want.

PEST FEST Day 5: The Hilarious Sitcom

Shauna is ready to pop. She’s due on Monday, but I’m betting that baby is coming Friday. She’s been taking it all in stride, actually, but I think I am starting to freak out a little. We spend a lot of the day apart (her doing her thing, me doing mine) and every time the phone rings I immediately think it is her, telling me to get my ass home to driver her to the hospital because the kid’s head is poking out from between her vag.

Her husband Richard, who has been on an important biz trip in SE Asia, arrives tomorrow (thank God), but I feel like if called upon I am ready to help out. I've got her list of important numbers in my phone, know the quickest route to the hospital, know which questions to ask, read that section of What To Expect When You're Expecting geared towards the husband/partner/gay friend next-on-the-list-in-case-nobody-else-is-around.

Shauna and I have been really close friends for 12 years. She’s really like a sister I never had. There isn’t a whole lot of taboo subjects between us – we’ve seen each other naked (there has been some streaking and skinny dipping in our past); went with each other to get tattoos (ed. note: writing that sounds very strange); have discussed every possible subject with each other; performed any number of super classy body tricks/functions in each other’s presence (this may be more me than her, actually).

Anyway, as close as we’ve been we’ve never lived under the same roof, let alone when she’s been pregnant. Earlier I said that our temporary living arrangement would make a good Bravo reality show, but now I’m thinking it is better served as a quirky comedy on Fox. The part of Shauna would be played by someone like Kate Winslet (Shauna's a proper British gal from the Lake District, after all).

I’d be played by Paul Rudd or Bradley Cooper, both of whom resemble me (OK, perhaps not even remotely close but shut up and just give me this one, alright?) and could accurately portray the unusual, slightly troubled yet funny and sexy nuances of my winning personality (again, just shut up already).

Imagine Kate delivering these lines (actually said to me by Shauna over the last 5 days):

• “Are you actually eating a spoonful of peanut butter?? Right from the jar?”
• “You look different in this photo… quite handsome, actually.”
• “I noticed that you ate that entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s last night.”
• “Is that smell coming from your feet??”
• “You are a negative influence on me. I’m telling everyone that Burgerville was your idea.”

And then there’d be Paul or Bradley, responding to Kate with just a shrug of the shoulders and a look of helplessness towards the camera, and then the audience would burst into laughter and applause. It will be awesome 5000. *

I can only imagine how much better the conversations are going to get once the baby arrives. Stay tuned.

* The show would probably go off the air after 3 episodes and be re-tooled with a talking dog, RuPaul as the neighbor, and me totally out of the picture. But anyway.

PEST FEST [bitches!] Day Three: Olympic Dreams Come True (Sort Of)

60 hours into PEST FEST [b!], and things are rolling. The house Shuana and I are renting is decent, with a deck out back for barbecuing (read: drinking) and nice neighbors. We’re two blocks from Columbia Park and the swimming pool, so there are vague plans for exercising.

At the very least, I’ll be taking Shauna’s dog Jake for walks there (read: I’ll be standing around chucking a tennis ball while Jake fetches it), since we’ve already become BFFs (he constantly follows me around the house and pretty much ignores Shauna now - eat it, Shauna!). Apparently we’re also close to Portland International Raceway, as evidenced by the roar of drag racing car engines (or open-wheeled race car engines, or whatever it is they do over there) on weekend afternoons, which is a good thing because it keeps me close to my whitetrash roots.

I’m mobile now, too, having borrowed a friend’s rickety old bicycle to get around town for the next few weeks. After I post this, I am ditching work for the day (things are slow) and heading into Old Town to buy a skateboard. Unless I wimp out and decide not to get one for awhile, which may happen too.

As the house is only semi-furnished, I’m sleeping on an air mattress (pregnant woman gets the only real bed in the house, whatever). Jury is still out on this one – one the one hand, it makes for a very portable, almost zen-like existence and I can pretty much sleep standing up (last night was my first night on it and I slept like a log; but that might have more to do with the fact that on Friday and Saturday nights I’ve slept a total of 6 hours). On the other hand, it is, well an air mattress.

Side note: about a month ago I got a new debit card from Bank of America, in which some of my purchases go towards financially supporting the US Olympic Team. The debit card has my photo on it and immediately next to it reads “US Olympic Team”, almost as though it is a special debit card for US Olympic athletes, and almost as though I might be one of them. When I’ve used it in Chicago nobody gave a shit, but for whatever reason here in Portland every time I use it I get asked “Are you really on the Olympic Team?” I’ve started answering, “Yes.” You know, just to keep things interesting.

So, if anyone asks, I am totally first alternate on the Olympic Fencing Team. Everyone seems to be buying it, so don’t blow my cover mmmkay?

Now Summer Really Begins: Portland Day Zero

So I’ve been a bit busy these last two weeks and not been lurking on either mine or yourz blogz. And there’s a lot I’ve missed, I gather. My Google Reader is somewhere near 400; Jules is texting my asking if I’m alive; Shain is sending me harassing e-mails (although actually that’s nothing new); Blythe is leaving concerned comments (that’s a lie, actually; Blythe gave up on me long ago); my Technorati authority number is rapidly slipping to 30 (it used to be almost have that); and perhaps the biggest news of all is that Niner thinks he’s quitting Liar’s Club (what he doesn’t understand is the Liar’s Club is like Hotel California, but that’s another matter for another time).

The last two weeks have been really busy with work and school. I won’t bore you with details but yesterday was my Chem final and the culmination of a huge work event, both of which have kept me not sleeping, not eating and generally not in a good mood. I didn’t even really enjoy Pitchfork this year (I think Niner's recap pretty much echoes my sentiments).

Sadcakes all around.

Anyway, that’s about to change. I declare that today my summer truly begins, as in a few hours I’m boarding a plane for a 25-day trip to Portland. I’m calling it “Portland Extreme Summer Trip Festival [bitches!]” (or “PEST FEST [bitches!]” for short).

What will I be doing in Portland for 25 days, you ask? The real question: What will I NOT be doing in Portland -- a little work, a lot of play, some drinking beers in the midday sun, some skateboarding, and lots of catching up with friends (maybe a repeat of this evening, right Recken and Kate??), perhaps a beer with the famous M5K, maybe some kayaking.

My friend Shauna and I have rented a house for the month, and she’s about to give birth to her baby. So it will be a single gay man, a new mother and her newborn baby, and a dog all under one roof for a month. All kinds of craziness may happen (it’ll be just like a really bad reality tv show on Bravo!)

As Kathleen would say it's CHANG TIME. It is definitely Chang Time.