Portion Control Can Suck It

I think at this point I'm a good ten pounds heavier than I want to be. I'm still technically in the same size I've been in for years...but there are some unsightly bulges where before there were none. Well...fewer. According to the Waif (TM), the key to weight loss is portion control. And the key word in that phrase is "control"...of which I have none.

Part of the issue is that I'm a glutton, it's true. If something tasty is before me...I have a hard time not finishing it (hello creme brulee). The other part of the issue is that having been dirt poor through most of college, I have a hard time wasting food...even if I don't like it. Throwing it away just makes me sad. Not Hotel Rwanda sad...but like just-missed-the-bus-and-now-I-have-to-wait-1/2-hour-for-the-next one sad. Sad.

Now, I ride my bike to work almost every day, and it's a fantastical workout...for my lower half. But it doesn't seem to be doing enough. And I'm wondering if it has anything to do with the fact that I'm having a small but kind of largish love affair with Twixes. Yes, Kansas knows. Apparently he doesn't mind sharing me. And now we're back to that fucking word of the day, "control".

Tiny Sneezer doesn't like chocolate. I can't wrap my head around that. It's up there with Creationism for me. How can anyone not love the chocolaty, chocoriffic, smooth heaven that IS chocolate? And how can anyone believe that the world is only 6,000 years old and that dinosaurs are myths? It's like contemplating the size of the universe...my head internally explodes.

So I haven't decided yet how I'm going to lose these ten pounds. It has to be something that doesn't require too much space or effort. I haven't much of either. We bought too much 70's funk furniture for our little living room and now there's no space left for any pilates or yogaing. That and I'm lazy.

Kansas wants to take some sort of martial art together. I feel as though I need to get back into ballet, if I'm going to pay for any sort of class. I really liked it until my teacher went all russian-battleaxe on me. Then there's walking. People in Portland are big on this whole "hiking" thing. I don't know if it's for me...driving somewhere just so you can get out of the car and walk for miles. I mean...I went without a car for a long time and was forced to walk everywhere...and I can pretty much tell you, there's nothing glamorous about the endeavor. So the idea of making it a past time is less than...well...ideal. Plus there's the whole being-out-in-nature aspect. We have bears here, people.

So what does that leave? Anything? I think not. Guess I'm going to have to learn to love those ten pounds. Maybe I'll sleep with my arms wrapped around them tonight to see if we bond. Who knows...as time goes on they may just become part of the family. They'll probably want their own room at some point. Lord.

This Post Is Waaaaay Late

Yesterday (which was Monday when I first started writing this) was a big day. First, I chipped a molar with a ten year old tongue piercing and an onion ring. CRUNCH. Grossest sound ever. There goes my "you have beautiful teeth" exclamation from the dentist. Rats. I was due for an uninsured visit anyway. It's been years since these pearly-yellows had a going over. And now they'll have to have a thorough going over...all because I'm nostalgic for that year when I was an exchange student in high school when we all got something pierced and am an apparently voracious chewer. Alas.

Second...it was the third (month) anniversary in the household of Kara and Kansas. I arrived slightly buzzed from drinks with amy g. and yowling my despair at having lost my precious tooth only to be stopped short by a jar (yes, we're classy people) full of gorgeous orange roses and gerbera daisies. Then amy g. and danny left and we had a small fight...probably about nothing...just to make sure the spice was still there.

I suck at this stuff. I forget birthdays all the time. So this anniversary business is hopeless. Maybe I should take to tying a string around my finger. Does that actually work for anyone?

Isn't it lovely? Isn't he lovely?

Work is shitty. They're trying to get me to become an Account Manager. Or, as I like to call it, A Professional Ass Kisser (sorry marie). I've been in my non-client facing position for several years for a reason. I don't like the clients. I don't like having to make them happy. I enjoy keeping my cynical face on ALL DAY LONG. But, it could be more money...and something pretty for the resume, so I'm thinking about it. The fact is...I'm really freaking bored. This job doesn't challenge anything but my patience. And I need my patience. I have very little of it and what I have I need to conserve for the protection of the general public (old people). So if this other position offers me something more than boredom...shoot, I might just take it.

Going to the beach with a portion of The Crew and Kansas this weekend. There will be go-cart racing and bumper boating and driftwood burning...and a whole hell of a lot of drinking.

Thank you for the commenting...oh my little commenters. I know some of you were/are missing still...and I smite you...but now I have a general idea of how many lives I touch in a negative way. You know, besides the unlucky people who have to interact with me in person on a daily basis. Poor sots.

Ok, I need to go back to work. I don't have time for this nonsense. Kansas got his way, so we have Internet at home. I'll start maybe sorta blogging at home and see if that makes any of this shit more worthwhile reading material. That didn't even make sense. Awesome.

Happy Long Weekend Friday, people. Don't forget to remember somebody who's dead on Memorial Day. I've decided to remember Eli Whitney. I will raise my glass to him every hour upon the hour starting at 12:01 AM Monday. A fitting tribute for a man who's given us so much. So much.

Comment Or Die

(yes, I ate some of this)

THAT, my friends, is a bacon maple bar from Voodoo Doughnuts here in P-town. I think my point is made.

So here's what. I'm trying to get a feel for how many people actually read this stupid ass blog. And since I'm technologically retarded and all I have for a tracking device is that stupid free counter thing that has tragedy attached to it, I'm going to figure it out the old fashioned way...by making you all comment.

SO...EVEN IF you're a non-commenting reader, I'm going to need you to suck it up and give me a little shout out. You can say as little or as much as you want, you can even be mean; I just want you to say something. Oh, and if you want to remain a pansy (that would be "Anonymous"), that's fine too. I just need to know the numbers, people.

So comment. Comment as though your life depended on it.

I will not post again until you do.

Thus spoke Zarathustra.

Keep Portland Weird!

Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

I read in the Sunday LA Time last week that Portland, Oregon is the most eccentric city in the land. I only know you there and already I'm convinced they're right.

11:34 PM

Sam left me that comment the other day. SAM...the one who has an unhealthy obsession with goats, but is a delightful volcano builder. We have a volcano up here, you know. Anyway, at first I was all, 'whatevs'. I mean, if you've ever been to LA, you'd know that people STILL rollerblade mostly naked there. And yet Portland is the eccentric one? Harumph.

But then I thought about it some more. I thought about the Volvo with the "Buy Local" sticker on it...the NAU store with their "environmental" clothing being sold for hundreds in the haughty Pearl District, the guy crossing the street that one time wearing Danskos and a cowboy hat. And then I went to Powell's to look for a book that the website said was there but it wasn't (god I hate that fucking labyrinth) and there was a car parked outside with this sticker upon it...it looked a little like this:

photo courtesy of portlandground.com

You have to muck through the visual assault that IS this person's anti-war stance, but I'm fairly certain you'll find it there in the lower right corner. Those bumper stickers are everywhere here. They sell them at Music Millenium (local High Fidelityesque music store) and you can't really count to 10 without seeing one stuck somewhere. And I guess I can see why. This can be a wacky place. I just didn't realize it was any more or less wacky than any other place (hello, New Orleans). Though the Zoo Bombers do instill some civic pride. Those crazy fuckers are cool.

After some masterful googling, I found the article Sam was referring to. Here it is. Read it if you must. And by "must" I mean are considering a jaunt to the grand Northwest or you have nothing better to do and your life is empty. But let me just warn you here...any of you fuckers consider a move that results in jacking up the house prices (Californians...I'm fucking talking to you) that are already threatening to keep me a renter til I've lost all my own natural teeth, I will tear your balls off. Even if you don't sport the man berries, I'll get them installed and then tear them off.
(current Californians that are already here and are personal and accepted acquaintances of mine may disregard disclaimer)

I will say this about the article. This is far from my favorite city in the world, but it's got some kick ass shit about it and NONE of it was mentioned in that article. He didn't even venture to the East side (S.E. RULES). So if you DO read his ramblings and think 'huh, Portland sounds like some place I'd like to visit'...read on before calling your travel agent.

There is only one decent guide to Portland out there in literary land. It is Fugitives and Refugees by Chuck Palahniuk. Not only is it the best guide there is to Portland, with the exception of the inclusion of the 24-Hour Church of Elvis, which is no longer there...it's written by the author of Fight Club...which rocks my socks off. But don't try to fucking find it at Powell's.


Word.

**update**: It is sheep that Sam is strangely drawn to in a literary sense...sheep. It is also very obvious that I am in some serious need of coffee. Which makes it all the more tragic that I don't drink coffee.

Dreams Are So Hot Right Now

------------->





Ahhh, Zoolander.

Everyone's been talking about dreams lately...how weird they've been...what they mean, etc.

Yesterday I got this phone call from Kansas:

Kansas: I had a horrible nightmare last night
Me: Oh no...what about?
Kansas: Well, it's going to seem funny now, but it was really upsetting at the time.
Me: okaaaay....?
Kansas: It was my birthday and you were gone all day hanging out with other people. And when you got home, we fought about it and you didn't seem to care how hurt I was.
Me: Awwww, honey...
Kansas: So I got really angry and hit you across the face...with cornbread...and it somehow got stuck to your eyes...
Me: ...
Kansas: And I called you a " dirty cornbread eye havin' bitch".
Me: ... ... ...I think we just found my petname.

True story.

Three (Well...Fourish) Things Of Note

We took a break from loading the car for a moment to have a Rolling Rock on the front porch. It was 80 degrees yesterday and there were people to watch. Oregonians dressing for warm weather are often humorous to behold. Anyway, I glanced to the right of me and noticed a oldish Volvo station wagon parked nearby. And I cracked up. For, like, a full minute. There was a bumper sticker over the insignia that said "Buy Local". I know.

We didn't get home until 9ish, but not before stopping to buy a take 'n bake pizza (taco pizza, hello 8th grade). We got busy putting up curtains and the like so when it was done we realized there was suddenly nothing to eat it on. I opened up the dishwasher filled with dirty dishes and took out two plates. Hand washed them. And set the table (2 TV trays). What's the point of this vignette? Remember how excited I was about the dishwasher? Still hand washing. Blurgh.

Thirdly (yes, it is a word, suck it)...I may or may not have told you all long ago that I had broken up with the Belmont bus line number 15. Well...today I had to swallow my cud and make niceys. I live directly on the line now...and I hadn't moved my bike yet. So until I do...the bus I must take. But I don't have to like it. Maybe couple's counseling.

We had a debate the other day(ages ago), here in the office about what playing Voldemort will do to Ralph Fiennes' hotness. I maintain that any future fantasizing will be hindered by his lack of nose. For those who live in caves and don't know who he is...see below:

hot

not hot

A coworker came up with this...he thinks it will help. I give you...Mixed hotness.

You be the judge.

The Stupid Effing Bed Doesn't Fit

I know. It's a bit much for a title...but I'm pissed. We tried to move Kansas in this weekend (my turn comes next weekend) and the stupid motha-effin' bed doesn't fit through the mother-effing door/stairwell. Why I'm censoring myself, I don't know. We tried to move in the new place all weekend. I don't know what kind of inflatable furniture the tenants prior to us had, but there's no way in hell they had anything but a futon and a twin bed. No wonder it has a dishwasher and a claw foot tub. I feel as though we were sold a bill of goods. The landlord is aghast in disbelief. He's never heard of such an issue before...blah blah blah. Just when I think we'll have a goodie...we've got another baddie. Unless he redeems himself by NOT being pissed that we scratched up the floor TRYING to get the goddamned bed in.

Here's the story as told to Marie over IM(abridged):

[12:06] Marie: doth the bed fitteth?
[12:45] kara: noeth.
but we haven't decided what to do yet.
though the living room is set up.
and we have a an orange couch.
[12:47] Marie: i heard your couch didn't fit.
[12:48] kara: we had to run out and buy a sectional.
[12:48] kara: it's burnt orange.
uh huh.
[12:49] Marie: you bought a couch?
wow.
[12:49] kara: it's starting to resemble pee-wee's playhouse.
i know, i'm broker by the minute.
[12:49] Marie: have you ever lived with a boyfriend before?
i don't remember if you said.
[12:49] kara: not since college.
and it ended badly.
[12:50] kara: this has actually really been testing us...we've done some serious bickering and threatening to punch one another in the face.
[12:51] Marie: well, if threats of punches are voiced, that's still making light of the situation...so that sounds ok.
[12:51] kara: exactly. i knew you'd understand us.
[12:51] Marie: just don't tell him that you're going to punch him in his ovaries.
[13:02] kara: i'll punch him in the adam's apple.
[13:02] Marie: ouch.
[13:08] kara: well yeah...the ovaries won't hurt him a stitch, so what's the point of making good on that threat?
[13:09] Marie: the point is to imply that he is a girly man who owns ovaries.
but that's just my emasculating take on it.
[13:10] kara: he is a girlie man...he irons his jeans.
maybe next time i'll just threaten to take away his iron and make him wear his jeans with wrinkles.
[13:11] Marie: that will make him cry.
[13:12] kara: well i don't want that...then i'll feel bad.
[13:12] Marie: yeah.
[13:13] kara: so maybe i'll just stick with the ovaries.

I know, it's like you were there, wasn't it.

Rent Is A Racket

That's really all I had to say about that.

I'm sorry I haven't been blogging. Work has been sucking my will to blog. The new abode is coming with internet, however (Kansas won't live without it, bless his OCD heart), so I'll finally be able to actually spend some time on my posts. Maybe this will improve the quality. Yeah, I thought that was a funny sentence too.

There's been all sorts of things I've wanted to write about this week. Can't remember any of it now. I'm currently broke. Haven't been broke in a while, but the scooter, the apartment, the upcoming vacation plans and the occasional evening out have brought me to a level of mid-college poverty I haven't seen since, well, college. I've begun to buy ramen again. It's come to that.

In other news...The Office brought me to tears last night. Any of you watch that show? Granted, it will never replace the British version, but Steve Carrell has wormed his post-Daily Show way into my heart. Last night it was all about the sumo suits. If no one watched it, then I'm sorry...but I hate you.

Today I don't really have much to say. I'm just posting because Laura threatened me. You might wonder why I am intimidated by a 98lb, size 0 waif of a sister. Well I have four words for you...her wedding reception video. Enough said.

Happy Friday

In Order Of Importance

Important things happening currently in my life/world:

1. Paris Hilton is going to jail. With liberty and justice for all.

2. I rode my scooter in flip-flops. And still managed to look bad-ass.

3. The Great Co-habitation Debate is over. We found a place that is too good to be true. And by that I mean it has a dishwasher. It's all up to fate now.

4. I have Napoleon Dynamite and The Apprentice MAD LIBS sitting on my desk at work. Each was purchased and bestowed upon me by a different co-worker who just thought I might like them. Sometimes people are darling.

5. It's 75 degrees today and I rode my bike to work in a sundress. It's green. The same pea green as my eyes. That's p-e-a, people.

6. My lucky desk bamboo is still holding on to life. And there's totally some photosynthesis happening.

7. My Classic Rock-Only-Lovin' boyfriend has admitted to me that he is interesting in hearing more Radiohead. How convenient that I have all their albums. That's what I call progress.

8. That exhibition with the skinless human bodies in action poses is coming to Portland. I'm gonna visit it while eating a SPAM sandwich. Representing all that skin that cannibals could've had. Americans are just so wasteful.

9. Barak is kicking ass in the polls. I haven't decided if I'll vote for him just yet...but I like his smile. No essence of skeez.

10. Somewhere...deep in the bowels of California...Paris Hilton is getting ready to go to jail.

Charlieeeeeeeee!

Don't you hate it when people post youtube videos instead of actually writing? Me too. Lazy asses.



Happy Friday.

Why Mr. Rogers is Wrong

I'm sick. So everything I write is being typed with a big ol' frowny pout on my face. Just a warning.

I've always held the belief that it is better not to know your neighbors. Their proximity makes me uncomfortable. Sure you have this superficial friendly attitude with them, but they see you every day...they can see into your back yard, sometimes through your windows...sometimes even hear you through a shared wall. They know you're not always that friendly/happy/chatty. They know it's a ruse. So it makes me uncomfortable to talk to my neighbors. They're all up in my business and I don't like it.

People say "But Kara, isn't it nice when you're friends with a neighbor and they pick up your mail for you while you're on vacation?"

No. The mail piles up just fine on it's own. And they steal the paper and the good magazines. Miscreants.

People say, "But Kara...isn't it nice when they see something shady going on at your abode when you're not home and they call the police for you?"

No. If they call at all, chances are it's just me trying to break in because I forgot my key. No one notices the methhead trying to kick down the door.

People say, "But Kara, isn't it nice when they bring you a tray of cookies at Christmas time?"

No. They're always stingy with the rum balls. Always.

My parents' neighbor was arrested on suspicion of murder on Sunday. They were a couple across the street. Wendell and Mary. It was an interracial marriage and they had two adorable children. I put those two facts together as though they're being only white would make them ugly. Well, that could be true. Who's to say. Apparently she was having an affair. He went over to the guys house and beat him to death. Bad Wendell. My step-dad was one of those "neighbors" being interviewed on the news (except more eloquent than these interviewees usually are) that are like "Well, he seemed like a nice enough guy...".

But that...that is my point. Seemed. Now that he's gone, my parents are finding out all sorts of dirt from the other neighbors. And another set of neighbors lit out of their house as soon as the cops came...causing further suspicion. Funny thing is...this is a nice neighborhood! Anyway, I stand firm on my belief that getting to know your neighbors is bad. Remember when I was living below the Vampire? Introducing myself could've been the last thing I ever did. You have to keep this shit in mind. It's an urban survival tactic.

Bad Wendell