PDX

I just came back from Portland, the city of hipsters (I think you move to Portland and are given 3 choices in attire, Mountain Man, Hipster, or Hippie) I could see myself living in Portland, happily, but it would be a different life then the one I have always envisioned for myself. I thought I wanted businesses suits and fancy dinner parties and old homes.

Here is my imaged day in the life of Eddie if she moved to the West for good.

QUARTER LIFE CRISIS AHEAD

Does anyone else thinks of their life as dictated by their location, am I the only one that sees their life differently depending if they end up in the West, South, and or East Coast? How much of our personality is dependent on the location where we were raised and live?

A good friend from high school and I have decided on a plan titled “Fuck it let’s just move to Portland” it is self explanatory and a valid back up plan.

I wish I could quit you,

Eddie

MMM Risin'

Sorry my internet darlings for my absence, I was on spring break. By “spring break” I mean the delightful Chris came to visit me in the Pacific Northwest, because I bribed him and told he could visit 4 states, HE WANTED TO SEE ME! We spent our days driving around, Idaho, Montana, Oregon, and Washington, going to a small town gay bar (where we can never show our face again) and watching excessive amounts of Teevee on DVD.

One of the several highlights of the trip (if you ask me) was a wedding we attended. Chris’ cousin had her union, in front of god and the state, in Oregon. I was Chris' plus one, or more accurately his beard. As wonder gays who are in the closet around family it is nice to have another member of the team as an insider. What single closeted (to the family) homo would pass up a date that will enjoy a wedding, drink, dance, and make one look straight?

I was quite convincing as a hetro girlfriend and earned my place in history as one of the best beards ever!

Scene: Eddie is 2 bottles of champagne and 2 glasses of wine in, they are at the dinner of a small wedding reception. Only two children are present at this wedding, Chris and Eddie are seated at their table. The young flower girl comes up to Eddie.

Flower Girl: Did you know Chris is a Lesbian.

(Chris looks at me, gets up out of his chair and walks away, I think he said something like “this is a can of worms I am leaving” or that’s what I read in his eyes.)

Eddie: Chris is not a lesbian because he is a boy.

Flower Girl: Yes he is a lesbian! A lesbian is someone who likes girls!

Eddie: No, A lesbian is a girl who falls in love with girls. A boy who likes girls is called a heterosexual…Chris is a heterosexual.

Flower Girl: I’m confused (small child walks away)

That’s right, I told family members Chris was heterosexual. To top it off when I was tipsy I would tenderly grab Chris arm and coon “sweetie, darling, hun please get mama another glass of wine.” I also leaned in close several times to make a gay joke, to everyone else in the room it looked like I was whispering sweet nothings in his ear. If there really was an award for best beard the show I put on would AT LEAST be nominated.

I wish I could quit you,

Eddie

Evolution

I am, for the most part, a prim and proper blue blooded Yankee. However, I currently live in a town that is a bit more down country then urban. Our biggest news story this week is about a monkey named Chico.

The Feds first had interaction with Chico the monkey in 2005 when they went to check out a fake diploma ring. The little critter threw feces at the officials the entire time, their response give the monkey a stern look and say “PLEASE DON’T THROW YOUR POOP, ILLEGAL MONKEY”

Chico ponders throwing feces (THIS IS THE REAL CHICO)

As to be expected Chico did not listen, and for three years plotted his revolt. A week ago he escaped into his affluent neighborhood. Chico’s first victim was a 18 year old Japanese exchange student. The small animal continued to throw poop, bit two others, and hid in the trees keeping officials at bay for hours.

The real Chico has had a taste of youthful fear and he wants more!

Everyone in town is obsessed with this news story, Chico is truly the talk of the town.

I wish I could quit you,
Eddie

Snow Angels

I hate winter. When it started to snow on Sunday I thought “That sucks I should probably move my car before the snow plow comes through.” But it was a weekend, my daybed was so warm cozy, there was no way I was leaving my apartment. Going outside would involve putting on pants, and getting bundled up only to end up wet and cold. After about 2 seconds of debating I decided to stay in bed.

Yes, I have the bed of a 10 year old girl, and yes it might be a reason I never get any.

Well folks, as to be expected the snow did not stop and neither did my laziness. Eventually my car was stuck in the snow and I was stuck for three days working from home.

I realized “working” from home could only go on for so long before someone at work wised up. See, my definition of working from home includes watching netflix on demand, taking a bubble bath, making mashed potatoes from scratch, reading blogs, internet shopping, answering work e-mails so I look productive, and waiting for the UPS guy to deliver my new mahjong set.

Yesterday around 9 am PST I put on four pairs of knit gloves and marched the two blocks to my buried car. After a hour of shoveling (with a shovel I borrowed from a random nearby apartment building) I was sore, frustrated, tired and my car would not budge. I gave up, sat in my car, and cried like a little sissy boy being picked on in the locker room.

When Patsy made the bold step of posting a picture of herself I decided to follow suit. Even when I am digging myself out of a large snow pile I carry around a digital camera and a tripod.

My car is pimp, and yes that’s how I roll TOP DOWN CHROMES SPINNING even in a blizzard!

Now, I am not a very religious gal, as you can tell by my hemline, but I am convinced an angel helped me out yesterday. Just when I had given up hope (about two seconds after this picture) a man appeared between the snow banks. My angel looked like this:

This messenger from g-d came prepared like the boy scouts that he probably touches in their no-no spots! He brought his own shovel and chain smoked cigarettes. The angel then helped me push my car out saying “Yeah girl, get that car a rockin’ (insert wink).”

Thanks to you angel I came into work today even though my office was closed!

I wish I could quit you,

Eddie

HISTORY NERD

I had to work today (the day after Christmas) and Christmas Eve. You might be asking yourself “Why Eddie, Why do you have to work?” The answer is simple, homelessness is persistent, and people don’t magically have jobs or homes or food or showers because it is the birth of some random baby. (I just made your job seem self absorbed and pointless right?!? GOOD THAT WAS THE POINT.) The reality is I hate using my precious vacation days on days that are easy to come into work. No one is going to call or be in the offices besides me so I can leave early and play around on the Internet.

In other news; I live across the street from a busy pub. In a relatively quite city this establishment is known for being a bit rowdy. But that’s what I get for choosing to live in the 20 something’s area of town. On Christmas Eve after the bar closed one man filled with holiday joy (and I am guessing the deadly whisky beer combination) he decided to make a priceless choice. The man stood in the middle of a traffic circle and yelled “HELLO NEIGHBORHOOD…HOPE YOU ALL WANT TO HEAR CHRISTMAS CAROLS” and started to sing shout several songs. For some reason I found his slurred drunken serenade adorably sweet.

Last but not least I present to you another round of “Eye Spy with Eddie”

You know you are in a redneck truck stop when you find the following items in the women’s bathroom.

How desperate are you when you are paying twenty-five cents for cologne in a truck-stop bathroom. And how exactly does this work? You put twenty-five cents in and pull the little lever on your pulse points? I am willing to bet several people have positioned their necks towards the nozzle where the cologne sprays they get a stinging eyeful of cologne.

Next to the cologne machine was this lovely item

NOW I am all for safe sex. And if you are getting highway lovin’ it is less embarrassing to buy condoms in the bathroom then from the toothless the 75+ truck stop employee. What cracks me up is the name. I bet Theodore Roosevelt thought when he picked out is team of Ivy League studs, farm hands and talented horse men to fight Spain he thought “I WILL CALL THEM THE ROUGH RIDERS AND ONE DAY A PROPHYLACTICS WILL BE NAMED AFTER THIS TALENTED TEAM OF MEN!” I wonder if anyone else thinks of the historical connection before thinking “hahah bathroom condoms in a redneck truck stop.”

The real Rough Riders. Who probably spread VD. I bet the sex workers they got with in Cuba, Florida, and New York wished they used their namesake condoms from the future.

I wish I could quit you,
Eddie

La-la-la-la I don’t hear you

Dear drunk guy on the street who called me a hooker at 4pm on a Tuesday,

You have problems that were clear. Anyone working on his second 40 oz in the middle of the day, standing outside in the winter with a friend under a bridge commenting on every passerby has a few issues. If you ask me you should get your eyes checked.

I know sex workers in this city do not look like the “typical” ladies of the night. I just don’t understand how my pony tail, a winter hat, arm warmers, black pea coat, winter boots, and black dress pants looked like I feel into the sex worker category. You even went one step further and asked me how much I would cost…instead of wittily replying I ignored you. For me not to respond took personal restraint, I was proud of myself.

The issue is deeper than you drunk sir, it is a growing problem in this overly friendly and small “city”. See no one taught you people that normal individuals do not talk to strangers. Starting a conversation with someone on the street has no point and can only lead to danger. Yet you appear to think starting a conversation with a young woman walking alone at night is a wise choice. You people have also decided someone wearing headphones is a minor to conversation deterrence, and that they must secretly want to chat. Day after day someone tries to strike up a conversation with me while I am wearing my ipod. STOP!

In conclusion I am not a sex worker, and if you don’t know me, don’t talk to me. If you try to start a conversation with me I will ignore you. Yes, I am being rude but it is my way of forcing you people to grow up.

From your neighbor who was raised not only on the East Coast but also in the era of fear and “stranger danger,”
Eddie

Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick

In addition to tsunami warnings the cute coastal town warned me not to touch seals on the shore. There was a harsh monetary punishment for coming within 50 feet of the sea mammal. As a rebellious spirit I decided I had to break the law. I vowed to come within 49 feet or less of a live seal and poke it. My weapon of choice was my finger, with a short stick as a backup.

Sadly, I never achieved my goal of poking a seal. During a lovely walk on the beach a rock started to bark. After my girly shrikes ended I was delighted to find the noise coming from a cute little seal pup. The small creature looked up at me with big brown eyes (actually eye, the right one was crusty and closed) and instantly like the Grinch my heart grew. I also realized this thing was infected, and from the look of the funk eye it was not good.

I am a very tactile person when it comes to animals. Going to zoos and seeing animals just out of reach is torture. These beautiful majestic creatures behind plastic and bars call my name. They appear to say, “pssst Eddie, forget the sign, please pet us!” It is not just living creatures; I also have to fight the urge to touch museum artifacts and works of art. Like shooting up with dirty needles my personal demons are risky.

Years ago, at the National Zoo I was joking around with friends about panda coats. (If you ask me babies would also make a great leather coat. Over-fed babies plump and supple for the skinning. Babies from all different ethnicity's would create a darling patchwork effect… I am Cruella DeVille.) As soon as the sentence was out of my mouth a panda lady appeared. I do not use the name “panda lady” lightly; this woman was COVERED in panda gear. She wore panda shoelaces, socks, pants, t-shirt, vest, necklace and earrings. To top it all off panda lady donned a pair of panda ears in her damaged perm fried hair.

In a deep robust hausfrau voice panda lady proceeded to shout information at me. She informed the growing group panda hair was “poor coat material” along with other useless facts. All of a sudden from the back of her panda pants pocket the zoo worker (or what I hope was a zoo worker) pulled out a bag of panda hair (or what I hope was a bag of panda hair). The woman kept moving to stop me from running away. She firmly instructed me to reach into her zip block bag and touch the furry mass. The hair felt identical to a goat (truth-be-told it could have been a bag of goat hair). Yet, the experience quenched my thirst, I found out what a panda feels like without jumping into the bamboo ridden habitat.

There is a lesson in all of this (I am also the internet Aesop):

1) Panda people are weird

2) Sometimes making rude jokes and mistreating endangered wildlife can be a risky, yet awesome life choice.

I wish I could quit you,

Eddie

Poor Planning

My “running around the pacific northwest” muscle is sore. After consecutive professional development conferences/trainings in different states/areas I am beat. In my travels I came across a few disturbing pieces I feel compelled to share with the general public.

First alarming image is a sign I found in a cute coastal town.

1) What idiot runs towards the water during a tsunami?

2) Even though the stick person is running towards higher ground it is clear zie has no chance of surviving the approaching wall of water. This sign does not inspire hope for safe evacuation.

3) This sign made me feel bad for the quaint little town. After seen the warning I knew that they were geographically fucked.
a. (Maybe that is why people like beaches…risks are fun! After all areas that are safe from natural, human, or zombie disasters tend to be lame.)

4) I would bet a large monetary sum that this town considers the sign their emergency management plan. I can just hear the mayor;

“A tsunami sign is how much?!? I know they are rare but do they have to be that pricey? We will take one, yeah just one; a natural disaster will only hit the area closest to the ocean (even though we are surrounded by water). One strategically placed sign should be enough warning. I would also like to order 50 ‘Keep your dog on a leash’ signs and 50 ‘Don’t feed the wild life’ signs.”

I wish I could quit you (remember move to higher elevation),
Eddie

Back to you Jan...

I have a confession: I LOVE watching local news. This obsession started when I realized a big time news TV personality lived on my ticker-treat route. As a young child I knew the rule, hit up the biggest house on the block first. I thought, “this guy is famous, and rich so his candy is bound to be good!” Well folks, you guessed it. Not only was his candy sub-par, he was an asshole.

Since that brush with local news stardom I became addicted. The city I currently live in has laugh out loud funny news for many reasons.

1) The newscasters look like they stepped out of the hit movie Anchorman. The male newscasters have a creepy faces. Their beady eyes appear to flash the words DO NOT LEAVE THIS MAN ALONE WITH YOUNG CHILDREN. The women have big giant hair and equally large teeth. The on-air females giggle/flit with everyone who comes on camera CONSTANTLY. These women even flirt with people off camera, and they wonder why they are stuck in a small news market.

2) One local news station in my area :cough NBC cough: sweetens the deal by allowing high school students to cover sporting events. These kids must be prompted to speak like the kids do now, you know with the slang. There is nothing everyone loves more than full on Internet dialogue. One young man shouted (while jumping up and down) :

“HI Y’ALL! 2 (mime the number 2) 2 NIGHT Will totes b the best game everaaahhH! My BFF is on the field and he is going to TEAR IT UP it is not even lols. I gtg but I’ll brb with the highlights (pretends to highlight invisible paper in hand). (mine the number 8) L8TARRRRRR”

I am not exaggerating his “youthful slang” if anything I downplayed the ridiculousness of his segment.

3) In addition to youth broadcasts the same station uses a 3D map of the area to “SHOW YOU WHERE THE NEWS HAPPENS!” Yet, the news never happens in this area. The map always ends up in another state, or a city far away. The only awesome news that happened in our area was when a guy ran over a police cruiser with his monster truck.

4) The local news also works hard to warn us all of hidden danger. I was lectured on the dangers of the Craig’s List black-market puppy ring. One night (during some quality NBC Thursday programming) at commercial breaks I was informed, “middle school youth received dangerous and detailed sexual education material…full story at 11.”

I admit I fell for the ploy. I was hoping the sex ed material was about poop fetishes or something equally odd. Yet when the story broke I had a hearty chuckle. The sex education scandal did not to place in the Pacific Northwest. I was disappointed the story did not even take place in nearby Montana or California. No, the sex ed scandal occurred in my home area of Western New York. The station draw in was a news story from over 2,400 miles away. I would not even call the sex education material dangerous, it just included up close pictures of the herp and other VD. Let me tell you there is no quicker way to stop pre-teen humping than pictures of the herp.

I think to combat their problem of lack of local news the media markets should go in together and pay off monster truck guy. Get him to once a week crush a new random car…they could even plant it. And it could be a big thing “where will monster truck guy strike?!” Give the appears that MTG is holding the area hostage. Interview people who are taking to drastic measures camouflage their cars. That is significantly better than weekly coverage on the farmers market.

And my parents thought both my majors developed no marketable skills.

I wish I could quit you,

Eddie