This past week, I started working part time at the Steakhouse that I served and bartended at a couple years ago. Wednesday was not unlike my first day back to school. Paper, check. Pens, check. Wine key, check. Ok, not exactly like going back to school....
After holding a position that required working on my days off, taking buyer's calls at night, putting up signs in rural Lehigh while hoping to avoid snakes and lunatics, following archaic company policies and working with three other women preoccupied with unimportant material matters, it is refreshing to be in a low-stress work environment again. It's nice to know that the WORST thing that could happen during a shift is someone complaining about their steak. Plus, people that come to dine at the restaurant are either vacationing or live there. Overall, a very pleasant clientele.
Last night, I was serving a sweet elderly couple and their daughter. Following their entrees, I presented the evenings dessert selection to the table. In addition to verbally describing each decadence, the chef prepares a tray with a real representation of each dessert. The desserts on the tray are replaced as needed, but often the same one is on the tray for a few days. When the elderly man selected a tiramisu, he reached for the one on the tray. I gently told the man that it was just a display and that I would bring out a fresh one (no one wants to eat a 48 hour old tiramisu that has been breathed on by every guest to lay eyes on it). I had to hold in a giggle when he consented and then reached for the key lime pie on the tray instead. That situation has happened before, but this was the first time someone tried twice to indulge in a likely stale dessert right off the tray.
While I am only picking up a few nights a week at the restaurant, its a nice feeling having some structure to my week again. As glamorous as it sounds to simply wake each day without an agenda, it becomes cumbersome. I feel good about doing something productive and waiting tables is instant gratification for the work that you do. The last few months have been a period of healing, regaining emotional strength, reflection, and exploring new opportunities. I am grateful that I had the resources to take the time off and to do some traveling, sleeping, reading, writing, cleaning, painting, talking, sharing, hiking, and spending time with my friends and family. Once I began spending time with the people that I care about, it became clear to me that a large part of my life had been neglected. It feels good to reunite with positive people.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I am never bored with life...
Tonight I went and saw the new Harry Potter movie by myself. For the most part, I am known as the girl who talks to anyone and everyone, and I do enjoy spending time in others company. After spending a significant time on my own over the last few months, I have become content with going out alone. Some of my friends are puzzled as to why anyone would want to see a movie alone, but I don't mind. Plus I think that I am one of maybe eight 25 yr old Potter Fans, so....
The movie theatre is a socially acceptable place to stuff your face with popcorn and candy in the dark, ignore cell phone calls for at least 120 minutes, and take an entertaining break from reality--all for $9.50. I love it. Its a snap to blend into the periodic throngs of people that enter and exit the theatre, so its rare that you have to talk to anyone. I like being able to go out in public and not feel prompted to be social. It was pleasant to go unnoticed after bumping into some characters at Target beforehand.
A couple hours earlier, I stopped by Target to purchase five items. Acknowledging my weakness for bargain priced accessories at Target, I wrote a strict list to abide to, and entered on the Hardware side of the store--temptation-free aisles for me.
Intent on sticking to the list, I grabbed what I needed in the Housewares section and started heading to Produce. Unfortunately, the cookie aisle was on the way and I became distracted by the huge selection of sweets begging to be stuffed into my basket. Several minutes passed as I questioned my dedication to getting back in shape (the last time I had entered my health club was to pick up a class schedule) when a man came over to me.
"If you look long enough, you'll find what you're looking for," said the slightly robust man next to me. Profound words coming from a man with only white Zinfandel in his basket. I am not sure if he thought that I was deliberating between Milano or Pepperidge Farm cookies or if he was trying a lame pickup line on me.
"Um, sure. I guess that's true. I'm just trying to stick to The List," I replied, holding up my crumpled fuchsia sticky note. "Thanks, I think I've snapped out of it--gotta get lemons."
With my basket starting to feel heavy in the crook of my arm, I was anxious to get out of there. Before he could open his mouth, I peeled around the corner of the aisle. Whew.
I made it five minutes in Produce before I heard Tubby Guy's voice behind me. "Hope you're sticking to the list. Say, how come your friend isn't with you to keep you from deviating from the list?" he asked.
No way is this guy actually still talking to me, I thought. I hate when men ask where your "friend" is. I think it is a creepy way of trying to find out if there is a man in your life. I mumbled something about my (imaginary) boyfriend meeting me next door and hauled ass out of there. I attributed the encounter to a phenomena I have been experiencing.
My mom and sister are consistently baffled at how I seemingly attract men in the most mundane circumstances. Generally it is unknown to me that I am being flirted with while at the grocery store, pumping gas, or being served cappuccino. I tend to have a flirtatious manner with men and women, which I suppose could be misinterpreted. Its just the way I am.
For the last several months, I have been so preoccupied with trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, that men and relationships are the last thing on my mind. Hence all the interest from men in all directions. And they aren't always cute, so its not all that great of a deal. It figures too, a few months ago when I was in the best shape I'd been in years and was making great money and was totally into meeting a great guy to date, I got little interest.
Currently, I have no job, consistently have scratches on my legs from doing stupid shit like climbing fences, have gained weight, and really have no real plans for the next year. And the dudes are pouring out of the wood works. How's that for timing?
Makes no sense at all. Or maybe everything is the way it should be right now. Only time will tell.
I made it to the register to pay, hoping someone would get behind me in line to act as a buffer in case Tubby Guy found me again. I didn't have to wait in line to have my stuff rung up, but the cashier was almost as exasperating as Tubby Guy.
I politely asked to have all of my things put in one bag. This something I commonly request partly because I don't like to have to make more than one trip from the car when I get home, but mainly because I don't want to use unnecessary bags--its a waste.
"Oh, no, honey, that's not how we do it. I can't put the lemons in the same bag as the rest of your purchases," she explained.
"Well, how come?" I inquired. "I don't want to use more bags than I need."
"It's not safe to have fruit or vegetables in the same bag as chemicals," she says authoritatively.
I leaned over the counter to peer into my bag. "Um, did I buy something with chemicals today?" I asked, racking my brain for any potentially harmful products that may have been on my shopping list.
"Well, lets see here, there's some eye drops...yes, eye drops," she confirmed.
"Yeah, but I put that in my eyes. Certainly saline solution in the same bag as my lemons isn't going to cause me bodily harm. Since I put that...in my eyes...right?" I pushed.
She handed me my receipt and said, "Nope, two bags. Don't worry. There's a method to our madness, honey. You have a nice night."
Ok....weird. But I suppose its ok that she was concerned about keeping me safe from harmful...eye drops.
Maybe now it doesn't seem such an oddity that I might want to attend a show alone. Sitting in a dark theatre during a movie tends to be a safe haven free of sometimes unwelcome conversations with people I don't know. Which can be a refreshing change in the life of a social butterfly.
The movie theatre is a socially acceptable place to stuff your face with popcorn and candy in the dark, ignore cell phone calls for at least 120 minutes, and take an entertaining break from reality--all for $9.50. I love it. Its a snap to blend into the periodic throngs of people that enter and exit the theatre, so its rare that you have to talk to anyone. I like being able to go out in public and not feel prompted to be social. It was pleasant to go unnoticed after bumping into some characters at Target beforehand.
A couple hours earlier, I stopped by Target to purchase five items. Acknowledging my weakness for bargain priced accessories at Target, I wrote a strict list to abide to, and entered on the Hardware side of the store--temptation-free aisles for me.
Intent on sticking to the list, I grabbed what I needed in the Housewares section and started heading to Produce. Unfortunately, the cookie aisle was on the way and I became distracted by the huge selection of sweets begging to be stuffed into my basket. Several minutes passed as I questioned my dedication to getting back in shape (the last time I had entered my health club was to pick up a class schedule) when a man came over to me.
"If you look long enough, you'll find what you're looking for," said the slightly robust man next to me. Profound words coming from a man with only white Zinfandel in his basket. I am not sure if he thought that I was deliberating between Milano or Pepperidge Farm cookies or if he was trying a lame pickup line on me.
"Um, sure. I guess that's true. I'm just trying to stick to The List," I replied, holding up my crumpled fuchsia sticky note. "Thanks, I think I've snapped out of it--gotta get lemons."
With my basket starting to feel heavy in the crook of my arm, I was anxious to get out of there. Before he could open his mouth, I peeled around the corner of the aisle. Whew.
I made it five minutes in Produce before I heard Tubby Guy's voice behind me. "Hope you're sticking to the list. Say, how come your friend isn't with you to keep you from deviating from the list?" he asked.
No way is this guy actually still talking to me, I thought. I hate when men ask where your "friend" is. I think it is a creepy way of trying to find out if there is a man in your life. I mumbled something about my (imaginary) boyfriend meeting me next door and hauled ass out of there. I attributed the encounter to a phenomena I have been experiencing.
My mom and sister are consistently baffled at how I seemingly attract men in the most mundane circumstances. Generally it is unknown to me that I am being flirted with while at the grocery store, pumping gas, or being served cappuccino. I tend to have a flirtatious manner with men and women, which I suppose could be misinterpreted. Its just the way I am.
For the last several months, I have been so preoccupied with trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, that men and relationships are the last thing on my mind. Hence all the interest from men in all directions. And they aren't always cute, so its not all that great of a deal. It figures too, a few months ago when I was in the best shape I'd been in years and was making great money and was totally into meeting a great guy to date, I got little interest.
Currently, I have no job, consistently have scratches on my legs from doing stupid shit like climbing fences, have gained weight, and really have no real plans for the next year. And the dudes are pouring out of the wood works. How's that for timing?
Makes no sense at all. Or maybe everything is the way it should be right now. Only time will tell.
I made it to the register to pay, hoping someone would get behind me in line to act as a buffer in case Tubby Guy found me again. I didn't have to wait in line to have my stuff rung up, but the cashier was almost as exasperating as Tubby Guy.
I politely asked to have all of my things put in one bag. This something I commonly request partly because I don't like to have to make more than one trip from the car when I get home, but mainly because I don't want to use unnecessary bags--its a waste.
"Oh, no, honey, that's not how we do it. I can't put the lemons in the same bag as the rest of your purchases," she explained.
"Well, how come?" I inquired. "I don't want to use more bags than I need."
"It's not safe to have fruit or vegetables in the same bag as chemicals," she says authoritatively.
I leaned over the counter to peer into my bag. "Um, did I buy something with chemicals today?" I asked, racking my brain for any potentially harmful products that may have been on my shopping list.
"Well, lets see here, there's some eye drops...yes, eye drops," she confirmed.
"Yeah, but I put that in my eyes. Certainly saline solution in the same bag as my lemons isn't going to cause me bodily harm. Since I put that...in my eyes...right?" I pushed.
She handed me my receipt and said, "Nope, two bags. Don't worry. There's a method to our madness, honey. You have a nice night."
Ok....weird. But I suppose its ok that she was concerned about keeping me safe from harmful...eye drops.
Maybe now it doesn't seem such an oddity that I might want to attend a show alone. Sitting in a dark theatre during a movie tends to be a safe haven free of sometimes unwelcome conversations with people I don't know. Which can be a refreshing change in the life of a social butterfly.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Random Portland Notes
A cracked-out homeless woman blows a wad of snot the size of a quarter out of her nose just a few feet away from me.
Bartender at a wine bistro winks every time he says something--to anyone--and he doesn't seem to have any medical conditions to merit this.
At a bar a very friendly man from Kansas asks me, "So, do you come here often?" as his wife and two adult kids stand close by.
A woman scorned tries to pick me up after one-too-many mojitos.
The stone on my nose piercing is almost completely pulled through the small opening in my skin and I barely manage to not pass out in my hotel room performing novice surgery.
I realize that one of the friends I've made in Portland, and spent some time with, probably has a real alcohol problem.
I have a cat at home in Fort Myers, Fl. And a mortgage.
While in a public elevator an eccentric woman reveals a premonition that a terrible thing is to occur in the same elevator...details are unclear....
Dropping a cigarette between the center counsel and drivers seat of my rental car while on the freeway, and then having the brilliant idea to pour a liter of water over the general vicinity and my cell phone.
Freaking myself out on solo hikes by the noises made when squirrels jump from branch to branch.
Women in a pipe shop showing me a raunchy magazine featuring lesbians enjoying marijuana...in a new way....
When I assumed that my pals Jacob and Justin were sharing a hotel room just because they worked together.
An interested guy asks how tall I am, clearly trying to determine whether or not we are height compatible for romantic purposes.
Enjoying a microbrew and a huge slice of red velvet cake in bed. Twice.
Shaving my legs in a sink, more than once, because the shower is too small.
Seeing Chris Isaac wearing a mirrored suit in concert on the lawn at Edgefield.
Climbing a fence, cigarette in mouth, after too many beers, while wearing a long dress.
Driving around aimlessly in the mountains, not caring whether I find my planned destination or not.
Bartender at a wine bistro winks every time he says something--to anyone--and he doesn't seem to have any medical conditions to merit this.
At a bar a very friendly man from Kansas asks me, "So, do you come here often?" as his wife and two adult kids stand close by.
A woman scorned tries to pick me up after one-too-many mojitos.
The stone on my nose piercing is almost completely pulled through the small opening in my skin and I barely manage to not pass out in my hotel room performing novice surgery.
I realize that one of the friends I've made in Portland, and spent some time with, probably has a real alcohol problem.
I have a cat at home in Fort Myers, Fl. And a mortgage.
While in a public elevator an eccentric woman reveals a premonition that a terrible thing is to occur in the same elevator...details are unclear....
Dropping a cigarette between the center counsel and drivers seat of my rental car while on the freeway, and then having the brilliant idea to pour a liter of water over the general vicinity and my cell phone.
Freaking myself out on solo hikes by the noises made when squirrels jump from branch to branch.
Women in a pipe shop showing me a raunchy magazine featuring lesbians enjoying marijuana...in a new way....
When I assumed that my pals Jacob and Justin were sharing a hotel room just because they worked together.
An interested guy asks how tall I am, clearly trying to determine whether or not we are height compatible for romantic purposes.
Enjoying a microbrew and a huge slice of red velvet cake in bed. Twice.
Shaving my legs in a sink, more than once, because the shower is too small.
Seeing Chris Isaac wearing a mirrored suit in concert on the lawn at Edgefield.
Climbing a fence, cigarette in mouth, after too many beers, while wearing a long dress.
Driving around aimlessly in the mountains, not caring whether I find my planned destination or not.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Today is my last day of wandering about in Oregon...I am a bit sad to be leaving, but I admit that it will be nice to retrieve articles of clothing from my closet and not the trunk of my car. And to sleep in my nice fluffy princess bed at home.
I got up in hopes of driving out to the Willamette Valley to do some serious wine tasting. After having a cup of coffee at my favorite coffee shop on MLK, I changed plans and chose to head to Powells Bookstore instead. I feel comfortable in the cafe and the last time I wrote there was really productive. I picked a sunny spot facing the street and wrote until my parking meter time was up two hours later. While I was writing, it occurred to me that I had finally moved past a tendency I have as a social person. The realization came when I received a voicemail message this morning from Josh, a transplant musician from New Jersey.
Josh and I met last night when I got back to the White Eagle to listen to a band and have a couple beers on my last night in town. He joined me at the bar, both of us amused by the band, whose music had a blues feel to it, but cut up with the wicka, wicka of vinyl. It wasn't working for me. Or Josh. But it was funny.
It's unclear whether knowing that you're not likely to again encounter the bar-mate you've just met makes you cavalier or if its the beer. Maybe both. In any case, Josh and I had an engaging conversation on a number of subjects just as I have with a lot of the people I've met out here. He opened up about being the black sheep of his family as the youngest, free-spirited son of three. His older brothers are straight-edge accountants who live the white-picket-fence-life. With a strict religious background, his parents disapprove of his lifestyle choices. We talked about music, people, hiking and traveling. Its amazing the kind of things that perfect strangers have revealed to me. Somehow, over this trip I learned to spend more time listening to people than speaking. (Miraculous, I know). It's given me a better insight into what makes people tick and refined ways to find common ground with others.
I spent my last night very content, just chilling out listening to music, with a random person sharing experiences. Josh invites me to join him and some friends the next day to go swimming in the Sandy River, a popular place to cool off in the summer. Because I am tired and buzzed and halfway convinced that it would be a great last day, I give Josh my cell number so that he can ring me the next day to make plans.
As promised, my cell phone buzzes and voicemail confirms an invite from Josh to hang out at the Sandy. I am consistently, pleasantly surprised how many people are sincere in their attempts to include me in their outings. As much as the Sandy sounded awesome, as temps were rising to an afternoon high of 98, I had sensed some flirtatiousness from Josh the night before. I really didn't want to have to fend off any dudes while donning a bikini at the Sandy on my last day in Oregon. In the past, I might have conceded and hung out, but then regretted that I spent precious personal time with someone I really didn't want to share it with. Only recently have I finally resigned to being comfortable with being a little selfish. You only get so much time to be alone and reflect. Now, I feel okay declining some social events to stay mentally and emotionally healthy. So I no longer feel obligated to share every spare bit of my free time with others.
When I got the message from Josh, I thought for a bit, and texted him back a polite thank you for the good conversation the night before, but that I was going to write instead. It felt pretty good.
I got up in hopes of driving out to the Willamette Valley to do some serious wine tasting. After having a cup of coffee at my favorite coffee shop on MLK, I changed plans and chose to head to Powells Bookstore instead. I feel comfortable in the cafe and the last time I wrote there was really productive. I picked a sunny spot facing the street and wrote until my parking meter time was up two hours later. While I was writing, it occurred to me that I had finally moved past a tendency I have as a social person. The realization came when I received a voicemail message this morning from Josh, a transplant musician from New Jersey.
Josh and I met last night when I got back to the White Eagle to listen to a band and have a couple beers on my last night in town. He joined me at the bar, both of us amused by the band, whose music had a blues feel to it, but cut up with the wicka, wicka of vinyl. It wasn't working for me. Or Josh. But it was funny.
It's unclear whether knowing that you're not likely to again encounter the bar-mate you've just met makes you cavalier or if its the beer. Maybe both. In any case, Josh and I had an engaging conversation on a number of subjects just as I have with a lot of the people I've met out here. He opened up about being the black sheep of his family as the youngest, free-spirited son of three. His older brothers are straight-edge accountants who live the white-picket-fence-life. With a strict religious background, his parents disapprove of his lifestyle choices. We talked about music, people, hiking and traveling. Its amazing the kind of things that perfect strangers have revealed to me. Somehow, over this trip I learned to spend more time listening to people than speaking. (Miraculous, I know). It's given me a better insight into what makes people tick and refined ways to find common ground with others.
I spent my last night very content, just chilling out listening to music, with a random person sharing experiences. Josh invites me to join him and some friends the next day to go swimming in the Sandy River, a popular place to cool off in the summer. Because I am tired and buzzed and halfway convinced that it would be a great last day, I give Josh my cell number so that he can ring me the next day to make plans.
As promised, my cell phone buzzes and voicemail confirms an invite from Josh to hang out at the Sandy. I am consistently, pleasantly surprised how many people are sincere in their attempts to include me in their outings. As much as the Sandy sounded awesome, as temps were rising to an afternoon high of 98, I had sensed some flirtatiousness from Josh the night before. I really didn't want to have to fend off any dudes while donning a bikini at the Sandy on my last day in Oregon. In the past, I might have conceded and hung out, but then regretted that I spent precious personal time with someone I really didn't want to share it with. Only recently have I finally resigned to being comfortable with being a little selfish. You only get so much time to be alone and reflect. Now, I feel okay declining some social events to stay mentally and emotionally healthy. So I no longer feel obligated to share every spare bit of my free time with others.
When I got the message from Josh, I thought for a bit, and texted him back a polite thank you for the good conversation the night before, but that I was going to write instead. It felt pretty good.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Sunday night I was delighted to be returning to Troutdale to stay another night at Edgefield. The next day I had breakfast and spent a couple hours writing outside on the lawn. Sunday was the perfect day to be outdoors with temperatures in the high 70's.
Earlier in the week, I had run into a gal that works on the Edgefield grounds. I asked her where she had her hair done and she recommended a salon called Leepin Lizards in NW Portland. My hair had slooooowly been growing out for a year but I was kind of sick of it. So I made an appointment with the salon owner to have my hair cut.
I found the salon in my usual fashion of driving around til I caught a familiar cross street. Arriving a few minutes early, a petite woman with a longish pixie cut named Marilyn was waiting for me. Marilyn had a soft, almost girlish voice and immediately introduced me to the guard dog of the establishment, her 10 year old Pomeranian ferociously named Teddy.
As Marilyn cut my hair, we talked about astrological signs and their traits, our pets, hair, working with the general public, owning a business, growing up in a conservative community and Portland. I spent a lot of time with Portlanders asking questions about the area and people. I observed that a lot of Portlanders are protective of their city from outsiders, but particularly Californians. (The phrase, "Keep Portland Weird," is commonly seen). Marilyn confirms this, telling me that most locals are priced out of the housing market due to the number of Californians moving up. Generally they are welcoming to newcomers from anywhere else. It kinda reminds me of the mentality of some native Floridians that complain of the influx of people moving into their state.
Not only did Marilyn give me a great cut for only $40, but I left with a better feel for Portland and the people that live in the city. The Portland women that I have encountered are a little standoffish--almost as if they don't like you until you've proven yourself. (Of course as a female the guys are always laid back and super nice to me). The girls not so much. I was having a hard time figuring them out for a bit. Marilyn was really cool though, and the first chick that I had really spoken to at length.
I had encountered the Portland-girl cold shoulder from Carey who worked at the Black Rabbit Bar where I ate frequently. Though she knew I had made friends with her co-worker and pal, Stephen, she wouldn't make an effort to be friendly. Yesterday, I finally broke her and got her to warm up to me. It was a small victory for me since I have a hard time accepting when people don't like me.
Once I left Marilyn's salon, I headed up the street to check out a vintage shop she told me about. I realized I needed to eat and ended up next door at Virgo and Pisces, which I chose since I am a Pisces (yep, I really make decisions throughout my day based on insignificant associations). Virgo and Pisces is a small plates bistro and bar, named after its owners' astrological signs. The decor had an underwater theme and the owner insisted on me using one specific restroom in the restaurant that contained a fountain. The restroom had an Atlantis-like theme and really did have a mermaid fountain. I made sure to tell the owner that it was cool, even though it was kinda weird, because I could tell he was really pleased with it.
Greg, the 30-something bartender/slash aspiring expressionist painter who served me, became my new buddy for the next hour or so. Greg and I talked about his upbringing in a very conservative Christian family and his beliefs that border Buddhism. This creates tension in his family as it does for a lot of people when religion is concerned. We discussed the accurateness of the Bible, apartment rent control (Portland has none), creating artwork using recycled materials, vintage shopping, and moving around. Greg had moved from Hood River, OR to San Fran to Hawaii and back to Portland recently. He brought up something that I had been thinking about recently: moving to a new place doesn't make old problems or troubles disappear--they follow you. This is very true. Greg and I agreed that a lot of people never make this realization. Some people may not want to recognize issues in their lives and therefore bounce from place to place trying to shake financial problems, unhealthy relationships, or negative people, but no matter where you go, you will always encounter those situations. Its up to each of us to decide how to take control of our own life and move forward.
A few minutes of silence crept up, each of us digesting the heavy conversation. I took the opportunity to order a pesto chicken stuffed crepe. Based on a prior experience, I knew that the pesto might cause an allergic reaction for me, but I ate it anyways. Sure enough, within 20 minutes my headache was worse and now accompanied by nausea and an increasingly itchy throat. You'd think that I would learn. I stopped and got Benadryl and pain killer at a market and was feeling better within an hour. Wouldn't have been a very fun last night to be stuck in bed sick...
For my last night I thought I would cruise back to the NE part of town and stay at the haunted White Eagle. When I got back to the Eagle, I checked in and sat on the patio with a Ruby to write. Since it was my last night I thought I would check out a small restaurant that served only local produce and meat on the menu. Around 9:30pm I left my hotel for Navarre located about 10 minutes away. They were open til 10:30pm, but it was a slow Monday night and I got the "we're totally not getting out of here til late" look from the young female server. The menu offered fresh, simple dishes in small portions to allow for sampling. I ordered a glass of Vouvray and some Italian cheeses to start and moved on to a bit of Foie Gras and a halibut filet wrapped in parchment paper. The glass of Cameron pinot noir was a little too light and sweet to be paired with food but may be a great wine to drink without. Only a few words had been exchanged between me and the server with a scowl, so I was surprised when she sat down next to me and began to talk. I kinda felt bad for thinking she was mean before; she told me she had stomach pains and wasn't feeling well. Susan told me she was from St Louis, MO originally, and currently in school obtaining a degree in Architecture. She asked how I liked Portland, to which I replied enthusiastically about my experience in the area. We talked about the weather in the area, which can be dismally gray and rainy a good portion of the year. I think that she emphasized the nastiness of the weather more than necessary as if to infer that Portland isn't that great of a place to live, sooooo maybe you should reconsider moving here. Again the protectiveness of a Portlander of the city. Ok, so I probably exaggerate that a little bit.....Actually Susan and I ended chatting about a lot of stuff and she generously hooked me up with a couple dessert wines before I took off. So far, I have won over at least two Portland girls. Yessss!
Earlier in the week, I had run into a gal that works on the Edgefield grounds. I asked her where she had her hair done and she recommended a salon called Leepin Lizards in NW Portland. My hair had slooooowly been growing out for a year but I was kind of sick of it. So I made an appointment with the salon owner to have my hair cut.
I found the salon in my usual fashion of driving around til I caught a familiar cross street. Arriving a few minutes early, a petite woman with a longish pixie cut named Marilyn was waiting for me. Marilyn had a soft, almost girlish voice and immediately introduced me to the guard dog of the establishment, her 10 year old Pomeranian ferociously named Teddy.
As Marilyn cut my hair, we talked about astrological signs and their traits, our pets, hair, working with the general public, owning a business, growing up in a conservative community and Portland. I spent a lot of time with Portlanders asking questions about the area and people. I observed that a lot of Portlanders are protective of their city from outsiders, but particularly Californians. (The phrase, "Keep Portland Weird," is commonly seen). Marilyn confirms this, telling me that most locals are priced out of the housing market due to the number of Californians moving up. Generally they are welcoming to newcomers from anywhere else. It kinda reminds me of the mentality of some native Floridians that complain of the influx of people moving into their state.
Not only did Marilyn give me a great cut for only $40, but I left with a better feel for Portland and the people that live in the city. The Portland women that I have encountered are a little standoffish--almost as if they don't like you until you've proven yourself. (Of course as a female the guys are always laid back and super nice to me). The girls not so much. I was having a hard time figuring them out for a bit. Marilyn was really cool though, and the first chick that I had really spoken to at length.
I had encountered the Portland-girl cold shoulder from Carey who worked at the Black Rabbit Bar where I ate frequently. Though she knew I had made friends with her co-worker and pal, Stephen, she wouldn't make an effort to be friendly. Yesterday, I finally broke her and got her to warm up to me. It was a small victory for me since I have a hard time accepting when people don't like me.
Once I left Marilyn's salon, I headed up the street to check out a vintage shop she told me about. I realized I needed to eat and ended up next door at Virgo and Pisces, which I chose since I am a Pisces (yep, I really make decisions throughout my day based on insignificant associations). Virgo and Pisces is a small plates bistro and bar, named after its owners' astrological signs. The decor had an underwater theme and the owner insisted on me using one specific restroom in the restaurant that contained a fountain. The restroom had an Atlantis-like theme and really did have a mermaid fountain. I made sure to tell the owner that it was cool, even though it was kinda weird, because I could tell he was really pleased with it.
Greg, the 30-something bartender/slash aspiring expressionist painter who served me, became my new buddy for the next hour or so. Greg and I talked about his upbringing in a very conservative Christian family and his beliefs that border Buddhism. This creates tension in his family as it does for a lot of people when religion is concerned. We discussed the accurateness of the Bible, apartment rent control (Portland has none), creating artwork using recycled materials, vintage shopping, and moving around. Greg had moved from Hood River, OR to San Fran to Hawaii and back to Portland recently. He brought up something that I had been thinking about recently: moving to a new place doesn't make old problems or troubles disappear--they follow you. This is very true. Greg and I agreed that a lot of people never make this realization. Some people may not want to recognize issues in their lives and therefore bounce from place to place trying to shake financial problems, unhealthy relationships, or negative people, but no matter where you go, you will always encounter those situations. Its up to each of us to decide how to take control of our own life and move forward.
A few minutes of silence crept up, each of us digesting the heavy conversation. I took the opportunity to order a pesto chicken stuffed crepe. Based on a prior experience, I knew that the pesto might cause an allergic reaction for me, but I ate it anyways. Sure enough, within 20 minutes my headache was worse and now accompanied by nausea and an increasingly itchy throat. You'd think that I would learn. I stopped and got Benadryl and pain killer at a market and was feeling better within an hour. Wouldn't have been a very fun last night to be stuck in bed sick...
For my last night I thought I would cruise back to the NE part of town and stay at the haunted White Eagle. When I got back to the Eagle, I checked in and sat on the patio with a Ruby to write. Since it was my last night I thought I would check out a small restaurant that served only local produce and meat on the menu. Around 9:30pm I left my hotel for Navarre located about 10 minutes away. They were open til 10:30pm, but it was a slow Monday night and I got the "we're totally not getting out of here til late" look from the young female server. The menu offered fresh, simple dishes in small portions to allow for sampling. I ordered a glass of Vouvray and some Italian cheeses to start and moved on to a bit of Foie Gras and a halibut filet wrapped in parchment paper. The glass of Cameron pinot noir was a little too light and sweet to be paired with food but may be a great wine to drink without. Only a few words had been exchanged between me and the server with a scowl, so I was surprised when she sat down next to me and began to talk. I kinda felt bad for thinking she was mean before; she told me she had stomach pains and wasn't feeling well. Susan told me she was from St Louis, MO originally, and currently in school obtaining a degree in Architecture. She asked how I liked Portland, to which I replied enthusiastically about my experience in the area. We talked about the weather in the area, which can be dismally gray and rainy a good portion of the year. I think that she emphasized the nastiness of the weather more than necessary as if to infer that Portland isn't that great of a place to live, sooooo maybe you should reconsider moving here. Again the protectiveness of a Portlander of the city. Ok, so I probably exaggerate that a little bit.....Actually Susan and I ended chatting about a lot of stuff and she generously hooked me up with a couple dessert wines before I took off. So far, I have won over at least two Portland girls. Yessss!
Monday, July 9, 2007
Saturday, 07/07/07 and Sunday, July 8, 2007
Pics are from on the Tillamook Trail.
This could have been my lucky day if I was more superstitious: 07/07/07 and I had room number 7 at the place I was staying. The day wasn't special either way, but I did have a great meal at this little wine bistro/small plates restaurant that I stumbled upon Saturday evening.
Saturday started off as a lazy day at the Black Rabbit Bar with the bartender Stephen who always serves breakfast in the morning when I am there. The McMenamins places have this homemade iced coffee that they make, which is phenomenal. They steep the grounds in room temp water for a day or so, which makes for a concentrated coffee without the bitterness from being heated and then cooled. Project numero uno when I get back home: my own version. that should be interesting.
Rick was the bartender at the Winery, so I made it out there to say hey, which turned out to be another informal wine tasting for a couple hours. I am pretty good for business since I chat to everyone that comes in and people end up hanging out for a while and drink more wine. I almost suggested being included in the tip pool for my contributions, but I get the frequent tasters discount, so no complaints.
Around three, I thought I would drive 20 minutes out to the Gorge for a hike or two, but after the wine I was kinda sluggish. I called a couple of my fave places in Portland to stay for the night, but everything was booked. When I got to the highway that goes East or West, I suddenly decided that checking out the coast of Oregon sounded good, so I went West. On my way out, I made a call to arrange to stay at the Hostel in Seaside. Cool thing about not planning every single day is that you can make last second changes to your itinerary. This was a perfect example.
I got out to Seaside in the evening, settled in and drove around in search of the evenings entertainment. After a long hot shower, I drove to the three blocks that make up the downtown to this seasonal oceanside town. Since I hadn't indulged in any real fine dining, I was excited to come across the Yummy Wine Bar and Bistro. I sat at the bar and met the owner of the restaurant who was actually tending bar. Corey had previously owned a gourmet pizzeria locally and it seemed that he had taken his experience and rolled it over into this venture, which I thought was great.
The ambiance offered a small restaurant made up of 56 seats with muted lighting, local artwork, and cool, funky light fixtures. The place is hip without being stuffy and had a cozy feel.
When I sat down at the bar, I noticed a Magic Eight Ball sitting in front of me and decided to humor myself. I thought of a real-life question to which I desired a "yes" answer. The ball sends me "very doubtful." Boo. Well, lets try another question--maybe it needs a warmup question or two. Next question I receive a "don't count on it." What?! Ok, third time is a charm...."unlikely." Un-freaking-believable. I inform the owner of the restaurant that his Magic Eight Ball has a negative attitude and is scaring away customers. By this time, a couple from Seattle sat down next to me at the bar. She witnessed my frustration regarding the game and I turned it over to her. Of course every question she asked the ball, it gave her the positive answer she wanted. I swore off the silly thing for the night citing that it was stupid anyways. Yeah, about 30 minutes a two glasses of wine later, I was back for more. Yep--another bad one. And I flew the white flag in defeat.
The menu was relatively short with lists of tapas, salads, and small plates with a nice selection of desserts. The wine list was really impressive. The selections were well thought out and had diversity without too much obscurity. Most of the wines were from small production wineries and boutiques. It was solid. The food was amazing. I started off with a glass of viognier and a salad made with locally grown assorted greens, roasted filbert nuts, strawberries, manchego cheese and a light pineapple infused vinaigrette. Next I enjoyed a crab cake with Japanese mayo baked in served over mache lettuce. I had a great pinot noir with it called Maysara-local as well. Gonna look that up, it was tasty. For dessert, which was possible since the portions weren't out of control, was a super moist butternut squash cake with a caramelized toffee drizzle and topped with fried sage. Of course, I went all out and had a nice gewurztraminer late harvest as well. Definitely didn't need both, but i am on vacation. Maybe I should write food reviews....i would be huge :) I know I am a geek when it comes to eating out, but it is something I enjoy and I like to make an evening out of on occasion.
Since I hadn't planned anything for the next day, I asked the owner about hiking trails. He suggested the Tillamook Head trail that runs along the coast from Seaside to Cannon Beach, which is just 8 miles south. This had been mentioned to me by Mike, who checked me in at the hostel. Both men explained that a shuttle ran north-south between the two towns, that way I wouldn't have to re-hike the same trail back. Sounds great. Corey suggests breakfast at Corbeny's to precede my hike and then lunch at a place called the Driftwood Inn on Cannon Beach to refuel after my hike. The Driftwood Inn was known for its great bloody mary's which would be refreshing after a long hike.
Upon finishing dinner, I made it back to the hostel to relax and prepare for the next day.
The next day, I followed through with my plan to hike to Cannon Beach. I parked at the public beach access and walked the half mile to the trail head after packing my bag with snacks and water. The hike itself winds along the coast of Oregon in and out of forested trails. Occasionally a ten minute pass through heavy foliage and mossy trees would open into an area that provided spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean and its rocky coastline. The hike was supposed to take 3-4 hours, but with my stops to stare out at the ocean and occasional breaks to snack, it took me about 5. Along the way, the trail intersects portions of Ecola State Park which featured beach access and picnic areas.
Once I got to where the trail stopped, I walked down to Cannon Beach to search for info on the shuttle and grab a bite to eat. Luckily as I walked into town, I ran into a kid on a bike with an official looking Cannon Beach Information Aide windbreaker. As I approached, he was handling a very serious infraction of the law; an empty parked car with the driver side door wide open. I patiently waited for him to finish on his Fisher-Price 2-way radio before asking about the shuttle. He explains that the shuttle arrived every hour at the Visitors Center. After he gave me poor directions to the Driftwood, I thanked him and left him to his big responsibility of ensuring an abandoned-car-free Cannon Beach.
After sampling a not-so-great-as-promised bloody mary and an amazing fresh Dungeness crab sandwich (maybe the best crab I've ever had), I headed back down to the Visitors station to make the shuttle. The bus line schedule pegged it for 5:35 pm so I checked out the park while I waited out the half hour. Right on schedule, the shuttle pulls up to the curb and I step in and ask the driver if I was on the bus to get to Seaside. Well, it turns out that there is no shuttle to Seaside from Cannon Beach on Sundays and hasn't been for years. I insist that the bus schedule hot line offered a shuttle. Nope. Well, where does it go? Mr. Driver tells me that it does a 4 block radius route. Irritated at this point, I sarcastically ask, "So...you're telling me that you run this shuttle all day long to accommodate people who can't walk a couple blocks???" Exactly. His brilliant idea is for me to walk to 8 miles on the highway back to Seaside--not over my dead body. Not in a town that has a bus that travels only 4 blocks in any direction. Probably crazy people. Having already hiked uphill for 8 miles, my feet needed a break. Concerned that I would have to spend another night in a small town on the cold coast again, I dial 411 and obtain a number to the one cab company in the area. In luck, do not have to hitch a ride--at least today.
So, my cabbie is an attractive 40-something yr old woman who tells me that she drives cab to help put her son through college to obtain a degree in Creative Writing. Pretty cool mom. She also tells me that she only does days and prefers to have women clients. I can understand that. I guess since I am a female and look safe (or at least too tired to be a risk) she asks me all about myself and what I am doing out west. I tell her about my hike in the forest and giggle when she calls the Ecola State Park, Ecoli (something I had done earlier). It was all in all a nice conversation with another pleasant Oregonian.
I guess if I had asked the Magic Eight Ball the night before, if I would be nearly be stranded in a small coastal town in Oregon, I would have gotten the affirmative answer I had been looking for.
What I actually did on Friday...
The other day when I blogged about Friday, I thought too much. As much as I would like to live in my own world (preferably in the NW), it turns out that I am a bit more grounded than I knew. Part of my realization was triggered by both of my parents reminding me of my commitments in Florida (ie the grown up responsibilities). So, I am ready to go home, although I bet that I will cry when I leave. Seriously. When on vacation with no agenda, no rules, no job and some cash, it is easy to forget about real life. I give in. I will be somewhat intelligent about making a move (when and if I do) because as much of a dreamer as I am, I still have one foot on the ground.
On Friday, immersed in philosophical thoughts about life and people, I made the drive out to Mount Hood National Forest. It took me forever to get out there, driving along winding, wooded roads and soaking up the beauty of all the greenery around. My goal was to get to the head of a trail that provides a short mile and a half hike to Bagby Springs. It sounded fun to do something different, plus I heard the springs are clothing optional so it had entertainment value as well.
After stopping at the Ranger Station for a day pass on the outskirts of the Park, it was another 45 minute drive to the trailhead. For me, this meant at least an hour and a half for getting lost (inevitable even with a map) and a leisurely drive to allow for taking in the views. The roads weren't always properly marked or marked at all, and after turning around a couple times, I seemed to be on the right track. Instead, I end up on a tiny, single-lane dirt road on a seriously steep incline with sheer drops. I couldn't tell if the road was a service road, or a hiking trail and I was at the last place I could possibly turn around. As comfortable as I have become driving on roads I wouldn't have attempted in the past, I panicked. At home I drive a tiny car that can maneuver in tight spots, but the bus-like rental gas guzzler I was in made me uncomfortable in those situations. Suddenly I felt like I had to get out of there immediately. If I stayed up there any longer in my claustrophobic state, I was going to have a serious panic attack. My breathing got shallow, I got dizzy and felt like I was going to pass out. I really had to calm myself down before I could drive. My cell phone didn't function up on the mountain so I had no choice but to make myself breathe normally again. It was that or be stuck there. In retrospect, I may have overreacted, but I have learned from a recent life-threatening situation that it is always better to trust your instincts than to risk an unnecessary predicament.
I wasn't even going to blog the incident or tell anyone that I didn't make it to Bagby because I was a bit embarrassed/disappointed that I chickened out. But you know, I don't care. I made it through a drawn-out period of serious pain that led to emergency surgery. I am facing a big possible career change. I left my comfort zone and traveled across the country for two weeks completely solo. Turns out I have a lot of courage and apparently a high tolerance to pain :) So what if I failed to make it to the Springs. I will someday. (Plus there is a warm mineral spring in Florida that is located on really flat land that I can drive to in my little car comfortably...)
On Friday, immersed in philosophical thoughts about life and people, I made the drive out to Mount Hood National Forest. It took me forever to get out there, driving along winding, wooded roads and soaking up the beauty of all the greenery around. My goal was to get to the head of a trail that provides a short mile and a half hike to Bagby Springs. It sounded fun to do something different, plus I heard the springs are clothing optional so it had entertainment value as well.
After stopping at the Ranger Station for a day pass on the outskirts of the Park, it was another 45 minute drive to the trailhead. For me, this meant at least an hour and a half for getting lost (inevitable even with a map) and a leisurely drive to allow for taking in the views. The roads weren't always properly marked or marked at all, and after turning around a couple times, I seemed to be on the right track. Instead, I end up on a tiny, single-lane dirt road on a seriously steep incline with sheer drops. I couldn't tell if the road was a service road, or a hiking trail and I was at the last place I could possibly turn around. As comfortable as I have become driving on roads I wouldn't have attempted in the past, I panicked. At home I drive a tiny car that can maneuver in tight spots, but the bus-like rental gas guzzler I was in made me uncomfortable in those situations. Suddenly I felt like I had to get out of there immediately. If I stayed up there any longer in my claustrophobic state, I was going to have a serious panic attack. My breathing got shallow, I got dizzy and felt like I was going to pass out. I really had to calm myself down before I could drive. My cell phone didn't function up on the mountain so I had no choice but to make myself breathe normally again. It was that or be stuck there. In retrospect, I may have overreacted, but I have learned from a recent life-threatening situation that it is always better to trust your instincts than to risk an unnecessary predicament.
I wasn't even going to blog the incident or tell anyone that I didn't make it to Bagby because I was a bit embarrassed/disappointed that I chickened out. But you know, I don't care. I made it through a drawn-out period of serious pain that led to emergency surgery. I am facing a big possible career change. I left my comfort zone and traveled across the country for two weeks completely solo. Turns out I have a lot of courage and apparently a high tolerance to pain :) So what if I failed to make it to the Springs. I will someday. (Plus there is a warm mineral spring in Florida that is located on really flat land that I can drive to in my little car comfortably...)
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