travis came to town and then we skipped it.

we've been busy i suppose. in the midst of our various socializings i thought i'd take some time to post two photos for you enjoyment.

Look at me, Injury.

I'm going to go ahead and blame it on being the youngest in the family, but I have a knack for making a big deal out of very minor injuries. Big enough to point out bruises not easily observable by the naked eye. Big enough to sound like Tobias from Arrested Development. Enough to keep saying, "I threw up yesterday," while looking around for any sign of validation. It's my own damn fault really. My clumsiness has reached the point that at work I often feel like I'm just flailing about. Flail. Flail. For the betterment of society though, I thought it would be best to direct my whining and injury into something more productive. A little doodle perhaps?




Leaning down to put some of a friend's personal belongings into her car, thus helping her move, I launched the bridge of my nose into the ski rack on the roof of the car. Checking up on my injury I observed a swollen oval on the right side of my nosebridge and quickly moved to reduced the swelling. The result was a barely noticeable bruise that probably looked more like a pimple and ended up leaving behind a few blackheads as souvenirs of the event.



I had a massive headache Monday morning that echoed into Tuesday morning when I took one more migraine pill around 9:46am. For the next 24 hours the pill left behind a phantom lump in my throat collecting memories of all the things I swallowed that day (frosted mini spooners, green beans, risotto). It took two doses of hot tea (joy and then refresh) among two days to purge the collection.



The day before that though I threw up. I haven't done that in six years, not since freshman year when Bo and I collectively shut down both bathrooms in our hall. Those were the days. I sat this one out alone at around 6:23am Monday morning. Later that day I refused to let Jon eat the leftovers of what I deemed the cause of the hideous digestive crime.

Iowa = Portland

I'd like to extend a warm welcome to a few native iowans and friends (at the same time!) who will be visiting Portland this week. Andrea, Adam and Travis, would you please stand up?

I've spent a good part of the summer months thinking through and whining to jon about the transitional period our sense of community has been going through this past year. Our friends of old are back in town, going to a different church, dating different people, not talking to us as much, coming over during the week for dinner, asking us to help them move, inviting us to their wedding. As you can tell it's a mixed bag that has caused me some to much anxiety. By the time we get to the obligatory weekend-night with no obligatory plans I keep asking, "do we have any friends? jon, we don't have any friends." thanks to iowa, that's no longer true. not only do we have dinner plans for sunday night, but we also have someone staying with us, visiting and eating with us. what a happy change. then we'll whisk ourselves away to become out of town guests in aptos, california. oh, august, you are being so socially good to me.


by the way, if you want to see travis in his iowa=portland reunion tour let me know. he's staying with us, eating our waffles and using our toothpaste.

fuhgettaboutit

i'm a leech in the sense that when i'm around people i start picking up on their mannerisms, immediately. when i lived in london for a very brief time i first noticed my internal monologue switching over to an english accent. then when i was interviewing people or talking late at night to my mom or boyfriend on the phone i would launch into an english accent uncontrollably. and fear would set in that they would know and i would know that i was a fake. after all i'm not english, try as i might.

so lately at work, i can't stop myself from sliding into using my fake brooklyn accent. the brooklyn/new york accent has enjoyed a long and beloved history with me. it began in seventh grade when our junior high did a rendition of "ducktails and bobbysocks". for all intensive purposes my accent was spot on. then in college i became "lynette anderson" as only tim and i can say it. we growled my name as if it was born in brooklyn and it became my fake persona. in fact tim is smiling right now about that memory. now i work with a dear person named olivia and we tend to banter back and forth in the same voice. we're good at it, too. we sound like amy pohler and maya rudolph when they do the bronx beat for snl. the problem is i can't turn it off when i talk to customers, so i end up the same fake with no accent control. and i think it comes off a bit rude in portland, especially when i snarl and ask, "what doya want?"

to all of you out there in england or new york, i'm sorry. i'm not trying to mock your accent. i enjoy it and it seems to enjoy me, too.

this budding mind

I have a few minutes before episode one of Flight of the Conchords downloads so I thought I'd say hello. I've been thinking of a couple of different posts and thought I'd start with this one: My First Socialist Thought.

It started a few weeks back when I was as the grocery store buying ingredients for a lasagna. I gathered everything I needed from the various isles in my arms and headed for the checkout. I was met by a moment of embarrassment and despair when I stood staring blanking at the pin pad. As an attempt to earn credit cards points I hadn't used my pin for weeks and it had been replaced in my brain with the handful of codes I had to learn for work. I left my groceries on the belt, promising to come back from them. And then I ran. Across the street was a Fred Meyer. They wouldn't ask me for a pin that had been lost in the recesses of my mind. Take that Winco. And by the end of the shopping experience I was hopeful that I hadn't paid much more by crossing the street. The pricing was more equal that I had thought. But thinking back I did pay about three or four dollars more for the same ingredients.

Moving on, about a week or so ago Jon and I were driving to get some Sunday afternoon bbq, which is inconsequential to this story. As I sat in the passenger seat I thought about how a bag of chocolate chips costs more at one store than at another. It didn't seem fair to have a disparity in pricing if the product was the same, and not generic versus real stuff. I mean the same exact thing. How can stores get away with selling things for more? So I asked Jon, why can stores charge a higher price for the same product? Shouldn't there be a rule that all prices are the same, no matter where you go?

He knew where I was going with this thought better than I did. You mean, the government should regulate the cost of prices, he asked. And I thought that made sense. That's socialism, Lynette, he said. And though I had always been taught that capitalism was in line with everything fair and good, I came across a socialist thought that made more sense. And no one even tried to convince me or inform me on socialism. I just thought in this case it made more sense.

me, at 24.

If you look closely you'll notice that my birthday cake says "Happy Anniversary" and man was it delicious. We still have some in our fridge if you want to come over and eat a piece with me. And you know you do. It's got ganache.

birthday anticipations

For those on the west coast my birthday officially starts in about an hour and a half. I know some of you on the east coast and in the post east have already begun the annual celebrations. In anticipation of this event the following has occurred:
we put up some streamers and held a small party that really was a gathering of a handful of friends. we still have some cupcakes left if you want to stop over.

my mom sent back a shirt i sent for her birthday and included not one but two cards.

the smashing pumpkins moved the release date of their album, zeitgeist, from 07.07.07 to the 10th. thanks, billy.

as a sidenote, in anticipation of the forthcoming album jon and i attempted to combine my two favorite artists: smashing pumpkins and sufjan stevens. the result was singing bullet with butterfly wings to the tune of john wayne gacy, jr. it works, just try it. and if you have other brilliant combinations let me know.

i know travis would encourage me to be reflective on such an occasion. i'm just trying to figure out what to do with my day off and the 102 degree slated for tomorrow.