3 years ago today* I arrived for the first time ever in Portland, Oregon.

I still remember that day sooo well.  Fuck I was scared.

Chris and I got off the train, got a cab to take us to our apartment.  What a shit-hole that was.  Though I didn't realize it until right before we moved out.  Then we showered and headed out to explore the city.  I remember bits of that, what I remember the most was when we got to Pioneer Square.  It was during rush hour and the sidewalks for the max were crammed with people.  I remember thinking I would never be able to function here alone.  Now, three years later, it's become my home of choice.  I didn't have to come back to Portland, I WANTED to come back here.  I've met a great boy whom though I thought things would never pass the point of fuck buddy/pseudo boyfriend, they have and I couldn't be happier.

There are some aspects of my life that I would like to change but over all I'm really happy with the way things are and I kind of feel like I owe Chris a "Thank You" for it.  Without him I don't think I would have ever left Maine.  If he and I never started dating I seriously think I'd still be in Maine, probably barefoot, pregnant and miserable beyond belief. 
I never would have gone to Hawaii, I never would have seen Portland, I never would have driven cross country (alone).  I never would have met the Terrorist, I never would have developed the improved (not yet perfect but definitely improved) sense of self that I have.  It's kind of crazy how one thing can, with enough time, totally effect your whole life.

I miss Chris.  I've been thinking about him a lot lately, not really sure why, but he's been on my mind.  It could be because this whole Portland-versary thing has been coming up, or it just could be because I haven't talked to him (REALLY talked to him) in months.  I'm not really sure what's going on in his life but I know things have been better (at least that's what I gathered the last time we chatted) so I can understand if he's not wanting to talk to people.  But that doesn't mean I don't miss him. 

I don't really know where I'm going with this.  I'm just rambling stuff that's been swimming around my head for the past few days.  Hopefully now it's out it'll stop swimming around my brain. 

* I think it was on the 3rd but I cant really remember... I know it was right around the 3rd.

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I come from a strongly catholic family.

Personally, I do not follow any organized religion and I'm not really sure on how I feel about the whole god thing.
Except when I need something.  (Which, if there is a god, I think he's cool with my Fair Weather Johnson approach to religion.)

Whenever I or someone I love has something important going on I'll call my mom and tell her to light a candle.  Now, in all honesty, I have no clue what the Catholic obsession with candles is nor do I know what the lighting of the candle is supposed to do but that doesn't stop me from calling her and having her do it.

Today I had an interview.

Sent a resume out yesterday and got a call 30 mins later for an interview.  After running into the living room and telling the Terrorist about it I immediately called my mom and told her I have an interview at 10.30a Monday morning and she needs to light a candle for me.

I get up this morning, take a shower, get ready, decide I look decidedly cute today (score!) and head out.  I get to the place about 10 minutes early and walk in chock full of confidence because I knew somewhere In the world there was fire burning for ME!  We go through the interview process which was a bit on the short side but overall I walk out feeling pretty good about things.  I call my mom to tell her she can blow out the candle, the problem... She never lit the fucking thing. 

Now, would someone please tell me, how the hell is god or saint whoever gonna know that they need to get me this job if my mom didn't light the fucking candle?!?!?!

I should call around for insurance.
I'm going to go lay out in the sun. 

Ps.  My mail man rocks!

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on my new Internet connection.

It's kind of bitter sweet, if you ask me.

Plus I'm using the Terrorists computer because for whatever reason I can't get the Internet to go wireless.  Not that I've really tried all that hard but... whatever.

No more stolen connection for me.  It's all legal now, baby! 

Now I need to go do some laundry.  I thought I was going to hear from Grandpa T at some point this morning but apparently I was mistaken (he has some furniture he was going to drop off for us.)  Since I haven't heard from him I'm not gonna worry about it and go do laundry and get stuff for food tonight.

Ps.  Com-cast SUCKS!  100 fucking dollars to come in and plug in some fucking wires.  That's fucking stupid.  Plus the kid paid more attention to his phone than he did actually setting shit up.

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The boys are gone.

Little T took the bus for the first time today & Big T left to catch the max about a half an hour ago.
I woke up this morning with a monster headache.  Which isn't really surprising because I had one brewing when I went to bed.  I didn't think it'd get as bad as it did though.  Got up, got some aspirin, said good morning to the boys and had the intention of going back to bed until 9 or so.   That didn't happen, thanks to the anxiety dream I had about the bus not coming to pick up Little T*  I got up to make sure everything was kosher and the Terrorist was finishing up his coffee and about to head to work (Little T safely on the bus headed to school... phew.)

This cohabitation thing is going along swimmingly.   I think because it's been so long since I slept with someone I didn't sleep so well the first night but I'm fairly certain I'm over that because I was out like a rock last night. 

I have to go move shit around so the Terrorist can fit his bureau in here.  Then I think I might take a nap or chug a big pot of coffee.

* In the dream the bus never showed up and Big T had left to go to work and other weird stuff that doesn't make any sense now that I'm thinking about it and why it stressed me out... but it was a dream.  Dream's don't always make sense.

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... but it's been 48 hours since I last posted.  :-)

I think the fact that I'm proud of this makes me a blogging addict.
Oh well.

I need to go to bed. 
The current plan is to get to the Terrorist's house early tomorrow morning and start packing up the truck.
It's moving day kids!

Now I must go crawl into my lonely bed... for the last time.  :-)

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Went to the Terrorists house tonight.
We watched Fahrenheit 9/11 & 9/11 Mysteries*

I have mixed feelings about these types of shows.  I like them because it's good to know what the fuck is going on but they also freak me the fuck out because it reminds me how much evil there is in our back yard.
I don't like being constantly freaked out, which is why I'm totally okay with remaining blissfully ignorant. 

The documentaries combined with the book I'm reading

A Memory, a Monologue, a Rant, and a Prayer

Now, I'm going to bed.  After I close the closet door.

* When I say "we" I mean I watched it, he slept through most of it which I guess is okay because he has seen it a bazillion times...

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Got up early to give the Terrorist a ride to work.
Little T started his new school yesterday and has been getting a ride to school via. a taxi service the problem is that the cab picks him up just a bit too late for the Terrorist to make it to the Max in time. 
No worries. 
I kind of like the "excuse" to get up early.

I stopped at Fred Meyers on the way home, putzed around for a bit and got home about an hour or so after I left.
Waiting on my door step was my massage table!
AWESOME!

I don't know what to do now.  I had planned on having to stay home all day waiting for it, but now it's here.  I kind of want to bust it out and take a nap on it.  :-)  Though that's just not possible it's what I want to do. 

I need to shower, eat, clean the bathroom, tidy my room, do some more insurance shopping, call my mom and thank her, pick up Little T at 2.50p, keep him occupied for a few hours so his dad can go home and pack a bit, get laundry ready, not throw up from uber bad cramps.

Or maybe I could just curl up with my heating pad and take a nap... on my massage table. 

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I got ditched. 
I'm doing my damnedest to not get butt hurt over it.

Lesley and I had plans for pho today.  To catch up, discuss apartment issues and actually talk because we haven't really seen each other since she got back from Singapore.
She's too busy moving everything today and organizing shit and doing all that crap that comes with moving.  She requested a postponement until tomorrow.  It's not that I can't do it tomorrow, I could, I just don't want to.  I kind of hold Sundays sacred.  They're my day to do my thing, whether that's lay in bed all day, laundry, stoned blogging... whatever.  So we rescheduled to Wednesday. 

Today would have been best.  It's the day we've had planned for a week.

Get over it, Megan.

Got a text from the Terrorist last night at around 1230a.  He was asking if I wanted to stop by to watch Obama's speech.  Now, if it was anyone other than him, I'd think it was the "Wanna come watch a movie" line and everyone knows that there is no actual movie WATCHING when someone agrees to that.  Well, maybe a the first 5-10 minutes but that's it.  Because this is the Terrorist, I knew he actually meant WATCH the speech.  So, I went over.  Not so much for the speech as to hang out with the T and get some cuddle time in.  The speech was very good.  Gave me goose bumps on many occasions.  Awesome.

God, I'm cranky.
 
Disclaimer:  Bowl smoke-age to commence now.  I need to get out of this cranky ass mood.  Not sure if the reefer will help but it sure as fuck can't hurt.  I really don't know why I'm disclaiming anything... but I figure it's fun.  Hehe.  Yes, I admit it, my name is Megan and I like using useless disclaimers on my blog!  (Hi Megan!)

I'm kind of over the Jamiroquai thing.  Though I might have to rewind it to Love Foolosophy one more time.

I got a text from a friend of mine (Blondie) I used to work with at Capers.  I haven't seen her since I've been back in town though we keep making tentative plans and on or both of us flake out.  Her 27th birthday was on Thursday and she wanted me to stop in and have drinks with her and her 8 gajillion friends.  It was being held at this bar in the Pearl District, which is a pretty area and I tend to enjoy walking around there but I can't handle the posh-ness that all the business's posses.  Which Is why I just walk around and never enter any of them.  I drove by the bar it was at... The District and had to force myself to not turn around and run screaming.  I sucked it up, went in, got an $8 Monopalova and cran and proceeded to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.* 
I've learned over the years that I don't fit in with the "pretty people" of the world.  I tried for a long time and it just made me feel horrible about myself.  I'm not sure why because I really have nothing in-common with the types that frequent these type of places.  I give a shit about things other than how my blond highlights came out on my blond hair or which of the guys I'm seeing has the highest net worth and that's how I'll pick who I'm going to start getting serious with. 
I feel like it should be stated that I love Blondie.  I've had a shit ton of fun with her, she introduced me to pho and day drinking and strippers.  Okay so she didn't really introduce me to strippers but day drinking & strippers were something we always did together.  She is very much a pretty girl.  Not just because she's beautiful but I guess the term "every-girl" should be used here.  The terrorist has been trying to explain to me what exactly an every-girl is and I think I finally grasped the concept.  Thanks to Blondie.  Granted, I think she's an extreme case of the every-girl but she IS an every-girl. 
The awkward standing got moved outside to awkward sitting.  Blondie and I actually got a few seconds to talk in which she told me about how the guy she's seeing organized the shin dig for her along with taking her out to get her Nails & Hair did, taking her shopping and getting her some ridiculously over priced designer dress for the night with matching shoes.  It was a seriously deep discussion. 
She finished her cigarette and went inside with a group of friends that showed up.  I stayed outside, smoking and trying to find a graceful way to get the fuck out of there.  That's when Ireland started talking to me.  Ireland is this middle age-ish red haired, red faced dude.  I actually think he might have been younger than middle age but I'm pretty sure due to years of excessive drinking he's getting older (and redder) than his years.  He was a friend of Blondie's, we chatted for half a minute then his conversation continued with my tits.  Now, I know I have a great rack but how can anyone think that tit talking is acceptable?!?!   There are very very very few acceptations to this rule.  Guys... Tit talking is not cool.  Don't do it!!!  This was the final straw for me.  I decided I wasn't going to worry about being tactful.  I put half of my $8 drink down, went and gave Blondie a hug and told her I was peacin' out. 

I was on my way to the Terrorists and I decided to stop for a fountain coke.  Somehow I locked myself out of my car (probably because I was half stoned and talking to Nathan on the phone).  I hadn't replaced my key under my plate since the last time I got locked out.  So I was more or less fucked.  Luckily I was 2 blocks from the Terrorists house so I walked up there, got a coat hanger, and figured I'd try to jimmy the lock.  I've tried this a few times and have never been able to get it.  This time, was different.  I GOT IT!!   I was very proud of myself.
When I got back to the Terrorist's house he made me put my key back on my plate.  Now I know that if I get locked out again (haha, if, who the fuck am I kidding... WHEN I get locked out again) I will have two methods to get back in my car.  Very exciting.
But not as exciting as stair sex.
Like that little segue? 
Oh yeah, I got boned on the stairs!  I'm pretty sure at least one of his neighbors had to have seen my ass but that's okay.  It was some good sexin'. 
Complete with bite marks on the back of my hand from an attempt to keep myself quite. 
Classy.

Reefer and blogging about snotty bitches really did make me feel better.
Yay.  Fuck, I should go get ready for work. 
I don't want to go to work. 
I need to find another job.

*I would have pasted myself against a wall but there was no wall space anywhere near the party and though I seriously contemplated it I figured standing half way across the room by myself would probably just make me seem even more socially awkward.

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Dinner went well. 
Little T and I made Shepard's Pie. 
I have never seen a kid eat so much freakin' food.  Then, first thing this morning after I got here he comes out and asks me if there is any more and can he have it for lunch.  (Actually he wanted just a "little, little, tiny piece" for breakfast too.)  I think he liked it.

I sort of made my "semi-reasonable" bed time.  After the kid went to be the T and I were discussing all the things we can't discuss in front of him.  At some point we got on the topic of how the apartment is going to be set up.  He started throwing out suggestions but because I'm such a visual person I have a hard time imagining things without seeing them.  His response to this...  "I have something to help with that"  or something like that.  He jumped up went to the computer, I sat on the couch wondering what the hell he was doing for a few minutes then more or less passed out until I woke up to him playing with my feet. 
What was he doing?
Making a layout of my apartment via the Sims.
Hilarious!
After I got over my amusement at the situation I realize it was actually a pretty good idea.  We didn't really decide anything except that the cable comes in the living room in a really awful spot.
I left here a little bit after midnight, got home, showered and was in bed by 1a.  Later than I wanted but not that bad, add that to the fact that I didn't have to be here until 8a... I feel much better.  Still tired, but feeling much better!

I miss bed sex. 
Never thought I'd say that.
Though I totally enjoy the shower sex and living-room blow-jobs, I miss the non-rushed sex that comes behind closed, locked, bedroom doors.
That's gonna be some good sexin' when it happens.

Today I need to...
- Come up with something to do with a handful of strawberries.
- Send out a few resumes.
- Call my landlord, discuss plans.
- Make sure Little T is at home at 3.30p
- Decide if I'm gonna go get a drink with Miss. Kelly and what to wear when I decide that I have to go.
- Burn cd for Nate.

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I need to be in bed at a semi-reasonable hour tonight.  I've been too grumpy all day.  Starting this morning with a comment by the T that I took WAY too personally.  It's just continued to grow from there. 

Last night after posting about my irritability I was in bed and I got a text from the Terrorist offering his ear and cigarettes for venting purposes.  So I ran up here for a smoke and a chat. 

The cause of my irritability was this:  the boy I haven't given a nickname to yet has more or less moved in.  That in itself doesn't really bother me.  I've made it no secret that I'm not his number one fan but I can be civil.  He needs a place to stay while he and Les look for a new place so fine... he can crash with us.  (Plus he's paying rent.)  What i didn't think of is that fact that he has a dog.  So, last night, when I got home and poked my head in Lesley's room to say hi, the furry four legged friend was chillin on the floor. 
Not cool.
Personally I am a pet lover.  I think they're fabulous.  Dogs, Cats, Reptiles, Fish... whatever.  The problem though, is that it has been specifically stated in our rental contract and other times that there are NO PETS! allowed.  So, the pooch has got to go.  Unless Lesley gets the okay from our landlord I'm going to have to be a cunt about this.  I refuse to loose that apartment because of her boyfriends dog. 

The other cause's of my irritability are from non-direct sources.  Things such as my nephew who is the only 15 year old douche bag I know.  The Baby Momma and the Baby Momma's Momma are causing grief for the T which isn't cool.  The fact that noone has called me to offer me a surpremely awesome job (nevermind the fact that I haven't sent resumes out anywhere) is a fairly big irratation.  Little T... No... Little T has been awesome today.  AND thanks to my sister we've come up with a wonderful idea for dinner.  My sister is kind of irratating me but I think she's finnally pulled her head out of her ass. 

Okay that's enough.  I need to do stuff.  Maybe go pick some strawberries.  The T's neighbors have a yard full of strawberries and they've given us free reign but I keep forgetting about it.  Today would be a good day for that.

Plus, Strawberries are happy.

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