Portland Gym Culture

As an avid people watcher, I find the gym to be a pretty entertaining place. If you're really paying attention there is almost always something comical going on. In Arizona my gym was filled with ASU sorostitutes, douche bags and wanna-be muscle men. People were constantly on their phones and checking themselves out to make sure they were looking good in their name brand work out gear and baseball hats. It was utterly ridiculous. The gym was clearly someplace to be seen and I hadn't gotten the memo.

Such is not the case here in Portland. Instead the gym is filled with hippies, hipsters and relatively normal folks. My personal favorite it still the hipster girl on the eliptical in her skinny jeans and v-neck. But a close second is the long-haired ginger hippie in his Thai fisherman pants. I'm constantly surprised at the people that show up. Many of whom are wearing the trainers they probably wore to 5th grade gym class. This is not a judgement, but an interested statement. People here apparently go to the gym to work out. Crazy! They don't seem nearly as concerned with how they appear to their fellow gym goer and they get their stuff done.

Clearly a testament to the differences between people in Arizona and Portland. Clearly a little less entertaining.

The Art of Brunching

I love me some brunch. I love breakfast, I love lunch. I love the combination of the two because you can sleep in late but still have breakfast and a bloody mary.

For those of you who are not as enamored with this amazing meal option, let me fill you in a little bit on it's benefits (other than getting to sleep late and still get breakfast). In my mind there are two kinds of brunches. There's the nice brunch that you might have with your parents or on a weekday. This kind of brunch is usually at some place nice. Some place where you can expect to pay as much for brunch as you would for dinner. It involves a nice latte or some orange juice (maybe a mimosa if your parents are liberal) along with your pancakes. You would generally shower before this brunch and make yourself presentable. You'd probably even slap on some make-up.

The other kind of brunch is where you're gonna get some more bang for your buck; it's the hungover brunch. Now this kind of brunch is the one you have with friends (quite possibly the ones that woke up on your couch that morning). There's no need for dressing up and you're probably not gonna shower either. However, you might want to consider some make-up to go along with what's already left on your face. Seeing as though you were over served the night before you probably want to consider a bloody mary and something greasy. My personal favorite? The Brewer's Breakfast at Four Peaks. Marvelous.

I miss brunching. I can hardly remember the last time I was able to brunch and I long for the day when I will be able to brunch at Four Peaks again.

It's Always Harder Than You Remember

I have lived in 3 countries, 5 states and 10 cities in my 26 years. I have moved 7 times (just between cities, not houses) in the past 8 years. This means I've had to make new friends 7 times. Yet, somehow every time seems to feel like the first time. You conveniently forget the process of making friends when you leave one city. All you think about is how much you'll miss the friends you are leaving, but that you will undoubtedly make friends in your new city. You will, but not the day you move there. It's easy to have selective memory when it comes to this all important aspect of relocating.

And somehow it only seems to get more complicated when you get older. Frankly, I love the friends that I have a am convinced that I have more than enough of them. However, only 2 of them live in my current location and as a social butterfly this is not nearly enough. Dilemma. Further complicating this current issue is that in my old age (ha!) I have definitely become far more discerning when it comes to forming friendship. I no longer feel the need to bond with the first person that appears to share a similar interest and hope that it works out. It rarely does, which I have learned the hard way one too many times.

So I struggle and simultaneously try to convince any friend with a slight interest to move to Portland. I busy myself with the hours of reading assigned to me each week and half-heartedly search for a job. I countdown to my boy bestie's visit and look forward to the holidays with an enthusiasm I haven't had since childhood. I reflect on how I am in the exact opposite situation I was in in Phoenix; I'm now in a city I love but have very few people to share it with.

Please, don't misunderstand me; I'm not sad or even lonely. I'm taking time to contemplate and focus.

Thanks, Dad.

Yesterday I spent two painstaking hours at Ikea agonizing over what furniture to purchase to furnish my first (very, very first) apartment on my own. A few years ago I would have bought whatever was cheapest and called it a day. But now I'm in my mid-twenties and have to take several things into consideration that I didn't when I was in college. First, I don't want my apartment to look like a college kid's; full of hand-me-downs and cheap Ikea crap. Second, there's no one giving me hand-me-downs anymore so these purchases have to last me several years. Third, I'd like my living space to look cohesive. I think I accomplished that. I left Ikea exhausted, but proud with visions of an adorable, urban studio floating in my head.

Today my new furniture arrived and the reality of making Ikea purchases sunk it; you have to assemble it all with the crazy tools and supplies they provide. I started to get nervous, what if I screwed up my new furniture and wasted my time and money on things I couldn't even use? My nervousness quickly faded when I remembered that I was fully capable of accomplishing this task. Thanks to lots of practical advice from dear old Dad over the years, I am actually pretty handy (if I do say so myself). I often pretend not to be or forget that I am until faced with a challenge. I know my way around a tool box and even have a few tools of my own that I like to keep around. Luckily, my dad also taught me to read directions first (I know, strange for a man), which is key when assembling Ikea products.

It took several hours, but I totally handled that futon, desk and kitchen table. In fact, I felt so confident that I even hung a few pictures. Afterwards I admired my handy work and attempted to take a nap on my new futon because dang was I tired. Seriously, assembling and moving all that furniture can really take it out of ya.

**My apologies for not having pictures of said furniture, but I can't find the cord for my camera. I appreciate your patience and will have pictures up soon.

Heartache By Proxy

The better part of my life I have suffered from sympathy pains. Someone talks about having a headache and suddenly I have one. When I was 10 and went to summer camp with a friend and she got sick (homesick really), I got sick too. But where this is most evident is when it comes to friends or family going through heartbreak.

Now I"ll be honest, this could be because I'm still slightly biased against love, but I don't really think that is the whole story. My heart genuinely aches when I hear about relationships breaking up, especially when it was long term. I suddenly find myself in the mind of the heartbroken and without warning I'm feeling nauseous and forlorn. My stomach is uneasy for days and I don't sleep well. I imagine how that person must be feeling. I begin to feel like I am experiencing their loneliness and fear as they try to figure out where to go from here; how they will put their life back together. I fight back tears thinking about it on my own. In some extreme cases I have cried outright. I can't help it. I wish I could. I'm sure this can't be a healthy habit.

When it comes right down to it, if I'm brutally honest, I'm not sure that it is me actually experiencing their pain or if it is me simply mourning the loss of love. Deep down, I truly want to believe that love does exist and every time a seemingly loving relationship breaks up so does my hope for love. It seems as though the universe anticipates when I'm almost ready to open up my own heart and it busts up someone else's just to keep me in my place. Just to keep me on the wrong side of optimism.

Revelation Revisited

I wrote a few months ago about how terrible I am with money and how I was going to make my own personal budget cuts. And I did. And it worked. For a little while. I quickly went back to my old spending habits, much to my own detriment. Now, being unemployed for the last few months and trying to find an apartment and job it has really hit home how much I suck with money. I have a closet (well, now several plastic bins) full of lovely clothes and shoes, but really all those have gotten me are huge credit card bills. It hit me like a ton of bricks today while talking to my mum that if I don't start getting my shit together I will spend the rest of my life in debt. I live way outside of my means. I shop as if it were my job, and I can't even justify it by saying I'm a particularly thrifty shopper. I love to spend money, so I spend money I don't have.

How did this revelation suddenly revisit me? I want to live in a nice apartment, in a nice part of the city. Nice apartments in nice parts of the city cost money and landlords want to know that you can pay. For my own sanity and satisfaction I am not very willing to compromise my nice apartment, which means that something has to give.

So, my friends, what does this mean for me? It means no more store credit cards. I am about $80 away from having my store cards paid off and then they will be ceremoniously cut up and discarded. Actually, I only have two, but that is not the point. Then we tackle the biggins, the "regular" credit cards. I don't really want to get into specific here, but there are 3 and their balances are rather sizable. The plan is to get down to one with a small balance. I know I shouldn't have any balance at all, but that just isn't realistic right now.

How do I accomplish this? I'm not entirely sure of my plan of action, but I know it involves getting a job as soon as I can after my apartment and saving this shit out of the money I make there. My student loans should be enough to pay rent and bills, so any money I make at a job will need to go towards paying off my debts. This obviously also means an end to the era of "shop like there's no tomorrow". It means only buying things that are necessities. It means a more strict definition of what a necessity is. It means starting to be a grown up.

Stay tuned.

Turn and Face the Strange Ch-Cha-Changes

Leaving my Grandma's house two weeks ago David Bowie's Changes happened to be playing on the only station in the La Crosse area I can stand to listen to. I found it extremely apropos and when I heard it again today it got me to thinking about what a different direction I have decided to go.

A year ago I was searching for a job I didn't want to stay in a city I didn't like. I was mourning (again) the loss of my life in London and trying to find a way to reconcile with my friends there and myself. I was trying to look for the greener grass while being stuck in the desert. I was allowing life to happen to me.

Today I am in a city I am eager to get to know and I am excited about my prospects here. I still find myself homesick for London on an almost daily basis, but I have forgiven myself for not making it back (yet). I am about to take the first step on the road of the rest of my life, and I'm anxious to see what lies ahead. I am no longer a bystander of my own life; I am an active participant.