20.

how many five year olds could you take in a fight?

Thanks to Dave for this one!

Weekly windup…

a day late. I know you’re all mad at me because all morning you’ve been sitting at your cube, longing for another day of sunshine and margaritas, and have no blog update from your favorite curly haired Greek. It’s really quite tragic. Since most of you employed types are rocking the three day work week, I think you’ll survive just fine.

WHO: My wonderful redheads, mentioned a few posts down. My two fabulous friends from college popped in Pdx for some good beer, roses, and shopping conmigo. Whitney, internet madame extraordinairee, arranged a “tweet-up” for the avid Twitter users in the Portland-metro area. You’d be surprised how many people showed up to Hop Works to mingle. The internet is a really amazing thing. Just a few years ago, it was all taboo to even meet people that way, now it’s a main mean of social networking, and especially dating. Strano, no?

If you’re planning on heading to HUB, I highly recommend the ESP. I had four and housed an entire plate of Nachoized fries. While not disco fries, they were quite tasty.

If you feel like joining twitter, or just twitter stalking me, you can do so HERE.

WHAT: My really new awesome necklace, which I purchased on a whim at a little boutique called Oxalis in Nob Hill with the reds last friday. Parking in this area of town can be especially heinous, but Jojo did a bang up job squeezing their rented Impala into a spot  that would hardly fit a Smart Car in front of this adorable shop on our way to the St. Honore Bakery. We popped in on our way back to the car and I was instantly in love with this tiny piece of glass on a silver chain that fits snugly into the little divot of my collar bone. It’s also a nice reminder for me to calm the hell down at any given time.

My bf’s comment? “Wow, you’re turning into a little hippie, aren’t you?”  Be not afraid, my east coast friends, I will neither stop shaving or using deodorant, nor will you ever catch me with anything resembling patchouli oil. I have standards.

More importantly, what did we eat at the Bouglangerie??  I had the Chèvre Chaud (aka, salad with smoked duck and goat cheese,) while Whit and Jo had the Brie Bartlett Pannini and the Brie Sammich. We also shared the cranberry nut roll and the Normandy Apple Toast. Go there and eat, but be prepared to fight to the death with a pregnant lady with stroller for a table, especially outside on a nice day.

Where: To the future! I, being the wonderful and amazing girlfriend that I am, saturated myself in sunblock, packed a lunch and headed to the ‘burbs to watch the great bf play in a co-ed softball tournament for work. He somehow convinced Joe, the new husband of my mezzo counterpart, to also run around the sun, so I at least had someone with whom I could deep fry in the record breaking June heat. We left after two games (it was five hours later and they had batted a collective four times and played about five innings.) Where did we go? Certainly not to either of our UN-air conditioned apartments. Hells no. We went to the movies. And what did we see?

and oh, man! It was awesome!! The theater was totally packed and we had to sit in the front row. Not ideal, but I would have stood for the entirety. In heels. Or those evil shoes that gave me oozing blisters. I loved it. I’m fighting the urge to run to a toy store and buy some tiny replica to stick on the ever-shit-accumulating dashboard of my car.

These dudes in Germany really loved it too, because look what they did to their old game cube… That’s pretty awesome.

Some people are a little upset because they think Pixar ripped off Johnny-5 or ROB, but lets face it, he’s really adorable and you want one to turn all of your crap into a cube, too.

When ays ’til I…

Go to Ashland, OR to meet everyone my boyfriend has ever known at his high school reunion and play with four really awesome dogs: 2

Go to San Diego, CA to hang with my brother and sis-in-law, play with their cats, play on the beach, and watch my friend Tom from High School get married: 11

Go to New York, NY to see my family, eat famously delicious carbs, drink perfect $20 martinis, buy a new hot dress, get groped on public transportation, and enjoy some quality time with my friends: 22

Have Traviata learned and put to bed, damnit: 23

Go to Israel with Whitney to have a biblical experience and a bitchin’ tan, while making sure the freckled one doesn’t come back resembling a lobster: 27

Go to Pittsburgh, PA to eat Pamelas crepe-style pancakes and potatoes, play with some penguins, and watch my two friends get married in Heinz Hall: 46.

How: On airplanes, DUH.

Why: Because it’s the first summer I’ve had in a LONG time.

A litte inspiration

My lovely bf (yes, he’s still lovely even after watching him play softball for five hours in the sun on a heat index record breaking day,) mass e-mailed his nearest and dearest about a web site that he heard about on NPR. I thought someone hacked into his account and it was actually some midget porno site that  clandestinely injected laptops with millions of heinous viruses.

Our exchange went something like this…

“Someone hacked into your e-mail account and sent me some weird link.”

“It was me. Watch it. It’ll be good for you.”

Good for me? Hmm… While I’m starting to give into some of this West Coast lifestyle stuff, my blistered New York soul sometimes wakes from it’s coma to say “FUCK YOU! You don’t know what’s good for me, you arrogant fuck!!” and then passes back out and I walk to my yoga and meditation class.

The Website is called called TED and, to lazily copy/paste from the website,

“TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design. It started out (in 1984) as a conference bringing together people from those three worlds. Since then its scope has become ever broader.

The annual conference now brings together the world’s most fascinating thinkers and doers, who are challenged to give the talk of their lives (in 18 minutes).

This site makes the best talks and performances from TED available to the public, for free. More than 200 talks from our archive are now available, with more added each week. These videos are released under a Creative Commons license, so they can be freely shared and reposted.”

Sounds pretty awesome right? It’s like YouTube with a brain. And a soul. and without some fat kid singing along to a techno song.

BF and I watched this one while drinking fabulous stumptown coffee this morning. My grandfather died of complications of a stroke, so I found it to be very interesting.

Jill Bolte Taylor: My stroke of insight

I think she’s an amazing person and nearly made me cry at the very end.  She wrote a book, which I’m thinking about buying.

You can never have too many red heads.

Snuggling in my Queen sized bed right now are two wonderful New York ladies in the midst of a road trip. Starting in San Francisco, they have been driving up the coast on Highway 101, stopping at sea lion caves and breweries, en route to Seattle, WA. Since Wednesday night, they’ve been enjoying all of the beauty (and beer) that my wonderful city of Roses has to offer, and all of the darkness that my cave of a bedroom does, too. I’m going to wake them up soon.

Thats us, circa 2006 on Whit’s roof. I think we need to take some new pictures that can actually be posted on the internet, unlike the ones from Joanna’s 25th birthday party. We attended the celebrated Carnegie Mellon University together, but sadly, I can not find a single picture of us together from that blurry, sleep deprived portion of our lives.

They are really wonderful ladies and I feel very lucky to have them in my life.

My ridiculously super sweet vintage dress

Before I begin on my amazingly awe-inspiring purchase, I have to give well overdue thanks to two wonderful people, Steph and Matt. These saints are a wonderfully married couple who let me crash on their couch in their SWEEEEEEET loft in the mission district in beautiful San Francisco. Thanks to my crappy blog skills, I never actually finished my Cali trip travel log, so they never got the big THANK YOU SO MUCH AND I LOVE YOU over Internet like they deserved.

On the Friday of the trip, sadly both Steph and Matt had to go to work and I was on my own to roam about my favorite US city all by myself. She and I grabbed a little breakfast at this industrialized cafe around the corner from the sweeeeet loft and we went on a little joy ride so I could see the ridiculous houses in Pacific Heights (the #4 most expensive neighborhood in the world.)  She then asked me what I’d like to do with my last day of stress and psychotic website checking.

“Vintage clothes shopping.” She handed me a map and dropped my off at the Haight.

While I was in college, we performance majors had this pesky little “Non-music history” requirement that hung over our heads like an anvil during our four years. I was decided to take summer classes after sophomore year and was able to get into one of the most coveted classes at the Carnegie Mellon University, Music and the counter culture of the 50s and 60s. Oh, yes. This wonderful class on beat and hippie culture was taught through the history department and therefore met our requirements. It was next to impossible to get into during the year and I nabbed it during summer session. Rock on.

I mention my favorite class in all of undergrad for one reason; much of the revolution we studied happened in that area of San Francisco. Sadly, it’s changed quite a bit, but being there still put a huge stupid grin on my face while I thought of Jack Kerouac getting stoned off his noggin’ and writing his stream of consciousness prose in one of these now unbelievably expensive condos.

I wandered around for most of the day and on my last leg of the trip I wandered into La Rosa Vintage which my dear friend warned me was fabulous but steep. I decided to take my chances.

I found the most amazing dress EVER. Period. There it is, hanging on my closet door.

That’s hand stitched lace people!

my boobs fit PERFECTLY in the shell balconet. It’s from the early 50s and made for my body.

Why do I bring this up? Besides to make you horribly jealous of the newest VIP member of the closet… I FINALLY have a place to wear it. My two friends from college, Nikki and Graham are having a big ol’ black tie wedding in pgh this August and I’m TOTALLY wearing this amazing gown to the affair. Yes.

Now I just need to find shoes…

…

Cure to unemployment?

a little weird for your tuesday…

This was sent to me this morning from my friend Rachel in NY.

Yes, 1, 2, and 3 are different and some may construe this as being slightly offensive.

RAT CHICKEN TRILOGY.

Weekly windup, Greek-style.

Since I’m such a shit blogger, I figure this might be a better way of doing it.

But I might possibly blog later, if inspired or more likely, bored.

WHO: Me, duh. Who the hell else would it be? I mean, the version of me that’s come out this week. I’m in the middle of stage four of my monthly cycle and you know what that means! DUN DUN DUUUUN. I’m more emotional than I usually am and anything even slightly resembling chocolate doesn’t have a chance in hell if found in my radius.

It all definitely came to a head on Wednesday night as I sat in the staging studio, trying to practice Traviata and burst into tears when I couldn’t keep my larynx low enough. It was far too late to call the east coast crew and explode, so I called the bf. Poor schmuck. At a loss for words he defaulted to “Just come over,” so he could feed me Trader Joe’s dried fruits and watch Family Guy. I did feel better after that.  I told all this to my amazing voice teacher the next day whist fighting off tears AGAIN, and she looked at me and said “Good. Get mad and cry it out. Is it lower than it was? (I nod.) Then we’re improving. Shut the hell up and sing, girl.” She then broke out into her very vocally focused giggle/cackle which sent her dogs running and my ears bleeding.

WHAT?: Much to the amusement of everyone whom I told, Greeky started knitting lessons at knit/purl this week. I was debated between crocheting and knitting and since everyone I know crochets, I went for knitting. I just haaad to be an individual.

Like a good student, I arrived all early to class since I didn’t have the foggiest idea what I needed for basic idiot knitting 101. The lady picked out some sweet looking bamboo needles and showed me to the cheap yarn section. “Pick out a light color so you can see what you’re doing a little more easily.” I went for lavender. Sandy, as I learned later, brought me some tea, sat me down at a little round table right at the front of the shop, spun my yarn into a big ol’ ball, and joined me. It then hit me. I am the class. I had to fight off my initial wave of “Oh, damn. I’m a giant loser,” and embrace, “bitchin’! One-on-one instruction! It’s like having a grandparent that spoke English!” I was really bad. I’m still really bad. I was a very apologetic frustrated mess. “You’re fine. I’ve seen a lot worse.” I hate when people say things like that. Worse doesn’t mean good. It means not as bad. It’s a comparative adjective . Nuclear warheads are worse than bombs. Are bombs good or even acceptable? NO.

I eventually started to get it together. She stayed with me well over when the class was scheduled, chatting and being supportive when I demolished a stich or the entire project fell off of the needle. When people ask me what I’m knitting I reply “A square. Well, I’m shooting for a square, but I’m hoping for a long rectangle.” Next week, Sandy teaches me how to purl.  I’ll keep you posted on the status of the square.

HOW: Poorly and without my car. Gas is about $4.35 for regular out here, so I’m breaking in my reefs and strutting my fine ass all over this town. It cost me $77 to fill up my car to drive to my lesson the other day and I will not be putting gas in my car again until AT LEAST Fourth of July weekend. I really want to buy a bike, but I’m really afraid of being hit by a car…

WHERE: Latourell falls. Yea, I went hiking again.  I actually lead the newly formed “Hiking book club” out through this 2.1 mile trail. It’s pretty easy and really beautiful. There are pictures on my facebook page, if you’re interested.

WHEN: ONE MONTH TODAY I WILL BE IN NEW YORK CITY. And, yes, I meant to keep the caps lock on. I’m so excited I might pee all over the new roommate’s couch. I love Portland and my Portland life, but DAMN do I miss my friends and family. This is the longest I’ve been away from my beloved big apple with out visiting EVER, with the second longest being the first half of the season here in pdx, not so long ago.

Now, I make no bones about it. I hate NYC in the summer time. It’s a malodorous death trap of palpable humidity, violently soaring temperatures that chafe, roast, and blister the souls of a people already hardened by spending $2500 rent on a 600 square foot apartment. In BROOKLYN.

But I loooooove yooooou… especially at night. THAT’S whats making me jump up and down and giggle like an eight year old going to Disneyworld. I want to drink Sangria in the East Village on small out door patio lit by Ikea paper lanterns and chat with my nearest and dearest until someone gets the idea to crash a rooftop party of a friend of a friend of a friend in Queens. I want to walk and additional fifteen blocks south to a “really cool bar” arm-in-arm with girlfriends who aren’t sure of directions, but promise that it’s “just a little bit further.” I’m want to eat rice pudding out of a pod that tastes like golden grahams. I’m going to eat gravy cheese fries at a diner and watch the sun rise. And the people watching! And the shopping!

MY GOD ITS GOING TO BE AMAZING.

Why? Because you love me. And I, you, faithful friends.

DANGER DANGER ACHTUNG ACHTUNG!

People, Listen to me. DO NOT BUY THESE SHOES.

I have horrible blistered heels and baby toes. HORRIBLE. Almost oozing.

SAVE YOURSELVES.

America takes over the world, again.

And this time, I think I’m ok with it.

I like my chickens to be virgins, too.

…

WHAT THE HELL?

The highlight for me was, “We found out one of the fathers is a 24-year-old homeless guy,”  Classy. Nothing like unprotected sex with someone who hasn’t showered in months. I bet that was truly a religious experience.

As someone who has been desperately trying to NOT get pregnant since I was, oh, legally able to vote (hi Mom and Dad!,) the thought of purposely getting preggers at 16 totally blows me away.  Nothing like making sure to pump your breasts right before prom, right? Shiiit.

oh, man! My parents would HATE this…

They think I’m a crazy liberal. I shake my head and sigh at them.

Special thanks to Artsy for this one.

SO hardcore.

One of the many reasons I’m dating an Oregonian.

Kinda sexy, right?

Internets, Sabine. Sabine, Internets.

That’s Sabine, my current ward. She’s belongs to two lovely co-workers of mine who are in Denver this week at the Opera America conference. She has hyperthyroidism (the same thing that my Skipper, my parent’s feline, had and nearly killed him.) Well versed with the illness, I’ve been hired to cat & house sit ’til the 16th.

What’s really awesome about this disease? The “full” button in the brain shuts off. They eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat without ever getting full and then projectile vomit on anything valuable or upholstered. It’s quite exceptional. Their food consumption has to be very closely monitored because they can’t do it themselves.

Vomit cleanup count to date: 2 1/2.  The most recent time there were two splotches; one on paper (yay!) and the other? It was perfectly aimed onto the white part of the rug. Thanks be to Jeebus for Resolve carpet cleaner.

More to come.

My big sister.

I’m not talking about Victor. or Samantha for that matter.

My theta big sister, Lara, funny enough, is from Portland. She’s lived in Pittsburgh for the last few years and has now moved to sunny San Jose.

I was voicing my concern about becoming too granola since moving out west. She assured me that, thanks to the chemicals from the NJ Turnpike, my east coast soul would not go organic.

This is her reaction to my AIM away message.

lara (4:13:18 PM): “big im not granola am i?”

---

Auto Response from Me (4:13:18 PM): walking to yoga.

---

lara (4:13:23 PM): see above

lara (4:13:23 PM):

Crap. After walking home from yoga, I ate organic trail mix.

Frowny face.

This stuff makes me very sad.

I didn’t even call it shit. It’s stuff, because it’s truly heartbreaking that these people are spending 20% of their monthly income on fucking gasoline. I’ve been to and driven through many of these big brown splotches on the map. I’ve spoken to some of the these people who are giving up eating meat to be able to drive the 30 miles to their jobs. Or 60 miles to be in the OPERA CHORUS. They’re nice people. Harvard MBAs? Not quite, but gracious and friendly almost to a fault.

I heart my big, anti-bad-weather, haul-lots-of-crap-and-people around car for many reasons.  However, until gas drops below $4 a gallon and my income grows exponentially, she’s staying firmly parked in the parking lot to save me some cash and not make me get ANOTHER parking ticket.

Lets be honest, it wouldn’t hurt me or 99.9% of American’s to put down the fries, get our wide asses up off of the couch, and WALK someplace.

PS… I’m not sure about you, but this was the ad next to the article. Are they fucking serious? It’s more than half of my YEARLY rent.

It’s monday…

I know. It’s depressing. My current employment title is “cat sitter” and I find it to be a major bummer.

I know, I know, I know. There is a lot more California to talk about. I’ve been home for a week, so I’ve lost my momentum. I need to get better at this blogging thing, now that people are actually starting to read it.

You’ll get the cliff notes to the end of the cali trip and my new and exciting job details later today, but for now… because you need entertainment at work… I present you with…

THE IMPOSSIBLE QUIZ!

Warning: There is no music, but there is sound.

Goooooood luck!

This goes out to a very special someone…

who would find THIS really amusing.

I know i did.

Happy weekend everyone!

Pause #5: My boyfriend is from Mars.

So, I get this random e-mail from the SBEB today while he was at work.  While I e-mail people funny shit throughout the day, he doesn’t. At all. Getting this from him, or anything, for that matter,  was a big surprise.

He thought that it would perhaps help me understand him.

This is my favorite quote so far:

“Advanced Nerd Tweakage

If you’re still reading, then I’m thinking that your nerd is worth keeping. Even though he’s apt to vanish for hours, has a strange sense of humor, doesn’t like you touching his stuff, and often doesn’t listen when you’re talking directly at him, he’s a keeper. Go figure.”

Bingo. I went to Carnegie Mellon. I should be used to super nerdy people. I guess I’m out of practice.

Fig.

So… I continue on my California trip.

After my audition in San Jose, I hauled it back to Berkeley to see my friend Bryan perform in Figaro at the Berkeley Rep Theater. It was a funny coincidence that he and I were both in California at the same time. I had heard so much about this multi-media play/opera that he was in. I was SO STOKED to go see it.

It was a FANTASTIC show. It’s essentially a two person play (Figaro and Il Conte,) with the operatic excerpts happening as flashback. It’s a sort of revamping of the three Figaro plays (Barber of Seville, Marriage of Figaro, and the Guilty Mother,) rolled into one story from the point of the French Revolution, all the while incorporating scenes from Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro. The set is very sparse and most of the scenery is done with projections, but is able to make some truly beautiful moments. The Countess is brought in laying on a small boat covered with dark red roses and sings Porgi Amor horizontal while being dragged around by the older version of her husband. The moment is STUNNING. It’s funny, it’s sad, and more so than anything else, it’s very poignant. Granted, Nozze is one of my favorite operas and I always tear up for no reason about half way through, it made me appreciate the opera so much more.

I also appreciated that they tied in ALL of the plays. Nine times out of ten, people never incorporate that the Countess is the saucy Rosina from Barber and that the Count fought like hell to get her… or that she gets knocked up by Cherubino sometime in this opera and has a son. Ooops. Makes for a thicker plot though, no?

Now, is the all of the singing Met quality? No.  In my opinion, the men were a lot stronger than the women. The singing overall is quite good, especially for doing 8 shows a week. Imagine that, opera singers… EIGHT SHOWS. My larynx jumped thinking about it. The show isn’t an opera though. It’s not about the singing. Its about the story and the interaction of these characters.

Which is what opera’s supposed to be about, too, right? Ain’t that food for thought?

a chub charge?

Seriously?

I need to hit the gym before I head to Israel! Sheeeesh.

pause #4…

fritzmyers (9:40:09 AM): well

fritzmyers (9:40:13 AM): that’s cause he’s an idiot

fritzmyers (9:40:18 AM): and I’m the shit

fritzmyers (9:40:23 AM): I just want to be clear on that.

fritzmyers (9:40:26 AM): fritz = shit

fritzmyers (9:40:30 AM): he = idiot

fritzmyers (9:40:31 AM): wait

fritzmyers (9:40:33 AM): that came out wrong

hahahahhahahahahahah.

Cali, part 2.

Hi, y’all. As you all probably can guess, I’ve been back in Portland since Monday afternoon. People seem to enjoy the travel log and I like to reminisce, so here we go.

Night 2: Mark’s boyfriend Jeff and their friend Ian are doing the AIDS/LifeCycle from San Fran to LA. It’s a six day bike ride down California to raise money for AIDS research. Find their names and donate. Or anyone’s name and donate. It’s an amazing cause.

Anyway… They’re leaving for a week and their friend, Nick, is spending two weeks in Sicily vegging out with his little Italian grandma, so their circle of friends decided to go for pizza and beer to celebrate. We congregated under a huge heat lamp in the outside back garden of Jupiter.  The boys ordered a bunch of appetizers and pizza. I ordered a GIANT salmon salad which made me feel slightly less like shit after the giant tart we ate that afternoon. I had to sing the next day but I enjoyed a pint of the honey wheat beer. HIGHLY recommend it.

What made this night super interesting were two other non-gay visitors that turned up about half way through the meal. Ian’s boyfriend Sean is a British musicologist pursuing his phd at berkeley. In bound a young british couple, complete with giant backpacks and big smiles and crash down at our table. I hate to admit that I can’t remember their names to save my soul. The dude, just finished his studies and has been hired to be a barrister (not to be confused with a Batista, kids…) in a court in England. What’s the difference between a barrister and a solicitor? The horsehair wig that he has to wear that set him back over $1,000. Yikes. That’s an expensive costume.

So, two straight backpacking brits came through, Greeky. BFD. This dude and his girlfriend took the 18 months before he has to start his new super-swanky job, $10,000, and a backpack full of stuff and are backpacking throughout the world.

They’re course: London to NY to DC to Mexico City to various sections of Central and South America to Texas (I think Houston, but I could be wrong,) to Seattle, through Portland (which they loved!) down the Coast to Berkeley. Then they’re off to LA to Japan (for a month) to China to Indonesia to Bali to India and then back to London.

Isn’t that SOOO badass? I was so jealous when they were telling me this story. They’re mostly staying with friends in these various places (who has friends in Bali???) and most of their money is being spent on plane tickets.

Anyone want to copycat with me? You only live once…

The next morning, Mark and I woke up and went to another ridiculously California breakfast place, where I ate cornmeal pancakes. I want the recipe. It was like a giant corn muffin but BETTER. Thanks to really cute gay tatted out waiter, Mark was oblivious to the fact that at the table not 2 feet away from us, a lesbian couple was breaking up. Yes, in a public place. I drank about 18 cups of coffee to try to mask listening in on their conversation. It wasn’t a pretty breakup. Why do people choose to do that kind of shit in a restaurant? Over pancakes??

To shake all that off, Mark took me to the Berkeley bowl.  You clicked on the link and went, oh it’s a grocery store. How effing exciting. But, NO. It’s not just a grocery store. It’s the most AMAZING grocery store ever. Whole foods can’t even hold a candle to the produce section of this place. You know when you’re making a recipe and it calls for something really strange that you can’t pronounce? They have it here. They had artichokes in six, yes SIX different sizes. No wonder people in CA look so damn good.

We picked up some fruit and I was dropped off home to warm up, shower and change, so I could drive the hour inland to warm San Jose.

What did I wear? The back up banana republic black wrap dress with the white little shelf and my big ring that the Iron Chef and I bought on the streets of Soho together. It was all tied together nicely with some peep toe sandals and spanx.  What did I sing? First things first…

I’m supposed to sing at 4:19. Yes, 4:19. I love when companies give you times like that. “You will be singing at 12:27pm. DO NOT BE LATE.” Do you have a stop watch in there? No. If the next Pavarotti walks in, he’ll be spending a little more time on the stage than Suzie Soubrette with the flat high notes.

There was no traffic on the high way. NONE. Granted it was the middle of the afternoon, but NONE? Seriously? Shit, I’ll take it. Because of this marvel, I arrived about 45 minutes early to a hallway of opera singers playing the “who do you know and where I worked thats better than where you worked game.” I made a beeline for the montior and went downstairs to the dressing rooms to powder my nose, make sure I smelled pretty, and squack out some high notes.

What did I sing? Ann Trulove in all of its seven minutes of glory and half of Nanetta’s aria from Falstaff. This was the first time I ever sang the Verdi in an audition and it went well. Stamp of approval. Maybe my new teacher IS teaching me something! Woah!

I hauled my touche out of there and back into the car I went. I had theater tickets that night!

Pause #2

Only in Portland.

I wonder if he paid his fare…

pause.

Someone buy this for me, please.

towel hook.