ShowMeTheBooty

This morning I counted fourteen windows in my house - including the little glass panes in the front and back doors. My house is tiny, it's been nicknamed a dollhouse (at 800 square feet - a palace in NYC). In fact, when my mother first visited here she said, "I didn't know they made houses this small."

Thanks, mom.

So with the sun finally returning. That orange globe in the sky with all its power and strength. I am in heaven. I opened all the windows and let the light in. It doesn't hurt that I saw The Karate Kid last night after visiting Henry's Cabinet in the Lloyd Center. Where to begin describing a night, that once again, trumps fiction?

I'll begin in the morning. Anybody who knows me, knows I wake ridiculously early. men I've dated have tried to join me in this morning time, setting alarms, hovering over my shoulder while I write or read, and you know what? I like my morning time. I love it. And I love it alone. Let the rest of the world sleep till noon. I've got this all to myself. The only person I see at these wee hours is my neighbor, Larry, a Wisconsin transplant who looks not unlike Wilfred Brumley, guy who played grandpa on that show with Shannon Doherty? A spellbinding tale. (Angela, back in NYC, you would appreciate this man.)

Long story short, saw the Larrster, hit Tabor, then drove with A. to the coast. usually we prefer Manzanita but I was tryign to make it back in time to watch the World Cup - to any friends guffawing, NOT posing as a woman who likes sports, that would be a LIE, just wanted to see if there were any cute ex-pats. But never made it. Went to Cannon Beach instead, watched A. growl and chase kits, recumbent bikes, and large, dark dogs (she is racist). Got some jogging done on the beach. It was truly magnificent.

I will miss it here.

Drove back and got a call from N. or as my dog knows him: Uncle Nay Nay.
Now Uncle Nay Nay had texted at 7am to ask if I wanted to see Karate Kid that night. And what do you do when someone asks you such a thing? You go.

But N. got out of work early and came over. We drank chilled Reisling (local, organic, don't worry) and i made him my favorite summer salad: spinach, strawberries, Oregonzola, walnuts, with some rotisserie chicken legs. We sat on the porch, drank our wine as A. growled at each passerby. It was a pure delight. Wonderful company, and also tortilla chips with flax seeds, peach mango salsa.

We moved onto Crush, sat outside. I stuck with white wine. When the sun got too much, we sat at the bar while the bartender flirted his skinny tush off with N. and ate chocolate cake. Does life get better than this?

Oh yes it does!
Captain Henry's which I have renamed at Henry's Cabinet, is an amazing store in the Llyod Center. N. has told me there is a private room in the back where they host parties and you can BYOB. N. response was - why on earth would I do that when I can be served by them? Apparently, they can also provide beverages and keep the store open beyond mall hours. Mecca!

The store has pins like Show Me The Booty and Blow Me Down! My parents would be proud. You cna buy an eye patch for a buck, a foam sword for three, and best of all they carry my favorite pepper jelly ever, that I cannot find anywhere except at farmers markets and the Made in Oregon Store. But here it is! Mango Madness! And I'm in love. They have re-named it Mutiny by Mango. And I cannot help but think of my ex who used to slather it on turkey burgers that make my mouth water just imagining the flavor. Oy.

We spend way too much time in this store and we haven't even smoked anything yet. I read a "guest comment card" posted on a bulleting board that says: My name is Aysmana. I'm from Cuba. I like very your store. Thank you." This says it all.

N. decides to go to the too slick looking guy (who could be playing on his team) at the booth for 'Get a Stress Test' but what is really a L. Ron Hubbard cult headquarters. I sit in a fake leather chair for awhile, then meander into a Macy's, stare at a KitchenAide Mixer that is green and $300. I see an old client walk by and think: this town is effing small. Shortly after, I rescue M.

We go back to the car near the Max again, listen to the radio, smoke, I cough up a lung, and then it's the Lloyd Center theatre, we are some of the only white people again, and it is amazing. N. drives me back, we giggle nearly non-stop and I find him some turkey burgers I made the other day, whisk them up on some rye bread, regret nbot getting the mango pepper jelly - why? Why? Is parting with $7 so hard? and we say goodnight - N. spies the new,cute, probably gay sublettor across the street, and I fall into one of hte best night's sleep of my life.

"Fun is not overrated."
-It's Complicated by Nancy Meyers