I'm too HOT for this shirt

I don't like to wear white. Let me just start by saying that. I don't have anything against the color, or non-color, as the case may be. I think white can make people look fresh and airy, and if that's something you'd like to go for, then white is the way to go. But white pants have a tendency to attract dirt, spaghetti sauce, and pen markings, and they also sometimes allow innocent passersby to see the pink and teal polka-dot underwear you've got on. No one needs that, friend. White shirts also tend to attract the aforementioned stains, plus they usually develop an unsightly yellow staining in the pits after several wearings. Finally, I see no way to keep white clothing white, short of washing in pure bleach. So, in short, I have exactly one white shirt, and it's a sweat-wicking hiking shirt, generally worn only for heavy physical activity to keep me cool.

Every other shirt I own, with very few exceptions, is either black, blue, brown, red, or purple. I noticed this fact recently, and decided that I need to expand my color palette, but that's hard to do when you are drawn to certain looks and know that certain colors look good on you. I don't particularly enjoy shopping for clothing and trying things on. Part of this has to do with the fact that clothing out there is not made for normal sized people like me, so most things really don't flatter my form. But I'm also pretty lazy and can hardly manage to get myself dressed in the morning, let alone put on and take off several things in a dressing room.

So anyway, I'm wearing a black shirt today, in the middle of July, no less. This is not an unusual thing for me to do. I don't separate my wardrobe into winter clothing and summer clothing, generally. If I wore white shirts, I'd totally wear one in the middle of winter like you're not supposed to do, according to that labor day rule that no one can ever seem to phrase correctly (because who the hell really cares?).

So I was walking back to my office after enjoying my lunch today, and I was just minding my own business on a street corner, waiting for my light to turn, when this stringy fellow on a bike, balancing an awkward rolled-up carpet on his handlebars, rode up to the curb next to me. I did my best to pretend he wasn't there, because I'm one of those mean people who ignore fellow pedestrians, avert eye contact, and generally behave like they're very busy and have no time for congeniality.

He must have noticed that I was trying not to notice him, because he rode over closer to me, and tried to initiate conversation. "Isn't it a little hot to be wearing black?" He asked, in a rather hickish Luke Wilson type of voice.

I looked at him from behind my sunglasses, raised my eyebrows high enough to clear the tops of the sunglass frames, so there would be no mistake that I was not amused, and mutely and slowly nodded my head.

He shrugged sheepishly, and scooted back over, nearly tipping over from the weight of his awkward carpet.

I got the impression that he had wanted to strike up a conversation with me, because I'm a female, and, hey, he likes females, but he didn't think through the fact that criticizing someone's choice of clothing is probably not the best way to get them to engage in conversation with you.

I'm actually pretty used to being criticized for my clothing and other things about my appearance. "You wear boy's T-shirts," I've been told. Well, if they made girl's T-shirts with awesome designs and a material that won't disintegrate upon first washing, I'd go ahead and buy those. Don't think I don't know they flatter the female form better. But god created sewing machines for a reason, you know. I have the power to adapt boy's T-shirts to a more flattering form. And there are a lot of really pansy and sissy girl's T-shirts out there. There are some girls who have non-lame taste, I'll have you know. Besides, boy's T-shirts aren't really boy's T-shirts. They are generic unisex adult T-shirts. I never even saw a girl's T-shirt until the early 90's. Nevermind that I don't actually remember much before the early 90's, since I was 8 years old in 1990, but I swear back before then T-shirts did not discriminate based on gender.

So the lesson to guys trying to strike up conversations with ladies: I know it's hard to figure out what to say. Most of my social interactions at one point or another involve me staring blankly at someone because I don't know what to say. But leave the fashion advice to Stacy and Clinton, mkay?

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Dear Universe, Why do you hate us?

So you know how I said I wasn't going to relax until the ink was drying on the lease of the apartment that was all but ours?**

Well, I relaxed, and I shouldn't have, because it fell through.

The apartment at our price level, which we were told was ready for an August 7th move in, is now not ready until August 31st, which is well after school starts. But they had a nice $900 apartment all ready for us. Maybe I'd be willing to do it if this place covered some of the utilities, but they don't cover any, so our monthly living expenses would be more like $1100. We can't manage that.

So we asked for our deposit back, and then Ian cursed and threw something against the wall and stormed out of the apartment, and I started to cry while opening up craigslist to start this goddamned search all over again.

Seriously, Universe. Can you cut us a fucking break? I thought we had one less thing to worry about, but now we still have that thing to worry about, and time is ticking out.

I really didn't think it would be so difficult to get a place. This is killing me.


**Scanning down through my recent posts, it seems I might not have said anything about the fact that we found a place, applied, got accepted, and paid our deposit. All we had to do was sign the lease. I remember blogging that I wasn't going to relax until the ink was drying on the paper, but maybe I'm just going insane. I sure feel like I'm going insane. I feel like I could break at any minute.

Update: I'm not going crazy! I did write about how we got a place, but then I only kept it as a draft and never posted it. Weird. Ok, I guess that is a little crazy after all.

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The most stressful trip of my life

As you can see by the clever title above, our weekend trip to Portland was the most stressful trip of my life. I'm pretty sure Ian would say the same thing. Here are the highlights:



What was supposed to happen:

• The first day, we meet up with our Seattle-based friends who have a brother living in Portland, gather him up too, and they show us around the city to help us find neighborhoods to live in.

• The second day, we rent a car and explore the city some more.

• Ian falls gently for the charms of the city, like I did on my first visit; we are assured that this is a good move.

• We find some neighborhoods that we could definitely live in comfortably and happily.

• Ideally, we actually secure an apartment.

What did happen:

• First day, our friends had the impression that this was a hang-out trip, and not a help-Sra-and-Ian be productive trip; friends have terribly dominant personalities compared to our own; we explore the Portland Saturday Market, have some pizza and sit in the Pioneer Court Plaza waiting for some boring bands to play. Ian gets to see some things, but nothing that I haven't seen and nothing we couldn't do later, when we actually live there. Nothing productive gets done.

• Second day, we walk over to Hertz to rent a car. No reservation was made because we thought you could just go up to a rental counter and request a rental. We are denied without a reservation unless we want to pay for 5 days (in other words, line the rental agent's pockets handsomely). We say no thanks, walk over to Avis, and are snottily told that no cars are available. We are beginning to think we are being judged or the agents are just effing lazy. No cars? on a Sunday? come on. We resign ourselves to foot exploration. Buses were considered, but we thought trying to coordinate schedules would be a hassle. So we hoofed it.

• Nearly everybody we have asked about where they recommend living says, "Oh, I just love SE, anywhere from Hawthorne down to Division, or even Powell." Well, maybe we didn't make it to the to-die-for area, since we only got to 30th Ave before we simply couldn't walk anymore, but we absolutely loathed this neighborhood. It felt like Magna or South Salt Lake. I would rather die. Or at least stay in Salt Lake. I might even prefer Sacramento to that neighborhood, and I was violently opposed to moving there. What the hell is wrong with all these people who love Hawthorne? Is this some joke in which locals who don't want new people moving in recommend the most ghetto neighborhood in order to deter newcomers? Or are we really that different from everyone?
  

• We were filled with utter dread. Ian kept saying, "what are we doing? what have we gotten ourselves into?" I kept thinking, "Ian hates me, he's going to leave me, if this is the coolest area to live, I really don't want to come here." We have several cocktails back at our hotel and then lay on our bed and hold each other, each trying to comfort the other when we are both feeling the same sick feeling in our stomachs.

• Desperate, we decide to try to book a rental car for the following morning before our flight later that afternoon. We go with Enterprise, because those Hertz and Avis people are bitches. Book the car for 8:AM, then manage to fall asleep for exhaustion in spite of our terror. Wake around 6:AM, 1 hour before our alarm, and are unable to fall back asleep, because worry starts seeping in again.
  

• 7:AM, Pack up the hotel, check out, take the Streetcar to Burnside and find the Enterprise agency. Get our rental car from some very friendly and helpful agents. Agents recommend several neighborhoods, none of which is Hawthorne.
  

• Decide to start our journey at Lewis & Clark Law School, since I know that's a beautiful area, and I want to show Ian where I will be spending all my time neglecting him. Only a 10 minute drive to L&C, and already Ian is feeling better. I am too - I wasn't crazy, this town is classy and beautiful and hip, you just have to know the right neighborhoods. We fall for Multnomah Village, Lake Oswego, John's Landing in SW, and even Sellwood on the East Side. It's going to be ok, we can live here. But we are still traumatized by this weekend. Why did everybody lie to us? we wonder.
  

• No housing secured, but some leads have been found. Should have a place soon.

• At the end of the weekend, we did accomplish what we needed to do, but the emotional and mental stress was something I would not like to ever repeat. I think law school will be cake now.

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Dear Michael Jackson,

You were a world icon. A tormented, disturbed, haunted genius.

Your music is a legacy that will live on even as you are laid to rest.

Sweet dreams, Moonwalker, you will always be bad. You know it.

Your fan,
Sra

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