All Things Profane and Sacred

On Tuesdays I have to commute home at rush hour. The problem with going to school on the Southwest side and going home to the Southeast side is you have to cross the Willamette river at some point-either the Sellwood bridge or the Ross Island bridge. Both suck ass, Ross Island somewhat less than Sellwood. In fact, if given the choice between crossing Sellwood at rush hour and playing the interactive version of Last Tango in Paris with Karl Rove, I'd have to sit down and think it over, but I digress.

Yesterday, after I had inched my way over the Ross Island bridge and started inching my way up Powell, I saw a political candidate standing on a bridge with some supporters, grinning like a goddamned mechanical ape. My question is this: Who thought this was a good idea? Do you really want to be associated with the misery, frustration and irritation of trying to get home in the shit sucking vomit swelter of rush hour? Really?

This is a great post from (where else) craigslist:

Hello, I am a cute mid 20's single guy looking for a lesbian couple who want a guy in their lives for friendship, romantic evenings, passionate nights, and great food. I am not some super stud looking to get into a threesome, or a gigolo seeking victims. I often get along well with lesbians and have dated a few who took leave of their homosexuality to be with me. There are often problems in these relationships though because they are still attracted to women and I want a monogomous relationship. Perhaps if I find an already established couple there wont be a problem with that. I am friendly, like to cook, give a great massage, and enjoy the company of women. Many lesbians are more comfortable with women but enjoy the attention and qualities (there are some!) of a man. I am not attracted to bull dykes or women who hate or like to humiliate men. I am also not expecting or looking for some porno-esqe barbie and bambi drunk mans fantasy. Just looking for two women comfortable with themselves and their relationship that want a man somewhere in it. Not sure what to expect but please only the serious need reply.

For those of you who were wondering: Yes, you can get your hair caught in a vacuum cleaner and live to tell. J has been bugging me about my nasty dog hair coated car. He didn't believe me when I told him that bad things happen when I vacuum the car. Anyhow, we stopped by his aunt's house to borrow the vacuum cleaner. Got rid of the trash ok. Sat the vacuum lying down accross the back seat and went to town. J was doing the actual vacuuming with the hose attachment while I was spraying static spray on the dog hair and brushing at it to loosen it. Without thinking, I leaned over the vacuum to get the brush. When I leaned over, the bottom part of the vacuum sucked my hair in. Luckily we managed to turn the vacuum off and unwind my hair out of it before any serious damage was done. Weekends with me are always an adventure.

Oregon has made me into a pussy. I woke up this morning to 50 degree weather and felt frozen to the bone. Put on three layers to walk the dog. Spent said walk fantasizing about being warm.

As I walked, I thought about home. About a certain winters day when I had to take the bus downtown to school to take a film final. I don't remember how cold it was at the time, but it was somewhere below zero. Once you get down there, differences are just a matter of degree (ha ha). I do remember that the wind was sharp and you could hear that humming buzzy noise that means it is damn cold and not about to get any warmer any time soon. The sort of day that no one in their right mind would voluntarily go out into. But I had a final dammit.

Anyhow, the campus of the University of Wisconsin, Madison is pretty big, so to get to the final I knew I'd be doing some treking. I put on a set of long johns, and then some sweats over that, a larger pair of sweats over those, a skirt, a few shirts and a big coat over that. Then hat, two scarves and mittens. God bless layers.

Went out to the bus stop. Waited in a miserable huddle, looking like an abandoned babuska. Waited. Waited. Waited. Eventually (my roomate said I was out there about 45 minutes-time had really lost all meaning at that point) I came back inside to yell at the bus company. Apparently for some reason known only to themselves, they change their schedule about the same time finals start at the university. Thanks guys. Good plan.

Now that is cold. This? This is nothing. At least I keep telling myself that. But I'm still cold as hell.

Alright-I've mostly avoided political posts because for the most part political blogs bore the tits off me, but today is different. I am full of irritation over the whole ballot measure 36 deal, and need to give a shout out to my homies on the religious right. (For those of you playing outside of Oregon, measure 36 restricts marriage to unions formed by one man and one woman.)

First, for anyone who hasn't cracked open their voter guide, the first three "arguments in favor" are really fucking hillarious. Recommended reading for any and all who need a smile.

Ok, let's get down to it. Despite all the prettified words in the voters pamphlet, I think we all know what this ballot measure comes down to: religion. I even saw a guy on the tv news saying that other sins are against the law, and he just doesn't see how homosexuality is any different.

News Flash!: Um. We don't punish sins. Nowhere in any bible I've ever seen (and, yes, I've seen my fair share) does it say "Thou shalt not drink and drive your camel, for this is an abomination in the Lord's eyes" yet drinking and driving is against the law. Additionally, the state of Oregon does not criminalize wearing the clothing of the opposite sex (Deuteronomy 22:5), clipping your hair at the temples (Leviticus 19:27), or wearing mixed fiber clothing (Deuteronomy 22:11).

Just as a lengthy aside (and hell, this post is long enough-one aside isn't going to break the bank), I'd like to point out that the bible does not treat fetuses (feti?) as human beings. I'd like to direct your attention to Exodus, Chapter 21, which authorizes the death penalty for murder. Okay so far? Alright. Now scroll down to verses 22-25. Note that when violence causes a pregnant woman to miscarry, the punishment is not death. Why? Because it is not murder to kill a fetus. That's right, folks. Pack up your signs and go home. This isn't just me telling ya this-the lord has spoken.

Anyhow, I could continue ranting on this subject, but I think I've gone on long enough. I'm just a-warning y'all, I know the bible far too well to lose at the god game. Be careful out there.

I took J to a musical for his birthday. Ok, he says if I insist on blogging about this that I immediatly disclose that the musical was "Team America: World Police." Totally a must see movie, no matter which side of the political spectrum you sit on. Hot puppet sex, projectile vomiting and a fantastic musical score (America-Fuck Yeah!). Hats off to Parker & Stone for another masterpiece.

The mean reds have me down. We're going on day five with no end in sight. How long, oh lord? How can something so small pump out so much freaking blood? Are their any veins in the uterus? If blood was gold, I'd have a team of miniture forty-niners standing in my panties. I don't think I'd like that-forty niners don't seem like the best washed lot and I'm not looking for any kind of infection.

And the mood swings on.

So, I've taken shit galore because I like to wear patchouli oil. Back off man! I like how it smells and it makes me feel warm and happy. So fuck you.

Anyways, it's been fucking hippy this and dirty beatnik that and pinko commie the other for the past few weeks. Constant shit. Someone apparently never learned that people in glass houses shouldn't throw shit unless they want their nice view all muddied up. Especially if they not only own a hacky-sac, but have been know to kick said hacky-sac around.

Why don't you go sit in a drum circle, light up some nag champa and leave me alone. Dirty hippy.

I feel like I've been living my days in some hazy pleasant song. The sun is shining, the leaves are dropping gently to the ground in a golden, well, I guess shower would be the appropriate word, if not for the unpleasant connotation. Lusty October, with its smoky air and frosty mornings.

Windy days at the coast, walking along the sand, getting high on a driftwood log and spending hours staring out at the eternal ocean. Climing up on a rocky outcrop to watch the sun drop behind the clouds. Wrapped up in the day and the company and the fantastic sense of being.

Lazy Saturdays spent in bed, listing to NPR, eating lavish breakfasts and then showering off the morning. Dancing sock footed in the kitchen. Making coffee in long underwear.

Does knowing that these things are about as tritely pukingly cutely romantic as you can get change their essential nature?

Cranky. . .grumble grumble grumble. I'm usually not much of a PMSer, but every 3 or 4 months I have a pisser of an emotional ride. The worst part is I can stand outside myself and watch myself acting this way, but am powerless to stop the bitchyness.

Today is the first day that truely felt like fall to me. I looked out from the Justice Center down on the park, and most of the trees were that electric yellowy color and drifts of leaves covered the benches and walkways and the sky was dark and grumpy. Fall! What a great season. It's not as colorful here as back home, but I guess it'll have to do.

I need to figure out why my cat is occaisionally peeing on my bathroom floor. She does fine for a while, but then she just up and pees on the floor, the bathmat, or whatever else happens to be there. Things get ugly when whatever else happens to be J's shorts. Good morning, and welcome to A's house, where you don't leave shit lying around unless you're prepared to take the consequences (said consequences being realizing your boxers are drenched in cat urine).

Is she getting senile? Does she have a UTI? Is she acting out her evil master plan?

I can't vouch for the accuracy of this statistic, but I just heard on NPR that 87% of property crime in Oregon is linked to meth use. That is one hell of a statistic.