I’m a fan. That’s why I badgered my friend Jason into seeing you take on the Portland Thorns on the Wrex Coast Tour.
But it wasn’t the Thorns. It was the Thorns Academy. Like high schoolers.
Should have been an easy win, right.
Yeah, not so much.
When we left (early, because we are old and wanted to “avoid the crowds” as our dads used to say), you were down 4-0. One goal happened because your goalie was way out on the field.
You may not know this, but weird festivals are kind of my jam.
Anyway, I saw plenty while waiting for the parade to start.
People wearing protectionA reference for people of a certain ageOne of you ready to receive visitorsAnother reference for people of a certain age (POACA)Is it art BY you or ABOUT you?Prepared for the costume contestThey look fun!Photos with a Sleestak. Of course. For POACA. Happily, this child does not look as traumatized as she would have if she had seen the source material.I want to believe.
Things I never thought I’d hear:
“Watch out! Don’t hit people with your alien!” — a mom to her kid waving around an inflatable creature
“I don’t like aliens. They’re scary.” — an inflatable-free kid
Then it was time for the parade. I will tell you that I don’t much like parades. I was scarred for life by the boring St. Patrick’s Day parade in Savannah, which consists of politicians riding in convertibles and Irish families walking in a pack waving flags.
But this was my first year at your celebration, so I gave it a go.
Here are the highlights:
I love a band.I swear I thought she had a ball sack on her back. But it was just a flaccid alien replica.You aliens come in all shapes and sizes.And filled with life or … not.There were bad guys …… and good ones. That’s my friend Sarah!Van HALIEN, y’all!
Afterward, it was time for lunch.
Sitting around like it’s just a regular day.I had a crepe that was out of this world.
Then I went home to hang out with my own personal alien.
I have no idea what you real extraterrestrial beings think about all this. We must seem very primitive. There’s plenty of evidence for that.
I think we are going to be ok together. I’m feeling optimistic.
It’s probably because the sun is back.
Or the fact that I realized I’ve had nearly two full weeks of social activities, including:
Line dancing with Henry, a friend from college who was passing through.Karaoke with coworkers and friends old and new.Games with long-time friends from my Savannah days.A huge wine-tasting event I was able to attend for free with another coworker.Line dancing at a new-to-me club in Salem: Silver Spur.
About that club …
It was packed with folks aged 25-35.
Hence, not folks like me. 😂
I enjoyed the people-watching.
But then this happened:
I have thoughts.
This is LINE DANCING, not a sporting event. No need for the national anthem. (I would argue that we don’t even need it at sporting events.)
This is HOURS into the night. Why play it THEN?
Is this girl signing the anthem? If so, is that RIGHT? It looks made up. Like this lady. (Based on this, I think she’s full of it.)
In addition to the fascinating fauna people, the flora is pretty great too.
Double-flowering plum trees are everywhere.They are lovely until a stiff wind comes by.
In general, I’m happy. Everything is going to be ok.
I’d love your help in finding the parking access card, building fob and door key for my Airbnb.
Veronica the Cleaner took a pic of the bundle last Sunday to show that the guest returned it.
But when Amit checked in Friday, it was nowhere to be found.
There were no guests in between.
Unless I hosted ghosts. Or aliens.
I try to offer a five-star experience, so I set to work to try to fix the issue, even though I was in Savannah trying to spend some time with Gideon on his spring break.
The fob was the immediate concern. Well, the property manager only works Monday-Friday, and she was off Friday. NO ONE ELSE can distribute them. Fob is a no-go until Monday.
I still needed to get a new access card and key and to change the code on the lock.
I have friends in Atlanta, but that’s a big ask.
As I was flying through Atlanta on my way back to Portland, I decided to see if I could extend my layover.
The noon flight was sold out. Standby didn’t look promising. The 3 p.m. would get me there at 4, but my PDX flight left at 7.
Three hours to get out of the airport, run these errands, and get back through security?
My blood pressure is skyrocketing just thinking about it.
ANXIETY INTERLUDE.
I could either sit in the airport fretting for hours or get on the road.
I canceled my SAV-ATL flight and rented a car.
I have two sayings:
Experience is what you get when you don’t get what you want.
Bad decisions make good stories.
I got quite an experience and a story.
All was well until I entered Atlanta’s orbit. I am from Atlanta. I know traffic.
We always say, “Atlanta is an hour away from Atlanta.”
This was worse than almost anything I had ever seen. Add one hour to the journey.
Peachtree Street was a hot mess.
I mean … WTF?!? Seventeen minutes to drive 2.6 miles.
I got to the condo, grabbed the extra set of keys, and found a hardware store. That was the easy part. PASS!
Next I tried to change the code on the door lock. Somehow, I have the wrong programming code saved in my phone and no tools to take off the lock to get at the info inside. FAIL.
I went to the parking garage to get a replacement access card. The person who can do this works Monday-Friday. NO ONE ELSE can distribute them. Of course. FAIL.
So if you are keeping track, you can tell that I got virtually nothing accomplished. I wasted time, money and energy.
I am a glass-is-half-full person, so let’s look on the bright side:
I earned Skymiles and Expedia OneKeyCash on the car rental. Clearly that’s better than keeping my actual money. 🙄
I got to test drive a Subaru Forester. It’s THE car for folks in the Pacific Northwest. I’m trendy!
I got to catch up with my friend Jennifer on a two-hour call. Two hours! Y’all know that’s huge for me.
I met Amit, who is lovely, and now has a brand-new door key. Hope he gives me a good review. I did go the extra mile. 😉
I got my heart pumping thanks to road rage. Can we call it a Traffic Tantrum? (My agita!)
I really got to SEE Peachtree Street. Never paid much attention to most of the buildings before.
And also Peachtree Center Avenue, onto which I detoured.
Then I had to race to the airport.
It was … not a fun trip. And not productive. But at least I tried.
Tony (if I may be so bold), it would be great if you could somehow make the wayward items turn up during Amit’s stay.
Speak to the aliens, please. Have them beam them back down.
Many of you expressed concern about my social well-being when I saw you over the holidays.
Fair.
I do need to get out more. Try to meet more non-work people.
So this week, I did two things in two different places with two different sets of people:
Line dancing in Salem and a drag show in Portland.
How is that for running the gamut?
Those of you who have known me a while know that I haunted Stetsons in Savannah for line-dancing nights back in the day.
Salem, Oregon, is apparently a hotspot for line dancing. (Who knew?)
The colleague who told me about this event did provide some additional information.
It was great! I had fun and got some exercise. People were very welcoming.
That was Thursday night. I went to Darcelle XV in Portland on Friday night.
It was not like any other drag show I’ve seen. I’m used to acrobatic, can-pass-as performers working the crowd. This show was more like a cabaret stocked with Joan Crawford/Bette Davis clones in evening gowns. To tip, you threw your money in a bowl at center stage.
It was a good evening with friends, but I probably wouldn’t go back to the regular show. There’s an “open mic”-style drag show on Tuesdays that looks more interesting.
Still, I could have had a terrible time at either or both of these places and been happy to be out.
I mean, why else would straight, middle-aged me go to this?:
Lord knows that I am not the target audience.
My friend Wendy went with me. We were definitely the oldest people there by about 25 years. Two of a handful not in costume. And I’d bet a rainbow flag that I was the only heterosexual.
Not that any of this matters. It was a fun night. It was nice to get out, as my new job has consumed my life.
BUT we were there to see Big Freedia. And while I appreciate that you stepped in last minute when Freedia had a family emergency, I wasn’t really feeling your set.
I also wasn’t feeling the four bathrooms and two small bars for 500 people.*
I WAS feeling a new friend named Derek, though. Literally. He asked me to fix the garter buckle on the stockings of his sexy nurse costume. I was happy to help, and I ended up with what he proclaimed as my “new twink son.”
Observe and report 