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.
Classes are over, though, and I earned my certificate. I knew I’d be fine in the Commercial Pyrotechnics course because I did well in the Stage Pyrotechnics and Special Effects course.
Demolition? Not so much.
At one point, I thought I was going to fail.
Not only did I not fail, I earned an A in the course — due in large part to the final project, which was a group project to create a bid to demolish the St. Louis Arch.
Three twentysomething engineering students and me. We spent weeks working on this project via email, Zoom and group chat. (Our group name: Arch Nemesis, Inc. — yuk, yuk.)
I needed a nearly perfect score to get an A. I had come to terms with getting a B. Then we presented our work. The professor had nothing but good things to say about our bid presentation.
Y’all. He gave us extra credit.
I am so proud of us. I’m proud of myself.
Maybe you can hire me for your next explosive event. Or not. I think I’m done with this chapter of my life.
Now that this semester is over, I may get back to writing regularly.
Oregon is an interesting place. The people are fascinating.
I’m used to eccentric people. I lived in Savannah for many years, after all.
But Oregon takes it to a new level. It seems like everyone I’ve met is some version of “different” — meaning not mainstream or like anyone I’ve ever met. (I know there is no “normal.”)
Like the lady who waxed my eyebrows while telling me about her life as an escort.
Or the collection of people I met on a recent Tuesday night.
I’m trying to build a friend network. My next-door neighbor invited me to a get-together billed as a game night.
It was not a game night — certainly not in the way I described my cards-and-wine night with neighbors in St. Louis.
Only one person — “James” — knew most of the people in the group. Most of the seven people were meeting for the first time at one woman’s house.
It was a disparate group.
The guests:
Amy: Neighbor. Identifies as gay and uses she/her pronouns.
“James,” formerly Jamie: Amy was certain the pronouns used are they/them, but James’ partner used she/her.
Charlie: James’ partner. No pronouns used. In transition, but it’s unclear which direction.
Francis: A midwife and psychic/medium who uses they/them. Also wears a turban to casual events. As one does.
Brielle: She/her. Was in a polyamorous relationship. Fell in love with a different partner. Now divorcing her husband to be monogamous with new man who lives in Chile.
K—-: I wish I could remember her actual name. It was so unusual with an unusual spelling that I couldn’t get a handle on it. I wish I could have written it down. (I’m old. I need to write things down.) Her house was the gathering point. Straight woman (she/her) with husband and kids.
Obviously, I like my neighbor. And Brielle and K—- seemed lovely. I couldn’t get a read on James.
Meanwhile, there was Charlie and Francis. I could happily live my whole life without seeing them again.
Charlie would ask someone a question, then start talking to James or Amy and not listen to the answer. Others were listening though. Then Charlie would jump back into the conversation and not know what was happening. Then ask more questions to which Charlie wouldn’t listen.
And here’s one of my exchanges with Francis:
Me: So when did you realize you were psychic?
Francis: A lot of people have asked me that question.
Extended pause.
Me: And?
Francis: My father was always very supportive.
Me: That’s great! So when did you know you had an ability others didn’t?
Francis: Well, I just had so much death in my life. I felt I could feel their energy.
Uh huh. So I call bullshit on Francis. I’m sorry, but if you had this gift, wouldn’t you be able to pinpoint the moment you knew you were differently abled? Am I wrong here?
Anyway, it was a weird night. Another adjective to use is exhausting.
Amy asked me if I had a good time. I can be diplomatic sometimes. I talked about how fun I thought Brielle and K—- were.
Amy: And the others?
Me: James seemed very quiet.
Amy: James is always quiet when Charlie is around.
Yeah, I bet.
Later, Amy told me Charlie asked if Charlie could be Amy’s roommate. That would make Charlie my neighbor too. It took every ounce of restraint not to scream “NOOOO!”
Luckily, Amy reported this week that the two of them met, and Amy’s place is not really the best option for Charlie at this time.
[Audible sigh of relief]
I’m sure Charlie and Francis are beloved by others. They don’t need me.
I’m working on other friendships.
Winery Wendy and I went to my town’s new beer fest last weekend. It replaced the annual Turkeyrama. (You know I would have loved to go to that.)
The beer fest was … underattended. I don’t think they advertised at all. Wendy and I were two of maybe 15 people hanging out in a hot-assed insurance company parking lot.
Unlike most beer fests where breweries set up their own stations, this one had two trucks with a bunch of options. Strange, but the outcome was the same: I got to try a bunch of local beer.
The music was good too. Maybe next year the organizers will actually promote the event.
Anyway, as you can tell, I’m fine: I’m meeting all sorts of people. And liking most of them.
MCMINNVILLE, Ore. — An Oregon woman who calls herself “Auntie Beth” emerged from her work/home loop Saturday to visit a Willamette winery, according to a source close to the woman.
“She’s lived here for more than a month already,” said the source. “We were about to do a welfare check.”
Lured by an advertisement touting “live music,” Auntie Beth arranged to meet up with a new Facebook friend. This friend, Wendy, and Auntie Beth were surprised and dismayed to discover that the music genre was jazz.
Still, they stayed until the event was over, then continued the evening at Lumpy’s Tavern a short distance away.
This dive bar featured many local craft brews on tap, a variety of interesting people, three pool tables and karaoke.
Auntie Beth arrived home safe at 1:30 a.m. — four hours past her normal bedtime. She and Wendy are expected to repeat the evening in two weeks.
My car arrived. I returned the RV. The boys left. The moving truck arrived. I lost count of how many boxes I opened in my quest to settle in. I gained a hundred bruises on my body. I lost weight via sweating.
It’s starting to come together, but it’s been a long week.
The house provided to me has not been loved for some time. I’m grateful for it, but it’s clear it has been short-term housing. I want to be here long-term. I want to leave it better than I found it.
So I painted the living room and dining room by myself.
Look at this nonsense I found while preparing to spackle:
Come ON!Who paints a living and dining room this yellow anyway? Yes, I know gray has a bad reputation, but it’s better than yellow.
I haven’t painted walls in YEARS. My body was a wreck afterward.
But it looks good.Sadly, there’s nothing I can do about the Blair Witch basement. Except not EVER go down there at night.I also met the neighbors.
I haven’t even started work yet, but I had a work event last night. My new university is home to a large wine festival. There is a salmon bake. I was invited to mingle with trustees and donors.
I hadn’t put on makeup and nice clothes for about two weeks.
I even got all the paint out of my hair!
I don’t know what I expected, but it was not the huge event that it was.
Look at all these people!Meat for milesThe salmon bakeAll local produce. Delicious!
I’m so glad I went. It was nice to be among people again after a week spent with boxes and Leo.
It was weird to watch my car drive away without me.
I packed the remaining stuff for the RV and worried about space.
The next day, the epic road trip started out fine. I had to pick up the RV in Kansas City, so I hitched a ride with my brother who was headed there for a gig.
Look at me with Lodell: fresh faced and ready for adventure.
Why did I have to get it in Kansas City? Good question. Cruise America doesn’t have any locations closer to St. Louis. It was KC or Chicago. Weird, but ok.
While on the way, Gideon was updating me on the flight. Allegiant flies direct from Savannah, Georgia, to Belleville, Illinois, (close to St. Louis) seasonally. No frills, of course. It’s a sky bus.
Despite my flight tracker saying they were en route and the Allegiant app saying they were on time, they were delayed. No explanation.
According to Gideon, for a moment, it looked like they were going to board. But then, the flight was canceled. No reason given. No attempt to reschedule: Sucks to be you; we’ll give you a voucher.
The next flight out on any airline that would get them there that night was $1,319 per ticket.
Mama ain’t got that kind of cash.
Survey says: Delta for $259 the next morning.
I arranged all this while sitting on a stack of furniture pads in the RV place that doubles as a UHaul rental center.
So that was fun.
They headed home. So did I.
Despite being 30 feet long, the RV is easy to drive. It’s not cheap, though.
Yikes. That’s about 10 miles per gallon.
What I had been counting on was having help loading the beast for the trip with everything the movers didn’t take.
Thar she blows!
But that wasn’t the case. My next-door neighbors took pity on me and helped me with some of it.
We appear to have a symbiotic relationship. I force you to get out and “people” occasionally. You tell me about all the good stuff going on in the neighborhood.
I had no idea when I moved in that our neighborhood is such a happening place!
Observe and report 