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.”
I just got back from a trip to China for work. I was in Zhengzhou and Shanghai. I had been to Shanghai before, so I kind of knew what to expect.
However, there were some surprises.
Things I did not have on my bingo card:
Sweet and sour popcorn fishWhat amounted to drinkable kerosene (106 proof!)A Rolls Royce golf cart for a tour of a university campusA campus that looked like Disney World mated with Las VegasA bowling alley inside the student centerA military parade featuring all 8,000 freshmenA welcome ceremony that rivaled the opening ceremony for the OlympicsLiberace’s furniture in my hotel roomA bathroom with a viewing windowDuck (I think) to go at the airportThe amount of full-on staring people did at our groupThe taxi ride from hell: snorting/coughing and texting driver who wouldn’t turn the air on but wouldn’t turn off the turn signal
It was an interesting and productive trip, but I’m glad to be home.
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 first week went well. Everyone has been very kind, very welcoming.
I’ve also been a bit overwhelmed at the scope of the work to do. I stayed late every night this week trying to get a handle on my role. But my instincts have proven to be sound, and I’ll be fine.
The view from my desk
I have discovered that Oregonians are a particular kind of nice.
They are lovely people, but don’t seem to go out of their way to help. High school friend Aileen, who lives in Salem, warned me about that.
You have to ask explicitly for what you want.
For example, I locked myself out of my house for the first time in my life the week before I started work. The doorknob of the door leading into the garage has a thumb lock you really have to work at to pop out. I thought I had done that.
When I returned from taking out the trash, I realized I had not.
I had only the clothes on my back. No phone. And I was filthy because I had been painting and unboxing and trying to get the place in order.
I didn’t even know where campus security was to get help. (I live on campus.) I walked to my soon-to-be office building to call campus security. One of my direct reports was working late. I materialized in her doorway. She and I were both horrified at the state of me. She barely recognized me.
Beth?!
Yeah.
She called security and handed me the phone.
Security officer: I don’t know that we even have keys to that place.
Me: If you don’t, do you know a locksmith?
Him: I’m not from here. I don’t know a locksmith.
Me: Could I use your phone to call one?
Him: Sure. I’ll meet you at your house in 10 minutes.
We arrive at the same time. He tried the keys. No luck. I use his phone to call a locksmith. The dude has to come from Salem, which is 45+minutes. He asks me what kind of lock it is. I tell him it’s heavy duty because it’s campus housing. He says he might have to drill it out. We hang up.
Me: I don’t think the facilities group is going to like that.
Security officer: No. I don’t think the campus locksmith will either.
Me (incredulous): THERE’S A CAMPUS LOCKSMITH?!
Him: Oh yes.
Me: Well, can we call him?
Him: Yes, I’ll call the facilities manager on call.
Me: THERE’S A FACILITIES MANAGER ON CALL?!?
Darrell the Campus Locksmith got there in five minutes and let me in.
See what I mean? Nice but not forthcoming.
It’s different from Southern nice, where people WILL go out of their way but talk smack about you when the screen door shuts.
And different from Midwest nice, where people will go out of their way with no expectation of return favors and no gossip.
So now I know. I can work with that.
I’ll keep you posted on the adventures I expect to have.
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.
Things started looking up, scenery-wise, once we started driving along the Columbia River.
Once again, Leo could not be bothered.
That mouthJust LOOK at him!
Everyone perked up when the landscape started looking like what you would expect from the Pacific Northwest.
Mt. Hood welcomed us.Sasquatch hasn’t … yet.
We drove up to my new digs and got the key.
It’s got some things going for it (a big front porch, good size overall) but some things against (no central air, bathrooms are on the first floor while bedrooms are on the second).
And this kitchen — while fine — is nowhere near as great as my St. Louis kitchen.My St. Louis kitchen. See what I mean?
In fact, I missed my kitchen so much that I CRIED when my utensil organizer wouldn’t fit in the drawer.
It wasn’t about the drawer, though.
It was THE MOMENT that it all became real. I live here now.
It was cold in Yellowstone last night. I was thrilled about that. We slept in and got a late start.
Our first stop was Old Faithful. We did not time it well. According to the online predictor, it wasn’t scheduled to erupt for another 90 or so minutes after we arrived. (I wish I had discovered the predictor before we headed out.)
So this is what we saw.We made the best of it.**Eddie most of all.
Our next stop was the Grand Prismatic Spring. We decided to do the overlook hike.
Totally worth it.
The rest of the drive to the West Entrance of Yellowstone was lovely.
Once again, Leo could not be fussed.
This cat. Lord.
He also completely slept through the bit of engine drama. We had gotten gas (again) and were back on the road. Suddenly, the cruise control failed, and I got an error message that said, “Service Advance Trak.” The ABS light also came on.
We pulled over, and I called Cruise America. Despite the rep insisting we had been buffeted by wind (we hadn’t) or driven with a wheel on gravel (nope) or made a sudden swerve (wrong again), he told us how to reset everything.
The instructions are below. And I’m not exaggerating.
Turn the ignition off and on again five times, waiting four seconds in each position.
Drive 40 mph for 2-3 minutes.
Turn off the ignition and back on again.
People, believe me when I say that NO ONE was more shocked than I was when it worked.
Observe and report 