The heat is killing me. For you lucky fuckers who do not reside in Portland, Oregon, our city is having the heat-wave of a lifetime. I mean, this whole summer’s been super fucking hot, but today it was unbearable.100 fucking degrees. I swear to God. I should have left my house (which was 110 degrees). The coolness of the bus would have probably soothed me, but I was too hot to move. And I was hung over, because last night I went out selling. Aunt Judi sent me a digital camera (Alisa takes another leap forward into the 21st century!), so here is an actual picture from last night!
I kept to the Southeast last night, hitting Dingo’s -where the cute boy they employ kept giving me that look. You know, the kind you feel in your Down There’s? I kept getting confused, it’s been so long since a Hot Guy threw that look my way, that I started to worry that I was misinterpreting it. I found myself lingering there longer than I should have, just to bask in the hotness of his glances.
And then I got a little nerve-wracked by it all, and I skedaddled on down the street, to The Space Room, where the cool-dark-bar enveloped me and shaded me from the worst of the heat. From there I dashed down to the Triple Nickel, and The Sidestreet (which does indeed sing liquors sweet, sweet song, just like their ads say!). All in all, it was a nice night out. And I’m going to Do It Again tomorrow night, because anything’s got to be better sitting in a soup of my own sweat.
Actually, Portland, you will be getting a double-dose of delicious this week. KT’s coming to town! She’s been threatening to come up for a couple of months, but she was waiting for her sister to release the alien gestating in her nether-regions. Which happened a few weeks ago. Both Lizzie and Baby-Guido are doing fine.
Last week, I got the call “Scrape the sperm off the sheets! I’m coming to town. And I’ll be there for a week!” KT slurred into the phone. “Oh, shit, Ok! Umm…. you know I’ve got Vagina Spiders now, right KT?” I asked. “What?” she’s never heard of me going without sex before. I don’t think she believed me at first. “It’s so hard to find boys who are worthy!” she crooned into the phone, after I explained what Vagina Spiders were. “Yeah. Especially in Portland.” I agreed.
Let me just say, that I don’t think that Portland boys are the whole problem. Part of the problem is me, which is why I’m taking a break from all things sexy. I have terrible taste in men. I spent 12 years in serious therapy, trying to figure out how to get my romantic shit straight. However, nothing seems to work. I’ve read books, I’ve meditated on my hotness, I’ve written bad poetry about my childhood sex abuse, I’ve become the seductress of the century (effectively, “taking control of my body” and a lot of other people’s body’s too), I’ve figured out how to errect boundaries, and resigned myself to my inner and outer-hotness, but nothing has shaken loose. The shitty taste in men that has plagued me since I broke up with Carlos Moreno (my high school boyfriend and the only Nice Guy I’ve ever dated) continues to haunt me.So, for the time being, I’m giving myself a time-out, in the hopes that a break from sex and boys will reboot me, and when I turn the switch back on, I’ll magically be all fixed. Like when you turn off your computer, and let it rest for ten minutes? And then windows is no longer crashing? and you get another 45 minutes of bliss, before the bugs become apparent and your computer starts getting crazy again. And you swear and you get all pissy, and you wonder if you shouldn’t spend the money on the upgrade? I’m going for that 45 minutes of bliss. And unfortunately, there isn’t an upgrade for “Fucked up taste in men”. But if there was, my broke-ass couldn’t afford it anyway.
Shit, wouldn’t it be rad if there was though?
I get that my sexual choices suck. No matter what country or state I’m in, I seem to have a yen for The Emotionally Broken. Show me a boy who cries regularly, or has PTSD and I’ll show you some wet panties. -This is the reboot I’m talking about. I think I should be moving on, to the emotionally not fucked up, but I’m not sure what to move on to.I think this is left over from when I was crazy, because my childhood sucked. I think that while I’m not crazy anymore, I still identify with crazy boys. I think it’s hard to reconfigure your core identity. And I was crazy for a lot longer than I’ve been sane. It’s a conundrum.
So, having said that, I’d like to talk some shit on The Boys In Portland. Stump-town’s Boys Selection is pretty paltry. I know that sounds like a bullshit excuse from a Crazy Girl who wants to blame her environment for her shitty taste in men, so I made a list for you, describing why and howI’ve come to this conclusion:
1. Boys in Portland have it easy. The chicks here out-number them -like 4 to 1. And the chicks in Portland are Agressive-Feminist-Bad-Asses. I mean, the Estrogen levels in this town are off the charts. It’s probably really intimidating. And it rubs off a little bit.
So, essentially, boys in Portland don’t have to do that much in order to land a kick-ass chick. In fact, they can be total fuck-ups and still find Cool Chicks to fight over them, we end up lowering our men-standards because of the shortage, and I think because there are so many Chicks, we end up becoming the more agressive sex in this city. Because of this Insane Estrogen-ation, the boys here don’t have to try to get dates. Also: the rubbing off thing. lately I’ve been saying “I prefer the testosterone-laden boys of California, with their leering glances and their overt sexual interest in me, than the estrogen-filled boys of Portland, with their respect and their inability to come up with a decent come-on line.”
So, because they don’t have to try, and because they may not remember how, being wooed is out of the question. And the older I get, the more I want a little woo.In fact, I’m not going out with a guy, unless he woos. Which in and of itself might leave me stuck.
2. Portlanders are drunks. We drink at the movie theaters. We drink on the bus, we drink at school, we drink at work-lunches. We drink before and after our morning coffee. Aunt Judi was surprised when she got here. It was lunch-time and we were on Belmont, so we ate at The Horse Brass Pub. “There were all kinds of people in there!” She said later. “In Texas, if you’re in a bar before noon, it’s because you have a problem! But everyone just drinks here all the time, I guess, huh?” This kind of constant-drinking-culture breeds fun. And alcaholics. So there’s a good chance if the Portland Guy you like isn’t too much of a pussy for you; he has a drinking problem -which he may or may not know about yet.
3. The boys who are not pussies, or drunks, are taken. Seriously. Probably 90% of the people who live in Portland are from elsewhere. Mostly, the mid-west and California. And most of those people came here with their lover. This (obviously) ends one of two ways.
Ending One: Those gloriously happy lovers move to Portland, and start growing their own food, get some chickens, a weed dealer they like, some part-time jobs (so they can concentrate on their art!), and a goodwill that has their style down pat. Once that’s all settled, they then they go about looking for other couples who like bikes/dogs/drinking/tattoos/recycling/reading/knitting/public transportation as much as they do. And then they start breeding.
Ending 2: The lovers move here together because ONE of them wanted to leave the shit-hole town that they came from, and the other one didn’t want to break-up. Cheating and misery ensues. They break-up, and the person who WANTED to move here lives happily ever after, leaving their lover in a strange city, confused and angry that they were tricked into uprooting their life for someone who (it turns out) doesn’t actually like them that much. The usually leads to drinking, and some sluttery. If you, as a single girl in Portland, find a boy who has been cast aside in such a manner, it might just be your lucky day! However, it’s hard to find them at just the right moment. See, the drunken sluttery stage can last for anywhere from six months to 3 years. And while they’re in that stage, they don’t see women as people, they see them as: “That Bitch That Dragged Me Out Here And Then Skull-fucked My Heart.” Once they snap out of it Watch Out! Because then they’re fair game, looking to settle down and ALL the other girls can tell. There may be swarming. So you have to make your move at precisely the right time. It’s like double-dutch. Except the ropes are feelings. And some of those feelings are yours. Be careful! It sucks when you jump on your own feelings!
So, as you can see, my personal Guy-Issues aside, Portland is a hard town to be a single girl in. Hence: Vagina Spiders. Not being able to date in Portland means that I probably won’t live here forever. Eventually, I’m going to want to feed the monster again. However, I’ve resigned myself to a life of Vagina Spiders, at least for the near-future, because I like all the other shit about this town: the glorious bus system, the art community, the small talk on the bus, the way someone asks if you’re OK, even if you’re screaming at no-one on the street, the free food, the booze everywhere, the coffee shops thriving next to coffee shops (and serving locally brewed beer), and the lovely drunks and sober people alike who buy Snarky Cards.
As much as I shit-talk the Portland Dating Scene, I love that this city has allowed me to live off my Art for so long. I couldn’t have done this in San Francisco, San Jose, Houston, or Galway (all the other cities I’ve tried out). And that is because the people who live here are awesome, despite their un-datability.