Drinking on Sunday night

During the summer, drinking on Sunday night was expected. It wasn't the end of the weekend, it was the beginning of a sun-filled week. It was easier then. Or so it seemed. I had a crush. Tia was on summer vacation. It stayed light out late. And so, Sunday night drinks (sessions of debauchery) were the norm. But the crush ended (I say we broke up. He has no idea about any of this.) and I stayed out of the bar. School started for Tia, the nights got shorter and colder and although I have the urge, I haven't been to a bar on a Sunday night in well over two months. Until tonight.

I went to a Harvest Festival Dinner and season wrap up for a local farmers market. A dear friend of mine manages it and is "retiring" to be become a yoga teacher and travel in Mexico. The dinner was a potluck made up of a gold mine of local and seasonal foods made by market volunteers and vendors. DE-LICIOUS! The invitation clearly stated, "Please do not bring alcohol" but one brave soul brought champagne. I refrained, which is odd, because usually if I see that on an invitation I bring my flask but tonight felt different. This was a going away party. This was not a time for flasks. Until I started talking with the folk at my table who asked, "You're coming for drinks with us afterwards, right?" Who am I to deny these folks my presence. After a short discussion of the closest (see: diviest) bars in the area we agreed on a local brewery known for its kid-friendly atmosphere. Which usually isn't a quality I look for in a bar but kid free=smoke free and that was the direction we were headed.

I arrived with the first group and decided to take care of my carpool business before I got down to real business. I ordered a Makers (neat) and excused myself from the table to call Ben, who had not responded to my text earlier. We were chatting, catching up and planning our Monday morning carpool extravaganza and I was wandering around looking for a quieter place when I wandered into a back room. I looked over and saw Tyson. Tyson-T.Y.-Tyson Grul in Portland. I looked again. Then I saw Gabe and Peter and knew it had to be him. Holy shit. My head exploded a little bit and poor Ben lost me on the phone conversation. I am still unsure of the details of tomorrow's carpool. I guess I will find out soon enough.

I went over to chat with T.Y. and company. Still a little stunned that the place where I am least likely to be (a kid-friendly brewpub in NE Portland on a Sunday night) somehow produces a sweet, sweet surprise of running into T.Y.. Still can't believe it. And to top it off, he was there with his girlfriend/wife (I didn't get the story) and his BABY!!! Tyson used to date my friend Jess. They partied together. Hard. During a time when there were no babies. The last time I saw Tyson in Portland was a very, very drunk time for me. More than usual. There were two "puke and rallies" and a dance-off involved. Needless to say, when I walked in the pub tonight I was not expecting to see Tyson. I can't wait to catch up when we have drinks Tuesday night.

All of this excitement makes me sort of want to hang out at bars on Sunday nights again. I even went to my old haunt. Summer made it shine in a different light. I'm a little disappointed I actually went there but super proud that I walked in, walked up to the bar and decided to leave WITHOUT HAVING A DRINK. What a fascinating Sunday!

Showers of thoughts

The charity package I chose for our annual family Christmas gift to someone besides ourselves is a project in Haiti. Because it says the kids are "showered with the love of Christ" in addition to 3 nutritious meals a day, a safe place to live and an education. What more could one ask for? I guess, I have to ask, "Do they get to have real showers too?"

I was told today that carpooler is not the correct term. Carpoolist is the preferred nomenclature, dude. Just an FYI to keep you all up to date.

Going Away Parties: place were you get to meet a bunch of people who you'll never see again because your only connection to them is the person who is leaving! I just went to one-I should know.


Jeff Holmes, my former boss, is full of advice. I think he is a total nut job so I didn't pay much attention to what he had to say. But he consistently said, "Never trust any man with a last name that's a first name." My crush has just that-a last name that's a first name. What's a girl to do? I asked Jeff for his advice and he told me to slap him and run in the opposite direction. I refused to do so and Jeff gave me another piece of advice: "Never trust a man who wears a bow tie." Clearly he had some trust issues. Which makes sense because while we worked together one of his employees rolled an entire safe full of money right out the door.So I asked my crush if he wears bow ties? He has. And as crazy as Jeff is and however poor his advice may be, I can't stop thinking about it. What if those two things somehow really mess a person up? I proceed with caution!

Love, Lust and Just Plain Crazy

There is a lot to be said about Love and Crazy. I have a big crush on someone. I used to have a big crush on someone else. He was a bartender and his hours did not fit into my professional life hours very well. But I spent a summer wooing him. He was always sweet. Always generous. Always smiling. But that is all the farther we got. I kept threatening myself to break up with the crush. But I kept returning to the bar each Sunday night and made no progress. Once I got up enough liquid courage to ask him if he likes peaches. Because I was going peach picking and thought I could use peaches as leverage for love. The next weekend I brought him a box of peaches. But I got there too early and he wasn't around. I felt silly waiting so I left the box there for him. The next time I saw him he was very thankful. He bought me drinks all night and I really thought we were making progress. I haven't seen him since that night. The peaches got me a few free drinks and a sweet smile. So now our love is just a faded memory. Even if he didn't know we were in love.  It's not as sad as it seems.  

There is a silver lining though. Because this interaction came up again recently. With my new crush. He's a former bartender  and mentioned that bartenders always remember the people who bring them things. So I asked, "Did anyone ever bring you a box of peaches?"  He said no. So I continued, "Do you think you would have fallen in love with someone if they brought you a box of peaches?"  He said probably. So technically the sweet crush circle has been completed and he loves me because I one time gave a box of peaches to a bartender and he was once a bartender and would have fallen in love with the peach giver. 

I'm planning our wedding tomorrow at work!  Hooray!  I am only kidding. But that is what happens with love and crazy. There is a fine line. I have never been very good at lines. I always resented the folks who would turn in their coloring contest pictures complete with markered outlines and no scribbles outside the black lines. What fun is that? So I sit here and teeter on the crazy line. 

Underwater Worlds of Pudding

Dreams are weird things. From the Chinese Medicine perspective you dream because your liver is ridding itself of toxins. Which is why I must dream a lot. I don't always remember my dreams but last night I remember it well.

I was in Spanish class in college. But my friend Dave was there and I didn't meet him until after college. It was my college prof, Nancy and some college classmates and we were at a country club. Which is where most college classes were held back in my day. I had to play the guitarra for the class, much to Dave's delight. You see, Dave is a guitar hero. I am not. So I did my best stringing some chords together. The class was not impressed. So I went for a swim. Only to remember that I had to meet my carpool. But the real pool felt so good. Even though I was in my clothes. So I swam a few laps and then decided to skip work because the carpool had already left. I woke up late, just in time to squeeze in a shower and head out the door with a soaking wet head to meet the carpool on time.

I mentioned my dream to my carpooler, Ben. He had a dream about playing the guitarra too. Only he had spatula hands. Metal ones apparently.