fuck a april shower, flowers are here today

It's been a long time.

The Portland winter came around and kicked my butt once again, trapped indoors, struggling for positive things to focus on, I languished. I think that's the most polite way to say it.

But Spring is here again. How do I know? Is it because I quit my second job and proceeded to have a fantastic weekend in the best weather of the year (riding my bike all across town, getting sunburned even, a little touch of almond finding its way onto my arms, dancing on a Saturday night, ping pong outdoors, basically perfection)? Is it because my other job is starting to come together and treat me well (I mean I was getting flowers delivered to my desk on Friday)? Or is it just more simply because the ducks in my life are getting in a row or whatever it is that those ducks do?

No, it's because I spent the day indoors today, watching sports, playing videogames, watching movies, and little else; I loved it. It's been a long time coming. I'm fed, warm, confident, and capable, and my daily plate is full enough at the moment that taking a breather like today is exactly what I needed.

It's here, kids. Spring is here.

on serendipity

So apparently the Los Angeles Lakers haven't had a winning season series against the Portland Trailblazers since the 1992-93 season.

I knew there was a reason I moved here besides the cute girls.

dear authorities

So I went next door to grab something out of D.'s apartment, and stacked on her countertop are box cutters, about 8 or 9 high.

Suspicious? I sure think so. How could I have not known it would be the all-American, "local," lily white, blond girl, who I attended college with and speaks even better English than me. For those who think I'm jumping to conclusions based on incomplete information, did you read about what happened on 9/11? Box cutters might as well be the new secret mafia tattoo.

So now what do I do? I left casually, trying to play it off like I didn't see, but maybe I should have tackled her, started pulling her hair or something? Do I call a number? Is there a number for me to call? In the end I've decided I'm just going to make this post, and hopefully someone with the Authorities will come across it. In the meantime, say a little prayer for me, because I have a terrorist across the hall, who gives me free shoes, lets me borrow her stuff, lends me money, and is good fun in general, but a terrorist all the same.