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02.24.2003 - 10:27 a.m.
Monday
Home again home again jiggety
jig, from the wine
festival in Newport where I ate like a pig. And now it's
Monday where I'm taking the day off, because of the roto-shitting
that has left me full sloth.
Wow, I just literally cannot
believe Hallmark hasn't snapped me up. I mean, wow.
Friday we got up bright and
early and packed everything including Dog and drove drove drove
down the interstate, past Portland where I used to live, through
Corvallis where we both used to live, and finally the enjoyable
last hour through woods and farmland to the coast.
[Random: When we lived in Las
Vegas for a year together, I would get this occasional sharp
pang for the damp greenness of the NW. I had this very visceral
image of kneeling alongside a coastal woods trail, and simply
digging my fingers into the ground, feeling the moist loamy earth
and crumbled leaves and moss. It was probably a gut reaction
to my lips constantly unfurling in great chapped peels from the
desert air.]
When we got settled in our
cottage, the first thing we had to do was run to Fred Meyer's
for…I am so ashamed…a PONCHO for me. I had forgotten
my Columbia repels-all-that-is-wet rain jacket. What am I, visiting
from California? Once I was clad in a giant ugly green
poncho that would have comfortably fit Biggie Smalls, we took
Dog down to the beach.
You want to see sheer, unadulterated
joy? The Love That Knows No Boundaries? That is Dog with the
ocean. She can't get enough. She runs straight out into the waves
and splashes around, with absolutely no indication of ever wanting
to come back in. Other dogs like to run on the beach, our dog
just wants to swim out to sea.
Farewell, stupid humans! I must be with my kind, the sea-swellers!
This I will try and remember,
next time she whimpers when I put her out in the morning. I will
sternly tell myself, this dog enjoys subzero temperatures and
crashing waves that shove her underwater. The drizzle
will not kill her.
We finally got Dog back to
the cottage, where we swabbed her with towels and a slow but
unmistakable eau de chien mouillé filled the rooms
(I just translated that to sound cool, I don't know any goddamn
french). We then stood outside for almost an hour to catch the
shuttle bus to the wine festival.
Once there, it was much as
it always is, except going on a Friday seems to mean there are
a lot less people, which rocked. No standing in line. No line
for the porta-potties. Basically no lines anywhere, just drifts
of people with happy, drunken expressions. We ate and drank everything
in sight for hours, and wrapped up with a glass of port each
accompanied by two chocolate covered potato chips. I know.
Daruma-san
is going to kill me.
Hello, I am sufficiently buzzed enough to ask a stranger to
take our photo.
We rode the same shuttle bus
back to the cottage, only this time it was magically transformed
into the Motherfucking Loud-Ass Drunk Bus, which was hilarious.
Grown women and men were shouting at the tops of their lungs,
singing, and alternately berating/praising the driver. It's all
the funnier that these shuttle buses are actually school buses,
because everyone was behaving like they were on the field trip
of their lives.
Back to the cottage, and back
to the beach with Dog. JB and I walked slowly along the water,
which was pulled back by the tide like a giant inhale, and pools
of moonlight lay everywhere we could see.
The cottage where we left a metric ton of dog hair and sand.
Also, those stairs? A major bitch.
Saturday we tried to enjoy
a leisurely breakfast, but I am telling you, Dog was having none
of it. She could see the beach from the living room window, and
I have never heard such pathetic sounds coming from an animal.
Moans, groans, whimpers, giant shuddering sighs, more moans,
a deep gutteral chuff, more whimpers. So because we both have
the word "Sucker" tattooed on our foreheads when it
comes to the dog, we traipsed back down to the beach yet again.
I yearn. How is it that you torture me so, by separating us?
After that, we did some window
shopping, and then visited the aquarium, which was wonderful.
They have some beautiful exhibits there, and they have transformed
the giant tank that Keiko was housed in to a 360 degree exhibit
where fish swim on all sides of you. There was a particularly
cool moment when a diver, cleaning the tank, slowly drifted over
the tops of our heads and I don't know how to explain it - it
felt just like a 3-D movie where you helplessly reach out your
hand, because you are positive you can touch what you see.
Saturday night we soaked up
the beer and atmosphere of the loud Rogue brewpub, then back
to the cottage to collapse in the ever-increasing pile of dog
fur. And Sunday morning found us back in the 4Runner on the way
home.
Now, if this were the end of
my weekend story, all would be great. However.
So we're driving driving driving
coming home, and my stomach starts feeling queasy. I chalk this
up to trying to read while in a moving car, and try to ignore
it. It gets worse and worse, until I am exercising the sort of
will that top military personnel are trained to harness during
times of enemy torture.
Somehow, I make it home and
crawl into bed. I lie there hoping it really was car sickness,
but then -
Um. Ok, let's just say my body
decided to eject ballast from both ends. Repeatedly. For hours.
I mean, have you ever been so damn sick you crawl out from underneath
the covers, shivering, race to the bathroom, and you aren't
sure what you need to do first? Oh, it was no good.
And a mini-rant, if you please.
Pepto Bismol, it's got exactly two things going for it: it tastes
fucking horrible when it's going down, and it tastes even worse
when it comes back up. Go Pepto Bismol! It rocks! Except, you
know, not.
Anyway, I'm staying home today.
I feel much better, but I have a deep mistrust that is causing
me to peer suspiciously at my midsection every now and then.
"Everything under control today beeyotch? No more
assplosions or chats with Ralph? Ok then."
Here, keeping with the bodily grossness theme, is a picture
of JB
making a giant fart sound with some kelp.
Weird stomach things happened
to us last
year after the wine festival, too. Bad oysters much?
JB left this morning for another week-long trip to China. I managed
to have a wee heart attack when I checked the news sites earlier
and saw there had been a huge earthquake there. I calmed down
when I saw it was in a different part of the country, but damn.
I feel a lot more paranoid about him traveling these days. He
bought a shirt at the Rogue that has an American flag motif,
and I made him promise not to wear it on this trip.
Yes, I know that has nothing
to do with an earthquake. I'm just trying to make this the longest
fucking entry I've ever written.
Ok, now to catch up on journals.
And thank you, Weetabix, for the linking and the nice words
and all. Also, I think I have a crush on your hooters. Dayum!
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0
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004
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