...And Then Everything Went Horribly, Horribly Wrong

Then I would look like this. Completely wacked out.

Today I am going to pitch consulting to my current employer. I've worked out a 3-month plan and am going to tell them "I am considering moving to Portland." That way if they say no then I can come back from San Francisco on Monday and give them my two weeks. OH MY GAWD.

So yeah, a weekend in SF with boy-crazy L. I am psyched. We're seeing the Lucksmiths on Saturday and I asked only for a long, long day of walking tomorrow. Who knows what else we'll do, I'm down as long as it's free!

Spent $20 last night on a bad martini and a bland caesar salad at some new jazz club. A huge waste of money, but it was nice to see M and A for (what might be) the last time before I go. Beeyatches! They should have sprung for my grub! Ha.

I have to pack up my crap in the next two weeks and figure out what I can shove into my little car while still leaving room for me, S and The Chop. I have to get moving insurance. I have to get a map of California! All these things to do and so little time.

So I had a couple days of huge freekout about the move - as in "what the hell am I doing" and "the moving company is going to rip me off." But I have to believe that they want to move my stuff, not hold it hostage, and remember that people move every day, for much less positive reasons.

When I get to Portland I am going to get in touch with the editor of www.portlandpicks.com, who is expecting my call. At the very least I can freelance for her and meet some new people/explore the city. I'm also hoping to get involved in the WriteAround Group (http://www.writearound.org/response/index.htm) and do some volunteer work. As my friend JB said, "It's not like you're going up there to do crack." Oh, but what if I was! Whitney and Bobby make crack look so glam. And Lindsay Lohan seems to be doing her share of cocaine...maybe drugs ARE the answer. Maybe I'm missing out.

But, as Elton John sings, "then again, no."

In the left corner you can see the white picket fence of the house I am going to rent. For a yet-to-be-determined amount of time. I am going to walk the dog until his legs fall off. Look at that! See the trees and the green, green grass that wants to grow of its own accord. Notice the lack of a gigantic yellow orb staring maniacally down from the sky, solely intent on burning holes through flesh and bone.

I get the big downstairs bedroom and an address in, well, Beaverton. Huh. Close to Portland, though - 10 minutes by train - and what the fuck, people - it's better than the 1,300 miles that separate me now. Plus having a home base will give me time to check out the urban environment and pick out a neighborhood that truly moves me. In the meantime, I'll soak up the quietude and dig my heels in re: looking for work and working on my writing. Because as all dreamy would-be novelists know, you need a muse. I think the relocation will do the trick quite nicely.

THIS IS SO SURREAL.

MOMENT OF CLARITY: Am I the world's biggest idiot? This is the most daring thing I've ever done. Not only cutting the security of house/job/friendship base here in Phoenix, but cutting the 34-year-old umbilical cord that binds me to my parents and trading it all in - at least for the short-term - for life with The Puppy. And SOON. In less than a month. I hope to be on the road May 19.

S - request some time off, pack your lipgloss and flip flops, and get ready to roll b/c I can be in LA Thursday evening and we can be on our way to Big Sur first thing Friday morning. Make it to Portland by Saturday night or Sunday morning if we dawdle.

Isn't this grand? It's not just daydreaming anymore.

I've had friends who moved to Chicago and NYC and San Fran and Japan, but little ole me has been stuck in the mud, knee-deep in Phoenix's hard, dry quicksand, watching helplessly as they started over in exotic locales.

Now I'm fucking outta here?!? It's too surreal.

And is there another word for surreal b/c surreal doesn't seem surreal enough. I can't think. My brainy no worky.

Going to go back to reading "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" because nothing else has a chance at taking my mind off myself. Dude.

Oh my fucking gawd.

This is the house The Puppy found for us to rent in Portland. He sent me a dozen photos and swears it's 10 minutes from downtown and LOOK AT THIS THING. A picket fence! It's too much. He's going to find out in the next hour if it's a go. And then, people, it's ON.

Well, other than flip flops, though I do not hike in them as S does. (See her link on the right for a visual.)

Been listening to all my Built to Spill CDs one after another for the past two hours, slept until 7:30 today - genius! - and am soon off to my parents' house to pick up their digicam. Need to take pics of the house interior for S and pics of the pile of detritus the Pup left in my Arizona room so he can determine what he wants me to put on the lawn and garage-sale away before the move. Whee!

Had two cups of coffee. Three cigarettes. One long and delicious gulp of cold, cold water.

Assessed my laundry and my belongings. When I empty the house I'm going to fix it up a bit before S moves in. Paint the second bedroom (the color is "vanilla shake"), put up curtains in the Arizona room, and scrub this place within an inch of its life.

Off to SF next weekend to see Liz and catch The Lucksmiths at a bar called (something like) The Rickshaw. Cannot wait b/c:

A) It brings me one fun-filled weekend closer to departure for lands north

B) Haven't been to SF since January...of last year!

C) Need a good old-fashioned girls' weekend of bonding and blathering on about recent happenings to purge a bit of the recent testosterone onslaught from my life.

xoxo

I don't usually note shit like this, but my girlfriend sent me a clip about something unbelievably pathetic: Shar Jackson - Kevin Federline's ex - is starting her own cosmetics line. Um, it's called RelationLips. First out is a lip gloss called - I shite you not - "He Cheated."

Um, HE CHEATED. Is this what we have come to, people? Between Shoeless Britney's filth baby, K-Fed's upcoming album and his ex-girlfriend's Bitterness Bronzer it seems that too many of the signs of the apocalypse are rearing their ugly heads. And though I can certainly relate, just imagine a mascara-streaked army of recently dumped, wallowing-in-their-own-misery women out there, slathering DONE ME WRONG, HE DIDN'T DESERVE YOU and, of course, SHE'S JUST A REBOUND FUCK all over their sad, sad lips...

Me. Not the dog. He's perky and hangover-free. I, in stark contrast, am not.

1. After a quick drink at Dick's with friend Sid, her hubby and D, that guy from the culinary festival who crushed on me, Sid and I meandered over to the Swizzle Inn to hog the jukebox while Hubby and D went to another bar for a friend's birthday. They came back to find...

2. ...me and Sid knee-deep in a huge group of fabulous gay guys whom I gave drunken fashion advice to, as in "you're hot but you could be hotter if..." It wasn't pretty but they loved it. We all exchanged cards.

3. Was kissed by D, a number of times, actually, and I felt all silly and high school and a bit "not right" about it. I finally broke the smooch curse (I told him "no tongue, please"), and he's an amazing guy - smart, funny, cute - but he doesn't make me feel like giving him The Shush...or The Bad. Methinks my next kiss should be with someone who makes me want to throw my panties on the stage. Room key, too. He did ask me on a date, though. To dinner. He wants to feed me! I love that! But I don't want to give him the wrong idea. He's awesome, I'm moving to Portland, and frankly we didn't "connect" - not like you have to connect to bat your eyelashes over dinner and then sloppily make out in the parking lot later. Sigh.

4. Watched The Pixies with the drunken troupe back at my house after le bar. Yay, Austin City Limits! Sid passed out on my sofa and the guys bought a 20-pack of beer, of which we drank a total of four. Only dudes would do that. Four tipsy people, 20 more beers. Yes, that makes sense. Went to bed around 12:30, woke up at 2 a.m. to snarf cottage cheese in a sleep-addled stupor, and woke again at 6 a.m. despite my deep desire to sleep until, oh, TOMORROW. I wasn't drunk last night, just inebriated for about 6 hours! And still - STILL - I woke with the sun and took the dog for a walk. And did two loads of laundry. And watered my lawn. It's not even 8:30 and I am feeling like my day is DONE.

5. Going to be a busy day: Two in-home moving estimates from 10-12, the EH is coming over to install something on my computer, and then dinner with my parents. I am in no shape to do any of this, as my head is swelling from the inside and apparently has left no room for my eyeballs, which feel like they're being shoved out of my skull. No. Seriously. OUCH.

This is a pic I snagged off the net - it's a marquee in Hollywood, Portland. I am positively brimming with excitement and good feelings about this go-round. My second attempt to leave this city and cast off for parts northwest of here.

When I interviewed for that job earlier there was so much negativity attached. They were slightly horrible to me and I felt so much pressure b/c of my desperation and the Puppy's need for me to succeed. But this time it's all different - things are falling into place. I have 4 estimates set up for moving companies, I have a little money coming my way to cover the move, and I have one interview for when I arrive, and hopefully an interview with Intel next week for a position I'd be perfect for.

I know I've asked before for people to wish me luck and send all their extra helpings of good karma my way, but now I feel like if you send it, that's kewl, cuz I am generating plenty of good karma on my own.

In other news, my friend K in Chicago told me she's thinking of volunteering for this organization called Glass Slipper where you help underprivileged girls pick out donated prom dresses and jewelry. I was confused for a sec when she told me - I thought for a segundo that you take them shopping, and I was like, but what if they’re totally fat and you have to hit like the H&M big girls section and all they have is a teal prom dress in a 2X and she needs baby blue in a 3X and she starts crying? And meanwhile K's all skinny and hip and telling the poor big girl that it’s okay and the girl is like “no! no it’s not! I hate you!” And stuff.

Then K essplained that there is no shopping involved. Still, there could be a scene. I recommended that K avoid the Glass Slip and instead volunteer for the Roller Derby team - they need PR and K would be perfect.

More detritus from my day: I was emailing a friend of K's about this and that and I mentioned the word "sully." Thinking back on how much I adore the word "sully" brought to mind just how much I loved it - and the word "defile" - and how much I used them when the Puppy was living with me. As in “I’m running to the store – don’t defile my dog while I’m gone,” and “Your man stink has sullied my sofa. Thank you for that.”

No. I'm not kidding.

And more useless info from my so-called life: I just agreed to wait tables at the restaurant my brother manages. Just two shifts a week. I'll defile myself before diners whom I feel superior to in the name of making an extra 100 bucks a week (for the move, natch) and to get myself off the sofa now and again. Since I've decided that Yes I Am Absolutely Positively Moving Come Hell or High Water I've also decided that going out and spending money on pointless nights of Cougar-watching are not appropriate ways to spend my time or money. So even though I feel it is beneath me (I am so fucking cracking up as I write this), yes, waiting tables it will be. I figure I can get in a cool 8 shifts before I hit the road. That should be enough!

ps: it's my birfday. Happy Feckin Birthday To Me! (that's the wine talkin)

Shyness is nice, and

Shyness can stop you

From doing all the things in life

You’d like to

Shyness is nice, and

Shyness can stop you

From doing all the things in life

You’d like to

So, if there’s something you’d like to try

If there’s something you’d like to try

Ask me - I won’t say no - how could I ?

This is Pork Chop. The canine love of my life. Adore him, admire him, welcome him into your heart.

Thought it was time to check up on Suzanne Somers' spring spooktacular. Here's the latest in cougar gear a la Suzanne. Picture this on a 52-year-old woman, faux boobs hanging out, drunk on white russians in a bar for 25-year-olds. Yeah, you're getting the picture now.

Just got home...waiting for the Pup to call back so I can finish up my loan paperwork.

Talked to S today about timing and plans. We've decided to take the coastal route up to Oregon. Up highway 1 from L.A. to Big Sur so we can breathe sea air and have lunch at Nepenthe overlooking the ocean. Ahhh...

Pork Chop is in for a long drive. Hope he can hack it! I'm bringing almost nothing with me on our trek as my car is so small and it will be filled with me and S, the Chopper, CDs and a suitcase full of shoes.

If all goes well. And I'm hopeful that it will! Feeling very energized, very excited, very fucking ready to have this happen yesterday, but there are still some things to do like packing up, quitting my job (I'm going to propose that they hire me on a contract basis at least for a few months) and finding a place to live. But J is undertaking that quest on his end. Should be interesting!

OMG what a day. I'm struggling at work to keep focused and adhere to any semblance of an ethic because I am so fucking psyched about splitting this sunburned burg and heading up north to the Promised Land. Now I'm hoping for May 23. I'll go to my brother's wedding, see Queens of the Stone Age with de Leon, and hit the road with Somlynn for parts northwest of here.

The Puppy keeps calling - constantly - to rub in how fucking awesome it is up there, to share his good fortunes as they fall into his lap, and to make sure I'm getting my ass in gear for my big move. In one week he's landed a job, found a good Mexican restaurant, some good coffee shops, been to the ocean, picked up one of his favorite movies on DVD for $7.99 and found a band to jam with. He's all psyched for us to join a gym together and to - don't say it, don't say it - to re-cohabitate. Platonically. At least temporarily. I was determined to live on my own and I wasn't going to raise the topic of being roommates and I thought "if he does, I'll give him the reasons why that's not a good idea." Then he brought it up and I was like "oh totally yes fine fine fine." Both of us will be so cracked out on loving the city that I predict that we'll have a blast exploring it together.

Yay Puppy. Yay me!

I figger it's like this: there are some people that make you excited about life. For me, The Puppy is that person. I maybe got it mixed up a bit with romantic feelings, but that's because life seems so romantic when he's around. Does that make sense? It's a good thing.

In other news...I introduced Pork Chop to wet dog food - just a little bit in with his delishus kibble - and now he does the Happy Dance every night when he gets fed. He rolls around on the Ikea rug afterward and rubs his face and licks his paws. This is combined with the fact that for his sake, and for mine, to escape the badgering rays of the Phoenix late-spring sun, I've been getting up early and taking him on an extra-long walk each morning. Yep. At 6:30. It's pretty demented since I've always been somewhat of a night owl, but now with the getting up early I'm also going to bed early. I'm in bed with a book every night by 9:00. WHAT AN EXCITING LIFE I LEAD.

Right now I'm gearing up to reheat some Thai basil chicken, I already did Pilates, and then I'm going to watch Dig! (the doc about the Dandy Warhols/Brian Jonestown Massacre drug-addled feud), fill out some loan paperwork and then, yep, go to bed with a book.

STOP ME NOW. IT CAN'T GET ANY MORE THRILLING THAN THIS.

Oh, and K's friend emailed me about that one guy who Adored Me on Saturday. She was like "so what did you think of X?" And I said, "I think he should buy me dinner." So we'll see. He's so not my type but a smart, fun, funny guy, and I need some practice going on dates, truly, as I haven't been on an actual date since, oh, 1998. We'll see if he actually calls me. We'll see...we'll see...

Went to the Scottsdale Culinary Festival yesterday with J & Pals. It was hot, sweaty, boozy and overall, ridiculi. Upon entering the beer garden - and let me point out, this was the "culinary" festival, but not a bite was eaten by anyone in our 25-strong group - they award you with a tiny, tiny little beer mug. Like a Barbie mug. This thing was small. It must hold about an ounce. Then you wander from tent to tent, "sampling" the beers supposedly. But what you're really doing is filling them up with free swigs until someone announces they have to take tickets, so it's like this hot, sticky, shoulder-to-shoulder press through guys in shorts and flip flops and girls in short hippie skirts (I was in a long hippie skirt - such the old woman) to the next free filling station.

I met a few boys - all of them too young - none of them too intelligent. I wish I wasn't so picky b/c one was totally hot in a Vin Diesel way and I could tell he was hot for old-woman flesh. :)

And J's guy friends were hilarious and smart and we totally hit it off - two of them even hit on me - and though I know I should embrace that vibe, the problem was that I didn't see myself embracing them. Found out this morning that the one who really liked me has a reputation for being an "unforgettable, unregrettable" hookup, but he had small feet. I just don't see it happening.

Anyhoo, so YEAH I'm going to Portland June 1. hOLY ShITE. My friend S has agreed to rent my house which is so wonderful b/c:
A) no searching for renters who won't turn my house into a crack den
B) no lease! no credit check!
C) I love my house and feel so happy to have a good friend in it
D) her appropriation of it in seven short weeks gives me no excuses for not vacating! The girl will squat if she has to. she's a squatter. hahah.

I have a job interview lined up for the week of June 6, so now all I need is the Puppy's help to get me a loan, to find an apartment in Portland, and to hire a moving company. Pshaw! Next to nothing to worry about! But I'm so freakin excited that it seems like an adventure - not like work.

I was telling S the other day that I'd love to open a bar in Portland called the Lucky Lady. (It's irony, people, b/c it's not that I have bad luck, it's that I have no luck whatsoever.) Anyhoo, the Lucky Lady will be a semi-dark joint with hot pink vinyl booths, xmas lights year-round and an all-indie jukebox. Except for some Zep. I'll always have a fresh pitcher of mai tais at the ready as it will be the Lucky Lady's signature drink, and a jar of pickles on the counter. My bartender will pour strong drinks and I'll smoke cigarettes with the regulars on Saturday nights. This is my dream.

One word to describe my house now that the Puppy is gone...

Empty.

So yesterday I filled it with Stuff. I went to Ikea in the morning and bought this cheap and ridiculi office chair - in Hot Pink, natch, my dad bought me a gigantic rug for my living room, and then I went out later and bought myself a dining-room table and chairs. I woke up this morning to a brand-new house, practically. Well, other than the sad fact that the chair bottom is supposed to "click in" and I can't make that happen. Telling you...not that handy around the house. I have other talents.

Anyhoo, the Pup has been calling me regularly to keep me updated on his progress so far to the Motherland (Portland). it took him two days to make it to southern Oregon, as he's trailering behind his 4runner and ran into torrential rains, hurricane-force winds, hail and snow. We were thinking next would come a swarm of locusts and frogs falling from the sky. I was only half-joking when I said, "These are signs. Come back!"

My friend S described it as how Siamese Twins must feel when they're separated. My gawd, is it that bad? And today when he called he was like "it's going to be ridiculi how we call constantly to talk about the minutae." Hm. It made sense when we were in the same city, but now I won't have any idea who/what he's talking about. That's what happens when friends leave. I'm used to it by now, as my four best friends have left the state in the past three years, but losing the Puppy, oof, it hurts. I was sad to see the others go - some much more than others - but this does have a spooky "losing my other" sense about it. Maybe it wouldn't be so extreme if he hadn't spent all that time in my house. Sigh.

In other news, I was cleaning up this morning and somehow - in my semi-retarded morning state - smacked myself in the face with an empty wine bottle. It smarts. I held an ice-pack to my head for about an hour, then when I left later to run an errand I put my sunglasses on and it still hurt! I'm just relieved that I don't have a black eye. Yay, me.

Note to self: Get A Life! Get out of the house - don't sit around and stare at new furniture and think how bored you are without the Pup. Fucking Do Something!

Eh. Yesterday I was inordinately busy, talked to a bunch of people on the phone for extended conversations, and even had a friend over for dinner. For today, I'll stay home & smoke cigarettes. Decompress. Do laundry and look at my table. I'm a little sad around the edges. As for going out, I'll wait until my face doesn't hurt.

...but I do. In fact, I really like this White Stripes cd. Huh.

So, since I haven't been blogging regularly there is so much to catch up on. Recently I've been spending time with some girls that until recently I held as acquaintances to A) wean my social life off the Puppy and B) to get out more and flirt shamelessly with clever boys. One of them, J, is a geniuinely good person and has been keeping me quite busy. I Adore Her. It's so good to have another healthy, happy girlfriend, especially since K left for Chicago last week. Sob! J and I already have plans to go to Chicago in June to see K and catch the Spoon show, but I am heartbroken without her. First K leaves town, now the Puppy. He extended his departure date from Thursday to Friday - he had a wicked hangover from last night. So there you go.

And in the meantime, I've been having some adventures with the girls. For instance, about two weeks ago I went to dinner on Friday night with some girlfriends who loooooooove to talk to guys. Before we hit the hell that is Scottsdale on a Saturday night, they dragged me to an incredibly bad restaurant that is lauded for its "ha ha so funny strange ingredients in rolls with kitschy names" "sushi." The other gimmick is that the wasabi is BLUE. As for the food, it was just plain gross – one roll they ordered had slices of warm beef on top, another was comprised of what they said was eel and mango, but it was covered in some sloppy sauce and was presented to the girls as a squashed, gelatinous mass of slime. They loved it, and cleaned their plates, washing it down with Jello martinis. Yeah. To be safe, I ordered a spicy salmon roll, but that nasty blue wasabi turned the fish black and made everything taste sour.

(I can complain with the best of them, but when it's about bad food I find a special pleasure. I get this from my father. To him, a poor restaurant experience is almost more enjoyable than an excellent experience. Almost.)

Anyhoo, after a delicious dinner it was on to three cheesy Scottsdale bars. The first was a Phoenix version of NYC's Hogs & Heifers called The Dirty Dog Saloon. Its patrons are mainly middle-aged bikers in leather vests and sad, sad 25-year-old sacks that are too cheap to pay for strip bars. The bartendresses get up on the bar and do stripperish dances that attract all eyes, but the dancing girls themselves seem totally blase as they shake their moneymakers, then jump back down to pull beers. The next stop was a Hawaiianish place called Drift that I love visiting during the week, but come the weekend it's suffocating. Asses and elbows all the way. Clouds of cologne. Striped shirts everywhere. And though the girls I was with attract their share of guys, unfortunately, all the guys they like are the tan, big-toothed, tight-shirt types who are nice to look at but completely dunderheaded once they open their mouths. I like a man I can banter with. These were not that man. I was seriously in so much pain. The final stop was the worst offender, and oof, I've already done so much complaining that I can't even go on. Read this to understand: http://www.thephatphree.com/features.asp?SectionID=11&StoryID=239&Layout

The very next night was my friend K’s going-away party. Sigh. So much fun but so sad, too! I got tipsy pretty quickly off two drinks and was hashed by 11:00 when my friend de Leon showed up. Since the party was breaking up (too many people too drunk and too sad after the U of A loss), de Leon and I left soon after. Happily, the Puppy called just as we got in the car – he asked me to meet him at a bar where some punk bands were playing, so the night just got more boozy, unfortunately for me. The next morning de Leon and I woke up with our mascara on our cheeks and regretted our existence. Ouch. That was Easter Sunday. And though I was in pain, I did manage to take Pork Chop to the dog park…where he was humped by a 6-ounce Yorkie. My poor dog looked completely confused as this little sex machine latched onto his back and tried to hammer it home. Poor Pork Chop - it was his first time, and he just stood there and took it.

SIDEBAR: At K's party some guy walked in who looked sooooooooooo familiar…he was with his wife, but still he came right up to me and was like, “I know you from somewhere. I know you.” We pieced together that it had to be in college, and narrowed it down to his fraternity, so I told him the people I knew back when and he asked me if I dated his friend Mike, and I was like “noooooooooooo…” And then we had that moment of “huh” where you cock your head and squint your eyes and wonder, “did I sleep with this person?” huh.
Thankfully, we found out later that he’s really good friends with my friend D, and a few years ago I met him through her – as opposed to knowing him from riding his baloney pony in 1990. THANK GOD FOR THAT.

GAY PRIDE WRAPUP: Just Joe and I had a hilarious time at Gay Pride the weekend after the blue sushi and de Leon. It was super tame but there was some freakshow stuff that we could not avoid staring at. Some very buff men were pole dancing in their underwear - all day - one with leather man panties and chains strung across his chest, another in tighty whities; there were some hot trannies in platform boots and jlo denim jumpsuits; we counted almost a dozen big butch lesbians on crutches...no men on crutches, though. Odd, that.

Anyhoo, it was a great turnout and a positive vibe and we shared a delish snow cone. Right when we got there we ran into this one girl we knew (through our friend the "Is She Ellen or Anne?" folk-singing lesbian). And this girl only likes straight girls so she intimidates me! She stands really close and makes a lot of jokes about how straight girls don't know what they're missing. Help! Oh, and one stage had drag queens performing all day so I was happy. And Joe got goosed by some guy and then obsessed about it all day: "Was he too old?" "He wasn't that good looking, was he?" And I was like, hey, you got your ass slapped at Gay Pride. That's pretty good for a Saturday!"

What else? How about that the Puppy is really truly leaving after 10 weeks (official weeks) under my roof and I'm either A) in denial or B) totally okay with it. Granted, I'll miss him so very, very much, but I need my space. Hilariously, all of my friends are supremely ready for him to leave. Some have even suggested that we all go out and get drinks to celebrate. But they don't see the Pup for who he is. They just see his bravado and his sometimes bad behavior. I see those things, too, but I'm privy to the benefits of his friendship. From my perspective, he's warm, attentive and engaging.

And I've had this type of friend before. When I met my friend Lisa in college it was almost exactly the same kind of thing – she could be a moody little thing, and sometimes I wanted to beat her about the head with a carrot - or an anvil - whatever, but at the same time I had more of a connection with her than anyone else previously or since. We absolutely adored each other and have had year after year of good friendship, in-jokes, silliness and good times. As it was with the Puppy, from the get-go Lisa and I were practically inseparable. And, like the Puppy, we tried living together for one semester and it almost ended our friendship, but the next semester she moved into the next-door apartment and everything was beautiful again. And I'm not alone in drawing the comparisons. A while ago my mom noted that “The Puppy is your new Lisa.” Classic.

Sixteen years I’ve known that girl – she can be challenging, opinionated and stubborn but more than anything hilarious, intelligent, warm, and the most loyal friend I’ve ever had. I wouldn't change a hair on her chin.

Awww, I'm all choked up now.

It's getting hot here. Up in herrrr. It's going to be 90 by Thursday and after that it's only a matter of weeks until this conflagration of asphalt and plastic surgery becomes hotter than the surface of the sun.

Help me. Even big girls here wear tank tops and tiny tees that read "I Need A Stiffie" and "Porn Star." Oh yeah. It's like that. I went to a patio bar on Sunday and it was like the entire cast of some Jenna Jamison flick rolled up on the back of Harleys. These girls were dressed - or undressed - in outfits so skimpy and ridonkulous that the entire bar couldn't help but turn heads and gawk. J-Lo shades, barely there shorts, pieces of fabric arranged around their enormous plastastic tits. It was a train wreck. You couldn't help but look.

And there seems to be more and more of it with each passing week. Phoenix used to be pretty laid back, but now it's attracting these sun-starved freaks who change their faces/bodies/attitudes and adopt the stripper aesthetic. I think they're nocturnal, too, because you only see them at night. Yeah, I'm going to meet a nice guy when all eyeballs are fixed on the girls with the "I Just Had Sex with 65 Guys" bumper stickers on their asses.

And the guys...oof...summer brings out the yuck factor in Phoenix dudes, too. The shorts come out of the closet. And with the shorts come the retarded T-shirts ("ASU Porn Team - number 69") and the flip flops. Or the mandals. (Man Sandals, for those who aren't in the know.) Or the white sneakers with short white socks. I'm a big fan of the Man Legs but I don't want to see them sticking out of cargo shorts when I'm sitting down to dinner. Or at any other time, really. I like a man in a sweater and levis. Shite, I like Me in a sweater and levis.

I have to leave this shithole. This burned-out burg. I'm taking donations. I have a P.O. Box. Donate. Please.

In other news, my GAWD how I love being a girl. If it wasn't for shoes and the sheer joy of receiving oral pleasure it would be a real losing proposition. A meaningless existence. An existential hell. For the last few days I've felt I the PMS coming on, and yesterday I wore a cute little jacket to work, which buttoned in the morning and by 2 p.m. could not be pulled across my breasts. HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE? Even the sleeves felt tight and shorter! Trying not to freak out...trying not to freak out...though Sunday I had a total "I have nothing to wear" breakdown between the three-hour, 10-person brunch at Dick's (you gotta love that name) and the porn parade at Dos Gringos. I got guacamole on my shirt & had to go home and change. It took me an hour, four skirts, two pairs of jeans and a dozen shirts to find something that didn't make me want to cry.

Dude. It ain't pretty.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the Puppy is really leaving now. Thursday morning. He pulled up this evening with a u-haul trailer and it made me go all soft inside. I am thrilled - thrilled to get my house/personal space back, but oh man I'm going to miss him. Despite (or is it because of?) our trials and tribulations (which were a minor part of 2 months of really good times) I'm going to miss him. I'll miss his smell. I'll miss his musk. (If you haven't seen Anchorman my GOD that's creepy, huh?) He is but one of two people ever in my life that I have felt an honest, unpredicated, no-strings-attached platonic affection for - the other one being Our Little Lisa out there in Japan - and he drives me crazy/makes me adore him the same way she does.

I like 'em kooky. What can I do.