Mondays in Oregon

Today was a day of unfortunate realizations. First was the realization that my absolute favorite, absolute only, Modest Mouse shirt had a hole in it. Next came the realization that my favorite jeans (too expensive to replace) also had a hole in them…near the butt.

Both realizations occurred in a 15-minute period at the Tugboat Brewery in Portland (my favorite brewery there, by the way). Even sadder (more sad?) was the fact the Tugboat was out of Chernobyl Stout (my favorite beer there) that might have eased the mortification of having my near-butt hang out of my favorite jeans.

So. I satisfied myself with a Triple Bock instead. Bocks are my favorite type of beer, but they don’t seem to exist outside of Oregon. Much like how decent lattes don’t seem to exist outside of Oregon (with slight apologies to Washington state’s delusions).

It has been a day of unfortunate realizations and exposures of near-butts. And as my beerglass is backlit by candle (with live music in the background), I realize that the patterns left on my glass from the foam look like a strange language. I’ve tried for years, but I still can’t decipher it.

Moral of today’s story: check your tires when you rent a car. Otherwise, you might find yourself with a leak, many miles from home-base, on a Sunday afternoon. Then you’ll need to rely on the kindness of a strange fellow who repairs ATV’s to patch your tire illegally, since there is no tread left on it. Adventures!

An Erinku:
candelight
on
onion rings
sexy and tasty!

Wisdom of the Cheetah

Sometimes you have life-altering dreams. Sometimes fate speaks to you through a random sunset. Sometimes you'll have an important epiphany. And sometimes the back of the Cheeto's GIANT White Cheddar Jingle Balls will point out what you needed to hear: You've waited for your whole life in a big cheese-flavored ball.

Below that is a little picture of Chester Cheetah either holding up a big cheese-flavored ball or, as I like to see it, he is escaping that big cheese-flavored ball since he's waited for his whole life in it. Marketing words are really never meant to be closely read, it turns out.

After pondering the metaphor of waiting for your whole life in a big cheese-flavored ball, we did what comes naturally. We wondered aloud about the flammability of Cheeto's GIANT White Cheddar Jingle Balls. They burn, oh yes, they burn brightly!!

An Erinku:
coffee water cooking
it's raining
in Oregon

To the woman at my job with incredible thighs:

I know you work out, you have to. Because the effort required to hover over the toilet seat the whole time you are peeing will strain anyone’s thighs. What I hate is the dribbles you leave behind. I know that, to you, it’s a “public” bathroom and is therefore ucky. But. It’s also the one bathroom I have access to eight hours a day, five days a week. Your pee on the seat will be your downfall. I’m going to find you. I’ll watch under the stall for someone who seems a bit precariously balanced. I hope you repeatedly step in dog poo this week. Happy ho ho ho.

An Erinku:
tower of
evil goodness
toffee done four ways
danger, danger!!

Because I'm a Dork

I just sang this song to my little French Press (using the song in parenthese [I like writing the singular of parentheses, even if I use two of them])

Coffee, coffee, coffee (Rolling, rolling, rolling)
Get that coffee brewing (Keep them doggies rolling)
Coffee, coffee, coffee (Rolling, rolling, rolling)
YUMMY! (Rawhide!)

I think I heard a snicker from the neighboring office after my song. I think my bad singing is louder than I think.

An Erinku:
imagine
a day
without
thermal undies

On Chickens and Games

Sometimes it is pointed out that there was a day, way back when, when getting a bucket of chicken involved someone getting stuck with chicken wings. Nobody ever wanted the wings because they were the lamest part of the chicken. Now, with massive strides in marketing, chicken wings are all some people will eat.

I was thinking of this yesterday when discussing the game Monopoly. I hate Monopoly. It’s a stupid, stupid, boring game. However, with massive strides in marketing, some people think it’s awesome. There’s Denver Monopoly! There’s Star Wars Monopoly! There’s Sponge Bob Monopoly! Well guess what? Monopoly still sucks no matter what pictures you put on the board. You zoom around the board hour after hour and you hope in your secret heart of hearts that there was a community chest card stating, “You drank a cyanide concoction. You are free to leave the game.” Or, even better, “You have died of dysentery” (a little nod there to Oregon Trail, a very FUN game that Monopoly should emulate).

It’s been many years since I was forced to play Monopoly (I so hate that game) and I think it’s because my coping strategy has been passed along: I only play Monopoly if I get to be the banker. And I’m a dishonest, true-blooded American banker. I steal Monopoly money and stash it under my side of the board throughout the endless hours. Then, at the very end, when it’s down to me and whoever, and just when it looks like I’m going bankrupt, I pull the stash from my “Swiss Bank Account,” scatter all the little motels like tornado, declare I win, and run out of the room. Stupid Monopoly.

An Erinku:
like Mr. Rogers
I swap shoes and
sing while
sweatering

Rocking Out in the Suburbs

It was a dark and snowy night. Ahead, beer signs glowed in the dim-ness. One of my favorite bars that closed many months ago had been reborn...as itself. Even my tippy chair by the pool tables was the same. It was creepy. It's almost like a time-traveling Dr. Who story, or like the time that one of my favorite bars had been bought by a regular and reopened as itself. Anyway, brrr. Colorado is so cold that expletives don't cover it.

A Frozen Erinku:
green stocking hat
pom-pom
top hanging
down