Were You Aware of It?

B and I have been taking in the frugal Portland dinner options recently. My favorites are the food carts. For instance: Were you aware that there is a cart that sells exclusively FRIED PIE?

Yes. Whiffies Pie cart (part of a group of carts on SE 12th and Hawthorne in our fair city) is the home of perhaps the most intensely guilt-ridden concotion ever to be called dessert. Delectable pie crust wraps delicious fillings--both sweet and savory. The whole thing is then dropped into the deep-fryer and comes out crispy-chewy-melty amazing. B likes the chocolate creme, while I am more of a berry fan. Haven't made our way to the savory side, but with fillings like BBQ tofu and chicken pot pie, I'm sure it won't be long. Especially with the non-guilty prices of $4 savory and $3 sweet pies. Add a homemade lemonade for $1, and you'll be just like B when you say "Holy shit, this is for fat kids. But so good."

More food cart reviews to come, my friends.

Bet you expected that...

So, anyone who knows me knows that I have terrible follow-through when it comes to extended writing projects with no oversight. Like...a blog, for example. And I think the reason is that--delusions of grandeur aside--I'm a bit like Dorothy Parker. Of this feisty little literary pixie, Alexander Woolcott once said "That bird only sings when she's unhappy."
And it's true for me as well. Just as Dottie P. could only write about the sad, ironic, horrifying and inane, so too do I have a problem chronicling my own happiness, or even just the day to day goings on of my simple life.
But, the more I think about this fact, the more I realize that I am basically fetishizing my own unhappiness. I almost crave it, as it gives me something to think about. To obsess over. And lately, the more that I think about it, well...life's been pretty ok.

For example:

B and I go on dates. Pretty much weekly dates. Small, fun, and most importantly, Cheap Dates. For instance, we are avid library patrons. New-minted poverty makes borrowers of us all it seems. But a trip to the Portland Central Library makes the fact that I can no longer afford to buy books almost a treat. Instead of one purchased book, savored over many days and lovingly set aside, I have hundreds of books to voraciously chomp my way through. Books I would never buy, but want to read. B has made his way through the entire oevre of Russian contemporary author Victor Pelevin. And I have recently been indulging in an obsession with outsider/asylum art.
Besides the books, people watching at the library is high art. There is a man who sits at the public computer for hours typing "OLD CHINA" over and over again. There is the shifty-eyed fellow who mutters to himself in the DVD section and the gaggles of teenagers giggling over manga and the "dirty" bits of romance novels.
At the end of the day, our bags heavy with books, B and I take the TriMet bus home. We hardly ever speak on the bus; we just sit across from eachother. He looks out the window, I eavesdrop on other's conversations. For me, this is the epitome of a "good day"



So...that wasn't so bad, really. Writing about the good things. Maybe I'll do it more.

Working it Out

Walking into the supermarket today, I saw that the headline of the Oregonian read:  Oregon joblessness nears ten percent.  A disheartening statistic, and one that made me feel a little guilty.  Because today, everything seemed to fall into place for me.  Two more shifts with my new company (a most excellent company to work for,  by the way), means that I am now working above the poverty line (barely).   I'm quite happy working for these people.  I find that the mental health industry is great for me, and I'm also really pleased to be working for a non-profit.  A different set of standards and ethics is refreshing, and the focus on the residents is a lot greater than with any other (for profit) company I have been with.  I see a future with this program, which makes me work hard and reach for new opportunities.

An added benefit to the added work:  Benefits!  I haven't had health insurance in so long, that I've grown paranoid.  One walks a bit more carefully in the world when one misstep could lead to thousands of dollars in hospital bills.  I think the true test of adulthood is how very excited one gets at the prospect of going to the optometrist.  And I must be an adult now...because I am ridiculously excited.  My glasses are in a sorry state, mostly because of my propensity to fall asleep reading in bed.  One side is bent from being smashed against my head when Haruki Murakami and I slip off to dreamland together for the fourth night in a row. 

So, for now, the world get a little brighter, at least for this humble blogger.

Getting it out of your system

Though I am currently employed, I am only working 15hrs/week. This is both NOT a living wage and TOO much money to be able to continue collecting unemployment. Bureaucracy wow! Because of this, the job search continues. Daily, I send out at least five resumes and cover letters, tooting my own horn and singing the praises of companies that I care little about. It feels false and gets tiring.
So, for my house's weekly writing group, I have penned this cover letter:

Dear Sir or Madame,

I am writing in response to your ridiculously detailed post on Craigslist. As a recent graduate of of an over-priced liberal arts school that you've never heard of (unless it in is tales of undergraduate heroin parties), I feel I would be an excellent addition to your team.
In my undergraduate education, I have gained several important skills which I feel would make me an asset in any position. I have the ability to be bored by nearly any task, and am openly expressive of my disdain, using the language of sighs, eyerolls and mumbled profanity. I am intensely critical, and believe myself to be above almost any conversation with both customers and my fellow employees. I have impeccable taste in all areas, and will very eagerly disparage anyone who does not agree with me, using a variety of puns, spoonerisms, and obscure literary reference.
Though I have no relevant professional office experience, I am well-versed in many aspects of the use of computers and the internet. I am proficient in the Microsoft Office Suite, having vomited out a one hundred page thesis under the influence of a cocktail of caffeine, narcotics and tins of smoked oysters. My ability in internet research is beyond reproach. I have read much of Wikipedia and am confident that I can answer any question via this amazing peer-edited encyclopedia-esque clusterfuck. I am also more than proficient in the use of most social networking platforms, having spent the better part of the last four years stalking various female co-eds over facebook and posting pictures of myself and my friends in compromising situations.
I am well-versed in the basic operation and troubleshooting of basic office equipment. My copy-machine-punching skills are beyond reproach, as well as my ability to unintentionally send faxes to strange Asian facilities several times over, running up your phone bill and creating a plethora of fun situations, wherein you will be delighted by phone calls from Japanese businessmen, calling to inquire about the ten pages of sensitive personal information that have been sent to their office twelve times in the last thirty minutes.
As an employee, I am initially motivated, charming, smart and professional. However, within a few weeks, you will discover that I am lazy, slovenly, sarcastic and rude. You will soon discover that all of my stockings have runs, my shoes smell, and that all my t-shirts are either stupid or offensive.
I am very excited about this opportunity to join your company. If you take a chance on me, I know you will not be disappointed. Attached, please find my thin and unimpressive resume. I would love to schedule a time to talk, but have a sinking feeling that I will never hear from you.

Best,

Alise M. Scheeler, truly awesome future employee

And the upside is time...

After I posted last night, I received a great email from my future mother-in-law.  She lives far far away in the fabled Midwest.  There's something about a person's pure, heart-felt sympathy that makes is easier to peek your head up over the constantly rising water of worry and ennui.

After reading that email, I went through my day and tried to decide whether it had been a good one.  And I realized that this period in my life has allowed me to recapture things I didn't get to appreciate during my ridiculously busy life at the so-called "Harvard of the West".

Today, I woke up late.  My roomates are still in college, so the collective sleep schedule of the house skews toward "late to bed, late to rise".  This morning, I snuggled with my dog and ate breakfast with the anchors of NPR.  I decided to go grocery shopping, and walking out of my house, the day was cool and clear, and the crocuses were starting to break through the soil.  I saw the bus drive by when I was a block away, and I didn't even swear at it.  Because really...where did I have to be?

So I guess, what I'm trying to get at here, is that through the baseline of worry, there are breakthroughs of simple joy and clarity.  Sitting here, split pea soup on the stove (enough for more meals than I care to think about), and my cat on my lap, I'm almost glad for the opportunity to drop out of the rat race for just a little while.  To worry about just living, rather than getting ahead.

No Money, Mo' Problems

I thought that when I found a job, all my problems would be solved. I'd have money, pay off loans, start saving, and within a few years, my fiancée and I would be living easy in an apartment of our own. No roomates, walking around naked as the day we were born...well, just because we could.
But here's the thing. I only work two days a week. Which is only enough money to understand how little I have. "Can I go out to see a movie with friends?" I wonder. Probably not, unless I want to eat ramen and fried eggs for the next week.
The other problem with under-employment is the question of how to fill one's days. Being broke, the options are limited. And there is only so much time one can spend hunting for better, more profitable jobs. Especially when one has an English degree an little relevant experience. So, the solution for me in the last few weeks is to wander around the house. Sighing. And adjusting things on coffee tables. Picking up books. Putting them down. Eating small bites of yogurt throughout the day. Staring at the cat. And worrying.