10 Aug
Kate: ::kills spider with slipper::
Jaime: Ew. Did you get it?
Kate: I’m just checking for other ones before I get it
It’s still on the wall.
Jaime: what if you came back and I was stuck wrapped up in a spider web?
Kate: I’d just sleep in the other room.
5 Aug
When we moved in, we discovered a sun-bleached pair of boxers on the roof. How they got there – we don’t know. But – they have remained – sunrise to sunset – rain and shine and some potential hail – for going on eight weeks.
In addition, during our second week in town and after 4 full days of rain, we discovered our gutters were clogged. We requested that be addressed – but it was not.
Segue to last night
Jaime and I were walking up to the house when we heard an odd creaking sound. Looking up, we discovered that a branch from the giant tree out front was digging into the roof. This made us frown.
We entered the house and carried on with our responsibilities – feeding the pets, doing the laundry and hanging a curtain rod in the guest bedroom so we could stop accidentally flashing the neighbors every single day. Once that was complete, I can’t remember how, but we decided that we would cut that branch digging into the roof. Well – not we – Jaime – I’m too clumsy and would surely fall into the shrubs below.
“I’m not letting you go out there without a rope tied around your waist.”
“We can use the extension cord”
“Ok.”
Jaime went downstairs to get her clippers and I prepared the bright orange, three-pronged, belay.
Jaime returned and I fastened the belay around her waist and around myself. If she was going down – I was going with her.
I gave her sufficient lead and out she went.
“Don’t dilly-dally”
She got down on her knees, leaned over and began to cut the branches
“Not too close”
She cut more branches. Then moved to the gutter
“Oh don’t clean the gutter. You should have gloves on.”
She cleaned the gutters – tossing the needles and dirt onto the sidewalk below. “We’ll need to sweep” she said, assuring the neighbors who were most likely witnessing the nonsense.
“You’re too close to the edge”
She continued
“Be careful. That’s enough”
She did the lobster walk backwards and hoisted herself to her feet. She smiled at me.
“Okay come in”
She eyed the boxers. “I should pick those up.” She picks them up with the very edge nail of her pointer and thumb.
“Hand them to me – I’ll throw them out.”
She moves to the edge
“Hand them to me. Oh – be careful. No – don’t throw them off the roof.”
She throws them off the roof – attempting to get them into the basket for Yard Waste. “Ugh! Just missed it. We’ll have to sweep.”
20 Jul
I get my hair done in the “pink building.”
for your reference
My hair dresser, who is now in nursing school, is a bird lady. She tells me today about how the humming birds hang by her window and beg, the squirrels stand up and wave, her parrots shit on the carpet… you know, girl talk. She tells me she’s scored 100% on her finals, that she’s better at writing essays than math – but, of course, she’s acing algebra – and there’s a pig fetus in her bedroom.
A pig fetus. In her bedroom.
She says it like she’s reading me her grocery list: milk, eggs, Kashi cereal, quinoa, chickpeas, fetus, dried apricots… And I’m sitting at the other end of a pair of scissors, blind without my glasses and smiling because that’s what you do in these situations. I ask why she didn’t leave it in school.
“Because they only let us keep it in the fridge if it’s been opened.”
I’m thinking, “Open fetus container. Insert into fridge.”
“But it’s not like it smells or anything. It’s in a tub.” Then goes on to make hints that the other ladies in class are married, have dates and so on. She’s wondering, not saying, why not her.
Bird lady. Crap on rug. Fetus in bedroom.
In any case, she does a fabulous job on my hair. We’ll catch up on her in a few months.
Side note: We women get so attached to our stylists. Changing to someone new is like breaking up an ex without letting them know. It’s just wrong. And while sometimes this must be done, in this case it’s worth the do and the entertainment.
18 Mar
Kate: I’m gonna tell everyone I’m Jane Finch.
Jaime: What?
Kate: I’m gonna tell everyone I’m Jane Finch and wear track suits.
Jaime: Um, you mean Jane Lynch?
Kate: What? Oh, yea.
Jaime: Please don’t tell anyone you’re Jane Finch.
Kate: Who’s Jane Finch?
15 Mar
*huff puff
*giggle
*huff “Don’t laugh” *puff “don’t laugh at my pain.”
*giggle *cough “I’m not laughing at your pain”
*huff puff
“I’m laughing because you’re doing Lamaze at your desk!”
1 Mar
Jaime: … it’s just, he has a mushy body.
Kate: Oh, ew.
Jaime: … and his knees are too close together…
Kate: Well, remember our obstetrician?
Jaime: Our what?
Kate: Obstetrician.
Jaime: Ostrich? …Onomatopoeia? …Oakland A’s? …Otorhinolaryngologist?
Kate: OBSTETRICIAN!
Jaime: Kate, we don’t have kids.
17 Feb
You see where this is going. So did I.
Kate comes home for lunch every day since she works one block away. I consider this bonus time. We have lunch, we catch up, we b&c, we do easy choirs. Kate decides to run the dishwasher for the first time. How exciting for a couple of New Yorkers who are used to a foot-long counter top and a drying rack from the cheapy store. She proceeds to tell me this wacky story about how when she was younger, she put laundry detergent into the dishwasher and that there was foam everywhere. That wacky, crazy girl…
Then, she tells me she has just used the Palmolive dish soap in our dishwasher.
Me: WHAT! There’s going to be foam all over the floor when you leave and I’ll have to clean it up!
Kate: No no. It’s fine. We use it to wash the dishes. It’s the same thing. You have to trust me.
Me: Great.
There are few times when a woman can blatantly claim to be right and actually be right. And not just because the other person gave up.
I. WAS. RIGHT.
16 Feb
Portland makes you a little granola. You want to wear Keen shoes and cotton, stretchy pants, sit cross-legged while you have your coffee and read some undiscovered first edition poetry book by Amy Ray or someone.
Since I’m working eastern standard hours, I need to find something productive with my afternoons. That, and I need to be sociable (since I work from home), and not get fat (since I work from home). I decided to sign up for some yoga classes down the street. It’s been years since I contorted myself to the sport, but I hate jogging or doing anything that makes me sweat a lot, really… unless it’s eating at Duff’s (mmmmm Duff’s). I got an introductory deal for $20… unlimited classes for two weeks. Unheard of in the city. That would’ve cost me at least a hundred bucks, plus the judgments from snobby regulars with fantastic postures.
Here’s how my first class went:
Counter lady: Here’s your mat. Down the hall, on the left.
I go down the hall and open the door to the studio. I’m 20 minutes early so there are only a couple of people warming up. One is up-side-down, the other is sitting cross-legged with a 24oz. water bottle on her head. I closed the door. I’m early. I’ll wait.
Fifteen minutes later I go back into the dark room with up-side-down people, and it started filling up. Some people had stretchy bands wrapped around their heads and connected to their feet. Some were doing headstands. Some were laying on purple bricks. Some were breathing loudly. I asked a regular, “do I need one of these bricks?” “Um, I mean, we don’t know what she’ll use today.” I grab one anyway and sit back down. After a few minutes of watching contortionists, I realize, this can’t be the class for beginners.
I lean over to a guy with his upper back perched on a brick, “This isn’t Beginners Yoga, is it?”
“Oh, no no. That’s next door.” Thank G-d.
Grab my mat, push through rubber band lady and snobby brick girl with tight pants and go into the right room. This one had 5 people, not 25, was brightly lit and had a bunch of people with lousy postures and smiles looking hopeful. Definitely in the right place.
“HIIIII. I’m PAM!”
“Hi, Pam. I’m Jaime. This must be Beginners Yoga.”
“Yes, this iiiiiissss,” says friendly Pam, the yogi, who talks with her lips pursed and quiet enough that I know she guides meditation.
“That explains why everyone in the other room was up-side-down.”
Awkward smile… she’s thinking, “Is this what humans call sarcasm?” Yes, Pam. It is.
Thirteen days to go to make this $20 worth while.
And why does everything they say end in “anasanaaaaa?”
12 Feb
“Look Jaime. That’s the type of metal work I WANTED to do for the mirror stand.”
“Kate. No one that sees you looking in this window thinks you’re talking about the metal work.”
“No, but I was pointing…”
“No.”
-jaime
2mnthsinportlandia 
