I woke up at 10:00 after a very naughty dream. It was a good way to rise.

I seemed to know what it was that I planned to do with my morning before having developed the thought. I put on my skinnies and made my newly broken out face presentable with the usual gobs of liquid eyeliner and artificial cheek color; my god, I am pale. A scarf and peacoat later, I was out the door, book in hand.

"Its cold outside." I remarked to the stairway. Walking in my usual brisk manor, my sleepy but willing legs made their way to the coffee shop a block away. I have such mixed feelings about the shop. I enjoy its janky construction and its mismatched furniture. The mismatched baristas and their mismatched owner. The mismatched local artists whose mismatched works grace the mismatched walls. Its just so uncomfortably comfortable.

The guy at the counter I have always thought was attractive. Very tall and fit. Darker skinned and more afro than he needs. Heavy framed glasses against his boyish, feminine eyes. And a 14 guage nosering that stands out like a high class hooker in church. With him, I order 12 ounces of black gold and make my way past clicking laptops and their glazed owners towards the back door. This door leads to the mismatched patio.

I like the patio. Its covered. During the winter months, I am the only one out there. I like that. It seems to be full of whatever was around - office chairs, picinic and coffee tables, and a musty pink couch with holes in the arms and cigarette burns in the cushions. That's where I sit. If its taken, I walk home. Luckily, and as usual, it wasn't. I found an ashtray on one of the picnic tables and set it so near to myself that I must have looked like a toddler unwilling to share. I pulled out my book and and cigarettes simultaneously.

Thompson. If anything in this world makes me want to double fist cigarettes until the second coming, its Thompson.

I send on my modern phone a modern text to my modern boyfriend, wondering if hes read the book I recently unearthed from my modern living room. He has not read it but has heard good things. Although, he might be biased. I mean, he was Hunter for Halloween for Christs sake.

That's what I did. I read in the sunshine, colder than everyone else seemed to be. This coffee shop was so similar to the one I frequented only a short time ago that it felt like home.

I wondered what a short amount of time was - to me and to others. I wondered what brought me there, day after the one before it and what would bring me there in the days to come. Or others, for that matter. What motivates? I wondered why I enjoy the color seafoam and why strangers are strange (also if the word in and of itself lends to preconceived notions of those we do not yet know.) I realized that I had stopped reading. I realized that I was only wondering. That there was so much that I had yet to learn, do, understand and experience.

...

And then I woke up. It was a dream of me visiting this coffee shop that I did indeed both visit and enjoy a while back.

It happened like reading a novel. Just like it. Sometimes I saw through my eyes and sometimes I was merely narrating to myself. It's the most unique way that my brain has ever decided to direct a dream.

Not a particularly interesting dream. It was in fact, so typical that in hindsight, it feels more like a memory. I suppose more happened near the end but it got rather personal by that point.

A lil' wacky, s'all.

I moved to a new part of town very recently. It's different. It's better.

A few days ago at a friend's 30th birthday party, there was a children's marching band practicing by walking through the neighborhood. All 50 of these drummin', little tykes stopped in front of our party and put on a show for us. I've never seen so many happy, drunk dudes in my life. It became all anyone at the party could talk about and the kids seemed pleased to have such an engaged crowd to play for.

On my way home today, one of my neighbors was teaching their two genius 5th graders some really complicated math (well, quite complex for an average 10 year old.) She engaged them by drawing out the entirety of their homework in the street with chalk. She would walk through and help them as they figured it all out. When they completed a problem, they threw a water balloon at the equation to erase it. In the end, it turned into a neighborhood water balloon fight.

At the cafe where I work, they've torn out the parking lot to begin a community garden/park/patio for our business. 'They' being a new organization called DePave. A volunteer based group that pulls out useless parking lots and replaces them with useful things like fruit and happiness. The first day they worked, they had only three volunteers. I decided I would work with them the next Saturday that they worked. When I got there, expecting to be worker #4, I found that the whole community became aware of the project because one of the volunteers had taken it upon themselves to send out fliers. There were nearly one hundred people there! And DePave had been very concerned with not finishing their project in time and losing their grant money.

Saturday morning cartoons at work means various clips of Saturday morning programming from when you were actually a kid. For me, this is late 80's and early 90's. A lot of TMNT, commercials, campaign ads, movie trailers and such.

I don't have to ride my bike 10 miles to get to the closest show. I can mostly walk.

I had the option of going to upwards of 6 BBQ's yesterday, all within less than 2 miles of each other. I had had one at my house the day before.

There's a great place to drink and watch the sunset with your buddies near by. You can see most of Portland and Forest Park.

My roommates love my cat.

My roommates are all very talented artists and musicians.

We are starting a vegetable garden out back.

I'm going to build a synthesizer with my sig. who went to Berkly for music. I'm also getting much better with the two music programming languages I've been learning.

I've fallen in love with the music/art/community oriented scene in North Portland. It's way more happenin' than I thought.

Oh, Twin Peaks rules and David lynch is my hero.

And drunk due to obligatory celebration.

I start tomorrow. The fifth of one chill group of people in one laid back cafe. We have amazing eats, booze and stumptown coffee. Not to mention an outstanding, well decorated atmosphere coupled with live music and SATURDAY MORNING CARTOONS.

I can't wait to cook brunch and work happy hour. Aaah, tips.

Pretty and Nice at Berbati's tonight was kick ass. Such a phenomenal drummer and oodles of energy. I got to go backstage and chill with some really rad and really talented fellas. I really think they'd have been more appreciated at a DIY venue or house show.

I missed Grouper yesterday and Mattress tonight but that's only because I've not mastered the art of being in two places at once.

But hell, I'm young. I'll figure it out.

At the Waypost. I am so pumped.

A staff of three or four, as I understand it. Even getting this interview when our unemployment rate is some of the highest in the nation is remarkable. The woman conducting my last interview said that she received no fewer than 400 emails within the first six hours of her post for the position. How sad.

I miss slinging coffee and making sandwiches. I would get to do that on top of pushin' booze and listening to live music. Oh, and coordinating community events.

I want to be involved. In every aspect of their business.

I must have this job.

Wtf.

Ahh, well. Back to Dekum.

was apparently on my phone. I wasn't familiar with t-mobile's online album feature and I, unbeknownst to me, had a phone a few years ago that automatically uploaded all saved pictures. So I hopped on the recall train to reminiscing town and found this little gem.

I present to you, Powell Butte at dawn.



Not bad for a cellular telephone.

Mui pretty, amiright?

An isle 7 end cap. I felt only moderately awful for finding this so amusing.






Just... why hoola-hooping?! There had to be a less entertaining way of representing the abilities of the product. Although, I guess the action of hoola-hooping is pretty all encompassing. I mean, how active do adult diaper-wearers get?

Hello my name is moneymoneymoney. I'm new to elowel.