The troof

You lied to me friend. But for my own good. Because of your lie, I continued to believe that I was a good caretaker of plants and now it is one of my favorite hobbies. I have so many houseplants that I have to keep some at my brother's house because I don't have enough natural-light-filled windows to keep them thriving.

In June 2006 I went to Italy for three months and left behind two plants. I left them with a babysitter. A dear friend. When I came back, we reunited -- both friend and I and plants and I. I went about my life and my plant collection grew. I learned that I loved succulents and decided that no less than three jade plants would do. I resurrected an aloe three times and am still desperately clinging on to the notion that I can bring Señor Kalanchoe back from his impending grave. See, the thing is... I attach great sentimentality to every plant.

Exhibit A: Typical leafy houseplant. First plant ever. Gift from mom while living in dorms. Accidentally left to die over Christmas break but brought back to life after months of bedside care. Still have to this day. Isn't very pretty. Special place in my heart.

Exhibit B: Similar to A. Ivy. Gift from mom at age 19. Easy to keep alive. Been with me a long time.

Exhibit C: Aforementioned kalanchoe. Gift from my daddy. Can't let it die. It's really ugly. But I can't let it die.

Exhibits D, E and F: Jade 1, zebra plant and aloe. All cuttings from my parents' plants. Feel special connection to them. Want to pass their babies on to my babies. Already started by passing on to sister-in-law.

Exhibit G: TJ. Yes, he has a name. This jade comes from a giant, 40-year-old tree named Tom. I purchased him in Yachats and all of Tom's babies are called Son of Tom. I renamed him TJ for Tom Jr. He is my pride and joy.

Now, let us return to Exhibit B for just a moment. This ivy is the plant from my original story. "Friend" sends me a message tonight and says something along the lines of, "Oh hey, I never told you this, but back in college when I babysat your plant, it died but I just replaced it and you never knew."

OH. MY. GOD. My whole life would have been different if I'd known. I would have stopped saying "look at this cute ivy! I've had it for 7 years and it's always been so healthy." Okay, I don't really say that. But here's my point. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger... or something. I'm glad I never knew because this lie has helped turn me into the plant-lover that I am today.

But Marcy Ann, you can bet your socks that it won't be so easy to foil me again. My taste in plants has progressed significantly and fooling me again will be next to impossible. Try replacing this guy without me knowing:
But on another note, thanks for babysitting. I'll be sure to never leave my children with you in case you kill them and try to replace them without me knowing....

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How to be creative

Well shit. I don't know. I pulled out the old guitar recently. That didn't last long. So now I'm looking for something else.

All I really want to do is write a book. I want to live in a cabin for 3 months and write a book. But that creativity issue is really a problem for me. I think to myself, "self, what can I write a novel about?" and I can't think of a thing. So then I think, "well, what about essays about funny stuff that is real?" and then I realize that not that many funny things have happened to me. So, I'm hoping to be inspired in Israel.

I was accepted to go on Birthright and will be spending at least 10 days in Israel, maybe more. I will bring a journal and I will hopefully get some wham-bham for my writing-noodle while I'm there. I love to write and when I have a topic it comes pretty easily. But as you can see by my epic failure of a blog, the ideas don't flow freely.

The blog of my dreams is one in which I get to do posts about grammar and nerd stuff. Unfortunately, five million already exist and the only way to make that cool is to do something different... like that girl who draws funny cartoons to illustrate her anguish at the world's word stupidity. Need to do something like that....

While I ponder, I'll find a fun picture for this post.

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Shwing

It's time.
The rebirth.
I got a job and quit this one. Now I'm going to try to do both.
It rained today. It rained so hard I wished for snow. I wished for anything else that wouldn't fill my fragile boots with soggy, squishy water-logged socks. I realized how much harder it is to drive in rain than snow. You can't see anything. And the inside of your car gets really foggy. And puddles make you lose control. So why is it that Portlanders are so fucking stupid when they try to drive in snow? The whole city shuts down. Sure, the snow plows aren't prepared and there just aren't enough of them. But on the other hand, you can't see a damn thing when you drive in rain and you all seem to do just fine with that. Also, my lights were off. Oops.

Sigh. I miss Bend.

As my most recent job endeavor comes to a close, I'm back to thinking about what I want to do with my life. Currently, my main criteria is something that I can sleep in for. Oh lord, please don't make me ever have to wake up at 6am for a job. 10-4. Now that's a schedule I could wrap my arms around...

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Who says money can't buy it?

I've never been more tired. And I've never wanted a real life more than today. Went to a dinner party. This dinner party was on the 30th floor penthouse of a building on the south waterfront. Yeah, I have a friend who lives in a penthouse. And my, is it ever amazing. He had such a wonderful group of friends over. Some of them had kids, some of them had boyfriends or girlfriends, some of them had gray hair. The point is, they were all awesome and they all have jobs. Cool jobs. Jobs that are real.

I started a new one of my own two weeks ago. I'm so very exhausted. So many hours for something so temporary. I'm working in an office environment that keeps coffee brewing all day long and purchases a couch for the boardroom because they work through the weekend. I've been lucky that I haven't had to work a weekend yet, but I know that I will. Working to get democrats elected. Then, after the election, I'll be unemployed again. It's freaking me out, but it's also making me think about what's out there.

Tonight I was surrounded by a group of men and women who have struggled their way from someone like me to owning their own businesses. They are all entrepreneurs. They are all really smart. And damn are a lot of them rich! How do I go from 25-year-old me to 35-year-old them and be successful and (seemingly) happy and proud that I started my own life and my own business and my own world? All it takes is one good idea. I want it to be wordy. I want it to involve writing. I want to be able to hire my own employees that make me laugh. I want to own a penthouse where my kids can ride their tricycles around and around my 360 degree rooftop patio that alternates view of the river with view of the hills.

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Portland bust

I don't want you to have a mustache.
I don't want you to only ride a bike.
I don't want you to be a vegan.
I don't think it's cute for you to write your robot profile in binary code.
Beer is cool and all, but there are other things to have strong feelings about.

Dating in Portland is like trying to weed your way through a corn maze, but you know Jack Nickolson is waiting somewhere in there with an ax and you're just not sure it's worth the stress and over-excitement for the slight possibility that you might make it to the end alive... where you find a mediocre prize waiting for you that may or may not even be gratifying. Corn?

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One man's trash is trash

I floated the Clackamas river this weekend. My, oh my, did I have fun. I went there assuming "floating" meant the same as it does in Bend: jump on your floaty, hook onto your friends and casually float down the river for an hour and a half. I wasn't prepared for a three hour float with rapids and constant paddling. Once I detached myself from the others and removed my watch (safely placing it around an empty beer bottle in my friend's raft), I was much more adept at navigating the waters, which led to an exciting float indeed.

But let me tell you, young Portlanders make me sick. There was so much trash in the water. Cigarette butts skimming, beer bottles bobbing and plastic bags dragging. What at first started as a simple plea to those in my group to PLEASE put their butts in a water bottle in the raft, turned into a personal mission to pick up as much trash as my floaty could handle. It was all in vain, as I eventually ended up losing it all in the rapids anyway, but I did my best. What hurt me the most was that I don't even consider myself an environmentalist, yet the fact that I wanted to simply keep the water clean earned me the moniker "river police." I suppose I grew up in a place where nature and the preservation of it is innate. In SE Portland, I guess it's inane.

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My temper

Today I blasted my way home from work on I-5 with Temper Trap. I sort of cried a little bit. And then I'd get all "I can do anything" and then I'd tear up a little bit again. Driving on I-5 late at night toward my new house is kind of awesome. I get to look at the city across the river and then as I come around toward my neighborhood, see OHSU on top of the hill shining down on me like a beacon of inspiration: I CAN DO SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE. No, not be a doctor. But something. But what? Something.

What am I doing in this city? I should have more of a nightlife and date more boys and go to coffee shops and write write write. My new roommate is great for me because she too is looking for some inspiration. Together, we will conquer.

Now, how to fight the loneliness? Smile all the time. That's what Jeff Tweedy thinks anyway. It doesn't really help. F you JT.

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Inspiration, tweet sized

I've had a tab to my blog open on my web browser for three weeks now. Every day I intend to write in it and find an excuse not to ("Oh, I should watch that episode of Entourage I downloaded," "I'm going to browse some jobs," "I'm going to endlessly read Facebook updates"). So then, I sort of gave up and instead pulled out my journal--yes, it's made of paper and requires a pen and some hand stamina to add any thoughts. And then, this journal sat on my bed for two weeks. Before bed, I'd push it to the side "for tomorrow" and in the morning, I'd set it on top of my comforter "for tonight." This morning I put the journal back in its place with nothing new inside. And as I was about to close this tab, I suddenly felt an urge to follow through on SOMETHING.

I don't have Twitter but I kind of wish I did. I could much more easily commit to regularly banging out 140 characters. On the other hand, I don't need another personalized outlet to ignore.

I started part-time nannying an eight-week-old boy today. Though he's pretty adorable, he bored the hell out of me. My arm was sore and I smelled like boob milk and I wanted oh-so-badly to take a nap all day. When I go to a public park on a Sunday and am surrounded by children playing, I'm annoyed, not delighted, by the sound of laughter. When that stupid child's parents do not stop her from reaching out to grab me every time I walk by her at work, I want to punish them for their irresponsible parenting and her for her irritating behavior.

I am so not ready to be a mom. And I'm pleased, cause I ain't even close to getting there. Things I want to do before I start actually liking the thought of having kids: go to at least five more countries. Learn Spanish. Have steamy affairs with more people that aren't my baby's daddy. Make some money. Spend some money. Buy a better car. Get more tattoos. Eat lots of sushi. Road trip across America. Not have kids.

I mean no offense to those of you who have them. For the most part, I like all my friends' kids. I just don't want them. Not one bit.

Here's to being 25 without a little mini-me.

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Meaning of Liff

Why do I hate change so much? I'm moving out this week and the same old feelings of anxiety have returned. I'm happy in my life. I love my friends and I really like Portland. There is no reason I shouldn't be excited about a new opportunity to live in a new part of the city at a great new house. But I find myself dreaming up ways to stay here a bit longer. I've been in this house for nearly a year a half. That's the longest I've lived anywhere besides my parents' house. It's been good to me and so have Matt and Emily. I'll miss my big room and my big closet and this horrifying green carpet. I'll miss the neighborhood cats and the great places I can walk to and the sound of my roommates waking me up every morning making breakfast right outside my door. Oh wait, that part I can't wait to leave behind.

Kelsey hates change. Everyone knows it. It's good for me. I know that. Onward I move.

There's a boy. Said boy took me on a scooter ride a few posts back. More importantly, he told me about this book, The Meaning of Liff, written by the same dude who wrote The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. This book makes me want to be a writer. If only I could think of such an awesome concept. He and the other author basically took all these undefined concepts and gave them names, which are all actually the names of random places across the globe.

Boy told me about this book because one of the word Abilene (a city both in Texas and Kansas) defined as: (adj.) Descriptive of the pleasing coolness on the reverse side of the pillow. This abilene is something I knew not of until recently. But now, one of my favorite parts of sleepovers with boy is the moment where we flip the pillow and relax in its coolness for the mere 20 seconds it lasts. It's pure, simple joy.

I haven't read the book, but I intend to buy it immediately. In the meantime, I looked up some of the other great "unnameable definitions" and these are a few examples for your reading pleasure:

BAUGHURST : (n.) That kind of large fierce ugly woman who owns a small fierce ugly dog. (I know that bitch!)
BEAULIEU HILL : (n.) The optimum vantage point from which one to view people undressing in the bedroom across the street. (I make it quite easy for my neighbors...)
FARNHAM : (n.) The feeling you get about four o'clock in the afternoon when you haven't got enough done (this feeling meets me nearly every day)
FOINDLE : (vb.) To queue-jump very discreetly by working one's way up the line without being spotted doing so (if I weren't such a pussy...)
MARLOW : (n.) The bottom drawer in the kitchen your mother keeps her paper bags in (that damn drawer overfloweth)
SCONSER : (n.) A person who looks around when talking to you, to see if there's anyone more interesting about (nothing worse than a jerk like that)
LIFF : (n.) A book, the contents of which are totally belied by its cover. For instance, any book the dust jacket of which bears the words. 'This book will change your life'.
Cheers.

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Fond Farewell to a Fish

Magical batfish
You let us all pet your scales
Are you fish or cat?

Ruler of the "sea"
You shocked your enemies dead
You just wanted friends

Giant empty tank
Starry and crabby miss you
Do fish have heaven?


Farewell, sweet Batty. We'll miss you.

Dramatic? Yes. But really, it's so weird how a fish can feel like a pet. I came home for the weekend and though I knew Batty had died, it was quite shocking to see a big empty tank (save for Starry the starfish and Crabby the crab. We've always been really creative with naming our tank pets, eh?) And on that note, every time I come home, I swear Calvin has died. She just turned 16 and is so very frail and goes into crazy sleep comas where you'd swear she was dead if you couldn't see her breathing. She's the last pet left and then it's a changing tide for the Friedmans. Out go the cats and in come the kids. I look forward to having babies in the family, but I sure will miss the way things are now at family get-togethers, i.e. FUN!

Bend never changes. I went out on Saturday night to the usual spots and as expected, ran into the usual characters. The major difference this time was that we started at the D. What a foolish plan. As a result, today felt like death. For many years I avoided eye contact with people from my past for fear that they might not remember who I am and then it will be so incredibly awkward. I'm noticing as I get older, other people are starting to go out of their way to say hi. Are they desperate for gossip about old mutual friends? Are they making amends for their tool bag behavior from high school? I think I liked it better when we all looked away.

I love to come home and sleep in my old room, surrounded in purple walls and snow globes. On the other hand, I feel so disconnected from my real life the second I get here.

Time
to
go
Back.

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First boys, then job, then blog

That was my intended order of operations for the evening. I deviated somewhat and chose blog before job. I'll get to applying to that sushi restaurant later...

I decided a little over a month ago to try online dating, but seeing as how I'm unemployed, opted for the free site OkCupid. There are a surprising number of decent guys on there. But man, is it time-consuming. Someone once said to me (actually, many someones) that "internet dating is like a full-time job." They aren't kidding. I never even browse other people. I respond to messages and look at people who express interest in me. These two actions alone take forever.

In the last few days, my inbox has been inundated with messages from a few potentially decent guys and I realized it's now or never if I want to try talking to them. The thing is, not but a few days ago I told my friend Margaux that I would be putting a halt on dating until I found a job and a new place to live. But how can I be expected to ignore cute boys who message me about sandwiches and spelling?

Here's my problem with the internet dating scene: It's so incredibly easy to misrepresent yourself, even if you don't do it intentionally. I tried to put realistic photos and descriptions of myself, but that doesn't mean I didn't choose ones that I thought I looked cute in. And when I write to someone, it's me writing in all truthfulness. But, when you have all the time in the world to calculate exactly what you will say, you have all the time in the world to show off the cleverest and most date-able version of you. Just because you have verbal chemistry, doesn't mean it will translate into true, real-life attraction.

I think what I'm learning is that if I'm going to take this seriously, I need to spend less time messaging and creating a false world of wit and instead meet them sooner! That way, if we really don't have a romantic connection, we can either move on or be friends without the awkward task of ending a relationship that became fairly intense through conversation. I'm not sure I'm prepared for the high level of emotion that the up-and-down nature of this kind of dating demands...

I gotta get a real job so I can really focus in on my dating job. When I told Margaux I had four boys to respond to, she laughed and suggested I copy and paste the same message. Only to follow with "it really is like looking for a job. You copy and paste and then end up editing so much anyway." Truth!

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Everybody's working for the weekend (except me)

So far I've managed to completely neglect my idea of starting a blog. I've been majorly focused on looking for a job the past week. A whirlwind of interviews that ended with the usual, "we are very impressed with you, but just decided to go with someone with more experience" and restaurants that "aren't hiring right now but we are always accepting resumes," culminated with me getting an interview tomorrow at a restaurant on Mississippi. "Can you come in and work a couple of hours one night this week? That's how we interview here..."

What the eff? I mean, I'm certainly qualified and great at restaurant work, but it's always hell when you first start working in one and my god, working for free? I better get that damn job. The restaurant is only open nights so it will leave me plenty of time to get another part-time job or hang out in the sun all summer or dedicate myself completely to blogging.

I finally got to play with the HTC Incredible a couple days ago. While my heart still wants an iPhone, there is just no way I'm switching to AT&T and I think I'm going to go ahead and settle into the idea of the Incredible. It was pretty great and despite having the lamest name ever, I think it'll do.

I want to eat cherries on a sunny porch and spit the pits into the yard...

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Sweet, sweet chasm of interweb glory

Here is another blog. It's not pretty and I'm not quite sure what to do with it yet. But I decided it was time I adopt yet another online habit to ensure I fall deeper and deeper into the abyss of internet gratification (go outside damn it!) In part, I'm doing it for professional reasons. In part, because of boredom. But whatever the reason, it is done. I can, however, say with great pride that I still do not have a Twitter account... although that satisfaction may be fleeting as this too is something my "profession" demands I understand from experience.

Let me first discuss the name of my blog. For fear that you might think I'm pretentious for picking fancy words (my cousin did until she understood the name), I'm going to give you the ol' one-two.

1. Ennui is pronounced "on we" and therefore, it rhymes with debris. Things that rhyme in non-obvious ways win.

2. Ennui is defined as: a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement. Debris is, of course, fragments or loose material. Jobless --> bored --> random things happen --> write them on blog --> people think I'm cool --> I rule.

But this isn't just about my life. At 25, I'm watching those around me struggle with the same things I do: trying to find a good job, trying to make money in the meantime, trying to still "party" but waking up with much more horrifying hangovers, trying to live on a budget, trying to ignore the fact that people are rapidly making their way down the aisle and to the home birthing tub, trying like hell to find a way to enjoy our twenties before they are gone...

My life is not inherently interesting. But all of us put together.... now that's a story I can buy! And you better believe if you tell me a funny story it's going to end up here. Because, well, what better way to fight the ennui?

And to finish: a baby making a cat really mad....

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