(BUT JUST BARELY)

And, even in the broadest sense of the word, I do not think this qualifies as "living"…

(If any of you would like a blow-by-blow of my current state of affairs, send me a message and I'll fill you in…too many prying eyes to share it all publicly…)

Here is a recap of my "life" for the past  month…

My new job makes it possible for me to enjoy this new suburbia-to-metro mode of public transportation, locally referred to as "The Max".  Ahhh…the joys of sharing a seat with sniffling, coughing, scab-ridden homeless people who hop on the Max to share some body heat and some titillating conversation with absolute strangers (that would be ME).  What a joyous snippet of the under-world, right here in the confines of a 45 MPH traveling germ-infested glass enclosure!!!  Where I get to enjoy scenes like a 22-year-old guy trying to hit on a 24-year-old chick, who randomly belts out tunes from Mozart…I know it's Mozart because when she gets done randomly belting out a few notes, she proclaims, "God, I just love Mozart, don't you?!?", who also proudly proclaims, "Wow…I was a geek in high school, who never got talked to by anyone…but in the last few months, all sorts of guys hit on me!!!"  These two, who just met and are standing side-by-side on the Max, right next to me, spend their time not only sharing little tidbits about eachother to eachother (and everyone else within earshot…and by earshot, I mean, within 3 city blocks), but also texting eachother.  Apparently, each of them is so absolutely fascinating that a normal side-by-side conversation cannot possibly do justice to the "getting to know you" phase, they must also cram in text messages to truly capture the essence of who each of them truly is!

I get to check out the latest of fashions, like hole-ridden purple tights, worn under equally-hole-ridden fish net stockings, worn under a red, green, and yellow pleated plaid mini skirt, worn just below the hips and just below a short, cropped sleeveless T-shirt with a message strewn across the front, like "Keep Portland Weird", all capped off with toeless stacked-heeled pumps…not intentionally toeless, mind you…toeless, because the toes have been deliberately torn out in some sort of "I'm young, I'm hip" fashion statement…and, of course, all of this is worn by some 240 pound, 52-year-old woman who is thoroughly convinced she looks "hot"…

Yes, the mantra here in Portland is "Keep Portland Weird", like we need a reminder to ensure the continuation of the obvious.  Folks…let  me assure you…if a federal mandate came down tomorrow, calling for the immediate exile of 70% of randomly-selected Portlanders, the remaining 30% would carry on – without missing a beat – the cause of "Keep(ing) Portland Weird".  No danger of Portland returning to normalcy any time soon…

Once, in danger of just missing my train, I quickly jumped on with the doors just missing my 50 carry-on tote behind me, to quickly grab the first-available seat.  Upon settling in, I noticed a 20' perimeter where no one – save one lone individual – was seated.  Within seconds, I was able to ascertain why this otherwisely-loaded car, packed to the rim with sardine-impersonating commuters was empty around me and my (forced-upon me) traveling companion – a homeless woman, seated just in front me, who was carrying on an obviously-heated argument with herself.  In the middle of  a particularly important point she was trying to make to herself, she paused, lifted her left ass cheek about 8" off the seat under her and let rip one of the longest (and, as I was soon discover, most aromatic) farts…the kind of which would make Guinness and his world-record verifiers pause and take notice.  Then, she returned to making her point to herself.  I can not tell you if she won or lost this argument with herself, because as the aroma wafted my way, I, too, joined my fellow commuters in our impression of "How Many Clowns Can You Cram Into a Clown Car?" and stood, having my breasts, ass, and other various and assundry anatomical parts examined, free of charge, for lumps. 

My new job allows me to actually indulge my football-watching fix.  Each Sunday, I can be found, like every other true football fan, seated in front of the TV, in my LazyBoy, with my LazyBoy (aka, My Dear Beloved) by my side, with a Coors Light in one hand, remote in the other, enjoying the joys of the season.  Because I live in Portland, I am spared the minute-by-minute embarrassment of watching my beloved 49ers get their individual and collective asses handed to them on a tarnished silver platter week-in and week-out.  Because I do not get to witness it first-hand, but can only hear of it, I am confident there IS truth to the rumor that IF the 49ers opponent WAS delayed in getting to the game, it would – in fact – take the 9ers over three tries to get a first-down, and on the inevitable fourth-and-long, they would – in fact – throw an interception to a non-existent opponent, who would – in fact – return it for a touchdown, making the score 56-0 at halftime.

Ahhh…thank God I have my memories of Joe Montana to keep me warm, fat, and happy.

Speaking of being warm, fat, and happy – my Happy Light seems to be doing the trick.  For those of you who have no idea what a "Happy Light" is, because you live in a region of the U.S. where the sun DOES appear at least one day of each month, it is a hot-selling device (mandatory in remote regions of Russia) that mimics sunlight to ward off S.A.D.  (S.A.D. is a condition known to afflict people forced to live out their days in Portland, Oregon due to some unknown sin committed in a previous lifetime upon some hitherto unknown victim by some hitherfore unbeknownst sinner…i.e., me.)  My Happy Light is so bright and so effective that the 15 minutes spent staring directly into it each morning blinds me for the rest of my day to the plight otherwise known as "Paying Penance in Portland".  Hell, if it weren't for the fact that I get soaked with Portland's Liquid Sunshine within 30 seconds of stepping outside, I probably wouldn't even notice that lack of sunlight!

My, oh my, I miss you all terribly and wonder what – on earth – (or in hell, as the case may be) I have done to deserve such a life sentence.  No human deserves such a stiff penalty…and I am now, more than ever, firmly committed to the idea that the death penalty is far more humane.  If we, as a society, TRULY wanted to make criminals suffer, we would sentence them, not to a life in prison, but to a life residing in Portland, Oregon.  Hell, just knowing that this COULD be a sentence would drop the national crime rate by a good 65%, alone.

But, I still have my wonderful sense of humor intact, despite the continuous and unrelenting daily beatings (which will continue until morale improves) which is evidenced by the fact that each weekday I continue to arise at 5:00AM, only to return (if I'm lucky – and Max is running on schedule) by 7:00PM, leaving me plenty of time to grab a bite to eat and get to bed, so I can get up and do it all over again. 

As was recently pointed out to me by someone near-and-dear to me (and by "near-and-dear", I mean in physical proximity, NOT in emotional sentimentality), I am, perhaps, a tad too sensitive.  Such a determination of my immediate state of affairs, I laughingly pointed out to myself, IS one way to look at it…akin to turning  a bull loose in a china shop and then blaming the china for being "too sensitive" to the inevitable carnage – yes, perhaps, the china SHOULD have been made of stronger stuff...but, then again, if it WAS made of stronger stuff, I guess it wouldn't be "china" then, would it?

Yes, my life, as is true with all things, really does depend on one's point of view.  Unfortunately, MY point of view, when viewing my life, is a tad bit too close to the situation to be completely objective.  Which is why, of course, I rely on the keen and uncanny observations of those "near-and-dear" to me to provide such noteworthy assessments of my current state of affairs;  I LOVE to hear the bull's point of view when storming by me at break-neck speeds – it puts EVERYTHING in its proper perspective.

And how was your month???

I really want to know.

Unless, of course, you are the bull…then, really, I've heard enough from you!