I have thoughts

In the bathroom, when there are multiple stalls available, WHY must you choose the one RIGHT next to mine? Seriously. I don’t want to be that close to you, why do you want to be that close to me? If this little tiny metal “wall” weren’t here we could hold hands. That’s gross.

The other night Jason made me the most delicious snack: an everything bagel loaded with cream cheese, avocado and lox. It was so good I almost cried.

Flugtag. I went in 2003 the first time it came to Portland and I never plan to go again. I almost went this year and then remembered how much I hate large crowds of people and how Flugtag generates the largest crowd of people this city has ever seen. So then I said "Wait a minute… this is going to totally suck just like last time!" The only thing that almost had me convinced to go was the fact that I was invited to watch the festivities from a friend’s boat. Ultimately, even if secluded from people by a disgusting, stinky river I still don’t even want to be in the vicinity of that many damn people.

Still want to punch anxiety in the face. Then kick it in the balls.

Yesterday’s kickball game was pretty intense. A handful of regulars at a bar I frequent play kickball every Sunday afternoon and yesterday a foreign team showed up and challenged us. The park we play in is pretty centrally located, so we get challenged every now and then and it is usually all in good fun. This team was not so much into having fun as they were into talking shit and cheating to win. It’s not even a league! Its kickball and beer and BBQed hotdogs in the park! Lighten up dudes.
Kelly and I were our teams official cheerleaders and after the shit talking was initiated by the other team (we’ll call them Team Douche Bag) Kelly and I upped our loudness factor and gave them a taste of their own medicine. Team Douche Bag won only by a very narrow margin even with all of the whining and crying and cheating they did. However, as Kelly and I very loudly pointed out, we had the better looking team – by far.
Our post-kickball drinks at the bar we all frequent and love didn’t taste as good as they usually do. Losing to a bunch of shit talking douche bags goes down a little bitter even with the help of delicious Jameson.