August 14, 2005

• I love being old enough to have memories of how the city used to be.  Walking around downtown tonight called up all the hot summer nights I’d spent strolling through the streets when everyone was out late waiting for it to cool down.  I’ve always lived in the suburbs so trips to town at night were infrequent.  Except for when I was belly dancing but then I was always half naked and in a bad part of town, hurrying to my car.

  
  

  Tonight I went to the Bite, a festival down on the waterfront featuring lots of bands and small plates of specialties done by our local restaurants.  My new friend Marla (yes, I know.  I borrowed her name for one of my characters) invited me to go with a bunch of her friends.  I get invited now to all her stuff, and I feel so lucky because these people are lots of fun.  They’re all in their 30s but I seem to fit right in.  I’m not much of a beer drinker but it was so hot that I got in line for an amber ale.  Boy was it good.  And huge.  I was just about done when Marla’s husband, this sweetheart-of-a guy says, “You look like you’re ready.  I’m gonna go get us another.”  Marla and the rest of “the girls” were drinking wine.  He came back with another gigantic beer, and somehow I drank it.

  
  

  But halfway through it became urgent that I get some food in me.  I excused myself saying I was going for food and ventured into the crowd.  That’s when I realized this was the first time I’d been to something like this alone.  I’m used to linking my arm through my date’s so that I’m not required to look where I’m going.  This frees me up to watch people.  I have to say Portland boasts some really authentic looking people.  It’s just been ages since I’ve been out at night milling around like that.  I felt so free and alive.  It’s just another cool thing to do in the summer. 

  
  

  I went to the Street of Dreams last week, another summer tradition.  I left so inspired I bought a crow bar and pulled up all the strips that were holding the carpet down.  I’d pulled the carpet up ages ago but couldn’t get the strips up. This was in the kitchen.   I was needlessly intimidated by those nasty strips.  I’m well on my way to finding the nerve to hire someone to start ripping the shit out of this place.  I make such a big deal about stuff, like it’s too hard, or I’ll screw it up.  And I use the money as an excuse; that “I don’t want to part with it.”

  
  

  I remember the first time I wrote a post here.  I went over it and over it checking for mistakes, worrying it wasn’t good enough.  When I hit the submit button and saw the finished product it looked like I knew what I was doing. I felt so legitimate.  Tonight when I was walking around the city, all by myself, I felt extra confident, like it was my city and I knew it backwards and forwards; like I belonged.

  • 2:26 am
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