Is Portland, Is Not Portland


Spring, bitches, or something like it.

We went to Portland this weekend to see the remaining family who is still speaking to us (HUR) and for some relaxation. Sometimes I curse this state, because you have to go so far from it to find anything interesting, which is expensive. But Portland was warm and clear, so I enjoyed that.

We bumbled into The Monkey King and got our dragon lady on.



O HAI crazy.

The girls had a nice time on the train, which was all new for them and me. I come from a ruralish car town, so there was no train business before. Someone told me it was cheaper to fly to Portland, but the girls were fifteen bucks a seat, so I don’t think so.


I even let Franny have some gum, which I never do. Turns out she is expert at it anyway.


We got a suite at the hotel which was some kind if decrepit 1980s monstrosity, complete with peeling wallpaper beigeness. I felt like a bag of blow should have come free with every room.

There was also a phone by the toilet, and the right side, which I kept reaching for every time I was on the loo. I wanted to make a sign over it that said “PLZ DO NOT WIPE YOUR ASS WITH THE PHONE, RIGHTIES, THANKS, MGMT” but I refrained.

I told the girls that there was an indoor pool, which was a filthy but accidental lie, and so I had them put on their suits and go in the hot tub. It was nice to see the ladies in the tub with the bad lights and random mirror strips. A good time was had by most, except when Companion’s brother called us alcoholics again, because we accepted a glass of scotch proffered by Companion’s father. Definition of alcoholic: someone who drinks more than you.


7 thoughts on “Is Portland, Is Not Portland

  1. Pretty! Spring! Girlies! Hot tub! Yay!

    Also, all of my in-laws are alcoholics, so no one notices how loaded I get every time we visit them.

  2. You and Franny were in my dream last night. We were on a train. I introduced myself and you said that your real name is Fujar, and Franny’s is Alissa. Also your hair kept changing color as we were talking. Then we had to move because there was a flood or something and I had to go take care of my grandmother. It made sense at the time…

    I interpret this as me being nervous about visiting my family for the first time in over a year, and that I spend too much time on the internet.

  3. Oh, man: Suddenly I can see the teen-ager wanting to bust out of Franny’s face. Wasn’t it just three… or four… or seven years ago that she was a chub-faced baby?

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