Let this be a warning…I’m on my “I can’t fucking stand self-important Christians who tread on hypocritical moral high ground” soapbox… Why? Because it’s pre-coffee time, I forgot my breakfast and I pissed at the world that I had to get out of bed this morning.

Only someone who is painfully idiotic or completly unaware would hand me a card that had “congrats to your new spawnling - it was a present from god” or some such shite on it, and actually expect me to sign it. Getting preggers isn’t that much of a miracle, at least not in my mind. It doesn’t take intelligence, and for many it’s not even a choice. For this mother it was, and so I signed the card, but the person who handed me the card irks me daily, and she, with her bible-loving heart, picked the fucking thing. No one in the office is religious, only this woman. Even the new mom is not a church goer, and I felt very uncomfortable signing a card that indicated something in which I don’t belive.

And the fucking thing was pink.

Someone please, just stab me in the eyeballs with the broad end of an umbrella.

—- Post Lunch —

Lunch: the rest of my morning coffee, funky pasta with vodka cream sauce, and some Depeche Mode. I almost like humans again.

I feel better. But food notwithstanding, that forcing religion on an office bullshit still pisses me off.

But I have happy things to talk about…like D’s job interview, C’s birthday dinner, and getting drunk watching Battlestar Galactica.

That last part…you know I’m a nerd-lady. So don’t hate. And please, don’t try to argue the fact that Starbuck is the hottest thing on television.You would be wrong.

So, back to D’s interview. While he’s happy-ish working for the big company he’s contracting with now, it’s still just a contract. No paid vacation. No benefits. Nada. And I won’t even get to the commute. D is bored out of his bald skull with the current job, and as such, has applied elsewhere. Also, it doesn’t make any sense to get to the end of a contract without prospects. But he found a company, downtown, short commute, that is offering him the same money as the company now, but full time with benefits. It would be perfect for him, and he said there wasn’t a cube-farm. Creative people don’t belong in cubes, and this place seemed to get it. They gave him the standard “well, we have a lot of people to interview…blah” but he said he felt good about it. And when he feels good, he gets the job. Besides, he was wearing his lucky bike chain bracelet, so he has to get it, right? Right. Now send happy ju-ju his way, or I will find you, cover you in peanut butter and sick my beagles on you.

I just realized, that’s probably someone’s fetish. My beagles should be spared that torture. So, never mind.

C’s birtday was great. We all went to Iorio, off Hawthorne and 9th. The place was packed, loud, and lacked the kind of decor that would really make it stand out. What did impress was the service and the food. I can forgive a big square red room for the food we had. C was kind enough to make sure there were veggie-friendly foods for D and me. One thing I love about Portland food is that they focus on local products, most of the good restraunts (and some of the less than stellar ones) make a point to focus on the best that the local farms, dairies, etc have to offer. That means the menu is different from season to season, so you can’t ever get bored. The server, and I wish I remembered her name because I just wanted to squish her, offered us the specials, and suggested wines. I fucked up and don’t remember the name of the wine I had, nor could I pronounce it, but I drank the hell out of it. It was a sparkling red. I really wish I remembered the name, damnit.

Now for the food. D had the goat cheese and butternut squash pizza. A handmade, thin crust, dusty with flour and crunchy on the tongue, held a smooth balance of cheese, dollops of the squash (which had been seasoned and purred) and caramelized onions. I Looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove caramelized onions. I don’t care if they look like earthworms, they taste divine. He loved the pizza, and looked more than a little miffed when I kept stealing peices out of his hand.

Wait.

I forgot about the gnocci.

I devoured the best gnocci I’ve ever had the honor of tasting. Fresh, puffy, rich gnocci with wild mushrooms, snap peas, and truffle oil. I’ve never tasted truffel before. But, I could have bathed myself in those gnocci. They were heaven in a tater. And everyone agreed. Even C liked the mushrooms, and she doesn’t do fungus. LOVE. THE. GNOCCI!

C had the margarita pizza, B had some dish with meat in it, and Sarah had the mushroom and pepperoni pizza. I tried an eggplant dish, but have come to realize that I don’t like eggplant. It wasn’t that they cooked it poorly, but I’ve tried to force my taste buds to like eggplant, but it just never works. Luckily I had a plate full of hand-made linguine in a lovely tomato sauce. It was good stuff.

We finished dinner, with laughter, full bellies and some coffee.  B was kind enough to be our DD, thank god, because after that much wine, I’m fun company but would be a terrrrrrible driver. We headed downtown for one of the jazz clubs we’ve been meaning to see, but forgot that there was a parade going on. Traffic was awful, we headed back to the NE side of town, to go to our standby - Mississippi Station (Mmmmmm crack fries). After night fall, it cooled quite a bit, so I to have the propane heaters turned on. We managed to have one beverage, but they were closing. I razzed the server, who returned with a BIG apology because she couldn’t give me another glass of the new zin I love (again…forgot the fucking name), but handed me a peice of paper with the name and year of a good wine she thinks I’d like.

I’m turning into a fat wino living here, and I couldn’t be happier :)

One more thing, if you are looking for an amazing nursery (it’s small, but perfect) in Portland, take a look at the Pistils Nursery. The NICEST people work there. They answered all my questions. They have chickens. They have air plants, and tomato starters, and all kinds of rare stuff. I will be spending a lot of money there, soon, I’m sure. But I bought C’s present there. Perhaps she’ll take a picture so I can show you —- hint—-. Good place, and within biking distance. Did I mention the chickens?

Miss Amandapants met us for breakfast on Sunday @ Cup and Saucer. But we ended up hanging out all day. She’d never seen 3:10 to Yuma, and we have it on Blu-ray, so I made dinner, and we all snuggled into the couch for some movie watching. Oh, she did go with me to the grocery store. You know you are friends when someone is willing to brave Sunday’s shoppers for a cheap meal. And we managed to get into the 12 items only lane. I kind of wondered why the register lady was being so bitchy, but when she’d FINISHED ringing up 128 bucks worth of groceries, she finally pointed out my error. Honestly, Amanadapants and I spaced. He hadn’t intentionally pulled that move, but hey, shit happens. Move on. At least Amanda only had 3 things. I think she made up for my folly.

And now I am going to refill my coffee and think happy, non-homicidal, allergic to pink thoughts. I have class tonight, and that’s exactly what I need.

I’m only partially sorry for the rant in the beginning. Can’t keep that stuff pent up — it will give me cancer or something.