Tag Archives: personal

The Routine.

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clockAfter saying goodbye to Portland, I was free from any type of routine. I was excited about the unknown possibility of what was going to happen next in my life. I no longer had to wake up to an irksome alarm clock, nor did I have to do laundry on Sundays. I didn’t have to go to the grocery store on Mondays and I definitely didn’t need to go to bed at 10:30.

That mundane, weekly routine was no longer. Poof! Gone! 

In fact, my life was going to be the exact opposite of a routine.

Fast forward two and a half months: I drove across the States with two cats for the second time (and with a boyfriend, for the first time) back to Florida where I spent many weeks by the pool. After leaving Florida, I spent a few days with the city I first fell in love with, New York City, before taking the longest plane ride I’ve ever been on (15 hours) to Bangkok, Thailand.

I often romanticize the idea about traveling around the world refusing to settle into some type of monotony. After all, who wants to be in a routine? Who wants to know what their life is going to be like in the next week? I presume most people, actually.

Yet after a while traveling like a gypsy gets tiresome and often unrealistic. You suddenly realize your funds are getting low. You realize that you want your own bed to come home to. You miss your cats greeting you every morning. The idea of cooking dinner instead of eating out sounds more appealing. You’ve seen enough temples (“They’re all the same!” you say to yourself). Eventually, you want the routine again.

After six weeks of seeing Thailand, I really was ready for the routine again. I was ready to have a laundry day and a grocery store to call my own.

We are slowly making our Korean apartment feel more like home. The pillows no longer feel like strange ones that you’d find at a hotel. The kitchen staples are being added to the cupboard. We have a new 32-inch television (and PS3) which greets us every evening after work. The only things that seem to be missing are my cats. (Although, it sounds like my mom is enjoying their company.)

The routine is complacent, which unsurprisingly is why most people often get stuck into it. There’s something comforting about knowing that Monday night is when we watch Game of Thrones, while Fridays is when we go to the grocery store.

Soon enough, though, I know I am going to be itching to get out of the routine again. And I will.

That’s the difference between me and most people.

It’s lunch time.

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In the States, I was somewhat decent* at using chopsticks because, well, I frequently visited sushi restaurants. [*somewhat decent=I could successfully pick up sushi and put into mouth.]

In South Korea, I have the chopsticks skill level of a five year old. Did you know they make training chopsticks for kids? Yeah, me neither. But I guess one doesn’t come out of the womb knowing how to use them. Silly, Jamie.

Although my chopsticks skills have slightly improved over the past month, I am still quite insecure eating in front of the kids. It’s no surprise that I’m even more insecure when eating in front of my Korean co-workers. Am I even holding these correctly?! Is leaving my spoon in the soup frowned upon? Can I use my hands to eat grapes? At least in front of kids, it might be acceptable to pick up certain foods with my hands. (After all, they are just learning too!) Everything seems to be eaten either with a spoon or chopsticks (except pizza, maybe?) When we celebrated one of the student’s birthday, chicken wings were served. I couldn’t wait to eat them until I looked around and realized everyone was using chopsticks. How the hell am I going to manage this?! Eating noodles is difficult enough! But chicken wings?!?!!!!?  I somehow managed to eat five.

On Monday through Friday at 12:05 p.m., I eat lunch with my students. Ages ranging between five and six years old. I sit at their size table in their size chairs.

photo 2

My lunch, which is provided by the school, consists of five different things. The three things which can be found on every lunch tray: rice, soup, and some sort of kimchi. Kimchi is the national dish after all. I suppose it’s the french fries of America. (Granted, I don’t eat french fries with every meal.) Kimchi, by the way, is some fermented type of vegetable.

I enjoy eating. No, like, really enjoy it. Naturally, eating lunch at school is my favorite part of the day because it is one of the very few instances where I get to eat Korean food. Normally dinner at home is the typical pasta and burritos (we don’t have an oven) while the restaurants we dine at are geared toward the waygooks (foreigners) where we get to eat not-so-tasty-overpriced burgers. At lunch time, however, I get to try all different sorts of things. There are many instances where I haven’t the slightest idea what I am eating. Huh. This looks like a tentacle. Om, nom. But isn’t this all part of the adventure? Yes.

A typical Korean school lunch.

A typical Korean school lunch: rice, soup, and kimchi.

After eating lunch, an unusual thing occurs–everyone brushes their teeth. I read many things about Korea before moving here: kimchi, couples having matching outfits, the weather and so on. But not once did I ever read about Koreans fascination with brushing their teeth after every meal.

Jamie Teacher, why you no (motions brushing teeth)?
Errm, uh, I forgot my toothbrush! Silly Jamie Teacher.

I knew I couldn’t have the excuse of forgetting my toothbrush every day. Nor did I not want to get weird looks if I didn’t brush my teeth after lunch. The next day I brought my own toothbrush and toothpaste.

I now brush my teeth after lunch time, just like everyone else.

One Month.

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travel

How sad it is to think that there are places in this world that I will never see. Places I haven’t even heard of. The world is just too big of a place, and I hardly have the time (nor funds) to see it all.What a terrible thought!

However, I am making sure I see as many places as possible.

Which is why I am nearly 7,000 miles away from my home country. I have now been in South Korea for a month teaching English to children. Before this I was traveling around Thailand for two months. And way before that I made my journey across the States from Florida to Oregon. The latter was such a big, but important, step for me because I needed to do it. I have slowly moved further and further away each time. And I think it is only getting easier and easier to not miss what I left behind*.

(*Besides my cats. I miss them dearly.)

One month in Korea and I already know it is going to be quite the adventure:

Being a foreigner, I stand out and get stared at. (But I imagine if I saw an alien walking around Florida I, too, would stare.) Finding a restaurant with an English menu is an adventure. (Unfortunately, I am learning that the more English that is spoken, the worse the food tastes.) Going to the grocery store can be annoying. (Where the hell is the damn syrup?!) Figuring out how the transportation system works is exciting. Not being able to read or speak the native language is frustrating at times, but being able to get out of small talk with strangers is wonderful. (Except for the occasional people who stop you on the street to practice their English.)

These are just a handful of things I have learned in this one month. And just think, I still have eleven more to go.

When will he call you?

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Ladies, we wait and wait for that phone call, don’t we? Of course, we don’t want men to know that, but men, we are.

The Setting: We either just got home from a spectacular first date, or we have just been dumped by our boyfriend of two years. We are waiting for the voice on the other end of the call to either tell us– “Wow! You’re amazing. I would love to see you again.” Or “I miss you. I was an idiot to ever think I could do better than you.”

But what our irrational-love-infused mind cannot comprehend is that a watched pot never boils (and trust me, I make a lot of pasta!) And it’s the reasoning behind why we do wait. It’s why when we type into Google, “When will he…” call is the third guess Google has for us (propose is first, followed by ask me out). It’s why we go to the bookstore to find the self-help books. It’s why we watch all six seasons of Sex and the City after a breakup. But the answer isn’t in the aforementioned places. It’s right here, on my blog.

So, when will he call you?

Never.

Ouch! Harsh? Perhaps. Truthful? For sure. If it has been over a month and no word from that person, start looking elsewhere. But don’t drown in your sea of sorrow, reader. You’re awesome! Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t see that.

When you’re with a new love and/or have moved on to bigger and better.

Exes always seem to come back at the wrong time (for them). It’s usually the right time for you. You know, when you’ve moved across the country, got more attractive, and have dated at least three men since him. Humor him though! It’s a wonderful ego stroke.

When your phone dies or is turned off.

Going off the grid on purpose is a freeing experience. I visited Vancouver, British Columbia about a month ago, and turned my phone off (namely because I was roaming…) And for those two days, I didn’t care about the possibility of someone not being able to reach me. But have you ever had your phone die unexpectedly when you’re not within distance to a charger? Oh, god! What a terrible feeling. When I got back into the States after my short adventure, someone called me and left a voice-mail.

The moral of the story: leave the country for a few days. He’ll call. Sans passport? Turn phone off.

When you change your phone number.

You decide to do a reckless thing after your breakup. You’re in Stage 3 of I have a Broken Heart, now what?: ANGER. You think, “Oh yeah? He doesn’t want me in his life anymore?! FINE! I’m going to go change my number. Now he will never be able to contact me.” And you do go change it. He inevitably will call because that’s how Life works. And remorse starts to set in. But really, why would you want to get back together with someone who pretty much deemed you unlovable?

If anything, you still have facebook to get in contact with one another.

Calm down, it has only been four hours.

You’re too eager. Let him miss you a bit, yeah? Good.

Not on Valentine’s Day.

He won’t even know it is Valentine’s Day. February 14 is just another day in the year. (As it should be…)

He won’t. He’ll text you.

Along with the rest of my generation, I loathe talking on the phone. We prefer text. I break out in sweat at the thought of having to call someone to set up a hair appointment. What do you mean I can’t do this online?!

So when you hear your phone ringing for some odd reason, don’t get your hopes up! It’s just an automated voice trying to sell you an alarm system.

When he wants to.

Yep. If he genuinely is interested in you, reader, he will call you. It’s hard to wrap one’s head around that but he will. Why? Because you’re awesome and he knows it.

Or you could discard all of these answers and call text him yourself.

*Jamie snapped this shot in Portland, OR.

I’m late, per usual.

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There are two things about me that have never changed, nor probably ever will: I’ve always been late, and I’ve always enjoyed a bit of dilly-dallying. It has taken me this long to come to the conclusion that the two are correlated with one another.

I have absolutely no sense of time (or direction). I like to blame this entirely on my mom. When we hear, “Want to meet at 2pm?” We’ll probably be there fifteen minutes later. As other kid’s parents were on time (or even early) greeting their children at the pick-up line at school, I was the last child to be picked up at school. Naturally I’d think the worst–I knew she loved my brother more and has completely forgotten about me! Crying usually ensued.

Along with being late, I enjoy wasting time. It apparently started young in life, too. My mom would always tell me, “We don’t have time for you to dilly-dally. We need to go!” What does dilly-dally mean, I’d ask.

I set my alarm for at least least two hours before work. But the problem is? I’m still late. Reasoning? I love wasting time. The idea of not having to rush is lovely. I slowly savor each of my mornings by drinking two cups of coffee, checking out facebook newsfeed, and laughing at cat pictures. You know, anything that does not involve getting ready for the day. I’ll continuously give myself five more minutes before having to get in the shower. Oh, wait! A few more minutes! I have to finish watching this Cat and Flute video. Ooooh, Cat Bowling under related videos? Click.

Shit! I have to leave for work in 20 minutes and still haven’t made my lunch! The rushing proceeds.

However, work has just implemented a punch-in system on the computer. (Like most jobs.) Before, it was the reliable honor system: write your hours on a printed calendar template from Microsoft Word. When doing it this way, it was okay to sneak in five to eight minutes late. That’s no longer the case. Not since February 1. Now, my directors will see that I am perpetually late. Although we are given a three-minute grace period, I know I will abuse it. I will come so close to hitting that three minute mark I will be speeding my way there, all the while bitching at the laid-back drivers and bicyclists of Portland. If only I left five minutes early I’d say to myself aloud. If only.

Work is also generously giving us three strikes, and after that? We’re out! Well not fired, but supposedly will be written up. (Nice baseball metaphor though, huh?)

It has been ten days since work started the punch-in system, and I have been on time everyday since. (At least with the help of the three-minute grace period.) And you know what I’ve learned? Being on time (or even early) falls under the category The Greatest Feeling in the Whole Entire World. Some other things would include: sleeping in on a Sunday (with a nice-looking man beside you), coming home to a fridge stocked with beer, and leaving the state you began to loathe for the state you fell in love with.

Even though work is forcing me to be on time, I hope the man in my life (a stickler for being on time) doesn’t actually believe I’m going to give up my dilly-dally habit.

*GettyImages.

In Perspective: Unrequited Love

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I once liked a boy, who didn’t like me.
A boy even liked me once, but I didn’t like him.

Unrequited love–My marital status throughout most of middle and high school. (Later on in life, I got a bit more lucky.)

Life is rough when you’re a boyfriendless, fourteen-year-old girl suffering from a crazy little thing called unrequited love. (Oh wait, those aren’t the lyrics.) But come on, everyone would have to agree that unrequited love sucks at any age! It fits oh, so, snugly under the category The Worst Feeling in the Whole Entire World. Some other things would include: waking up five minutes before you have to be at work while rushing out the door (sans shower and coffee), experiencing food poisoning on vacation, and having dreams nightmares where one is pregnant (But, man, what a relief waking up!).

Like most teenage girls, my life was defined by the opposite sex. (We can thank Disney for that one.) Did I have a boyfriend? Did anyone like me? Did I even like anyone? I remembering “liking” multiple boys just to increase my chances of getting a boyfriend. It didn’t work, of course. I also remember “liking” boys just to make my life more interesting because what woman doesn’t love to over-analyze when a man says “fine” and “sure.” Does he, like, really mean that? Something is totally wrong.

While most of my friends were out catching boyfriends, I was sulking in my room wondering, “Why not me?” My online and handwritten journals were filled with the unrequited-love blues. After all, it can be quite detrimental to a person’s ego, especially a shy, insecure girl going through puberty. Imagine that you have finally found the courage (it was hiding behind procrastination and motivation, by the way) to go up to that someone, who you’ve only watched from afar, and proclaim your feelings to only receive absolutely nothing in return.

But then again, should we be surprised by the outcome? We aren’t in the movies. Our crushes wouldn’t just confess that they, too, have been watching us from afar all along. This could be the cause of unrequited love! The cause being we are lusting after people who are simply out of our league. When we are younger, our parents tell us we can be anything we want to be when we grow up. In our simple minds we figured we could have anyone we wanted as well, regardless of how attractive they were. We are setting ourselves up to be unloved in return.

Alas, I must touch on both sides of the spectrum. (As I have been found on both sides before.) Surely we have all had our fair share of people who we weren’t interested in, but who clearly were interested in us.

I had a really good friend during my freshman year of high school. The said friend was a boy and he liked me, a lot. (He actually confessed his love for me.) Although flattered, I had no interest in him. I told him that he was my good friend and that’s all I could ever see him as. Ouch, Jamie! On the other hand, I knew exactly how he felt because at the same time I was pining for the popular tall, dark, and handsome boy in the junior class, who had no idea of my existence. Oh, high school.

Fortunately by the time I entered my senior year of high school, I had finally experienced requited love. (I could finally relate to those damn love songs!) So, what’s the secret? Time. I was no longer that awkward 14-year-old girl going through puberty. I’ve continued to grow as a person since then. I got smarter, hotter, and funnier all the while attracting better quality men each and every time. Soon enough, you’re bound to meet the perfect person for you. So don’t worry, pubescent person reading my blog, you’ll get rid of the unrequited-love bug soon enough. Just give it time.

Or maybe lower your standards?

*Getty Images

The underrated (and overrated) places to meet that someone.

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Let’s face it, life isn’t about making the most money. It’s not about having the most friends, either. It’s about finding one person who will love you enough to put up with your shit (and if you’re lucky, someone who is attractive, funny, and intelligent). But the problem is that it’s a difficult and even daunting task to find someone who is not only attractive, funny, and intelligent but who will also find your flaws endearing.

When we are lazy frustrated with love and relationships we don’t bother going to search for someone. We stay single, and write empowering facebook statuses that include: “I don’t need a man. I can pay my own bills.” (37 likes from other single ladies ensue.)

But when we do find the motivation to go and search for that someone we don’t know where to even begin. Well, readers, don’t fear! This is where I come in.

I’ve come up with some underrated (and overrated) places to meet that someone. People everywhere are looking in all the wrong places. They’re relying too heavily on Yahoo! Answers and self-help books which are just leading them to meet some lame people, who will eventually break up with them.

The underrated places.

  • In traffic.
    • While living in Florida, my daily commute coming home from work was 45 minutes. That is 225 minutes. That is three hours and 45 minutes spent driving. That is the equivalent of watching a movie and two episodes of Dexter. That is the equivalent of getting a haircut and pedicure. (I have long, thick hair. Ahem.) What I am trying to say is that we waste a lot of time in traffic. After all, time is precious. This time spent in a car could essentially be time spent trying to meet that someone. Ah ha! Well, why not put the two together? There have been plenty of times when I was sitting in traffic and singing my heart out to Bob Seger’s Night Moves when I would look to my left to see a quite nice-looking man smirking at me. Horrified, I had no where to run and hide. I couldn’t simply push the accelerator and go, I had to simply stay put. Now if I were confident I would have rolled my window down and asked for his number, but I’m not so he got away. Next time you’re sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, take a peek at the drivers around you. He or she could just be that someone.
  • On public transit.
    • For the people fortunate enough who don’t have to sit in traffic, public transit is the next best option. Again, we spend a lot of time (and money) commuting to work. The next time you get on to the subway, why not find the one seat directly across from that Keanu Reeves look-alike? You meet some interesting people on public transit. I once received a flower from a man who told me I had beautiful teeth on the MAX in Portland. Granted, he was drinking Rolling Rock from a can at 10:30 in the morning but perhaps if I wasn’t so judgmental (Come on, beer in a can?!?!), he could have been that someone.
  • Through a blog. (Preferably your own.)
    • Online dating is becoming more socially acceptable. Slowly, but surely. I’ve already confessed to my readers that I’ve met men on the internet. It’s simply easier for me. But at the same time, online dating is tricky. The key to meeting that someone isn’t to sign up for Match.com or any of those dating sites. Wait, what? When doing it that way, you’re intentionally putting yourself out there making it really difficult. (It’s the equivalent of hoping you meet someone at a bar. See below.) When you’re writing hilarious, witty posts on your very own blog (ahem), it sometimes attracts people. It even attracts that someone. (Trust me. I know.) Not only will you acquire your biggest blog fan, you will have landed yourself a man. Not a writer? Well, you better become one quickly or have some hope that my other underrated places work out for you.
  • In a bookstore.
    • The reason being (and really the only)? It’s the perfect setting. If my life were a movie, and I was about to meet that someone (played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, naturally) it better take place in a bookstore. There I’d be: moseying through the aisles, when suddenly I’d see him with his nose buried in a book, he’d look up to see my gaping face, we’d briefly make eye-contact before I’d coyly look away. As you can see, I have some pretty lame fantasies. But, reader, seriously go to a bookstore, there’s bound to be an intellectual,  charming, and attractive person in there for you.
  • Going anywhere in public without showering.
    • It’s true. You’re bound to meet that someone when you’re least expecting it. Enough said.

The overrated places.

  • In a bar or club.
    • This is the most overrated place people believe they could potentially meet that someone. Who even came up with this idea? Has this person even been to a bar? Don’t they know it’s loud? One cannot make any type of conversation in a dark room that has DJ Quivering Machine blasting the latest tracks. Yes, when alcohol is involved confidence usually comes out but the next morning so does regret. Meeting at a bar is so overrated that people are flocking to bars with high hopes of finding Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Surely if everyone is going to the same place, I can only imagine the difficulty of trying to get his or her attention when everyone is fighting for one thing: that someone. Good luck with that.
  • Through a friend of a friend.. of a friend.
    • ZzzZzzzZ.
  • Work
    • I’m bias toward anyone meeting at the workplace. Mostly because I’m annoyed that my ex-boyfriends dumped me for their now girlfriends or wives through work. Besides, if you do meet someone at work and god forbid the two of you break-up, how awkward. Poor Jennifer Carpenter and Michael C. Hall must know! Their characters play siblings on Dexter, get married in real-life, later divorce, and now *spoiler alert* Deb (Carpenter) is having… feelings for her brother? Cruel writers, I tell you!
  • School
    • High-school sweethearts? Pfffft! How unoriginal of you two. I like to think that they got stuck in a comfortable routine and can’t get out. They figured, “Hey, let’s just stay together.” I get it, though. It’s rough out there! (Why else would I be writing this post?) I mean why bother breaking up if you already met the person who will put up with your shit? The two just met earlier than most of us will meet our someone. (It’s still overrated…)
  • On a dating reality television show.
    • The next time you’re watching The Bachelor and Chris Harrison asks, “Do you know of someone who is looking for true love? Apply or nominate someone now by going to ABC.com” Do not raise your hand, and scream at the television, “I do! I do!” Yes, you will get whisked away in a helicopter every now and then. Yes, you will go on fabulous dates in exotic locations. But no, you won’t find true love. Look I’m not being harsh. I am forewarning anyone contemplating going on a dating show. I’ve see too many women crying at the camera because Ben, a man they’ve known for two weeks, didn’t give them a rose. If only they read this post. If only.

I hope this helps any of my desperate single readers looking for love.

*Getty Images.

In Perspective: Close-talkers

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Have you ever met a close-talker? If you’re wondering a what, it sounds exactly as it reads, my dear reader.

Close-talkers do not solely occupy one region of the world either. In fact, a close-talker can be found anywhere in the world. I’ve come across some in Florida to even a couple in Oregon. Although one may believe close-talkers travel in packs, they are somewhat of an individual, even among their family.

Yet, how can you be sure it’s a close-talker and not someone who is about to give you CPR? Well, this is why it’s imperative that a person knows how to identify a close-talker, especially when at first glance (and from afar) because he or she will appear to look like a normal-distant talker.

How to identify a close-talker.

  • He or she will be completely unaware of your personal space. They don’t realize that people have a boundary. Most of us have an imaginary bubble around ourselves, shielding us from the outer world. The size of our bubble depends on a few things: our weight, height, sex, and cultural background. (It also doubles in size when you’re a couple in love.)
  • Within minutes of speaking to a close-talker, you feel your bubble pop. Uneasiness will most likely ensue. Bubble will rebuild itself in three to five days. Again, it depends on the size.
  • After your bubble has been popped by said close-talker, he or she will continue to talk while inching closer, and closer, and closer to your face.
  • Seinfeld has given a visual example.

How do you act if you encounter a close-talker?

  • Don’t run. Whatever you do, do not run. It will just confuse the close-talker. Or worse–he or she will follow you to continue telling their story.
  • Lean your head, subtly, in the opposite direction of the speaker.
  • Although you’re likely thinking, “Why is his nose touching mine while talking?” Pretend your listening to them by smiling and nodding.
  • If close-talker has just came back from eating a garlic pizza and having a cigarette break, sometimes a step (or two) back is needed. Fortunately for you it’s likely they won’t even notice. They’re too engaged with what they’re saying.

So, why do they do this?

  • No one knows (not even scientists!), but some like to speculate it’s because they lack a bubble.

*Getty Images

The perfect city: It exists, right?

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If you can’t find the perfect man, well, you may as well find the perfect city to live in, right? Especially if you’re a 22-year-old recent grad who wants to escape the wretched state of Florida.

And I did just that. I went searching for it.

Now, normally I refrain from telling people to go look for someone to love. This is a dating no-no because essentially the love of your life will find you when you start doing the things you love (e.g. writing). However, like most rules, there are always exceptions.

Most readers may have (or not) been aware of my recent journey to the west coast in pursuit of goal number nine. (My reasoning behind my writing hiatus.) Namely because I enjoyed boasting (on facebook) to my east-coast friends that I was far, far away living three hours behind all of them. I am sure most readers facebook friends will also be glad the moment I stop counting down the days of getting the heck out of Florida.

I like to think that when most little girls were dreaming of their wedding, I had been romanticizing the day of leaving, and living in a new city where I knew absolutely no one. After all, it’s what you do as an adult, right? You go to school, you graduate, and you leave the state nest. That’s not the case for the people who live in a life of security. Fortunately, I am not one of them. My mom says I was blessed with the gypsy gene. I thank her for it.

I was quite certain that the city to complement 22-year-old Jamie was over there, whether it be San Francisco, Seattle, Los Angeles, or Portland. I knew it was where I wanted to be: on the west coast and as far away from Florida as possible. It’s a difficult decision figuring out where one wants to call home. What is a home anyway? The home I have come to known is boring, dull, and monotonous. I have become comfortable. It is my security blanket. It is being with someone because you don’t think you deserve better. Oh, you do. It’s settling in a rut. And it’s not what anyone at 22 should be doing. I do know that home shouldn’t be a place I call wretched or talk shit about right in front of it, but I do. Rather, it should be a place I want to show off. It should be a place where I am proud to call it my home. You know, quite similar to showing off that Mr. Almost Right on your arm.

So, how does one come up with the qualifications for a city to win a heart? Simple. It’s just like my figuring out what the qualifications of Mr. Almost Right would be.

  • It needs to be a blue city. Preferably a blue state, altogether. I’m a liberal stuck in a conservative state. HELP!
  • I’m tired of the humidity and the heat. The city must welcome other temperatures other than “Today is hot. I hope you don’t melt.”
  • Are cars dependent? Yes? Really? This probably means the public transit sucks and the city is terribly spread out. I want it to feel as close as possible to living in Europe (ha!) while living right here in the States. I want to spend less money on gasoline and have my new diet regime consist of living in a walkable city. That way, my city will never leave me for getting fat. (Or that Mr. Almost Right.)
  • The average age and IQ should not, I repeat NOT, be 75.  Plain and simple!
  • Our values should be the same. I’m not religious, so I would like to stay away from the Bible belt.
  • Also, I believe spending time with good company is more important than working in an office for eight hours a day. I don’t think making the most money equates to being successful. Which kind of also means, I hate big corporations and I would rather support a local business. Which also, ALSO means I don’t want to live where chain-restaurants align the streets.
  • I like to think I am creative. Naturally, I want to live in an artsy city. I need inspiration!
  • Okay, I know this is really shallow, BUT I want to live in a pretty city. Florida is just plain ugly (and flat), and I cannot take it any longer. Give me mountains!
  • I don’t want to be within driving distance just to the beach. I don’t like the beach. Give me mountains!
  • Last, but not least, I want my new city to make me feel like this. You know, like a bunch of hippies dancing.

I knew I would find it here. It hit me when I was inside strolling through the world’s largest independent book store, when I was deciding what to eat amongst the city block of food-carts, when I was being serenaded to on the streets by a guy from Boise looking for a few extra dollars, when I was taking in all the green landscape (Oh, and there IS a mountain), and when I was getting around the city without a car.

My mom said I would just know, and sure enough as I was people watching alongside the Willamette River I knew this was where I wanted to be. I wanted this to be my home, for now. I wanted this to be the place to show-off to my east-coast friends: See? It’s possible! You really can leave Florida. Do it while you still can! Do it before Rick Scott ruins this place! Now! Hurry!

Although I’m sad to leave my mom, I’m so, so, SO ready to leave this place. And I am. Today.

Adieu, Tampa.
Bonjour, Portland.