China Cream.

I was recently in the Cascade Locks Oregon for work. It’s basically a small town in the middle of one of the most beautiful and scenic areas in the country. But a small town in Kansas is just like a small town near the Grand Canyon. The view might be better there still ain’t shit to do.

We stopped for dinner at the one diner/drive in type of place under the assumption that what the food lacked in quality, the sign with the penguin eating an ice-cream cone would make up for in entertainment. I ordered last and finally relented to my inner fat-Nathaniel ordering tater tots and a corn dog. God corn dogs are awesome. The total for my food was around $2.75.

As we waited on the wooden picnic bench around the corner from the walk up food window we watched as the locals, one after another, ordered MONSTROUS ice-cream cones, and then proceeded to retreat to their cars to eat them. With the windows rolled up, and presumably the air-conditioning on. They would purchase a cool and refreshing treat on this very pleasantly warm evening, in this beautiful valley, and then go inside of their car cocoon and stare at the dash board, probably in silence and eat their 1lb of ice cream.

How do I know it’s 1lb of ice cream? We fucking asked. Because the size of the cone was normal, but the amount of ice cream placed atop was so absurd that we felt compelled to find out when they know the ice cream was finished becoming a “large”.

My friend asked, “How do you know when it’s done… like, when do you stop putting ice cream in it?”

“When the cone hits the counter.” Was her reply. So, when you are physically unable to deposit any more ice cream in the container it’s finished. She followed with, “It’s usually about 1lb of ice cream.” My mouth was open. Literally, one fucking whole pound of ice cream.

When they finally called me to the window to pick up my order I tried to give it back. There were 2 corndogs in my bag. When I brought this to the girl’s attention she said that’s how many is in a $1 order of corndogs. Of course it is…

The Truth About Your Boyfriend.

So it was my birthday Sunday. My girlfriend came down to visit as she lives in Seattle and I live in Portland. We hadn’t been getting along for a while and I remember thinking at my birthday party that, boy… it sure isn’t any fun being her boyfriend anymore. And in the morning I woke up and realized that it was totally ending. We broke up that evening through a polite, but terse conversation. It was over. We agreed on that. We agreed that there was no longer any reason to talk about it. Everything had been said, so things would be returned and plans broken. Facebook statuses updated and pictures removed.

Disappointment, anger, remorse, euphoria.

Then the post break up ritual began. I really like this part of the break up process. The part where people are conciliatory and complimentary. They say awesome and fun things like “You’re skinny and cute, you’ll totally find another girl!” or… “You’re Tall and funny, you’ll have no problem finding someone.” The phone calls come in and they always begin with “what happened?” and end with a “Chin up buttercup!” and they honestly do make me feel much better.

But my absolute favorite part is when people tell you how they really felt about the person that you are no longer tethered to. Someone usually says, “She was my favorite of the girls I’ve seen you date!” It’s a wonderful sentiment, but certainly doesn’t help anyone feel better about it ending. Another popular favorite is, “But you were so in love?!” Sure were. Now we are not. The much rarer, but totally awesome “I didn’t like her…” happened this time. One of my closest friends told me, in no uncertain terms, just what she thought about my most recent romantic foray. And it was not positive. She pulled nary a punch and when it was over I felt ok about what she said. Not cause it was true, or untrue or mean, but because at least one other person out there was happy for me in the way that I am now happy for myself.

P.s. for anyone that might know her, I think she is a wonderful person and I wish her the best. There’s no ill will, I don’t blame her and am not angry or upset with her. It just didn’t work out… sometimes things don’t.

This is for the enemy