Monday, June 14

I'll meet the Little Man for $100, Alex.

Thursday and Friday were the 2 days leading up to Middle Sister's graduation.  I was still on a mission for shoes, and failing miserably.  And beer consumption wasn't at an all time high.  But shopping while buzzed isn't advised.  Because I've been there, done that.  And the success ratio is pathetically low.  I managed to wake up at 5:30am (8:30am my time), and go out for a bleary 3 miles in Baby Sister's neighborhood.

One thing about this trip that was awesome?  It rained.  And for once, I looked like I fit in with a city.  As opposed to being the sore thumb on the Wrong Coast, because I live for rain, kick myself it I don't bring a polypropylene bag with me, and refuse to drive to places a handful of blocks away.

Baby Sister's small apartment complex has a psuedo-mascot now in the shape of a skinny, malnourished cat that scrounges for food.  He (we think) seems to be part Siamese (quite the talker), and thankfully people put out food for him because otherwise I don't think he eats much.  Because of my Ace Ventura-like personality to the cat world, he started following me around and talking.  Well, being the Ging I am, I named him "Blogger."  Because he was following me.  Super lame, yes, I know.  But still, he would turn his head when I called his new name.

While perusing the Pioneer Square area, we happened upon a band playing typical band/football game songs.

Again, a beautiful rainy day in the Portland area.  What a better way to welcome me back to my favorite state.

Beer porn...

From the Deschutes Brewery experience, Mama Ging never had the room to eat her side salad.  So after INHALING Quizno's for Thursday's night's dinner, I needed more cowbell.  I scrounged her salad and any other fridge fixings that'd made a good salad.  That and a salad a day keeps the doctor away.

Why what's this?????



Views of the city as we crossed the river over to the East side of Portland proper.

Portland really is a very pretty city.  I don't know if I'd want to live in some place so big.  But I definitely like how equal minded its residents and myself are.  Other than Berkeley and San Fran, hippie cities are only so many.  And all are on the BWest Coast.

Heading out to breakfast on Friday morning, we hit a road block in the form of a 10-minute train.

So one person napped...

One person eye-balled me...

Someone awoke from their nap and lurked...

Said lurking victim.

And just after we crossed the tracks, the gates were back down.  Bitches.


Who invited the paparazzi??

No really, Gramms, who invited her?

Okay, well maybe I'll make one cute face.

No, really, his parents feed him.  Because how tasty can fingers be, honestly.

"Look, I'm Michael Jackson." - Sheriff

So after Little Man cried when I held him (apparently he does for Middle Sister too), we hit up dinner.  Because I was in the need for brewery love.  And brewery love I had.  Too bad I ate my dinner too quickly.  I hate when I take mental pictures of how tasty it is, but fail to capture for my readers.  It was a beefy salad.  Trust me.

And the night ended with a stare-off.  I lost.

1 comment:

  1. You need to re-read your posts. Spell check...