Traveling Recap: Norfolk to Portland

Wednesday and Thursday were great.  I was escaping the undying heat and humidity of the Eastern Seaboard for the more passive, eco-conscious land of Portland, Oregon.  My people.  Well, okay, maybe not exactly "my" people as I've never lived there.  But when they recycle and compost more than they trash, I can only relate.  Plus they were lesbian shoes too.  But for different reasons than I do.

My connection in Dallas revolved around taking a skytram to my connecting terminal.

At this time, I was looking for a Texas-sized bathroom since I had a couple cups of coffee before my first flight in Norfolk. And my standard in-flight beverage of ginger ale.

Thanks to the Sheriff informing me of an Au Bon Pain close to my gate, I picked up a breakfast bagel sandwich to curb over the stomach tapeworm demons.  They were getting loud.

I was bummed Mt. Hood was clouded over.  That's my favorite part of the descent.

Baby Sister and Mama Ging picked me up from the airport, complete with a sign, that was failed to be documented, because hugs were in order.

Post-flight, my stomach was rumbling again and my caffeine levels were severely low.

A whole wheat bagel, smear, and the Northwest Portland monthly newsletter.

And a cup of house Peruvian coffee with room.

On our way back to Baby Sister's apartment, we passed by the historic Made in Oregon sign.

There I finally met up with the Sheriff who was busy working when my flight came in.

After regrouping with cookies (scroll back up and inspect the Sheriff's hand), we hit up Downtown Portland for some shopping and dinner.  We leave for London on July 1st, and I was on a mission for new shoes. 

One of our stops: REI.

After REI, we hit up the Deschutes Brewery where the Sheriff was testing out his future in modeling.

On the menu: The smoked chicken chop salad.  Woof.

Disappointment of the Day: Their "Hop in the Dark" psuedo-IPA was flat and flavorless.

So the Sheriff demanded (literally) I get a Saipon (his).

Food porn time...

From here, we mobbed home with full bellies and tired bodies.  Okay, maybe just mine.  I was still on East Coast time, so when 8pm hit...I was close to calling it a night.  This weekend was going to be a busy one.  I needed my beauty sleep.  Even if it was sharing an air mattress with Baby Sister in the living room of her apartment.  This Ging isn't picky.  Well, over sleeping arrangements, that is.

A Gingy Weekend Teaser!

We've made it to Sunday.  No one died.  No one was hospitalized.  And only one person cried at graduation.  You can guess who that was.

It's been a great weekend in the State of Recycling, Composting, and Ergonomic Shoes.  I wish I lived here.  But I don't.  Because the Navy shut down the Portland station long ago.  Boo.  Bring back Portland.  And Alaska.  Because that would be awesome too.

 There was the flight over Mt. Hood, which was clouded over.  I wonder if they've recovered the bodies off the the mountain yet.  Idiots.

There was the Baby Sister Taxi Service from Portland International.

 There were emo shots.  Standard.

Of course there was beer.

And there was some food porn.

And I met this Little Man.  And he "mean-mugged" me.

And my camera was pilfered.  And for those who don't know, this is my Brother.  Well, his nostrils.

And congrats to Middle Sister for completing the requirements for a 4-year degree...in 4 years!

While I'm savoring the time I have left with my family,...I'll be seeing them in like 3 weeks.  So it's not exactly a teary goodbye.  Well, it is for the microbreweries I'm leaving behind.  Good beer, I've missed you.

Yays and Nays: Portland Edition

Yay: Finding Privo Clarks at DSW for only $60.
Nay: Striking out on finding my Keen Coronado Mary Jane anywhere in Downtown Portland.
Yay: Getting out yesterday morning for a 3.0 mile job around Baby Sister's neighborhood.
Nay: Realizing my running in Norfolk hasn't revolved around any hills.  And Portland has hills.
Yay: Baby Sister is a yuppie and grinds her own beans for coffee each morning.
Nay: She is allergic to carb = no real sugar in the house.  Coffee = fake sugar'd coffee.
Yay: No humidity, perfect drizzle of rain.  My life is complete.
Nay: Rain + leather shoes = butt-hurt Ging.
Yay: Today is Friday = meet this Little Man that I hear so much about.
Nay: My vacation is almost halfway over.  Boo.

Sights and Sounds of Traveling with the Ging

Dear Norfolk Airport,


Having on x-ray machine down cramped my style.  I hate being stuck behind amateur travelers while moving my shit along.  Figure it out before this Ging goes postal.


Thanks, Ging.






Dear Dude Talking Loud on Your Cellphone,


No, having the Mercedes symbol tattooed on your butt is not funny.  And not showing up for work because you didn't feel like it is not entertaining.


Thanks, Ging.






Dear Armrest Communist on Flight #1,


Sorry for spilling water on you.  I honestly didn't know that the water would spurt out of my water bottle with the pressure change at 34,000 feet.  But serves you right for thinking I didn't want equal use of the armrest.  Asshole.


Thanks, Ging.






Dear Pilot on Flight #1,


As awesome as organ donation is, please don't let us know we have a human heart on board and will be expediting to our destination.  This grosses me out.  And all I think about it Rat Race.  It is a race!


Thanks, Ging.






Dear Dallas/Ft. Worth International Airport,


The airtram = AWESOME.  That's all.


Thanks, Ging.






Dear American Airline,


Delaying my flight because of a circuit board issue = NOT OKAY.  Especially when it's 10:00am and I'd just feel like a super alcoholic ponying up to the bar to wait out the delay.  So instead, I read more of my book.


I guess "Thanks," Ging.






Dear Man Who Smelled Like Menthol and Wet-Dog Farts,


Another arm rest communist!  I'd say sorry for the second water bottle incident, but I'd be lying.  You smelt.  And I'm pretty sure you had prostate issues as you peed more than an 8-month pregnant woman.  But thanks for letting me think you smelled like Vick's Vapor Rub.


Peace, Ging.






Dear Portland,


Thanks for the great weather.  Rain = glorious.


Super thanks, Ging.






Dear Baby Sister and Mama Ging,


Thanks for the pick up.  Props, bitches.


Fist bump, hugs, and tears, Ging. 






Dear Mom,


Compton is NOT Hampton.  Please do not confuse the two.  You'll thank us.  Especially when in South LA.


Thanks, Ging.

Because these are the thoughts in my head at 1:48am

The damn alarm loves to mock me. And it isn't even mine.  It's Mr. Wookie's.


I set my phone to go off at 3:00am.  I still haven't packed.  For those who know me, this is very typical behavior.  For those who don't, let me enlighten you.


By packing, I'm acknowledging that I'm going to be stuck in a steel tube for half the day.  I'm going to be leaving my comfortable bed for Baby Sister's floor.  I'm going to visiting family I haven't seen in forever, and meeting a Little Man who apparently will melt my heart (which we'll see because I say my heart is made of reinforced titanium).  I'll indulge in a State that I love too much just to miss it that much more and desert Mr. Wookie will full force.  Then it'll all be over and I'll be forced at gunpoint, in a Battan-march fashion, back on the steel tube to the life I live on the Other Coast. 


And who wants that looming over their vacation's beginning?  Well, apparently me, because I didn't sleep at all last night.  So here's to hoping I have a nap sometime mid-air.


I woke up at 1:48am.


And I continued this trend until my alarm quietly popped at 3:00am.


I just didn't feel like packing last night.  And Mr. Wookie has a very stressful day today, and I figured that if I can be quiet packing this morning, he'll get more sleep than if I were to stay up and pack last night.  That's the logic I'm going with though.  Yes, it's not sound, at all.  But it's the wiring of the genetics I'm working with.


And what a morning to fly out.  Today is 400 days.  400 days of living on the Other Coast.  I plan on doing a very precise study of everything that's happened in those 400 days as there have been some greats, some awfuls, some whatevers, and some We are so not in Kansas Oregon anymore.  But overall it's been fun.  Because it's not like you've seen me hang myself via YouTube.  And there isn't anyone to posthumously pen my blog in the same manner.  So you're stuck with me.  You're welcome.


But until then, I'm nursing my coffee (annoyed that I don't have a 3 oz. travel mug to get thru security with caffeine - but that's not like that amount would tie me over anyways) and will go back upstairs for my list and suitcase.  I showered last night, so packing shouldn't take too excruciatingly long.


Last time I was in Oregon?  October.  Early October.  For a Beaver football game.  And we lost.  Thanks school. I mean, I understand my major was lousy and we barely got ceiling fans before I graduated, but at least pull a victory out when I reign down on the town.  I thought I was royalty.  Oh, well apparently they aren't fans of Gings or my blog.


So the next time you'll hear from me hopefully I'm on a different coast. Being Welcome Wagon'd by Baby Sister and Mama Ging.  We'll go for coffee, peruse the lesbian shoes, maybe hit up Powell's (if I can kill my Sylvia Plath book today), then enjoy a super-blog-fodder-fest of microbrews.  And it's only Day #1.  Oh, I can't wait.  This'll be good, people.

She's definitely not a Mathlete

Me: "Hi there, this is Ashley with [Company], I called this morning for an order I want delivered tomorrow morning.  I'm calling to confirm the numbers and pre-pay with my Visa."


I'm out tomorrow, remember, so I have everything set-up through the rest of the week.  Or at least, try.


Girl: "Umm, I dont know anything about that order."


Let's not look up orders for tomorrow.  No, that'd be too easy.


Me: "Okay, well I put an order in this morning for 10 for the Breakfast Platter with a delivery of 8:10am."


I always ask for an obscure delivery time because I hate when people aren't on time.


Me: "Since then, I've had 2 add to the guest list, so our total is now 12."


Girl: "So you want me to add like a bagel or something?"


Yes, I'd like to starve some people.


Me: "No, I'd like the Breakfast Platter but instead of it being for 10 like I originally ordered, I'd like to have it for 12 now."


This shouldn't have been that difficult. It's ordering a per-person platter where the number dictates the quantity, but she didn't get it.  Maybe she was new.  But at least my Friday had fun in testing me.

Can I get a glass of "Let's skip thru Tuesday?" And a pedicure?

Push-ups are a bitch.  Especially when I'm still in my Target skirt and tank from work today.  Mr. Wookie already worked out, which leaves me alone in that department.  And rather than donning workout clothes and heading to the gym, I'm staying in and continuing the elation of my day.  Today was my Monday, tomorrow is my Friday.  Vacation is on the horizon, and I only have one word for you: Bitches.

I'm taking a break right now because I don't feel like actually sweating.  I did enough of that last night.  We decided to try a long run since it was Sunday after all.  Well even at 8:30pm, I had enough boob sweat to swear I was a Namibian runner...running...in Namibia. If they actually had boobs.

So Monday is strength and stretching.  I'm working on the strength part now.  Then I'll stretch...towards the bar...or the wine collection.  Because hydration is a serious health threat.

I'll be hydrating quite well come Wednesday.

So yesterday I was oogling a pair of sandals for Middle Sister's upcoming graduation.  Not to toot the horn of my family, but we'll be celebrating #3 for Oregon State graduates.  What. up?

Now if only that trend could continue.  Y'all know Baby Sister, right?  Well she decided to offend the family and attend Portland State.  PORTLAND STATE?  Really?  I kid, I kid.  Leave it to the baby of the family to throw a curveball and live in the big city.  Maybe cows and rednecks aren't her thing.  But if you'd like to leave her grief, go for it.  Baby Sister, you've been warned.

Anyways, back to the shoes.  So after I bought the pot, I was back to stalking a pair of sandals online.  I've been slowly, but surely, piecing together the options I'll wear for Middle Sister's graduation.  I just didn't have black sandals.  And that just can't stand.  So Zappos.com it is.  

But what's this?  OH NO!  Shit almost hit the fan when I refreshed the page and there were only 2 pairs left (now only 1 thanks to this Ging).  Must. purchase. now.  *Click*  Purchased.  Phew.  And thanks to the little VIP status I have (bitches!), they'll be here Tuesday.  Just in time.  In the words of Middle Sister, "Jeal, jeal?"


But let's get the illegal drugs, shall we?


And be illegal drugs I mean pot.  And by pot, I mean the literal pots and potting soil we bought at KMart.  Had you fooled, didn't I?  Okay, maybe not.  I mean, my dad's nickname is the Sheriff.  There are only so many times that someone poisons the waterhole.  Or puts a snake in his boot.

 Jungle Wookie

We were able to finally pot the new plants I had received for Administrative Appreciation Day, as well as top of the herds of plants we already have.  That was our one errand for Sunday.  That and picking up turtle food.  I know, we're exciting people.

And I leave you with a shot of my sneakers, Mr. Wookie's old PT shorts from college (yes, I wear them, because they were free), and the pink shirt I didn't wear for my Half Marathon in March.  And my dangling earbuds.

Take this Little Man to church with you.

So yesterday sparked another trip back to the ICU for this little guy right here.

No injuries were sustained via the Johnny Jump-Up

[This via Mama Ging and Facebook]  Little Man, yesterday, was unresponsive, yet breathing, in his crib so he was taken to the Emergency Room to see what was up with him.  His blood sugar was at 500 (apparently an unGodly level), so they were running tests for diabetes (which runs in my Sister-in-Law's family).  Hours later, no on the diabetes.  The sugar levels fell.  Things were getting better.  The hospital staff thought maybe he got tangled up in his blanket and panic ensued, thus skyrocketing all his levels.  And they were concerned for oxygen intake.  So a CT scan was ordered.  During this whole episode, Little Man hadn't opened his eyes at all.  This cues my need for Niecy Nash and some "Take off yo' blindfold and open yo' eyes!"


Well apparently he opened his eyes a little on the ride to the CT room as they hit a sinkhole in the flooring.  Little Man was his ol' self for a short time, which relieved my brother.  CT came back normal.  And he's ate and slept like a champion.  There's just waiting for the standard behavior out of him before he's released.  Because projectile-vomit, stinky-diaper baby is much better than catatonic baby.  Leave zombie-like behavior to Little Man when he's 15 and sleeping 14 hours a day.


My opinion:  Little Man has until Thursday to get better.  Because he has a roadtrip to make to Middle Sister's graduation, and a blogging Aunt Ging to meet.  There I will give him the wise words of my life.  Like the one time I crawled onto of the fridge for a game of Hide 'N Go Seek with my siblings and I almost launched Mama Ging's cake stand off the top.  Only tell them things like that until after 10+ years have passed.  And when you live in another time zone.  Because then they can't get mad at you.  Directly.  Hi Mama Ging. Love you. :D


So Little Man, get better.  Brother and Amber, you guys are champions...hang in there.  You'll have my hugs on Friday.  To the prayers that have been sent...high fives to all you.  I'll do some yoga to the Sun, to the Moon, to the Little Man's hospital room (that's an inside joke right there with my sisters - sorry to not include you, readers).  And to my blogger family...your kind thoughts propel the ability for Little Man to grace this blog in person this week.  And I thank you.


Now time for breakfast.  And in case you didn't notice, I was able to upload a picture.  So...that means I can finally unload my backlog of blogposts.  Score.  Happy Sunday.

The Ging's Words of Wisdom in Bar Etiquette

1. Please don't discuss cremation vs burial on your first date.  I don't care how good your argument is.  Because I'll lose my appetite, and I'm not even on the date with both of you.
2. Yes, I'm very skilled in the tambourine department.  No, really.  This white girl has mad rhythm.  How?  I'm from Oregon.  We have hippies.  I've been to drum circles before.  End of story.
3. Dear Newly-Employed-New-Resident-of-Virginia, I apologize for offending you and your "I love [Rogue] Dead Guy" with the statement that Rogue makes many more exceptional beers other than it's one counterpart.  I'm just saying.  If you like one of their beers, you'll usually like more.  So step outside of the box.
4. Dear Actual Lesbian at the bar...I apologize if I offended you with my lesbian discussions while watching the college softball playoffs.  It wasn't personal.  In fact, I like lesbians.  Just not like that.  But if I ever needed my tire changed and Mr. Wookie was deployed, I'd SO call you.  Because lesbians rock.  That and a gay man might break a nail.
5. I agree with the Asian from San Diego - the Pac-10 should stay the Pac-10.  Not the Pac-12.  Give Notre Dame to the Big-Who Cares.  Because we definitely don't want them.  But if we ever do have to take on 2 more teams, I vote for Hawaii and Boise State.  But that'd leave the WAC empty.  So it's really a conundrum.
6. If you look remotely like a "Florida or Auburn fan" (read: Douchebag Fraternity Sleezeball), Mr. Wookie will glare at you all night.  Not that it's anything against the schools, more that he doesn't like popped-collar walking nightmares.
7. The night is complete when upon your walk home, you notice a man with "Flock of Seagulls" hair.
8. Blowing your nose like Snuffulufagus in the bar might garner you strange looks.  But shut up assholes, I've been sick. I'm trying to clear out my sinuses, and here you are giving me grief.  Go away.
9. Short men always humor me.  Especially the little pudgy ones that look like an Oompa Loompa meets Danny Devito.  Maybe God finds humor in my difficulty of finding pants that fit.
10. I like the rule: "3+ hours at the bar, one drink on the house."  So do my tastebuds.

Here's to lookin' good. Oh wait, not today.

1:12am: Wake up shivering.  I love my life.


4:28am: Wake up again.  Need to use the bathroom.  Still freezing.  And I have all the covers.  Snuggle up to Mr. Wookie to regain some heat.  Useless.


5:30am: Mr. Wookie's alarm goes off.  My face still hurts.  Especially below my left eye.  Yay for sinus headaches.


6:42am: Call into work.  I'm running a fever and am not feeling up-to-par to be in.  I've run this by my team, and everyone's kosher. Call me if there are questions.


9:37am: Wake up again to move my car from the street before the meter maids move in.  I have to relocate it numerous blocks away as the parking structure nearest me is full.  That's a first.


10:02am: Debate drugs in supermarket aisle.  This lasts 10 minutes.


10:12am: Realize I have drugs that'll do in my bathroom.  I'll save the $5 for another time.


10:21am: First dose of drugs.  Back to bed.  I start the Chronicles of Riddick.  I fall asleep shortly.


12:48pm: I wake to a phone call from work.  To call back or not to call back?  So I call back.  They're making sure everything's handled for tomorrow's luncheon in case I'm not in.  I plan on being in - so they're not too worried.


1:12am: Second bowl of Cheerios.  Because I'm too lazy to cook at this point in time.


2:18pm: Robin Hood: Men in Tights is now over.  I need a new movie to watch.


4:01pm:  Awake from Nap #?.  Debate changing movies, as the Menu screen is still on Robin Hood.  Debate fails.  I'm too lazy/cold/unmotivated to do anything.  So I play the movie again.  This time I catch everything I fell asleep for during the first viewing.


5:12pm: Ponder where Mr. Wookie is...I wonder if he went out for a drink?  That son of a bitch, if he did.  He couldn't have.  He'd know better than that.  He knows that I'm useless when I'm sick.  Unless I'm vomiting, because then my one-lined commentary is Oscar worthy.


6:07pm: Mr. Wookie strolls in the door.  And he's pooped.  11-hour work day.  For him.  Check.


6:52pm: Rise my Zombie-like body to go to the market for more drugs.  The stash I had were slowly dwindling, and in order to make it through tomorrow...I need more.  That and we need more chicken noodle soup a la Campbell's.  MmmmmMMmmm...Good!


7:01pm: We discuss how many times I've been sick while occupying this coast.  We feel that the East Coast germs are more than my hippie West Coast exposure can handle.  Agreed.  I've been sick here more than I've been back home.  And these sicknesses knock my ass out.  As in today.  I wanted to curl up and die in the honey aisle at the supermarket.  Apparently bee vomit is my Kryptonite.


7:12pm: We start watching more of Season 3 of Coach.  Because who doesn't like Craig T. Nelson??


7:19pm:  Mr. Wookie brings me said soup.  And a side of crackers.  Who's awesome??


9:04pm:  I'm in bed.  Debating tomorrow's existence.  And whether I'll be able to make it into work tomorrow.  I'm planning on it.  But...you never know.  If I haven't bashed my head from pressure before then.  Why can't sinus pressure be like a blister...you know...stick a needle in it to relieve pressure.  And I totally described this to Mr. Wookie while he was eating his salad, and DEFINITELY made the description of the puss to resemble his salad's dressing.  Roommate of the Year right here.


9:05pm:  Mr. Wookie pops in I love you, Man.  Not my favorite movie, but I don't mind looking at Andy Samberg.  And his butt chin.

Please don't let me be sick. Dammit.

It started mid-afternoon.  The faint hint of sneezing.  Then more sneezing.  Then some post-nasal drip.  Then a runny nose.  Then a slightly annoyed throat.  And throw in some sinus pressure.


I'm thinking allergies.


I'm hoping allergies.


This better be freakin' allergies.


So I had an orange juice at work.  Then I made a screeching halt into the Vitamin Shoppe for more trusty elderberry extract.  2 bottles.  One for work, one for home.  Because you can never be too safe.


Then I popped 2 Costco-version of Allegra.  Then 8 chewable Vitamin Cs.  Mega-Dose.


And after dinner, I had a hefty Screwdriver.  Because a post-5pm orange juice better be interesting.


So I'm sucking on throat lozenges now, with my sinuses feeling better, and just hoping I wake up feeling chipper as a jaybird.  Because I have a luncheon on Thursday, and can't afford to be sick until after the event.  And even then, who wants to be sick on a Friday?


And I know I've failed massively in my quest of enlightening all y'all on Oregon's best things.  Maybe I'll get back on that gravy train...considering I have just a week until I trek back to the Land of Awesome.

How to Look Pregnant 101

a.) Actually be pregnant.

or

B.) Have family visit so you eat and drink your weight over the long weekend.

Friday night consisted of margaritas at Chili's.  Saturday morning was the continental breakfast at the hotel (we joined the family).  Saturday lunch was spent sampling beer with our lunch.  Saturday evening was more beer with a steak dinner.  Sunday morning was more breakfast.  Sunday lunch was tacos...and yup, you guessed it, more beer.  Sunday evening was spaghetti...and just a vodka tonic.  And this morning starts the bloating detox.


Good thing we didn't go to the beach.  I would have either been asked when I was due, or been confused for a beached whale that was attempting to escape the oil slick.  Not pretty.


So on the menu for dinner tonight...?  Salad.  And for tomorrow?  Salad.  And the next day?  Salad.  And the next day?  And the next?  And the next?  Salad, salad, salad.