I went to a nude beach today.

Well, technically it was a "clothing optional" beach. It was my first time getting out of the city in a month, and I was just happy to be in lush, green nature--even if that nature involved aged genitalia. My friends and I didn't know what to expect. We figured we'd see the token, chubby, lone naked guy sitting quietly on a towel, reading "1001 Kama Sutra positions" or something of the sort. Oh no. It was a nonstop naked parade. Men, women, couples, swinging couples, mothers, lesbian lovers. I mean, I felt out of place having clothes on.

It did ruin my appetite seeing all that wrinkled flesh waggling around. Getting old plus gravity just doesn't look good on anyone. Who knew your butt could sag that much? I must admit, I admire the sheer courage and, for lack of a better word, balls to walk around blatantly naked. As long as you're not creepy and taking pictures, but just "Being one with your body"--then more power to you. Although it'd be nice if the naked people were like thirty years younger and thirty times more attractive...well, one can dream, can't they?

why I love R. Kelly

No matter what kind of mood I'm in (shitty, stinky, happy, introspective, melancholy, remorseful, overjoyed) R. Kelly satisfies it. When I'm running up a hill and I can't breathe and sweat is dripping into my eyes, R. Kelly keeps me going. When it's late at night and I can't sleep and I'm eating a bowl of Kix, R. sings me to sleep. I find his voice truly beautiful. It soothes my troubled spirit. And every song tells a story. I'll be honest, I don't really listen to lyrics most of the time. If there's a unique voice and a good drum beat and maybe some synth up in there, I'm happy. If you told me the Clientele has been singing about Chinese food and Seinfeld reruns for ten years, I'd probably believe you. But R. Kelly's lyrics are so amazing that I can't help but listen to them. They all weave a magical yarn. For example, look at these lyrics from "Havin' a Baby":

"Wow, I can't believe I'm going to be a father
In nine months a child will be born
Baby you're pregnant in April
Which means we're having a Capricorn"

"Havin' a Baby" is from his latest album, "Double Up." There is not a bad song on this album. Whether you be rollin' up to the club or chillin' with your friends or preparing for fatherhood, you are set. I also highly recommend watching the "Light it Up" tour, available to watch instantly on Netflix. Now, I know that Robert (his close friends call him Robin) has some personal sexual issues, but that's another story. Doesn't make me love him less, I just don't think about it. I do the same thing with Bill Clinton.

the glory of grownup-ness.

Sometimes I fear getting old. I worry about not being able to run without fearing my knee will pop out, not having regular bowel movements, not tasting my food anymore without dumping a mountain of salt on it... But then I watch the show Weeds and I feel okay. They make getting old look fun. Especially if you're dealing drugs! I'm torn between which one is my favorite character. I love the sleazy sassiness of Uncle Andy. I adore Celia and her ball-busting ways and her terrible relationship with her daughter. But Doug also floats my boat as the lazy yet conniving City Councilman. It looks like so much fun to live in a manufactured home in the California suburbs and drink wine spritzers and sleep with the pool boy and take prescription pills like candy. So there's hope out there.

eloquent, simple, honest words.

“Fuck Soulja Boy! Eat a dick! This nigga single-handedly killed Hip Hop. That shit is such garbage, man. We came all the way from Rakim, we came all the way from Das EFX, we came all the way from motherfuckers flowing like Big Daddy Kane and Ice Cube, and you come with that Superman shit? That shit is garbage. Hurricane (Chris) take them fucking beads out of your hair nigga! Man up. You niggas is making me feel real fucking mad about this shit.”

- Ice T on the sad state of rap music

no seriously, why do the crazies love me?

Is it my red hair? The fact that I look younger than I really am? My trusting, naive, unsuspecting face? The fact that I was raised a good Texan and automatically smile at people when I make eye contact, whether I want to or not?

Yesterday was a picture-perfect summer day. Sunny, breezy, not a cloud in the sky. I was downtown in the Pearl and decided to find a park, spread out, and read my Jacqueline Susann novel. Everything was going swimmingly. I even approached a lady with two pugs and we had a nice chat about their shedding habits. While engrossed in my trashy novel, I felt a man's presence looming above me. I look up--shit! Eye contact. I quickly look back down and pray he goes away. But no. He says loudly, "Hey, red. Red! Rosie!"

Ignore. Ignore. Nope, doesn't work. He keeps on. Rather than get involved in an awkward conversation that would end with him asking for change, I decided to grab my stuff and walk away. Quiet park moment of reverie is officially over. I make eye contact with two other young women also reading by themselves. They give me a "that sucks the crazy guy is picking on you" smile. Why me? Why didn't he go for the skinny one eating crackers ten feet over? Who knows how the crazy's mind works?

So I start walking down the street, when to my horror I realize he's following me. This event just went from annoying to creepy to wow, I'm really creeped out. He follows me for about two blocks, keeping his distance, but yelling "Rosie!" all the same. Finally he says, "I'll stop following you, ma'am, if you're not who I think you are."

Without turning around I yell, "Nope! Not her!" And he says, "Okie dokie" and walks away. And that was that. Ughhhhh. Funny story to tell friends. Not funny at the moment. The homeless/crazies here are so much more forward than back home. It's one of my least favorite Portland trends here. Is it wrong that I want to taser them? Being a single young lady can really suck donkey balls sometimes.

an intriguing proposition.

This blog (god, I really hate the word blog)is slowly turning into my thoughts on Portland and its seedy subculture and its homeless. Which is fine. I have horrible long-term memory anyway, so this will help when I look back twenty years from now with waves of nostalgia. And most stories will begin with this line:

So I was waiting for the bus...
When a guy walked up to me, opened his wallet, looked at me and asked, "Are you under 18?"
I looked straight ahead and answered loudly, "Yup."
He shrugged and walked away. What does this mean? I'm genuinely curious. And I kind of wish I had said no just to see what his proposition was. Now I'll never know. Perhaps we'll meet again, on a foggy day, on bus #9, looking for love in all the wrong places...

get out of my personal space, please.

I don't know if you would call it OCD, but I have problems with people getting close to me. And touching most things grosses me out. So when I have to ride the city bus (and living in Portland without car, I do every day) I get really uncomfortable every time. Today there was a drooling toddler sitting in front of me. She felt the need to suck on a Ruffles BBQ-flavored chip, and then run the drool-y chip juice all over her seat and then reach out to me. I almost blacked out from the sheer terror. She babbled happily away, not understanding that I was not appreciative of her gookiness and high-pitched shrieks. Then the bus got full and I had like six slightly homeless-looking people all around me and I thought, it doesn't get any worse than this. Until I reached my stop and had to fight my way through the mob to get out.

I just can't deal with people in my personal space zone. I also hold my breath when people walk by because I'm afraid of what I'll smell. Also touching any kind of railing grosses me out. This doesn't mean I'm OCD, right? Just means I'm an uptight American. Excuse me, I have to wash my hands multiple times now.