Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Hands off my Diet Pepsi Bottle!

I’m just going to say it – I think that Oregon’s Bottle Bill is retarded.*  Similarly, I think that the proposed 2011 revamp is wicked retarded.  Oregon’s Bottle Law – as it stands – retards forward progress in not only littering habits but also helping the homeless get off the streets.  We’ll take this one step at a time, so that nothing is lost in translation.

For those of you who are blissfully ignorant of Oregon’s Bottle Bill, it was passed in 1971 in an effort to increase the recycling rates of beer and soda containers by collecting a container deposit at the time of purchase.  In 2007, the 5 cent deposit was added to water and flavored water containers.  Oregon’s not alone in the world of bottle bills – ten other states currently have similar bills, but some bills have been repealed.  And, now Oregon may not only add sports and energy drinks, coffee, tea, juice, and other noncarbonated beverages to the list of containers that require deposits, but may also double the cost of a deposit to ten cents thanks to House Bill 3145.  Since the new language could define a beverage as  any of the above “…in liquid form and intended for human consumption…” it’s unclear whether items such as Pepto-Bismol, lemon juice, or cooking oil would require bottle deposits under this bill.

The update comes because some members of the Oregon State Legislature are off the opinion that decreased bottle redemption rates mean that fewer bottles are being recycled and therefore more of these recyclable containers are ending up in landfills.  I argue that this isn’t the case.  Returning bottles is an overly problematic process that takes way, way too long.

The last time I returned bottles it took me close to 90 minutes to: fight with the bottle return machine, get used to the smell of stale beer that covered every surface of the back corner of the underground Safeway parking lot where the machines lived, locate a grocery store staff member to fix the broken machine, continue to fight with the bottle return machine, realize that bottle return machine Hobo Joe was using had broken and that his repeated service requests had gone unanswered, realize that my machine had broken – again, find another store employee to fix the machines that Hobo Joe and I were using, and to finally cash my bottle return slips in for my $2.35. 

Of course, the second to last time that I returned bottles to about the same time, but was compounded by the fact that only three of the eight machines at the Fred Meyer’s kind of worked and there was a line to use them.  Oh, and I needed to call for an employee twice as many times for half as many bottles. 

Do you know what I say to any and all bottle bills?  Fuck the mother fucking bottle deposits.  Oregon, stop making me feel like I’m getting Nickel and Dimed!!!

After those experiences I started setting all of my soda and beer containers inside the glass recycle bin, so that the many people who walk around the neighborhood looking for cans won’t dig through the recycling container could easily house a 300 pound man.  Of course, the next three people don’t know that and dig through the bin anyway, but that’s another issue all together.  But, then again, there are people (e.g., my ex-Crazy Roommate) who pull off the labels, so that no one can return her bottles.  After all, if she’s not going to get her money back then no one will.

My ex-Crazy Roommate probably never realized that if no one claims the bottle deposit – someone does get that money.  Right now, bottle distributors get to keep the unredeemed deposits, and don’t even have to disclose how much money they keep.  In 2005, Oregon’s Department of Environmental Quality estimated that 250 million beverage containers (or $12.5 million of unredeemed deposits) ended up in landfills every year with another 60 million ($3 million) were recycled without being redeemed.  These days, the estimate is closer to $20-30 million that bottle distributors keep.  Now, imagine their delight when these amounts are doubled.

The 2007 Oregon Bottle Bill Task Force recommended that the 2009 Legislature: expand the list of beverages with bottle deposits – CHECK; Increase the bottle deposit to 10 cents – CHECK; switch to a statewide system of redemption centers – SORT OF (see: Distributor Cooperatives); “[a]llow the state to collect unredeemed deposits if the industry-run redemption center system is not successful and a state-run system is implemented” – NOT EVEN MENTIONED

So, Oregon Legislature, you’re telling me that you want to double the bottle deposit, making it harder for me and Hobo Joe to return the bottles, AND the unclaimed money isn’t even going to help the state?  No, Oregon Legislature!  Bad, Oregon Legislature!  That is not okay!

You realize that you’re in Oregon, right?  This is the same state that wants to ban plastic bags.  Okay, how about this – make it easier and the bottles WILL come.^

Oregon totally needs to follow Delaware’s lead and repeal the bottle law.  Delaware got smart last year.  And, even the municipality bottle bill from Columbia, Mo. was repealed back in 2002.  Seriously, it is so, so easy to recycle these containers.  Plus, maybe then I wouldn’t have to deal with the shopping carts that come rattling through my neighborhood at 5 a.m. looking for cans.



* Yes, you read that correctly – I said retarded.  And, I’ll say it again – RETARDED!  I do intend it to offend delicate liberal sensibilities, however, I do not intend to use the disparaging slang term too often used to describe the mentally handicapped or developmentally disabled.  I am using the noun, which means “a slowing down, diminution, or hindrance…”  (Dictionary.com’s third definition.)  And, now I’ll use the verb (Dictionary.com’s first definition for all of you following along at home)…

^ I know it doesn’t roll off the tongue like “If you build it, he will come,” but we’re not talking baseball here.  We’re talking dirty, sticky bottles that are probably full of old cigarettes, chewing tobacco, or dead bugs.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Fake Friends

I watch way, WAY too much TV.  It’s gotten to the point where I have flashbacks to television shows.  I might as well be the guy from “Dream On”.  What?  You’ve never heard of “Dream On”?  EXACTLY!

During college, I studied in Greece for a term.  I missed a lot of things from back home – my friends, my cat, NOT having to use a hand towel to dry off from a shower, and my stories.  The year was 2001, and “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” was still on WB.  I even talked one of my friends into recording Buffy while I was away.  My trip was great and upon returning stateside, I was so looking forward to becoming reacquainted with my three besties -  Buffy, Xander, and Willow.  I powered through those VHS tapes in no time and soaked up every second of season five.  Suddenly, I was watching the last episode of the season.  BAM!  Buffy died and a note thanking fans came on the TV.  My heart sank.  It was like losing a friend – a friend my own age.  We weren’t even half way through college and she was torn out of my life?  NooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, I know that wasn’t the end of Buffy.  The show simply moved from WB to UPN.  But, you have to remember – this was back when I could only access Al Gore’s interweb via a dial up connection and a long distance call, so I didn’t do it all that often.  Plus, back then I assumed that the internet was a better place to find porn than viable information on anything that would actually matter to me.  Who knew, right?

Now that I’m a little older, but not necessarily more mature, I still watch a lot of TV.  In this day and age, I catch up on most of my stories thanks to the internet.  The problem is that I’m reminded daily about how much I can recollect from all of the many, MANY hours I spent in front of the television set.  I haven’t seen it since 1994, but I can quote “Cool Runnings.”  Just earlier this week I referenced “Groundhog Day” – in depth – to a coworker.  That’s another movie that I haven’t actually seen since at least 1998.  Within the last month, I caught myself thinking about “Adventures in Babysitting,” which then transitioned into “Masters of the Universe.”  Because, until two minutes ago, I was convinced that Thor (the gruff blonde mechanic) was played by Dolph Lundgren.  Color me surprised when I discovered that it was Vincent D’Onofrio.  (Props to you, Vincent D’Onofrio!  I know you best from “Mystic Pizza,” “Men in Black,” and “Law & Order: Criminal Intent.”  But, seriously, you convinced a 6-year-old that you were Dolph Lundgren – now THAT’S acting!)

When I got to college, the big concern was over drinking, which lead to the hot button Resident Advisor question – “Are you making friends OR drinking buddies?”  Well, now that my 20s are slipping away like sands through the hourglass (Side note: despite my television addiction, I have an allergic reaction to soap operas.  (See: Changing the channel)), these days I would almost welcome drinking buddies.  I have a great group of friends, but they either have significant others, are on a self-imposed social timeout while losing weight or are out being productive members of society.  And, I don’t know what it is, but there’s just part of me that thinks it’s too much if I was to ask everyone I know to come over and entertain me.  So, either I need to start going to the gym (or volunteering at a food kitchen) more, or…  I can get all comfortable and cozy up with my fake friends and my real cats.  I want to believe that I’d be better without TV, but I don’t know if I’d want to live in that world.  (It sounds like it could be an episode of “Sliders.”  I wonder if it's an episode I've seen before...)

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Boyz II Men - They're all Ridiculous

Okay, so there are dangers in dating (internet or otherwise), but mostly it’s the fact that you have to deal with other people’s crazy.  Listen, I’ve got plenty of my own crazy, but I’m always surprised when I come across someone whose cup overflows.

When it comes right down to it, I’m easily bored with people, places, jobs, ideas, myself, catch phrases, and pretty much anything and everything else that you can think of.  So, when I get bored, I try to find things to do.  These mini-activities have ranged from crafting to shaving parts of body and watching TV to making really bad decisions with boys.  Earlier this month I moved into my own studio.  I quickly realized an unexpected side effect of living on my own – since I no longer have to go out of my way to avoid the intense crazy that was an ex-roommate – I have no idea what to do with myself.

To fill all of the time that I have on my hands, I’ve started going back to the gym, making my apartment homier by hanging things on the walls, and doing little odds and ends around my place.  I still avoid doing the dishes and unpacking my last eight boxes like the plague, but other than that I’ve been pretty productive.  Well, that was until the other day when I realized I haven’t been man handled in nearly eight months.

So, I decided to post a personal ad on Craig’s List.* As soon as I posted the ad, I realized that I wasn’t actually in the right place to start seeing someone new.  (I’m in the process of getting over my last boyfriend and when I look in my heart of hearts, I   Luckily, within 90 minutes of posting it, the wise and knowledgeable users of Craig’s List (see: overzealous freaks) had flagged and removed my ad.  Of course, this wasn’t before I received a handful of responses.  I received the very first e-mail within minutes of posting from a guy named Dustin.+  I was over the whole experiment by the time it was flagged and removed.  Not one of the responses was interesting enough to respond to, so I turned my computer off and went to bed.  So, you can imagine my surprise when I checked my e-mail the following morning and found a second from this Dustin character flipping out for NOT responding to his e-mail.~

Needless to say, but that whole mess was way more crazy than I had bargained for.  Listen, I may be jonesing for a little male attention, but I’ve got to draw a line somewhere.  For that, I shall thank you, Dustin, I have realized where my line is.


*Maybe it’s not the guys; maybe it’s the skinny jeans that bug me… - 29 (NW Portland)

Okay, maybe I’m going about it all wrong, but the guys I've met recently just don't seem to cut it for me. I want a guy who’s smart and kind of cute. We’re talking about a guy who eats meat and doesn’t use a bicycle as his primary mode of transportation – the kind of guy who doesn’t have skinny jeans or an ironic mustache. I’d even throw in bonus points if he thought that jeggings on anyone other than COCO was ridiculous (but then again jeggings on COCO is ridiculous – ridiculously funny).

Needless to say, the filter between my brain and my mouth is a work in progress. Luckily, I can take it just as good as I can dish it out, so whether he’s an opinionated republican or a nice liberal boy – we’ll likely get along just fine. Ideally, he’d be able to handle everything from the random movie quotes that spill out of my mouth to my snarky and smart alecky comments.

As for the physical, I prefer thicker guys. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a chubby chaser. But, I do like a tall man with broad shoulders. And, although I’m not Skeletor, I’m not Jaba the Hut either. I’m a curvy cracker that stands about 5’7” with chin length naturally brown hair that tends to be dyed red, hazel eyes, and a ridiculously immature sense of humor.

Okay, I’ll admit it; I’d like to meet someone who knows how to make his biting sense of humor and lack of a social filter work for him. The better that I get to know my ideal man, the more I’d realize that he’s the funniest person I know. Sure, his social commentary might not always be new or refreshing or, but his impression of the gay hipster who is in denial of being both gay and a hipster could make me laugh every time.

The truth is that I’m over educated and underemployed. I have a hard time turning my brain off. I don’t have adulthood figured out – yet. I don’t have kids. I don’t smoke. I’m not 420 friendly. I don’t drink often, but when I do I drink like a fish. I like to travel. I’m not religious. I watch way too much television (everything from History Detectives to How I Met Your Mother and Match Game). I have opinions about everything from Vera Katz to Sam Adams, Sam Adams to Rogue Ales, and Rogue to Wolverine (although the latter would probably be nothing more than smoke and mirrors). And, even though I was born and raised in Oregon, I’m still trying to find where I fit in while in Portland.

With all that said, I really don’t know what I’m looking for in a guy other than some meat on his bones, an absence of skinny jeans and camouflage in his closet, and the ability to put a smile on my face.

+ You are not Skeletor? Then I am not He-man....that is unless you are really Skeletor........  haha.  Jsut had to comment on the skinny jeans thing.  Fucking hate that.  My brother and I see these dudes walking down the street with long hair and skinny jeans.  Is it wrong to yell out the window "Hey baby how you doin.....OH SHIT YOU'RE A DUDE..Sorry" verbatum.  Oh and what the hell is a jeggins or a coco? 

~ I jsut like what you had to say in your post.  Really not desperate enough to peddle my self on craigslist. Figured that maybe if I had sent a pic (albeit a goonie one) maybe you would have responded.  I fit your description to a T and I was not annoyed by you which is odd but whatever.  Your Loss.

Best. E-mail. Chain. EVER!

Co-worker: Unfortunately, I won’t be able to make it today. L

Me: Can you make it to tomorrow’s session?  It’s from 9 to 10 a.m.

Co-worker: I don’t think so. This is turning out to be a crazy week. Is it Friday yet?

Me: If only I could perfect the flux capacitor, I could make every day Friday…

Co-worker:  But then we’d be living our own personal Groundhog Days! Not necessarily a bad thing… Also, this à http://www.thinkgeek.com/clearance/on-sale/9fc6/

Me: I’d be okay with Groundhog Day if I can be Andy MacDowell.  Wait.  I wouldn’t mind having the time to learn the piano.  And, I would be okay catching a kid who falls out of a tree, even if he didn’t thank me for it.  Could I look like Andy MacDowell and be the Bill Murray character?  Hey, if I could rob an armored car and not get caught, I’d probably buy the flux capacitor from ThinkGeek…

Co-worker: OH MY GOD YOU ARE AWESOME! J

Me: That’s what I tell myself every day.  J

Friday, May 20, 2011

If only Cookies kept the Bill Collectors at Bay


I can’t help but read news story after news story about how recent college graduates are facing bleak futures in their employment prospects.  Believe me I know. 

When I graduated from Oregon State in 2003, I should have powered into the work force.  Instead, I decided I needed to take a trip to find myself.  As it turns out, I found myself working at a youth hostel in Minneapolis, MN for close to a year.  When I had to kick a guy out for drunkenly peeing on a sleeping guest, I decided it was time to return to Oregon. 

My return was lack luster.  I didn’t have a paying job; instead I had an unpaid marketing internship with Oregon Literacy, a now defunct nonprofit.  I had one afternoon to find a place to live, so I ended up in a house off of NE 15th and Alberta that I shared with two women – a raw vegan and lesbian who wore her dead brother’s underwear.  For several years I was convinced that my paternal grandmother’s pearls had gone missing while living in that house, but I’m happy to report that the only things that went missing were my copy of Victor/Victoria and any appreciation that I may have had for Last Thursdays.

So, after leaving and rereturning to Oregon, I found myself in a very familiar situation.  I had kind of lined up a life, but hadn’t thought anything through.  This time when I moved back from New Hampshire in 2009, I had a fancy new law school education and the $160,000 in student loans to go with it.  However, I had already contacted the temp agency that I had worked with several years before, and they were willing to take me on while I studied for the bar and figured the rest out.  I assumed that I’d make AT LEAST $20 per hour temping.  I mean, I was a law school grad, a fast learner, and totally awesome to boot! 

Instead, I spent the next 18 months temping for between $10-13 per hour not working for weeks – or even months – at a time.  So, I got a part-time job working at a craft store for $8.60 per hour.  (Let me tell you, housewives can be brutal when they come in looking for discount scrapbooking paper on Thanksgiving Day.)  Since I didn’t have full-time employment, I was able to apply for an economic hardship forbearance on my student loans.

Speaking of economic hardship, the last couple of years have been ri-dic-u-lous.  I borrowed money from my best friends and my roommate.  There wasn’t a lot of room on my credit cards, but I maxed them out.  My cat developed feline cystitis, and I opened another credit card to pay the vet.  I participated in a medical study for money.  I lived in a house with four 25-year-olds while taking on the role of their mother, designated driver, and social worker.

Things are actually looking up these days.  I’m still not making $20 per hour, but I could definitely do worse than my current job.  Actually, I’d need to take a pay cut to get into an entry-level legal job as a docket clerk or paralegal.  But, I just can’t believe what an uphill battle this whole adult thing can be.  All I can say is that the pay off better be flippin’ sweet.  We’re not talking frosting covered sugar cookie sweet, which are totally sweet.  We’re talking a cure for cancer sweet.  But, you know what?  I’d totally settle for a frosting covered sugar cookie sometimes.

Ten Things I will NOT miss should the Rapture come Tomorrow


10.          Boob sweat
9.            Not stuffing my face with frosting covered sugar cookies
8.            Food shopping
7.            Doing Laundry
6.            Dating
5.            Not dating
4.            Queefing during sex
3.            Underwire bras
2.            Waking up to the realization that I’ve dutch ovened myself
1.            My student loans

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Bagh to restlessness! Bring me a BEER!


The restlessness that I seem to be going through right now is more than I can handle.  I moved last weekend and now that I’m out of the stressful environment that was living with three other women, I don’t even know what to do with myself.  I could finish unpacking.  I could finally take off the chipped and flaking nail polish.  I could start shaving random parts of my body.  Again.  Instead, I've decided to apply to a job at a neighborhood bar.

If I had my act together, I’d probably start studying for the Oregon State Bar.  Actually, if my life was in order, I would have already passed that damned thing.  I just wish that I could get as pumped about spending the next five years of my life in Oregon…  If I could do that then I would have no problem finding the motivation to take the bar.  I wouldn’t say that I enjoy sitting through a two-day test, but the only real motivation that I can muster revolves around not having to tell the people who love and support me that I’ve failed yet again.  How is it that the smart girl – the one who went to law school and graduated in the top 50 percent of her class – can’t seem to figure out the next step in her life?

I just spent the past 30 minutes trolling through Craig’s List to see what kind of jobs are out there for Legal Assistants and Paralegals.  I figured that if I could make the move into a legal environment in Oregon then maybe I could see myself developing and building a career here.  The problem is that despite my legal education and vast work experience in all things not legal, I either don’t have the five plus years of experience that some positions require or I’d have to take a substantial pay cut to make the move from my current receptionist gig to that of a junior paralegal or discovery clerk.

Huh.  Maybe I just figured out why working at a bar seems like such a wonderfully fabulous idea – not only would it be a great way to meet other people in the neighborhood, but it’d also provide me with a convenient place to drink while I figure out if I’m going through my thrisis early or I’m just going through a crisis about turning thirty.