Married Women in Red Sox t-shirts Make the World Go Round...

Seeing all the Red Sox shirts while traveling, doesn't matter where in the states because they're everywhere, is comforting. If the world ended, it's nice knowing that there's usually someone always around that you can strike up a conversation with.

I don't want to sit around, planning for various End o' the World scenarios, but flying really means you're just sitting around waiting & waiting & waiting, so you really have to do what you can to not totally lose your mind. For instance, this morning I was completely amazed by how many hot women, all married, were at the Philly airport on an early Sunday morning. Three Bloody Marys, one spicy and the others not, and the minutes that pass while waiting for your delayed flight to leave are the longest minutes in the world, next to the minutes spent lying in bed in the middle night when you're dead tired and can't sleep. There's no bars in my bedroom though, so those minutes are usually spent just thinking about old girlfriends, NBA playoff scenarios, and future living arrangements.

It seems though, that every time I fly, I see a girl walk by who resembles an ex-girlfriend. Sometimes, the gal is almost a dead-ringer of an ex and I almost think it's her. I've seen Chicago Molly lookalikes at numerous American airports and this morning I was almost convinced that Beth, a gal I dated senior year in Baltimore and haven't seen since, was on the same flight as me. Slumped against a wall, waiting for the plane, I kept looking at her, wondering if maybe this was Beth. It's been a few years and crazier things have happened on a slow-motion Sunday morning.

But it wasn't her and like most of the women in the airport this morning, it looked like she was either married or engaged. Before we boarded, she was talking on the phone and doing so with the girlfriend-talking-to-the-boyfriend smile. It's the same when dudes have the boyfriend voice. Girls have the girlfriend smile. It's a comparable deterrent to the wedding ring or extra lb's- just better to look at.

On the flight today, a straight-shot across country to sunny San Diego, most of the flight seemed to be all together, co-workers on a work field trip. I had no idea what they did and watched as the one dude next to me typed away at spreadsheets and emails that dated back to 2006. I wondered if this fella liked his job, if pouring over these spreadsheets and old emails, was a fun thing for him- something that reved his engine. I became kind of thankful that I have a job I like, one that I enjoy doing and when doing the work, 90% of the time, I dig it. Does that make me lucky, fortunate, or just another dude with a job?

Right now, it makes me tired and later in the week, it'll make me sunburned. After that, I'm not entirely sure and that's part of the draw.

So now it's chilling in San Diego, hearing the Padres game across the street, and waiting for the planes to start flying. The first hot girl I saw here had a wedding ring on too, so while that's not nearly as comforting as seeing a few people with Sox shirts on at the airport, it's at least nice knowing that all the way cross country, some things are still the same.

Now if only the time was the same, I'd be golden.

Part 19: Ma Dukes is rolling with it...so, why can't you?

I'm chalk full of emotions, half-assed with hope, and tangled up in gorilla glue.

Thanks Sox.

I can't dwell on the game and I can't look too much into the fact that I did the following after turning the t.v. off halfway through the top of the eighth: shaved, put away laundry, opened mail, and wrote a to-do list of shit that needs to be tended to before I head out west.

Ah yes, heading back out Californey way. No air races this time- more soap box cars. San Fran and then on to Denver, a nice two-day siesta built in, in between leaving San Fran and heading to snowy Red Rocks for what should be the kind of big blow out most people see only once or twice a year. The kind of blow out that leads to head aches, hangovers, poorly-packed suitcases, and zero to absolutely no regrets.

Sam's email said there's already snow on the ground. I can't get excited about that like some of those Out West dudes like Tom Jim, GTI, or certainly not like the Burmese Python. But just running around Red Rocks for a few days, after running around the greater San Francisco area for a week, is something that does get me excited. These will be the last two Soap Box races we're doing after...shit- just got the final word on the game...is there always a tomorrow?...after a raucous and rowdy Philly soap box that ran smack into Hurricane Cuddle Princess, but no kind of storm strong enough to detour Eagles' chants, supreme drunken debauchery, and lots of good lookin' gals wandering up and down The Wall with that blissful look of a ravaged car wreck mixed with a lackadaisical Sunday morning brunch. Cincy was a much different scene and the hill lacked the built-in drama that The Wall provided. But the weather was killer and the people showed. They avoided the poison ivy for the most part, cheered when they were suppose too, and wrung those damn cowbells when called upon. We truly busted ass and hit the final buzzer after about 21 hours...more specifically at the point when none of us were totally sure how long we had just worked.

A long goddamn time.

But not long enough to stop us from throwing a few back with local folk after. And Cincy people are generally nice people and the area we were in, Mt Adams, had the snow globe feel that makes you feel sublimely just right- soft music played on Main Street as we loaded out the F.O.R.B. area. It all didn't seem real until the music was interrupted by football news...

It was Sunday. We really hadn't slept since Thursday.

40,000 people didn't seem to mind, so we'll bypass any haggling over technicalities, legalities, and any other related miseries.

It happened.

It happened just like the Sox game just happened- a good amount of build up followed by three tense hours of watching people other than you have a damn good time.

I love fall.

I love the Red Sox.

I love my folks.

Yet tonight, I really only love my folks. Those other two bastards are on notice.

I'm looking at you Papi.

Part 5: I don't miss walking on the cobblestones...

Life is weird.

Life is weird in the way, that saying or even writing life is weird is weird.

This is one thing I've learned about life. I've learned that the best things in life steamroll. They don't happen, are pre-destined to happen, or just kind of f'n work the f out. No. The best things in life steamroll. They steamroll in the way that one thing becomes another thing and then another thing and then so on and so on. It's when things just click, when things just work out.

Tonight, I went out.

Going out is a rarity when I'm in Portland now. But Goddamnit- I'm kinda sorta on vacation and on the drive up- a drive that took approximately 97 songs and the entire Roots' album, Rising Down and the first three songs of My Morning Jacket's Evil Urges- I decided that I was going to go out and make the most of it. So I sent out text messages and I made a few phone calls. I made the occasional Myspace post and sent out a few Facebook messages.

I really communicated the shit out the situation in really, not that much time at all.

But tonight...holy shit, it looked like there was a firefly in the kitchen...I went out to dinner with Burly and it was fun, she was fun, she was awesome. She busted through a door that was secured with masking tape because her old soccer coach walked by and she wanted to say hello. Typing on this keyboard is like shooting an arrow with a bow. I even asked her if she wanted to go to Erin's wedding and I meant it.

After she left, I went back to the bar and met up with Amanda Panda Jellybean and upon securing a kickass picnic table, saw Obie walk down the cobblestones.

Obie! Hi yo!

That son of a bitch is gettin' married!

Our ten year high school reunion is only a few months away!

Didn't you hear about it on Facebook? I asked Keller.

No.

They have their own Facebook page.

But what if I don't have a Facebook page? Keller asked.

I guess that's where I come in.

Ah to hell with it, we're getting older. We're not old, but yes, we are getting older. We are getting mortgages and jobs at desks and wedding rings and testicular cancer and comments about our asses and receding hairlines and excessive facial hair and a fondness for good red wine and a desire to take cooking classes.

We are getting to be almost thirty.

We are going to get a pitcher.

Another weather advisory came across the Sox game tonight- threatening of thunder storms- but unlike last night, there weren't any. It was a nice night, an almost perfect Portland summer night. A good ol' Portland summer night with Gritty's and girls in high heals trottin' cross the cobble stones and rock stars and disc jockeys and dogs and some of the cutest gals in the world. Really damn close to one of those nights where moving home might not be a bad idea.

Close.

But not quite close enough.

Sox lose a heartbreaker, get swept by the Rays.

part 1: where anxiety happens...

This is it.

This is the day after I realized that shit, I need a roommate and I need to get on that, get it taken care of and behind me, right quick. The process is daunting, the process makes me uneasy and the process makes me leave the living room in the 9th of the Sox game to walk into my room, put on the new My Morning Jacket album, and write this sentence.

Millions and millions of people look for roommates everyday- I'm sure this number is a worldwide count. There is the internet and you put something on there- something that says that you're looking, here's a few scant details, a lil' sumpin sumpin about myself and then here you go, an obligatory picture of the rooftop deck. Guy or girl I've lived with both. The majority of Ryno doesn't really care- just looking for someone quiet, chill, up for a good time, and down for keeping a kitchen clean. Allison says I should ask personality questions and tell them straight up that dude, I like to watch sports- or as she says, sports all the time, which I feel is just slightly less than accurate. It's baseball season.

But personality questions never even really occured to me. I haven't had much time to put any real thought to this, I just posted the internet joint on the internet- the one with the email- last week. I've since revised it three times.

The process.

Really, part of me really thinks that really this will ultimately be really easy. I really sometimes think that and part of me really believes that most of the time. But then, ah...this is a living environment. I've never lived with someone I don't know, except for college and even then I...well...that was kind of similar to this, but not really, but slightly kind of.

Really.

So that's the story. The story might have been the Red Sox game or this kick ass new My Morning Jacket or lower back pain and why it sucks so much when you're sleeping. But no, the story is that the roommate search is in kind of full swing, the train has left- chugging and thumbing and God knows what might come from it except over dramatic lines like God knows what might come from it. Right now the good news is mainly about auto save, but the big story is the roommate one. The big story matters, the details matter, cereal matters.

How do I explain that cereal matters to a potential roommate? Do you lead with that or wait until you've already covered dietary restrictions and toiletries storage?

I just don't know.