2005-05-02 || 10:37 p.m.

|| things are happening. ||

we looked at 3,279 apartments and stapled our hearts to the doors of at least three. there wasn't enough storage space. or it was too small. or there was a ramshackle bathroom that couldn't fulfill michael's stringent bath-taking rituals. the are two possibilities michael will investigate tomorrow; i am back here in berkeley looking up addresses on the internet to find a picture of a house to dream about.
on thursday we went to the sandy hut. i forgot that portland is never-neverland and marvelled at all the kids my age. we drank lots of whiskey and i made friends with r&l with absolutely no effort. life realization no. 1: i have gotten much more outgoing and don't get shy at the prospect of meeting people. i shook their hands with both of mine. i elbowed r in the ribs approximately 7 minutes after meeting. it is undoubtedly some sort of record.
on friday we embarked on most serious apartment-hunting expedition. we held hands on the sidewalk. i didn't bring warm enough clothes and shivered in my sweater. we fell in love with a one bedroom in the santa barbara with the most beautiful fixtures and tiny impossible closets. i imagined the cats, pacing. we stopped at an estate sale (i have always imagined estate sales to be my personal heaven: padding around other people's houses and amassing old people things. i had never been to one, though. there were teacups and souvenir spoons arranged on card tables. people barking prices. i walked into the parlor, rickety and dark and held together with the most beautiful ancient wallpaper, and got anxious. there was a wardrobe with her clothes still in it, the prices written on pieces of masking tape stuck to the shoulders. her tiny shoes were lined up on the bottom just like she arranged them when she was alive and i had to leave. i stood on the sidewalk and sobbed. really. the house still smelled like her and people were going through her things, asking for bargains, grinding dirt into the rugs she spent thirty years getting people to take their shoes off for. it was so incredibly heartbreaking and ghosty and visceral.). we looked at more places and michael developed an extensive catalog of terms: ticky tacky. crackerbox. bung-hole-ow. tweekertown. l.r. no. 2: you know how michael is most dastardly and incorrigible? i am able to let it be. i am able to see the vaudevillian charm in it. we walked up and down hawthorne and got sushi for dinner after an excruciating wait and slipped back into the comfortable ease of dining with your fella. exchanging parts of the paper and leaning your head just slightly to rest on his shoulder while waiting for a table. we saw sideways and didn't like it. we walked in mist back home. michael had a hand-held radio he insisted on playing, oldies and c&c music factory and i tried to go with it but imagined all the old people in their houses ruffling their papers and scrunching their faces up at the hooligans outside.
on saturday we went to my beloved virginia cafe for lunch. we found new jackets and made friends with the people behind the counter of a vintage clothing shop. we looked at an apartment that didn't feel right, and another we couldn't agree on. michael wanted it for the deck and neighborhood; i didn't like how it felt: a renovated upstairs with a refrigerator pushed to the side covering built-in cabinets. we walked home and debating ensued. we bought food at fred meyer. i got bitchy in the deli section. we met l&a at my father's place and beloved hometown hero michael l showed up. we discussed the girl at the next table's purported 8-hour sex sesh and ate tater tots and kept the whiskey flowing. michael and michael and i walked for eight thousand years to the dunes to pay ridiculous amounts of money for drinks and sit in the dark and consider dancing. we walked for eight thousand years back. i got very excited about walking for eight thousand years with these two in the future, weaving a little on the walks back home and michael and michael stopping every so often to pee in the shadows of buildings.
on sunday we were hungover and sluggish. i messed up the coffee. we walked down to mlk in t-shirts and i think i got sunburnt. we drove to the sandy river, michael in swim trunks and i threatening to barf thanks to the night before. i pointed out poison oak and horses. he pointed out motorcycle bars and swimspots.
at the airport i sat at a table reading a magazine and eating frozen yogurt and checking to see if my flight delay would get pushed further into late night. i checked my messages and there was one from the literary agency i submitted my book to. they liked it. they are interested. the editorial letter is in the mail and when i receive it i will call and we will discuss course of action, and i do believe all systems are a-go. i cried and spit frozen yogurt all over my magazine. i called my parents and it took three minutes for my dad to understand what i was saying.
things are happening. things are happening.

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