2006-09-11 || 2:49 p.m.

|| too much salt n pepa for my taste. ||

we went to a quintessential portland party on saturday, the kind that shaped my first portland impression long before i moved here (i went to a lot more QPPs before moving here. now, not so much. dear portland: is it that i'm old? there was a guy at the QPP rumored to be 45, and he was dressed in a sequins-and-mesh bikini top you'd expect to see on lady ice skaters circa 1987. later, i caught him lying on the floor of the kitchen making out with a dog. i ask you, portland: is that what it takes?). there was a boy in a tight white skirt playing basketball and a klezmer band playing in the basement (i sat on the stairs to the kitchen for a while and got a perfect view of the band from between heads and torsos and support beams.) and strawberry soda smoking with chunks of dry ice (i was instructed not to inhale while drinking. the dry ice was a gift from the staff of a punk rock ice cream truck that happened to roll down the street some time after midnight, attracted by illegal fireworks and dogs barking). we drank the beer kept in a stash behind a rocking chair on the porch. michael played flip cup; i declined for my fear of Letting My Team Down. we sat on the balcony for a long while with B discussing the origin/existence of cat dancing; she was wearing a trucker hat and fancy pinstriped pants. michael and i sat on a velvet couch under a big tree surrounded by concrete and took a self portrait with a polaroid we found on an upended chaise lounge. we left the picture on a tree branch.

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