time traveling.

Yesterday Reyna and I were in Powell's on Hawthorne, perusing a copy of Downtown Owl by Chuck Klosterman (which I purchased) when she mentioned seeing him speak a few months ago.  "Oh my god!  Was he totally cute?  Because I think he's dreamy!"   Yes, I said that.  No, I didn't ask if he was a good speaker or even if he had a smooth creamy voice.  I just wanted to know if he was as "cute" as I think he probably is...you know, because his writing is funny and he likes a lot of the same music as me.    That's my basic criteria for cuteness.  And oh, if you really want me to think you are extra-super cute, you should in no way give any indication that you return my feelings.  (And maybe, if you really want to push the envelope, you should tell my roommate/BFF that you don't reciprocate my feelings...magnifying my insecurities can only amplify your attractiveness.)

Reyna's response was, "Eh, I don't think he's that cute."  Obviously I'm skeptical, so I turn to the photo on the dust jacket.  "Oh, man...he's totes adorbs," I say.  (Okay, no...not an exact quote because I promise I would never, ever say "totes adorbs.")

And Reyna says, "Um, yeah, because he looks just like Baxter." 

I wrinkled my nose in disgust and then proceed to the checkout line.  Well, there was a step in between when a guy threatened/promised to "spank the shit" out of me, wherein I retorted, "Better men have tried and failed."  And he said, "That's why you need a lesser man."  Touche, my dear bookstore employee.

I was walking to meet up with Tomm when I remembered declaring the night before (to Reyna), "that bartender (at the Tube) is totally cute!"  And she said, "I was waiting for you to say that, because he looks a lot like Brian Eastwood."  

Argh.  

I swear I don't have "type."

In fact, I've been hung up on a guy for a few months who doesn't even look like we could actually know one another in any way...except that we're both "flashy" dressers (according to Reyna, and probably most people who know me).  

I'm starting to realize that this particular post has no cohesive "theme."

Continuing...

Last night we were walking up Frances, semi-tipsy on blueberry vodka (better than it sounds),  while being drenched with extremely wet snow.  I was trying to remember when Reyna moved into her current place, which took me down this thought path:

1. James and Reyna moved into this place after Baxter moved to Philly with me.

2.  James and Baxter moved to Portland together.

3.  Baxter snuck out of the Basement Pub at midnight on August 10 (my birthday), bringing back cupcakes and candles from the Plaid Pantry, so he could sing "Happy Birthday" to me.   This earned my undying devotion...hence we started dating and eventually he moved to Philly with me.   See the circular path here?

Reyna and I started to reminisce about various events from that time period.  

"Remember when we went to the 'clothing optional' beach and Baxter wore a huge green velour robe the entire time?"

"Remember when I (Amanda) drank so many kamikaze shots at CSP, that I passed out on the table and then threw up in your yard?"

"Remember when you lost your ID at SXSW?" 

And so on.

Nostalgia can be a dangerous path, and I have to say...I've been drowning in it since I arrived in Portland on 12/28.

When we got back to Reyna's place, Zach said to me, "It's like you're back in 2005 all over again."  This was in response to my saying something like, "What the fuck?  I think I'm all hung up on _____ again, and I remember now that it sucked three years ago."  This turned into a solid 3o minutes of "Remember when this happened after we drank too many Sparks?"

Time traveling.  I told Todd (the newest resident of Reyna's basement), "Yeah, I pretty much had to leave Portland because I had quite magically earned a bad reputation.   In Philly, I'm a saint and a virgin."  

Time for my flight to board...

P.S.  A photo of Klosterman for your reference.  I'm generally into dark-haired fellows (with a slight preference for curly-ish hair), but I'll also give special consideration to redheads and dudes who have written books.   However, I'm fairly certain that I would never ACTUALLY sleep with this guy, because he would assume that I want to get to know him in the biblical sense, and that would force me to be mean to him.  Plus, I'm suspect he might be the kind of fellow who apologizes a lot before, during, and after sex.