LA to Portland

I’ve never been more thankful for free Portland internet. I most certainly take it for granted when I shouldn’t, and I can’t even tell you how frustrating it is waiting for my flight that won’t leave for two hours without internet. Am I supposed to just sit here and reflect for that long, and not look at my facebook photo comments and wall posts? Really? Can I wait until I get home tonight to do that? It’s amazing how dependent on the interweb I have become. It consumes my life. Literally. I was planning on sitting here for the next two hours and posting photos/browsing facebook/writing this blog, but instead I am writing in a word document that I will later transfer to my blog. So, even without the internet, I am indirectly using the internet. It’s ridiculous, I tell you. And I don’t know what life would be like otherwise.

So, now that I have all the time in the world to sit here (and not write my two papers due in the next two days that I haven't worked on at all this trip), I should probably think about the last few days. It’s so unfortunate that they have to be colored by the horrible car ride to the airport with the parents. But I will get to that in a minute.

I flew into LA on Thursday, was met by dad and Ava, and they drove me home. And when I say they, I mean AVA. Because she drives now. Crazy, I know. I was actually really impressed with her driving the entire trip, despite the parents’ constant stressing and bitching. That started a few fights between us because I understand Ava’s position (it’s only been a few years since I was there) and I know how it is to have them go crazy while you’re just learning to drive. My dad, besides being an asshole, doesn’t realize how illogical he is. He goes too far with his arguments to the point of self-obsessed rambling. It would be embarrassing for him if he weren’t so damn clueless about everything. Example. Ava was driving us to Tacos Por Favor because I desperately needed some edible Mexican food after being in Portland for so long, and we’re looking for parking. My dad says to look for parking on the street. I see a driveway connected to the restaurant ahead and I say hey, maybe there’s parking behind the restaurant- that will be easier. So Ava does the logical thing and listens to me. But dad has a huge problem with disobedience, no matter how practical it may be, and COMPLETELY freaks out. Sometimes he gets so fucking psychotic and I don’t know why. What is going on in his life that makes him so quickly hostile and defensive? I think he really enjoys making everyone else miserable.

Anyway, more on that later. I’ll get back to my story. I got home and ate a delicious Thanksgiving dinner with the fam and then went party hopping at the Bourne’s and the Carter’s T-day parties. I liked seeing the Carters, but couldn’t stay there long. Lacey is getting older and becoming an actual person, so that’s pretty cool- I hope she becomes a Reedie some day. The Bourne’s was interesting, too. For the first time, JoAnne (spell?) invited me to talk with the other ladies. She even gave me wine, which was really a surprise. I had to censor myself a bit, but for the most part we all got along. Just picture me in a room of slightly tipsy 40-yr olds (including my mom) talking about vagina waxes and tattoos and how they talk to kids about sex.

Okay. Got the internet to work. I'm officially awesome. I can relax now that I’ve done the facebook and gmail thing. Two people emailed me asking for notes, but I’ll wait until I get home to respond to that.

Friday I woke up and met Alex at the beach before getting a much-needed haircut. It was a little odd, just because it felt a little contrived. I think that neither of us really knew how to act around the other. We didn’t know what to do or what to talk about so we just sort of sat around thinking of things to say. So that was uneventful. But not unpleasant, and that’s all that really matters. I’d much rather be on good terms than hate the guy, even if he acts like a jerk sometimes.

Then I met up with two of my favorite lovers, Birte and Fragola. We ate at Houston’s and then went to Pinkberry, both of which were incredible. But even if they weren’t, I know it wouldn’t have mattered because just seeing them is enough in itself. Every time I do, I’m once again reminded of how lucky I am to still be such good friends with such amazing people, even if we don’t talk all the time. The bad ones have finally been weeded out and I’m left with the best of the best. God, I love them.

Saturday morning the fam and I left for Palm Springs to visit my grandpa and his fiancée at their condo in Palm Springs. It turned out to be much more pleasant than I expected, and we even had fun playing Cranium. I spelled hippopotamus wrong and will be forever ashamed, but at least I didn’t spell diaper wrong (backwards) like my dad. We sat by the pool and played tennis and did all of the relaxing things you’re supposed to do in the sun while you’re in Palm Springs.

We drove back early this morning and I went to lunch (In’n’Out finally!) with Ulrika, my other favorite in the whole wide world. Ulrika I love you.

I just overheard someone say “I’d rather get an iPhone than go to college”. I’m so feeling that right now.

Especially since the horrid car ride to the airport where my dad proceeded to tell me that I haven’t done anything on my own in life and that he has given me everything and I’m basically an ungrateful bitch. Really. So I asked him to tell me, besides paying for (part of) my tuition, what has he paid for? What has he given me besides stress? I work my ass off at more than three fucking jobs and pay for absolutely all of my needs and don’t ask him for anything. Yes, of course he helps out with the $50,000 a year I have to pay to go to Reed, but that’s mostly because he’s too proud or too lazy or too something to fill out the goddamn financial aid forms. So basically he’s choosing to pay thousands of fucking dollars a year for my education and blaming me for it. The argument started when he brought up my saving of receipts, or apparent inability to do so (which isn’t even true). He even tried to bring my friends into it. Motherfucker.
I planned on writing everything that happened in the car that led up to our screaming match and the rest of the ride in silence, but I feel like if I think about it too deeply, I’m going to start crying. And that would be sort of ridiculous to do in the airport, wouldn’t it? Sometimes I can’t believe how much I hate my family. I’m seriously considering not coming home for Christmas.

On a lighter note, my favorite new thing...