Lest you think my dream of buying a no-kids-allowed house colors us as the worst parents ever, I assure you that the blueprints showed kids’ rooms, but once the house was done, we discovered the builders had put huge holes in the floors of those rooms, meant to be a new-fangled type of skylight. It was kind of awesome (turns out we were the worst parents ever); the kids hated them but we were all HEY, WE HAVE A POOL SO SHUT UP AND ALSO, I HOPE YOU DON’T SLEEPWALK.
The house was $100. I don’t know how we got such a good deal. So maybe we had to give up the kids… whatevs. More pool for us!
Oh, and the Rose Festival Fun Center surrounded us on four sides, but that was only for one month a year so we decided to just deal with it. Less easy to deal with was the other new-fangled design element: no exterior doors. We hadn’t even moved in when our house had become a transient camp. At least during Rose Festival, when it was a carny camp, there was a party feel to it. Geez.
Who knew carnies are more fun than hobos?
My subconscious did, that’s who.
Do you ever wake up from a vivid, insane dream and wonder WHERE that came from? Me three. Here’s my guess for this one:
- There’s a house being built near us, and every day I drive past it I think a different side is the front than the day before. It’s impossible to figure out—maybe once they get doors on it’ll be more obvious, but it’s funnier to assume that the builder is just really, really indecisive.
- We’ve passed the Fun Center repeatedly in the past week. I love Rose Festival, but I prefer to pretend the Fun Center does not exist. So why am I defensive when Victor starts in with his trash-talk? I have no idea. I like to think Rose Festival has a bit higher safety standards than parking lot carnivals, but who knows if ride inspectors have a clue what they’re doing ANYWHERE? And that is why I am not going to ride “Vertigo” this year. Or any year.
- You locals know that the Rose Festival Fun Center (now apparently called “CityFair”) is a hell-on-earth mudfest. Last night we drove past it and the kids asked why we never go there. I wanted to say, “Because the ride operators depend way too much on the effectiveness of that giant jar of Vaseline at the base of each ride” and I wanted to add, “plus they use so much in their hair, they could run out at any minute.” Instead, I said, “Maybe we’ll go this year. But not if it’s raining. Or if it has recently rained. Or if it might rain. Or if it rained once. Or if it ever rained.” Vic nodded along enthusiastically (probably not because he agreed but because he’s afraid of carnies). Cue the heavy we-never-get-to-do-anything-fun sighs from the back seat.
(See? Best parents ever!)
lot of reading up beforehand so we’d know the characters and basic plot, and I think that helped, because it was frequently hard to hear the lyrics (stoopid Keller Auditorium). The show was so much better than I expected it to be. Even Jack didn’t totally hate it. He and I found 
It’s Friday, and that means you get a post called I Don’t Care Enough About You to Write in Transitioning Paragraphs Friday.
manneken-pis (Brussels, Belgium)
pretty cool. There’s an Eiffel Tower, a Norwegian church, a Japanese pagoda, and other landmark-y types of things.
Beautiful, isn’t it?
See what I mean? Meh.
Our first stop was 
So, yeah, my rockstar nephew is visiting and I’ve never felt like such a dork in all my life. Last night Victor and I decided Stephen is cooler than both of us put together, and then some. So sad. But I’m learning some things from him, oh yes I am, which are definitely garnering cool points for this Auntie Zen (in no one’s opinion but my own). For instance, when one fist bumps one’s friend, said fists should then “explode.” The fact that I’m explaining this, I believe, proves exactly how much my dork-ness has recently increased. Ahem.
Burn the Floor
My friend Curt moved from close-in SE Portland to North Portland this past weekend. He invited his cyclist friends to join him with their trailers and carts to pack up his things and parade together the couple of miles between the two places. Apparently this is a very Portland-y thing to do—move by bike—but that did not stop me from making fun of him.
I guess you never really know how accurate a car’s external thermometer is, but I imagine it’s not usually more than a few degrees off. 
Y’know, what makes the Pacific Northwest such a beautiful place is its moderate temperatures. Having air conditioning in one’s home is not all that common because it’s really, truly needed just a few days a year. This is why almost everyone in this part of the country is bitching and moaning about the weather this week. It’s unusual for it to be this hot at all, much less several days in a row. We are all grouchy and uncomfortable. It’s hard to sleep. Grocery stores are sold out of Popsicles. Highways to the beach are traffic-jammed. In other words, life sucks.
It was a looooong bus ride back to the school, but there was one funny moment. Stopped at a light, a car pulled up next to us with a shirtless male driver. I don’t think it was the fact the guy was shirtless that made the kids scream “GROSS!” with all the windows open. It was that the guy was shirtless AND had giant hairy moobs. I had to agree—that dude seriously needed a mansierre/bro. A good waxing wouldn’t have hurt either.
I’ve been reading up on some local trivia lately and thought I’d use a set of fun facts I’ve found for this week’s Thursday-13. Here are 13 of the more well-known celebrities who came from Portland, Oregon, my hometown. Wikipedia’s complete list can be found 
You know how to pronounce Sequim, Puyallup, Issaquah, Oregon, Yakima and Willamette.
You can point to at least two volcanoes, even if you cannot see through the cloud cover.
You think of kids instead of cars when you hear the term “Pathfinder.”
You can tell the difference between Linkettes and Vegelinks with your eyes closed.
You rolled down your skirt on the way to the principal’s office.
