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I’m born, I crawl, then I walk (that’s an exciting day). I got into my car, turned it on, and the windows clouded up immediately.

I learn to speak (my first sentence was purportedly “Give me the damn book”). In middle school, I pronounce Yosemite “YO-suh-mite” in front of a class of peers who then laugh for a solid five minutes (this clearly wasn’t a formative memory at all). But on this Saturday morning, instead of staying put and letting them de-fog, I decided to start driving through the narrow streets of my neighborhood with cloudy windows BECAUSE I HAVE AMAZING JUDGMENT. Revealed was a huge black Ford F150’s back end, meeting the front fender of my car and then neatly shearing my passenger-side mirror off. Heaven with beards and plaid and friendly people (a word of sagely Portland advice, though.

I think with dating, I need to chill out a little bit, maybe take things slower, get to really know someone.

My vast Swatch collection was rivaled only by my collection of cassingles from Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814 (fucking GOOGLE IT). Okay, Plan B: I’m going to build myself a Temple Grandin hugging machine. I was going to go out to a club, then thought better of it when a friend suggested dinner and a movie. It wasn’t until a few days later that this phrase surfaced again in my brain, like a chicken bone in a throat. The wife and kid went back into the house, and the husband came out and then shook my hand and introduced himself. At this point in the Very Portland Car Crash, the wife came out with a cup of coffee (which was her own, but I fully expected her to hand it to me), and she too asked if I was okay. I just hit your parked car.” What is wrong with these people? Why are they not yelling at me, gesticulating wildly? I wish I could say it was while I was doing something heroic, like diving for my friend Jessie’s kid as she dropped him, or that one of the steps on the aging train platform gave way under my doughy but noble weight, but no.

I have an intense crush on a boy who plays cello, ruddy-cheeked Andrew, who barely acknowledges my existence, which makes me want him even more (this is clearly not formative at all either). Holy shit, I thought, surprised, that’s totally what I’m feeling like tonight. I fell for no damn reason at all (haha, MUCH LIKE MY DATING LIFE, AMIRITE FELLAS? Lying on the ground, I collected my thoughts, looking at the concrete of the train platform near my face and realizing it could have been a lot worse.