notageek

Yes, that’s right, theantix made the pilgrimage from $SMALLTOWN in Canadia to worship at the Shrine of the Holy Terpinator in Portlandia, and thence to mine own small heathen university town.

Review follows. Summary: very fond of cheese.

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Know this: despite his protests, theantix is probably really a lesbian, and by “lesbian” I don’t mean you lumpy hairy straight boys sitting around being straight, scratching your crotches, reaping the fruits of male privilege and mumbling, “Yeah, lesbians have the right idea. I’m really a lesbian in a man’s body, you know.”

To hasten the arrival of the reign of gender anarchy in the Pac Northwest, we proffered theantix unto the needled gods at High Priestess Piercing (slogan: Get Holey!) where with autoclaved mini-Berthas they violated the sanctity of first my earlobes, and then those of the unfortunate tix.

Well, not really. See, my earlobes are sluts that way; that that isn’t the first pointy object they’ve encountered, and by “encountered” I do not mean “cleaned out with a cotton swab”. So I went first, and since the last time my ears got that kind of action was about seven years ago, I made all sorts of “this stings” faces for theantix’s edification. So no sanctity was really violated until tix’s turn, because he did have what “Dana, and I’ll be poking holes in you today” called “mmmmm, virgin ears,”.

Freshly wounded, we staggered back out to the counter, rendered unto the needling gods an awful lot in exchange for the four miniscule titanium barbells and the stud-fees for four mini-Berthas, had a lecture on soaking our ears in salt water, and spent the rest of the day NOT TOUCHING OUR PIERCINGS.

Joh3n, you’ll be pleased to note that I did in fact find him some cheese first thing in the morning. He’s not wasting away on my watch.

Fortunately this weekend is when Eugenia has its “Eugene Celebration”, best described as the one weekend a year when Eugene has a street fair that rivals the weekly Portlandia Saturday Market in size.

One lemonade, one bag of Italian plums and one ginger ale that tasted too much like actual ale later, we were at the Amtrak station–a paragon of architectual stateliness, like most Amtrak stations–where tix discovered he didn’t have his AAA card, that shipping fruit to Canadia is an expensive proposition, and that Amtrak employees secretly encourage the subversion of the 1337 voice-recognition phone-menu system. A worthwile journey indeed.

We contributed my civic duty of celebration by going out for Thai food, and by “Thai” i mean “probably fairly Americanized like ‘Chinese-American Food’ but less overtly so, still fairly Thai-esque and at any rate damn tasty”. In fact, the second half of my noodles awaits me in ph34r in my fridge at this very moment, timorously antici…pating my jaws of death that will bite through their tender ricely goodness like so much Canadian foppishness. In fact, I think I’ll go hasten their demise right now.

So to sum up my theantix experience: my theantix arrived on time and undamaged, did not require excessive cheese input, tolerated para-Bertha experiences well, enjoyed downtown, protected me adequately from throngs of hippie professor-spawn, dressed snappily, and fawned appropriately. I would definitely choose the theantix experience again, and by that I mean that when I’m a mom, I’ll do my best to be both choosy and cheesy.