Yes, it’s my 45th birthday next week, which makes me officially halfway to dead. “If you’re lucky,” Steve sez. (My response: ???. I think, before it’s too late, he needs to take some “hints” from our Facebook friends on how to talk to ladies. Sheesh.) In honor of the big day, we went out for a little birthday dinner tonight at Pizza Fino, over in beautiful historic downtown Kenton, North Portland, U.S.A.

Of course our poor, beleaguered, misunderstood and sometimes, allegedly, drinkin’, drivin’ and cryin’ Mayor of Portland, Ore., Sam Adams, was there with three of his associates, constituents, friends, what have you.

That sentence was too long, I’ll start over.

I’m assuming the associates were picking up the tab, since between lawyer bills and all he can’t afford to make his mortgage payments. (“Portland: We’re So Broke Our Mayor Can’t Afford A Grown-up Boyfriend OR His Mortgage.”)

The staff was playing, as always, a lot of really sucky music that I believe the kids refer to as “techno.” That, combined with the fact that we had to wait an hour for our food, combined with the fact that the mayor was there, combined with the fact that our waitress was so absolutely beautiful and sweet that I couldn’t even hold the whole “food never arriving thing” against her, gave me what I refer to as “fucking headache behind my left eye.” Then, out of nowhere, they played ZZ Top, I’m Bad, I’m Nationwide, I’m assuming in honor of my birthday and the mayor.

Only he isn’t and I am.

“We going downtown in the middle of the night
We laughing and Im jokin and we feelin alright”

You know how old Wacky Mommy was when that song came out? That’s right. I was a freshman in high school and already getting into bars and never getting carded when I bought booze at the store. You poor kids nowadays, I feel for you. Don’t drink and drink, though! That’s bad.

Then they played a bunch more techno crap, I drank a lot of water, tried to figure out if that was our friend Babe across the way, I think it was, why couldn’t they have seated Babe next to us instead of the damn mayor, I love Babe… Finally the food showed up and my son ate an entire large cheese pizza all by himself, Wacky Girl split her pasta with pesto with me and we just chilled.

More techno.

Then again out of nowhere, they played “Low Rider.” Which I’m assuming Steve took as a hint to buy me the ’64 Impala with hi-jackers that I’ve only been wanting my entire goddamn life how many hints do I have to drop?

“I’m dropping hints/
candy for candy-coated tongue”
— Violent Femmes

That Impala, it was born the same year as me. I’m telling you — as soon as we get a garage I’m getting an Impala to put in it. You heard it here first.

Then I heard the lady at the table next to me tell her husband, sotto voce, “She’s 44.” Husband grunts. Wife continues, “She looks old for her age.” I’m sure she wasn’t talking about moi, as I am not just incredibly yummy and hot, but also Bad and not just limited to Nationwide — I’m international, mama. And the mortgage, she is getting paid.

Internets, too much flu for me this week and too much political b.s. at City Hall. But hey, we’re Portland, so be cool, would ya? Let’s all be cool and not talk about the real problems here. Let’s dance all around and pretend we’re not talking about what we’re really talking about. We can call each other names and then say, Just kidding! (And whisper, I hate that bitch.) We can listen to cocktail music and later, go to a strip club or two. Yeeeeeeeeeee-haw.

Our babysitter, last week: “Aw, it’s just, Sam was my guy!”
me: “Why?”
her, mulling it over: “You know… bikes… and everything…”
me: “Holy Christ. Are you for real here?”

Is there more “there” there? Integrity would be good. Let’s spread some of that around instead of the STDs. And don’t give me some crap about all politicians are corrupt, all couples sleep around on each other, everyone’s an asshole.

That is not true. You’re not that way, and I’m not that way. True? Or false? There are more of us with integrity out there than you would think. It’s just the unethical ones who get all the attention, not the ones quietly living their lives and trying to keep things under control.

Also, I’m a little aggravated with a certain local society blogger who’s all, Why are you such Puritans, Portlanders? Isn’t it cool our mayor is getting some? Isn’t that cool?

A lot of us are getting some, and we don’t need to find underage tail to make it happen. If something like this is happening right now in Mr. Adams’ life, when he should be acting like a grown man instead of a 17 year old — no, wait, the 17 year olds I know don’t play bullshit games like this — anyway. Chances are it’s a pattern. Chances are it, or a variation of it, will happen again.

If you have crazy shit like this (oh my God I don’t know how my dick slipped out of my pants! Where did you come from, dick?) going on in your life once you’ve hit your 40s — even when you’re in your 30s, or late 20s — you, my friend, have yourself a problem.

I’m not a compulsive gambler here, but I’m not betting on Sam Adams. If he truly had an ounce of integrity, he would step down from office and start over. But appearances, appearances, you know. Wouldn’t want to let go of the brass ring once you’ve stolen it.

Adams has snaked a number of people here, some of them my friends and associates. People have had to step down from their jobs. We don’t need any distractions here and I am feeling resentful. The chaos and bullshit and distractions. We’ve got issues to deal with — jobs. People not having homes. The schools. People going hungry. I don’t want the distractions, I want focus.

I try not to, I try to rise above it, but I do hold a grudge. To quote Karen Karbo, it keeps you warm at night.

Also, just to be completely aboveboard about things, even though almost twenty years have passed by, I still have a grudge against said society blogger. I have tried to forgive and I just can’t forget, and him coming to Sam Adams’ defense has reminded me of a sad, ugly chapter in my life where he also tried to cover for someone else. And have a good laugh about it at the same time. I don’t really feel like writing about it, I don’t know if I ever will. I didn’t want to ever think about it again. I’m ready to move on. Let’s just say — patterns. Same old bullshit. And Portland is a small town, still. There is one degree of separation here, and sometimes not even that much.

Then my minister comes along with, is Adams “truly repenting?” And I’m thinking, Holy Christ, minister, are you for real here? Because if I’m being an asshole all week long, then come Saturday I’m confessing and sobbing, and I’m purified in the blood of the lamb on Sunday, then come Monday, back to being an asshole, that still makes me…

Ready?

An asshole.

So maybe when that dawns on you, you should deal with your shit and perhaps consider never being an asshole again. And maybe trying to serve as mayor of a fair-sized city while you’re doing this kind of soul-searching is a little bit of a conflict. A drain. Maybe you should just work on your shit for awhile and then take on some bigger tasks after that. Maybe Adams should work a blue-collar job for awhile and see how the other half lives.

I hear he likes gardening. Maybe a landscaping crew would train him up for awhile. Good luck having enough money left over on payday to buy food, but maybe your friends will have you over for soup.

During times when you really want to act like an asshole, you can usually see the patterns emerging, and past childhood trauma comes knocking at the door. Demons rise up and slap the shit out of you and you really, really want to pretend you’re 17 again and be irresponsible but you know what? You’ve got to work through it. You’ve got to rise above it.

“Keep passing the open windows.”
— John Irving, The Hotel New Hampshire

Someone left me a note in comments asking so Wacky Mommy, you uptight snatch, hysterical much? (cuz adding that word, “much,” makes the sentence extra-extra tangy and original) and I’m thinking, You have no idea.

So. So, so, so. Exile on Main Street?

Indeed.

Now that’s cocktail music.

This one is sweet because Mick Taylor is in it. And Charlie is wearing stripedy pants. You know how much I love stripedy. And Mick’s smile, when he flashes it, lights up the whole place.

(Even though that one is on Sticky Fingers, not Exile on Main Street.)

That’s Portland’s mayor.

Sam Adams, the Brave New Mayor of Portland, gave a little press conference this afternoon. It gave me a raging headache, which is better than a raging something else, I suppose, which appears to be Sam Adams’ problem.

1) His press conference interrupted my Obama-thon and really, there is no excuse. He is Obama, Sam. You are just some idiot.

2) Well, the rumors were flying during the Adams’ campaign, about his “mentoring” relationship with a young intern. Did he screw a minor? No, of course not. He waited until he turned 18. Oh, sure. I feel a lot better about it now.

I don’t care if it was consensual. What I care about is that he was a kid. Eighteen is still a kid. What I care about is that when grown-ups sexually abuse children and young adults, whether it’s taking advantage of a situation (one extreme) or going in for the kill (the other extreme), they damage something in the other person.

You can damage a person’s heart and soul. You can damage their bodies. That body is not yours to take — it is theirs. May we be clear on this? It is not your body to take.

This is true of adult-on-adult situations, too. (And by “situations,” I mean the whole gamut — from taking advantage of someone because they’ve had too much to drink to doing serious bodily harm to a person.) You can harm another adult, and I might hate you for it, but when you harm a kid, you are a special kind of bastard to me.

Now you want… what, Sam? Forgiveness? You made sure you lied, you made sure that the other person lied, you made sure you got into office and now you want forgiveness? You’re not at church on Sunday morning, hon. Don’t pull a Jimmy Swaggart here, “I have sinned,” etc.

Don’t be that fucked up. You need to figure things out, and I need my city run by someone who’s not in some kind of midlife crisis, thinking he’s a teenager, having some hott teenage sex. You are a grown man. You are my age.

The Brave Little Toaster is much, much braver than our allegedly Brave Little Mayor. So. So, so, so. A note:

Dear Sam,

You said in your press conference that if the people of Portland asked for you to resign, you would. I’m asking, and I’m not the only one. The 900 cops in this town are asking you, too. Politely.

Love and kisses,

Wacky Mommy

Sgt. Scott Westerman, president of the Portland Police Association, tells Willamette Week that Adams’ admitted coverup of the 2005 affair with Beau Breedlove revealed “a dramatic lack of integrity.”

“What would happen if a police officer befriended a 17-year-old cadet, or a high-school girl, and waited until the second she turned 18 to nail her?” Westerman says. “This is the mayor of our city. This is supposed to be the person who dictates the culture.”

Yick.

Honey. Get to stepping.

Happy, happy weekend to y’all! I’m in trainings and busy the next few days, but Will Post As Able.

love,

your girl,

wm

ps — vote. VOTE. VOTE!!! Go, Obama!!!!

When I was young and drunk, I dated a large Irishman, who was 6’5″ and, like me, an English major and writer. He also liked to drink. And have conversations that were apropos of everything and nothing at the same time. (more…)

It is a weird, crazy day at Wacky House when Wacky Mommy finds herself in agreement with Kevin Mannix. (In today’s Oregonian, Mannix is quoted as calling Mike Erickson a “political sociopath.”)

And just to set everything straight — I’m pro-choice. Abortion needs to be safe, legal and removed of stigma and taboo.

However. (And this is a pretty big “however.”) I am against abortion when it involves your rich boyfriend driving you to the clinic, taking 300 bucks out of an ATM on the way, and dumping you at the clinic doors. (“That solves that problem.”) Then he takes you to Puerto Vallarta a month later, after you’re “good again,” so he can feel better and what? This is some sort of reward for “taking care of” the “problem”?

That I have a problem with. I mean, seriously. Fuck that. Fuck that about twelves ways to Monday. Because not only are you dealing with the post-partum that often follows abortion (and is something a lot of people refuse to discuss or deal with), you’re also dealing with Trauma of Asshole Boyfriend Who Treats You and Your Unborn Like Pieces of Dirt.

Something like that is going to take years of healing. Peace and healing to you, girl. You’re not alone. I hope you find some support and care and community.

wm

(Here is the text of the editorial that ran in the Oregonian this morning:)

The 5th District bombshell
Kevin Mannix circulates troubling charges against Mike Erickson in a fight so down and dirty that one of the two must go
Wednesday, May 14, 2008

“Political sociopath” is an awfully harsh label, but it’s going to stick on Erickson unless he goes public, and soon, with a convincing case that the Mannix allegations are unfounded.

Hoooooooooo-whee, this cracked me up.

(Steve’s favorite is pretty funny, too.)

Aw, Steve Clark, you shouldn’t have!

On the Portland Trib dropping to one edition per week:

“We fully expect that there will be those who will criticize our strategy. Through the years, we have routinely been scorned by some, including bloggers who are prone to vitriolic negativity.”

Vitriolic negativity? We are playful around here. C’mon, Steve. We’re just clowning around. (Mostly not for Jesus.) And making fun of the local politicos. And tucking our children away in large wooden shoes. Are we pillars of society? Please discuss amongst yourselves. I have no opinion on that one way or the other, but you know. The devil does make work for idle hands.

Just think, if you were a blogger, you could have just called us all “douches” and moved along to your next post.

kisses,

WM

You know why I love my children’s teachers? They are smarter than I am. Yes, sir. They truly are. And as a mom who loves the hours between 8:45 and 3 p.m., I really liked this post. Bring on the free cheese.