Welcome to Portland, The Home of the Hipster. This is the post where half the town will now hate me.

There is a certain time in your life when one must make adjustments. Adjustments to what you eat, drink, how you talk or, sin of all sins, how you dress.

A few years ago I was walking down the hall of my office when I felt like someone was following me really, really close. I turned around and there was no one there. I walked past the receptionist desk and asked her quickly, did you see that? She saw nothing, she confessed. I continued on to the break room when it finally hit me on the head like I missed V-8. It was my back fat lobbing around back there causing an extra echo in my step; making me think I was being followed. It was time to turn in the low rise jeans.

Keith Richards is a hipster gone bad. However, Keith is the coolest cat in the universe. Even I recognize he should have hung up his skinny jeans a long, long time ago. After all, he is Keith Richards and I’m sure he has a special relationship with God. “Thus sayeth God to Keith; you may keep your skinny jeans indefinitely.”

On the other hand.

I was driving around town last night with Dr. B looking for wings and beer and maybe a strip club. (OK just kidding) We passed a bar where this seemingly young hipster was hanging out front lighting a cigarette. He was dressed in head to toe black, his hair was cut in the required mod shag, askew just so and dyed jet black to match. As the hipster code states, he had the much demanded wallet and chain combination. Then he turned around…..

Turned around and then the bags under his eyes followed slowly from the side of his head. Turned around and his beer gut bounced a little from the rotation. He wasn’t a giant guy, he just had junk in all the places it wasn’t supposed to be. Well actually, it can be there. You just need to not wear skinny jeans and a vintage T-shirt you picked up at the head shop, ran over with your car to make it look, “authentic”. The problem is that he looked too old. Drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon until 3 AM has finally caught up to him. All that time penning sensitive lyrics for a band that will never get a record deal is starting to turn to bitterness and regret on his face. All of those cigarettes have started to sallow his skin and cause his fingers to turn the tell-tale nicotine yellow. Sweetheart, you are no Keith Richards and you don’t do enough heroin to keep that PBR off of your hips.

You’re getting pudgy, you’re getting wrinkles and you still think you can wear a size Medium Husky from the little boys section. There are times when I try to leave the house for a show and my daughter has to edit my wardrobe. It goes like this.

Her: Is that what you’re wearing

Me: Yes, don’t you like it?

Her: Ummm, you’re trying to hard and it makes look old(er)

Me: Really, I kinda like it.

Her: No dude, go back and try again.

My answer to you old hipsters….get a kid, sit them on the couch and have them tell you what you look like before you leave the house.

I love hipsters - don’t get me wrong. You’ve made the internet a cooler place, music and mash-ups have never been better. You’ve brought back heroin chic better than American Apparel ever could. You’ve done things for facial hair that I never imagined possible. Your sensitive forward combed hair is represented in your song lyrics and, your love for aviator sunglasses has enriched my life. I myself have an obsession with aviators, I like to buy them at every gas station in town and rock them with a silk blouse, cowboy boots and a pair of jeans that covers my back fat. Did you read that? I modified my wardrobe to fit the increasing size of my ass and my age.

P.S. - Have you ever seen a stripper and thought. “Damn girl, eat a sandwich?” 

On a lighter note: 

My biggest search engine hit is always someone searching for "Chantel Boobs". I don't know if its because you want to see my boobs or you think that I AM a boob.

Either way, your wish is my command. I present the only boob shot you're going to get.

You can get it here. The shirt that is, not the boobs - they're real.

Drink Count:
1 Bourbon on the rocks

So, I was just going to give a short run-down of things that happened at Blogher but, we all know that I don't know how to tell a short story. I apologize, this is why I started a blog. My friends are sick of listening to me.

The night before I left for San Jose I didn't get to bed until 5 am. Unfortunately when I arrived home my allergies (or what I thought were allergies) started acting up. By the time the Benadryl kicked in it was 5 am and I was not getting better. I slept in only to awake feeling worse and looking just as bad. I packed my bag, read all of your blogs and then paced until my $30 taxi cab arrived. I was too tired to take the bus only to transfer to the train so I sprung for the taxi. The taxi driver was an overweight fellow who could barely reach his pedals. He asked where I was going and I told him it was "business and pleasure", not because I was hoping to get laid but because I knew that there was fun to be had when 700 women get together in one place and drink tickets can be bartered.

He told me stories of his Vietnam days which only made me wonder about my father. I was saddened suddenly and realized that his fun stories were probably only covering the horrors that he experienced and this was his way of creating memories rather than reliving terrors. This again made me think of our soldiers in Iraq and again, I was saddened to think that so many children here are now left without parents because of a senseless war. This is probably not the best way to start off a weekend.

I arrived at the airport a mere two hours early, I checked in, got a beer, had a snack and continued through security. An older man checked out my breasts and asked me if I "REALLY" liked The Doors. I told him I was older than I looked and yes, I liked The Doors and a few other bands from that time period. I cut him off by digging into my purse to search for the little blue pill of happiness only to find that the xanax fairy only blessed me with one xanax for the entire trip. I had to weigh my options.

Everything was fine until I looked at the arrivals list and noticed every single flight was either delayed or cancelled. My panic set in when I realized I was sitting in the wrong lounge because they moved my departure gate and I missed the announcement. Before snatching my magazine, snapping my water bottle or checking my lipstick; I snapped my little blue pill in half and hoped for a quick delivery from my panic. I found the correct gate and finally settled in to wait for the feeling of calm and relaxation to come over me. I was happy to fly Alaska Airlines because they are the last airline I know that offers free beer and wine on their flights. They only offered red wine on this flight so I settled into my seat next to a guy that looked like my ex boyfriend and began drinking heavily. Unfortunately the sadness had not abated so I decided to steal looks at the boy sitting next to me and ponder how he would feel about me crawling into his lap and snuggling up for a little nap. Fortunately for him, it was an uneventful flight or he would have had to pull a drunk, xanax crazed red-head off of his lap. Trust me he totally looked like my ex, snuggly, shaved head, the whole package. I maintained some dignity.

When I got to the hotel things were relatively quiet. I unpacked, chatted with my roommate and decided the bar was the best place for me. Here is where I would drink myself into a slumber and plan on 8 full hours of sleep. Little did I know!

Stampy brazenly approached me after I sat in a chair with my vodka and soda and asked me if I wanted to come sit with some other smokers. I was immediately in awe of anyone who could walk up to a freakishly tall red head and ask them for anything. Of course I acquiesce to her request and thus I began to meet a few soul mates.

Stampy being blonde and brazen. She is probably one of the most photogenic women I have ever met. Her smiles are endless and she kept me giggling to the point of snorting throughout the weekend. Her humor is endless and her intellect is unmatched. I could only aspire to be so bold, so beautiful and so fucking smart. Dude, she can drink and smoke just like me - We are long lost sisters.

Sherri or "Trouble" as I like to call her. She was sitting there sporting the brightest sunburn I've seen since my last trip to Mexico when I burned the twins. She's sweet and she's a pastry chef. We exchanged stories and I gave her lotion for her nose when it started to peel. Her ability to see the world for what it is and still keep her sense of humor will take her far even when it is getting her into trouble.

Kerri will be moving here soon. She's an old soul with a gentle nature. Her smile is sweet yet never fails to embed itself on your memory. I'm excited for her arrival because I've found one can never have too many lovely friends gracing their lives.

Amanda the southern belle. She looks like Toni Collette and has a sultry southern voice that can lull me into slumber. I could close my eyes and listen to her talk for hours. She reminds me of home, the good part or the parts that I would rather remember. She is wise beyond her years and kind beyond human capacity which, will  secure her spot in heaven or whatever version will prove itself to be the resting place of gods and goddesses.

Claire my roommate. A mother that knows no limits and no boundaries when it comes to the love and safety of her family. Her well of love and devotion is deep. She fights the good fight, the fight we all want to fight someday or the fight we can say we at the least had a part in.

SueBob the shy creature who wandered over to our table a few times over the course of a weekend. I could only imagine how tough it must have been to approach us to sit down and talk. She offered her stories, her red stapler and her gentle humor. Her perspective left me no longer measuring myself against any other, it left feeling happy with my choices and more importantly myself.

Swirlspice. A girl with a body I would kill for. Her quiet and intelligent candor left me forever remembering her beautiful skin, her captivating smile and more importantly her accepting heart.

Leah spent so little time at our table but an impression she does leave. She was exhausted from a long day of interviews and still found time to wander over leave us with a compliment and four glasses of wine. When I should have been the one jumping up to buy her drinks.

Heather who once invited returned a few times. She shared stories, demonstrated her sharp southern accent. Her beautiful eyes and gentle smile proved over and over her devotion to her friends, her daughter and her husband.

I could focus on the negative but I won't. That's not my style. I would rather search a room of 700 women for common interests, inclusiveness and however cliche; sisterhood! There you will find me searching for a table, setting up camp for three days by the pool, sipping cocktails, smoking cigarettes and hoping that more and more of them come by to say hello.

I arrived home three days later, sick as a dog, hung over, shaking from anxiety and happier than I've been in quite some time. 

The Vodka Martini - Seek Your Inner Cocktail shirts are available.

Please feel free to declare your favorite flavor.

I’m going to try and make a list for you because my brain is in list mode however, I’m sure it will turn into paragraphs and longer explanations because, that’s just the kind of slick bitch I am.

It’s casual Friday in my office. I’m sitting here in my new Seek Your Inner Cocktail T-Shirt. Sure I’m apprehensive about wearing it and advertising it but, I some how feel like saying Fuck You to the establishment today and flinging my well-healed feet on my desk with a martini shaker in one hand and a cigarette in the other. This could be the day I lose my job. I thought my “finger lickin' good” T-shirt made me feel good, I had no idea! GO BUY A SHIRT! Vodka Martini will be released by Sunday you can wait for that one if that’s your flavor.

I’m throwing my best girlie friend a baby shower tonight. All the office ladies are invited. You have no idea how nervous I am about this. This is my very FIRST traditional function that I have ever coordinated. Where I come from, (the back of a Buick in Tennessee) there were no baby showers and I didn’t know people got gifts for getting married – If I would have known that; I probably would have married at the traditional age of 15 instead of waiting to be an old maid at 17. My point is; I’m nervous – I hope I don’t get drunk and accidentally take the other half of the Xanax. You remember what happened at my sisters wedding don’t you?

I placed a personal ad to test the dating waters here in PDX. My ad was short, to the point and described everything important to me. Smoking, cocktails and my children. I got 40 responses within 15 minutes of posting. I took down the ad so I could wade through the penis photos and propositions for “Adult” employment and try to start a correspondence. I chose 4 gentlemen that appeared to fit my preferences. Tall, smart and dorky, funny, can speak a form of English and, spell a good percentage of their words. The thing I didn’t check is their ability to READ. After sending responses, a better photo and a long descriptive narrative about my life as we know it here’s what I got.

“You look YUUUUMMMMY, but I’m not attracted to smokers or drinkers”
(In the add it reads: – “I smoke and drink, I will not quit for you”)
“You have kids? I really want kids in the future are you willing to have more?” NO!
(Again, in the add it reads: – "I have children, I can’t have any more!")
“Are you shaved, trimmed or natural, down there?”
(Read: None of your fucking business but Brazilian if you’re curious.)
“Does the rug match the curtains?”
(Read: Am I a natural red-head and can I prove it – Again Fuck Off)
“I’m a recovering alcoholic and my recovery means everything.”
(My blog is all about the cocktail, this would never work, I can't say anything bad here because I wish him luck and if I end up in AA some day I'll need a sponsor.)
“How old were you when you had your kids?”
(Umm, I’m so confused about this and wondering the relevance but, Fuck Off anyway.)

I’ve decided single is good. I don’t like pictures of choked penises up close and I really am not attracted to “the money shot” in any way. Men are gross AND they can't read. I've regressed, I'm 12 again; boys were gross then and they remain so. I’m not dating ever again.

My answer? GO BUY A SHIRT. I will never be a two income household so I must now gather the down payment for my town-home on my very own. At this rate I should have enough by 2015.

Drink Count:
2 Vodka Sodas
2 Pyramid Brewing Co. Curve Ball Beers

Note: These might run a little small. I'm wearing  this one in a medium. My boobs look great in it but if you don't like tight shirts get a large.