Dear John

Portland, Portland, Portland. What am I going to do with you? I've made it clear in no uncertain terms that it's over, honey. I've moved on, and Missoula and I are happy, so why now? Why are you trying to win me back after so much time, so much water under your four or five or nine bridges? Yes, I love what you've done with the place. You've clearly cleaned up your act (in OldTown, which is now only called The Pearl District because if you own a 5 million dollar condo you can't tell your friends that are up visiting from Malibu, to come up and shop for their weekend get-away in OldTown) and you've put in Jamison Fountain where there used to be an empty lot full of needles and discarded Blazers season tickets. You're getting out more - seeing the world (by way of the trolley which stopped right in front of our hotel!), but I'm telling you, you've got issues and I can see with all the prettyfying they're just getting shuffled around like always. In fact, try to do something about those dirty homeless kids with the safety pins in their faces and their hungry puppies tethered with hemp leashes - Saturday Market should not be their living room. In fact a real live living room should be their living room.

And although the old haunts brought back memories (Dim Sum at Fong Chongs), I'm just not in that place anymore. It's not you, it's me. (And tell that wench that moved into the cute Craftsman house on 47th, around the corner from Stumptown coffee, that the backyard looked much better when Jim and Mignon were living there and that she shouldn't have ripped out the Japanese maple in favor of broken down, unkempt raised beds. I can see she's taken advantage of our huge dahlia garden, but it looked much better with the Daphnia as a back-drop than that nasty-ass mess of grasses she put in there. Criminal.) Portland, I love you so much, but Missoula has a much bigger, um, well, let's just say Missoula completes me. Missoula may not be as metropolitan, sophisticated, or convenient as you, Portland, but I'm beyond that now. And I never thought I'd say this, but it's what's on the inside (of my husband's wallet, meaning cash, instead of his Portland State University student ID) and and not about how easy it is to find a decent plate of sashimi.

(But you know, call me sometime if you want, because I'm totally still hot for your body and Missoula is fine with me seeing other people on occasion. Is that strange? Well it works for us, and if you can't see past that than you're clearly subscribing to the oppressive patriarchy.)

Song of the Day: She's Got a Way, Billy Joel