Portland's economy must be better than a few years ago, when I was supporting my boyfriend and me by donating plasma, sending out resumes and walking all over the city trying to find *any* job, to no avail. Even now, I sent out at least thirty emails and resumes and only received three responses, two for jobs I didn't really want.

The bakery where I got hired seemed like a long shot: Portland is a coffee mecca and the cute barista jobs are highly coveted by slacker artists like me. I got to my interview on time, only to watch another girl beginning an interview. One of the employees gave me coffee while I waited. It's nerve-wracking to watch someone else interview for the job you want... especially when the person is a lot more qualified ("lead barista, 2 years"), more social ("I'm super good with kids!"), more Portlandy ("I just like to ride my bike in my free time!") and lives three blocks from the job. Then I watched as Natacha (the manager) had her make a latte, grilling her on her technique. Fuck, I haven't used one of those in a year, I thought.

The only thing I had on this other girl was that she wasn't smiling much, and if you know me, you know I smile a lot when I talk. I'm a happy person and it shows. Natacha is from France, with a charming accent, and during our interview I asked her almost as much about her life as she asked me about mine. But I don't know if my latte was up to par: "You didn't use the thermometer, Natacha said. "Uh, sorry, I forgot." She said, "Well, I'm going to interview some more people and I'll call you on Friday."

Friday came and went, and I mourned the job, but on Saturday she called me for a "second interview" with one of the other employees. I had nightmares about this interview all night, and woke up three hours before I had to be there at 9:30 Sunday morning, trying to overcome my tendency towards lateness. I wore my lucky underwear, nice clothes, made my makeup and hair all pretty. I got there ten minutes early. The Sunday morning scene was so perfect: young couples, people on bikes, families with kids getting croissants and coffee and the paper.

The two employees were willowy and gorgeous in that Portland vintage/goodwill way. The one who interviewed me was also named Becky, and she mostly asked me about non job-related things. What do you do in your spare time? How long have you lived in Portland? Why did you come here? Do you live nearby? She had beautiful eyes. Finally she told me that I could have the job, and I was like, "Really?!"

So... then I went to the Fresh Pot to read the Sunday paper. There's this girl who lived in my freshman dorm at Reed who lives nearby, one of the only people I never really connected with, and she is *always* there, and I don't like talking to her. She was there. I bought my paper and slunk away. I think I have to find a new spot. I tried a place at 37th and Belmont that was quite nice, lots of chess players and jazz.

Then Donna called me to say that her high school friend Chris had just flown in from D.C. on business, so I went home, changed my outfit and grabbed Donna, and we picked him up in my old jalopy at the downtown Hilton. It was four in the afternoon so most of the places we tried for dinner weren't open, but Chris got a nice tour of Portland. We ended up going to Papa Hayden on 23rd. I've heard a lot about Chris over the years but we've never met, so it was really fun.

Then my friend Jason called me and said he had gotten theater tickets and did I want to go? After dinner I dropped off Donna and Chris downtown and drove home to change my clothes *again*, and met Jason at Portland Center Stage. Jason is my tall British friend, and we used to do a lot of heroin together, but he's clean now, on methadone. He somehow managed to maintain a high level of culture through it all, and he was much better dressed than me, in a sleek gray suit.

The play was amazing, "Fences" by August Wilson (here.) I haven't seen a play in so long, and I never go to anything "nice" in Portland. It was fun to mingle with all the fancy old people and drink wine. Who let these two ex-junkies in??

I don't know if either of us were very good friends to each other over the years: he always needed my money to buy drugs, and I was always calling when he was clean and making him relapse with me. He has a really good heart, though. He always went out of his way to help me or give me a place to stay. More recently, he met this girl, Nicole, who was living on the street and spare-changing, got her a job at the theater ticket office, let her stay with him and helped her get in rehab and even paid for her methadone. I met her; she was so pretty and nice, you'd never expect.