Portland, You’re a Dirty Little Slut

Some dude who is probably leaving Portland after a one-year stand.

Portland, my little city of dreams. I love you so much. Everyone claims to love you so much. Your dreary grey skies make for pretty poetry and days full of coffee and booze and strip clubs and cheap, delicious food. Your rent is completely reasonable. Your parking tickets are easily avoidable. Your music scene is wonderful! I can afford to buy things other than groceries. I love puddle jumping and my rain boot collection is almost complete. Laurelhurst is a movie theater that is here and you can see a movie for $4 while openly enjoying a beer or a glass of wine or some pizza with your buddy/awkward date. Your boutiques are full of locally created wonders. Your summers are so beautiful and warm and filled with river trips of giggling friends that they could have been taken from a Sweet Valley High book. So let me ask you this question, my sexy, sultry, good-time lovin’ little wood-fired city: Why the fuck is everyone always coming and then inevitably going?

In the past few months I have known five fucking people that have bailed on Portland, which, due to my extreme narcissistic tendencies, means that they have bailed on me. My best friend is also considering leaving. Yes, my panic attacks have to do with my crippling abandonment issues, but through the haze of psychiatric trouble perpetually affecting me, I am trying to see things clearly: this town is perfect. The thrills of city life with the comfort of a small town feel. WHY would anyone want to leave, ever, let alone, like every fucking day? I’ve come up with these three reasons:

This is a dude in the rain. It is a metaphor for dudes in Portland, in the rain. 

  1. The weather – As much as I don’t mind the rain, normal people seem to mind the rain. They want sunshine and lollipops and happiness represented in the weather, and I don’t really care for that kind of thing. Not that I don’t need it occasionally, but three months (Portland’s summer) is totally enough for me. There is that whole Seasonal Affective Disorder thing. I always thought it was funny that the acronym for that is really SAD. Just like everyone with the disorder. My advice? Light therapy. It’s effective. Shine a lamp on your face for like 15 minutes a day. Google it. Don’t leave me.
  2. The dating scene – Totally sucks, man. This is irrefutable. I cannot defend this. Everyone I know in successful, healthy relationships either:  1. Came here together or 2. Moved here with the specific intention to be with the other person. And even those haven’t worked out. I don’t know why dating here sucks so exponentially much more than any other city on earth, but looking for romance here is like searching for an ice pick in hell. Even if you find it, you’ll be all, “An ice pick! That means there must be ice around here somewhere!” but there isn’t and you’re hot and annoyed and sweaty and weird. That analogy may or may not make sense to you depending on whether or not you’re on my level. Everyone here is TERRIFIED of commitment, hence the name of this post, the abundance of gypsies who are always leaving and the lack of willingness to even commit to a city to live in. My advice: Fuck it, Dude. Let’s go bowling.
  3. The jobs – I came here with a job. If you came here looking for work, consider yourself brethren to those who went to California because there was gold in them thar hills at one point. Come here with a job, or be the best networker you’ve ever hung out with, because otherwise you will find yourself pandhandling for jobs outside of the Pita Pit.

So these are the top three reasons I tell myself in the mirror every time I get another text that let’s me know that someone else is abandoning me because I’m fat because they can’t hack it here anymore. They’re accurate, don’t you think?

I HATE you for leaving. Tell me I’m pretty.

 

photo source here and here 

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About the author

Chloe Newsom - Dive Bar Desperado

I like kittens, 40s, cupcakes, pizza, metal, thigh-highs, weekends, travelling, and parks. Lemmy is god. That's...that about covers it.