Recently, the Things and I got stuck in a traffic jam on the way to Portland and were forced to sit on a rural highway in Albany for about 90 minutes. At one point, I looked over to the side of the road, past a tangle of weeds, two motels ringed in rust and decay, and the beaten down farm equipment store, to look at a bright little place called "Dairy Land." It was an older restaurant-style building, painted in bright red and white, like a barn, complete with cartoonish cows muralized on the side. For a moment, I wondered if it was some knock-off Dari-Mart, but then realized that was wrong. However, I couldn't put my finger on it, couldn't figure out what it was about the place that was just off. About then, I noticed the cows. They were drawn with big pouty lips and gigantic udders. And they were winking.
Yes, it was a strip club. Oregon has the most lenient zoning laws when it comes to strip clubs and adult stores of various kinds*. This results in a shopping center that goes something like: Best Buy, LL Bean, The Little Bunny Club. So, the general rule of thumb in Oregon is, when in doubt, it's a strip club.
On the recent Montana road trip, I kept trying to take photos of Friend Two pumping gas. Why might you ask? Because in Oregon, it's illegal to pump your own gas, and so I thought it cute that we had to pump our own.
Friend Two did not approve of this picture taking enterprise, at least as it pertained to gas stations.
Tragically Hip Single Mom killed me last week when she, out of the blue, said, "You know Crazy Soccer Coach?" I replied yes, since he was Thing One's soccer coach last year. Let me digress for a moment here to say that he was one of the reasons I didn't put Thing One in soccer this year. The man was a little too intense for me, a little too concerned with the competive edge of the Second Grade Girls' Soccer Team for my liking. Also, as a former star soccer player, I think his coaching skills sucked. Few fundamentals and no real sense of teamwork. Because I've been so damned busy, I just decided to put off soccer for another six months.
Back to the story at hand. So, THSM asked me if I remembered him, and I did, and then she said, "Did you know he's a Nazi apologist?"
"WHAT!" I said.
"Yeah. Turns out he gave Way Too Skinny Dad a book about how the Holocaust never happened."
"Then he's more than a Nazi Apologist," I said. "He's a Propagandizing Nazi Apologist."
"Yeah! He is!"
"Who knew Oregon soccer would be overrun by Nazis?"
Somehow, though, I think we should have known.
I have had someone at work steal my milk for three weeks running. As in, they use it when it is clearly labeled "Terrible Mother." It's for my coffee (the gallons I consume on a daily basis. No, I am not kidding). So, last week I got an ingenious idea. I labeled the milk "Spinach-Flavored."
No more thievery, although I am fairly certain no one here gets my sense of humor.
So, Oregon: filled with milk-thieves, strip clubs and Nazi soccer coaches. But hey, at least we never have to pump our own gas.
*Portland actually has the highest number of strip clubs per capita anywhere in the country.