Christmas with Dumbass - PortlandBarFly.com
By Cortney Starr
Let me take a moment to set the scene for you. I had been dating a boy who lived on the East Coast, but fell for another boy who lived in Portland. Said Portland boy then decided it would be a really fantastic idea to go home with another woman he met at a bar that he and I were hanging out at, leaving my drunken ass to sleep in his bed, alone.
Heartbroken, I drove across the country and straight into the arms of East Coast boy. Unfortunately, East Coast boy really enjoyed sticking needles in his East Coast arms, and after three hellish weeks, I came back to Portland, dejected.
It was the middle of December 2002. I did the smartest thing I could think of: I hooked up with Portland boy's roommate, a sure-fire winner who had moved to Portland from some hick town with no money, no education and no job prospects. When Portland boy kicked his roommate, heretofore known as "the Dumbass," out into the streets, he came to stay with me.
I was staying at my parents' house, and, as they do every Christmas in the spirit of family togetherness, they went to Europe. Just the two of them. My sister spent the holiday with her in-laws. I spent the holiday with the Dumbass.
The Dumbass was one of a long line of men who looked at me and saw dollar signs. The Dumbass and I went out every night, and somehow I ended up paying for everything. He mostly moaned about how unemployable he was, not understanding that to get a job, you generally have to look for and apply for one. He preferred listening to terrible emo music, very loudly, and whining about how mean I was because I bought him PBR rather then Mirror Pond.
Christmas day, the Dumbass and I were bored out of our skulls and decided to walk around downtown. We strolled down Burnside, marveling at how quiet and peaceful the city seemed. Then we walked under the Burnside Bridge, and I saw the most depressing sight I have ever seen. A homeless woman was shooting up under the bridge. In plain sight of all the other bums, cops and whoever else happened to walk by. On Christmas Day.
When I go through low points in my life, I often try to think about the people who have it worse then I do: Victims of genocide in Sudan; AIDS victims in Kenya or Russia; Iraqi citizens who have lost their homes and families. But no one stands out in my mind quite like that woman.
The Dumbass eventually went back to his small town with his tail between his legs, but not before siphoning more money from me and nailing a Suicide Girl on my parents' new leather sofa. As for me, I started saving, and the next year, I went to Europe for Christmas with my parents.
Let me take a moment to set the scene for you. I had been dating a boy who lived on the East Coast, but fell for another boy who lived in Portland. Said Portland boy then decided it would be a really fantastic idea to go home with another woman he met at a bar that he and I were hanging out at, leaving my drunken ass to sleep in his bed, alone.
Heartbroken, I drove across the country and straight into the arms of East Coast boy. Unfortunately, East Coast boy really enjoyed sticking needles in his East Coast arms, and after three hellish weeks, I came back to Portland, dejected.
It was the middle of December 2002. I did the smartest thing I could think of: I hooked up with Portland boy's roommate, a sure-fire winner who had moved to Portland from some hick town with no money, no education and no job prospects. When Portland boy kicked his roommate, heretofore known as "the Dumbass," out into the streets, he came to stay with me.
I was staying at my parents' house, and, as they do every Christmas in the spirit of family togetherness, they went to Europe. Just the two of them. My sister spent the holiday with her in-laws. I spent the holiday with the Dumbass.
The Dumbass was one of a long line of men who looked at me and saw dollar signs. The Dumbass and I went out every night, and somehow I ended up paying for everything. He mostly moaned about how unemployable he was, not understanding that to get a job, you generally have to look for and apply for one. He preferred listening to terrible emo music, very loudly, and whining about how mean I was because I bought him PBR rather then Mirror Pond.
Christmas day, the Dumbass and I were bored out of our skulls and decided to walk around downtown. We strolled down Burnside, marveling at how quiet and peaceful the city seemed. Then we walked under the Burnside Bridge, and I saw the most depressing sight I have ever seen. A homeless woman was shooting up under the bridge. In plain sight of all the other bums, cops and whoever else happened to walk by. On Christmas Day.
When I go through low points in my life, I often try to think about the people who have it worse then I do: Victims of genocide in Sudan; AIDS victims in Kenya or Russia; Iraqi citizens who have lost their homes and families. But no one stands out in my mind quite like that woman.
The Dumbass eventually went back to his small town with his tail between his legs, but not before siphoning more money from me and nailing a Suicide Girl on my parents' new leather sofa. As for me, I started saving, and the next year, I went to Europe for Christmas with my parents.
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