After a mind-numbing weekend of traveling involving over-packing, traffic the likes of which I have never seen before, and some incredibly pathetic 50 lb roller-bag dragging that induced more than a few sympathetic stares from passerby’s and several inquiries as to whether I was moving or fleeing the country or something along those lines, I really haven’t been able to work up the energy to do anything even remotely productive. The weekend at home was totally worth the polyester-bag-induced public bleeding and TSA line hold-up that I may or may not have contributed to/caused. Scrabble with the family, watching my cousin’s socially awkward cat try to figure out why my arthritic dog doesn’t respond to stimuli, and seriously overdosing on cranberry sauce. Yes. The next day I even made two attempts at Black Friday shopping even though most major department stores sort of make me want to shoot myself and smaller, local stores tend to completely ignore nationally recognized discount days. I think I can probably trace my recent Cosby sweater obsession back to that fateful day (by the way-I promise I’ll put a significant effort into making sure that the next post is free of overly-patterned sweaters, but no promises). I also added a graphic tee, flannel shirt, and vaguely acid washed denim shorts to my repertoire, though, so I guess I’m not entirely hopeless when it comes to allowing knitwear to slowly take over…everything. But even more significant than my affinity for sweaters in any variation was my rediscovery of just how wonderful beards in Portland are. Facial hair down here is sporadic at best and usually uncomfortably manscaped but dudes in Portland really commit to the whole mountain-man look in a way that makes me incredibly confused about whether I should stare with pre-teen-like obviousness or run-away, screaming amber-alert. Usually I stare.