Thursday, November 27, 2003

Let us give thanks... 

What am I thankful for? Always a good question, but never more so than when the year has been a topsy-turvy one:

1) My family - it's been a tough year for us and they've certainly driven me crazy more than once, but they are, for the most part, good people with good intentions and I love them dearly.

2) My friends - if I was ever idiot enough to doubt their specialness, their unwavering support through a tough year has opened my eyes. I love every one of them dearly as well.

3) My pets - occasionally four cats are a handful, but they're great pets and I'm so happy I have them.

4) My health - I've got a few tweaks in the health arena (sinuses, joints, neck), but I'm still hale and hearty and able to help friends move sofas (which I did on Monday - my forearms are still a little sore).

5) The internet - a scary thing to some, it's brought me nothing but happiness. Because I've actually met some fantastic people thanks to the internet. One of my dearest friends was met through the her first website and, though she's half a world away, she will always be very important to me. The internet is also what created a friend out of Christopher. It's enabling me to have a terrifically shameless flirtation with LiterateLawyerGuy, which is going well (we have plans to get together sometime next week).

And it brought CuteNerdBoy back into my life twice, this last time more intensely and wonderfully than before. My emotions may have been all over the place in regards to him, but I'm glad he's in my life. Thanks to the internet.

6) My job - true, I'm not crazy about it, it pays crap and sometimes I want to stand on a desk and scream, but I have one. That's more than can be said for so many people. So I'm thankful for that. And through it I've met even more fantastic people. And I'm off from yesterday through Friday, plus the weekend. Five days of no work. Always a good thing.

And last, but by no means least:

7) Life - it really is a precious gift, to be appreciated and savored. No matter how shitty it can get, with work and luck and terrific people with whom to share the journey, it can also be incredible. I am beyond thankful for my life and for the lives of those I care about.

So, to all of my American readers (all five of you, I think) - a very Happy Thanksgiving. I'll be spending it with my family and one of my friends (WestHollywoodBoy). I hope you spend it with those that are special to you.

(I'd say Happy Turkey Day, but, well, vegetarian and all. So than I'd say Happy Tofurkey day, but I've had it - it's pretty nasty stuff. Though the gravy and stuffing were yummy.)

And for my international readers (I know of at least three), just have a fabulous late-November day. It's beautiful and sunny in L.A. - may you have the weather of your dreams.


Tuesday, November 25, 2003


...I'm twelve years old.

I didn't know this until it was pointed out to me. I mean, I have personal memories of Nixon's resignation and the Bicentennial and the attempted assassinations of Reagan and the Pope. I'm pretty sure twelve year olds don't possess such memories.

But - and this was a while ago - I went to lunch with a friend at a sandwich place, ordered my usual veggie sandwich on French roll and bag o' chips. We sat down and I prepared my sandwich in my accustomed manner: lift top piece of bread, place enough potato chips on open sandwich to cover veggies, close sandwich, eat. Add chips as needed. Other sorts of chips will do, but potato chips are the best for sandwich insertion. They're light and crispy and will crunch in a most satisfying manner with little work on my part (corn and tortilla chips require more effort in the biting department).

My friend looked at me, bemused. "I used to like to put chips on my sandwich. When I was twelve."

My eyes widened incredulously. "Oh, but a sandwich like this isn't complete without chips. You've got to have the crunch."

She just shook her head and we continued with other conversations without incident. But it did get me to remembering my other childhood foods. I wondered why they never made it to adulthood. After thinking about the taste sensations, I stopped wondering.

Some of them I still resurrect every once in a while. Toast with melted butter and cinnamon sugar. Cottage cheese with tomatoes. Baked potatoes smothered in corn, butter and garlic salt. Okay, that last one I have about once a month.

But others? Are foods only a child would love.

Remember how Laverne on Laverne and Shirley swore by milk and Pepsi? I tried it and loved it. It tasted like root beer, except creamier. Anything that tasted creamy and root-beer-like was a-ok by me.

I loved to put things on bread. White bread, of course, but rarely Wonder Bread. Wonder Bread was a little too expensive for my military-salaried father. Unfortunately a couple of the spreads were truly questionable. You'd think margarine and sugar wouldn't be a big deal, right? My method - pile on enough margarine so that teeth marks can be seen when bitten into, sprinkle lots of sugar, eat. Today I cringe at that.

But not as much as my favorite. I warn you, this is not for the weak of stomach. Take two pieces of white bread. Cover thickly with Miracle Whip. Liberally douse with granulated sugar. Eat. Wash down with milk or root beer (or milk and Pepsi).

I loved the contrast of tangy, creamy and sweet, the soft, soft bread and, of course, the crunch of the sugar.

It always comes back to the crunch. Which is why I will always probably be twelve at heart.

No one takes away my potato chip/veggie sandwich.

Monday, November 24, 2003

NaNoWriMo Update... 

Installment Five of Stale Steele is up for your reading pleasure. The "plot" thickens.

For those of you familiar with L.A., I'm aware that Toluca Lake is not a "solidly middle class neighborhood", but is instead rather upper middle class or lower upper class. I'll change the neighborhood when I get to work, since my home computer will not allow me to log onto that 'blog. No, I have no idea why. So imagine instead that Alaina is in Northridge or Chatsworth or Canoga Park. There are one or two other changes I want to make - nothing earth-shattering.


It is one p.m. and still it sits, untouched, in the same place as this morning. Low, dark and round, squatly monolithic, it is evident that a great deal of care has gone into its creation. A solitary spire sticks straight up in the air, an obvious afterthought that nonetheless adds to its importance. Nearby rests a sharp implement, deadly in its intent, ready to inflict extreme damage in the right hands. The hands need not even be skilled should they wish to whittle it away. A few cuts and it would be gone forever.

As my gaze falls upon it once again, two questions roll through my mind: why on earth is a chocolate-frosted cake with a candle in it on the kitchen table at work and why has no one touched it?

Questions to ponder throughout the ages.

Obvious observations... 

1) I picked up one of those monthly Star Scrolls at 7-11 today. It was for the month of December. The first two sentences? "One could say this past year has been expensive. You have paid out a lot - financially, emotionally and with hard work." Another sentence read, "Meanwhile you also weathered relationship storms whipped up by guilt, blame or responsibility that, in fact, didn't belong to you." And the kicker, the one that really struck home for me: "Perhaps the toughest lesson this year was discovering that you can't simply put things back and have conditions as they were before."

Yep, it's all so very true, considering the dynamic of my family has changed forever. My first instinct was to be snarky, to say, "No shit, Sherlock." But that accomplishes nothing. Besides which, it's a friggin' piece of paper. I don't think it's going to be effected by my snarky attitude.

2) The re-reading of several 'blog entries points to one unmistakable conclusion: I need to get laid. I don't want casual sex. I don't want a one night stand. But all this unfulfilled sexuality has got to go somewhere and right now it's seeping into the 'blog, much like...like...well, like something that seeps. A lot.

I've just got to be more creative with my entries. Try to come up with something that doesn't devolve into thoughts of sweaty bodies and pulsing rhythms and hot mouths and...

A-hem. Yeah. Excuse me, but I think it's cold shower time.

Sunday, November 23, 2003

Saturday night... 

...and day...

Saturday was one of those days that was chock full of busy. But busy in a good, fun way. I woke later than I anticipated, due to my desperate need for sleep, puttered around the house a little and played with my brand new vacuum cleaner. My old one broke a number of months ago and I'd either been borrowing friends' vacuums or using a broom and/or pet hair sponge. So to have this pretty new one, with a HEPA filter and in a lovely blue which matched my decor (a happy accident), made me pleased as punch. And it works well, too! For only sixty bucks - I love you, Target!

Around noon or so I got a call from FFDWG(FKaSarah), asking about the Ikea in my area. She was looking for a dresser and didn't want to fight the southbound traffic to go to her usual one, so was I doing anything and did I want to tag along? I had planned on going to Target to stock up on some big heavy stuff, like cat little and cat food and the like, since I'll be giving up the rental car Monday morning now that the MTA strike is over. *sigh* I'll miss that car.

Since the Target and Ikea are close to each other, I said come on over! And she did, and we took the rental car, and it was good. Well, except that the dresser she wanted was out of stock, what with it being on sale and everything, which made both of us rather bummed for her. But still a good round of shopping for me. We went back to my place, she went home, but we knew we'd see each other later that night because we had tickets to a rave-like party in Canoga Park - more on that later.

As I entered my front door, Burger King bag in hand (their Whopper with cheese minus the meat is surprisingly yummy), I noticed the answering machine light flashing three times. I knew two of the messages were from Sarah that I had cut off, but I wondered who #3 might be. It was CuteNerdBoy, driving home from Vegas and wanting to say hi, then jokingly accusing me of being out partying again, you little tramp! I chuckled, then called him right back, since it seemed I had just missed his call.

"CuteNerdBoy, this is Carol. How dare you call me a little tramp?!" I laughed over the phone.

He returned my laugh. "What would you rather I call you - a trollop?"

"I was out shopping! Shopping! I was not partying! That's not until tonight."

I told him about the party, and the $10 tickets, which were very cheap for anything rave-like. Turns out he wanted to invite me to a SAG screening of The Missing that night. Though I really wanted to go, I demurred, citing previous commitments (both the party and a few hours at ModelGirl's place). My whirring little mind tried to find a way to fit it all in, because I hate to miss anything, but even it couldn't perform that feat. He realized that he couldn't expect someone as popular as myself to be available at such short notice, but he decided to try after all.

(Ah, what a lovely ego stroke that is. I'd love another. Yeah, that's me, popular with all my friends! *preen*)

We spoke for a little longer, and he wished me fun at my rave and behooved me to be careful. He then mentioned something about me bringing home a boy toy, to which I replied, "My place is too much of a mess right now - I'm not bringing anyone home tonight." Since I didn't have designs on hooking up with anyone, just dancing with a bunch of strangers, I was pretty much telling the truth.

Soon after I received a call from ModelGirl. We talked about meeting, but when I told her that the party was in the Valley and I had to be back home by a certain time to meet FFDWG(FKaSarah), she told me not to worry, she didn't want me to be driving all over the place and she was really tired anyway (she and her hubby live south of Hollywood). Instead we made plans to get together the day after Thanksgiving, like we used to do, but hadn't in a couple of years.

Well, lookee there! An opening in the schedule. I called CuteNerdBoy back. (And really, who amongst you didn't see that coming?) There were two screenings of The Missing, one at 6pm and one at 9pm. I couldn't do the 9pm, what with the party and all, but if I hurried I could meet him at the DGA for the 6pm screening. And so it was set. I quickly changed my clothes, as what I was wearing was intended for the party and I was just trying it on to see how it looked. What I wore instead was an outfit he'd seen me in a couple of times, but it was quick and clean and I knew I looked great in it. I was having an excellent hair day, so I didn't have to worry about that. The only thing? No time for make-up. I was make-up-less, as I often am unless I'm going out for an evening. What the hell, I thought, it's time he saw me sans make-up. All of my other friends have. I used a little powder and lip-gloss while waiting at lights, but otherwise my face was in all its naked glory.

(Yes, I know we're just friends and all, but I still can't help wanting to look nice for him. It's the girly-girl in me.)

So after making a couple of calls to FFDWG(FKaSarah) and CuteNerdBoy for logistics about the evening, I rushed over to the DGA, which is about 15 minutes away. I encountered traffic on Laurel Canyon Blvd and ended up making the movie with 15 seconds to spare. Except they didn't actually start the movie for another five minutes, but that was okay. CuteNerdBoy still made it there before me. He looked all cute and slightly scruffy, with his jeans and flannel shirt and a little stubble after the long drive from Vegas. Slightly scruffy is a good look for him. He has a young face, with its cute, nerdy look, and the scruffy roughens him up a little. And he didn't run away screaming at the sight of my au naturel face, so I guess I look okay without make-up after all.

And on to the movie. It was a good movie. I knew nothing about it except for the billboards around town. I could guess that it was a period picture, but I thought maybe it was from the 1930s. Nope, 1885. I will say that it is a definite advantage to not know about the movie you're about to watch. I didn't even know it was a Ron Howard film until I saw Clint Howard.

(Yes, I know he doesn't work only in his brother's films, but it's always a big indicator. Personally I like him a lot. Maybe it was his Star Trek stint.)

I really became invested in the story and the characters. Plus I've adored Cate Blanchett in pretty much everything I've ever seen her in. There may be rumors floating around that, on occasion, tears sprung to my eyes, to be surreptitiously wiped away, but I assure you that those are malicious and idle truths.

Unfortunately after the movie there was no time for us to chat, so we walked to our cars, catching up a little bit (luckily I happened to park next to his van - that's where an open space was), shared a quick but strong hug and off we went, him to get some dinner and me to meet FFDWG(FKaSarah).

(I have got to remember to let him know that his personal is doing a great job with him. Yes, I've been wanting to jump his bones since meeting up again in June [I think it started earlier with reading his e-mails, actually], but I noticed that he was a bit heavier than the last time I had seen him in '98. His work-outs are looking mighty nice on him, making my extreme self-control that much harder. I can do it, though. I've had a life-time of practice at self-control in that arena.

And maybe I need to get back to exercising myself. I've lost another five pounds, which is cool, but this tummy of mine is really annoying me. Whoops! Tangent, much?)

Once I got home I had just enough time to change, e-mail CuteNerdBoy to thank him for the invite and leave when FFDWG(FKaSarah) showed up. It was a PJ party, so she dressed in tap pants and chemise, with a few more layers to guard against the cold, including a wool robe. Me? I went the sexy route, of course, wearing a long black nightgown with lace insets that I bought a number of months ago (hoping it would see some CuteNerdBoy use *sigh*). It had spaghetti straps, was low-cut and the lace insets were such that, had I not been wearing undergarments (sexy ones, of course) the party participants would have seen much more of me than I would have preferred. I had kind of forgotten about that when I planned the outfit. And of course some sandals with heels that were high enough to be sexy but not high enough to be painful. At least not for a few hours. Over that I threw a warm thick robe. Still no make-up, but I knew it would probably be dark, so no one would be able to tell anyway.

Off to the party we went. FFDWG(FKaSarah) wrote about it in detail, so I won't go into the whole evening, but it was fun. For my part, I was very enthralled by the man dancing with the orb. He was cute and very graceful, with obvious dance training under his belt. Scary Danny was very icky and, since I had no desire to experiment with drugs or accept anything from anyone, especially someone so patently creepy, I can't say I felt bad about ignoring him. FFDWG(FKaSarah) was fascinated by the fire dancers on stage. I stayed nearer to the stage for my dancing, which was usually enthusiastic in the extreme (I'm a very good dancer and I totally get into the music - maybe I should have moved back with FFDWG(FKaSarah) for room to dance the way I really like to dance). There was an attractive African-American gentleman that had been checking me out, even looking directly into my eyes and saying hi to me as he walked by, but he never asked me to dance and I'm too chicken-shit to make the first move. All I wanted was to dance (no boy toys for me last night, as that's not what I really wanted), so it would have been fun, but that's cool too. The Moon Bounce was tons of fun and proved that my bra was a really good, very supportive one. Always a good thing in my book. I had been planning on having a couple of drinks once we got there, but didn't feel like it after all, so I was totally sober the whole time. And I got home around 3:30am, after a bit of food at a Denny's not far from the party, whereupon I fell into a deep restful sleep. Thank heavens I was already wearing sleepwear!

So yeah, lots of fun yesterday. I may do something like that party again. But next time I'll have to bring a boy to dance all sexy with.

Saturday, November 22, 2003

Not as innocent... 

...as I look. Though I'm not sure how innocent I look.

Since I'm a sucker for quizzes, I had to take The Ultimate Purity Test when I saw it on Beth's site. My results are:

Your Ultimate Purity Score Is...
CategoryYour Score Average
Explored the pleasures of the flesh
It takes a couple of drinks
Sex Drive 60.5%
A fool for love, but not always
Knows the other body type like a map
Gayness 94.6%
Repressed, are we?
Fucking Sick90.3%
Refreshingly normal
You are 64.45% pure
Average Score: 72.6%

I could stand to be a little less pure, but overall I'm happy with the results.

Friday, November 21, 2003

What you've all... 

...been waiting for: my review of Kill Bill, Vol. 1.

It's a beautifully done film. The cinematography, the direction, the visual and storytelling effects - simply fantastic. I love the soundtrack. The acting was exactly what was needed for such a film. Great stunts.

I can't really recommend it.

I know what it was going for, the whole "live-action anime" thing. Not having seen much anime, I can't say how well it succeeded on that front. It was definitely cartoonish in the extreme. I knew going in how bloody and violent it was (I read an article about the making of the movie in which Tarentino had run out of "blood" in one scene and someone had to get more somehow).

Knowing all this, it was still far too violent and one-dimensional for my tastes. I spent most of the movie cringing or slouching in my seat, watching it through splayed fingers. occasionally taking off my glasses so that the imagery would be severely blurred. I was able to sit through the whole film, because I've never bailed on a movie in a theater (even a free one) and I wasn't about to start with one that, despite its faults, was still well-done. But if it had been as gory as it was bloody, even I would have had to leave, like poor FDWG(FKaSarah).

I wil say that my favorite thing about the movie, besides the soundtrack, was Sonny Chiba. He is just beyond cool.

Will I watch Kill Bill: Vol. 2? As long as I don't have to pay for it.

The plan is in place... 

So yesterday FFDWG(FKaSarah) and I were talking, as we do pretty much everyday, what with us working together and all. I had just published my ranty entry and was telling her about it. She said that the entry must have, in some way, been inspired by the link that I posted the previous day and maybe I wanted to rule the world too? I had admit that it was a possibility, but that I was fine with Alli and PoolBoy becoming evil overlords as long as they were neat about it and I survived.

"Carol, it doesn't sound like they were going for the neat approach. You know, wholesale slaughtering and trodding over their enemies."

"They could still be neat about it."

She gave me an intensely puzzled look. "How?!"

It took only half a second of thought to come up with an answer. "Well, you know the people that are going to be left alive? The boat boys?"

"And the massage girls."

"Right. Well, those people could clean up after them and... Wait, too big a mess and not enough living people. Ooh, I know! The first wave they only kill half the people and enslave the rest, making them clean up, then kill the rest. Except the boat boys and massage girls, of course."

"But that's still too big a mess for two waves -- "

"No, it's not. Because they should do it in several waves, you know, sweep across the earth and just keep killing part of the victims, make the others clean up, kill them, then move onto the next section."

"Or maybe they could just keep one part of the area clean and not worry about the rest."

"The smell would carry."

"How about an island? Then they wouldn't have to think about cleaning up messes or the smell or -- "

"No! They can't leave a mess! It's just wrong! It's aesthetically displeasing. It's a workable plan, really it is. And you know, it kind of scares me that I came up with it so readily."

She laughed and walked away. She called out behind her, "You need to write this."

"Really? Okay."

It does scare me a little that such a plan sprung so easily from my twisted little mind. I like to think that I was just gearing up for watching our company's free screening of Kill Bill.

Yeah, that's it. I'm such a gentle little putty-tat that I had to prepare myself for the evening of carnage ahead of me.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Bustling, jostling thoughts... 

I was going to write a somewhat humorous entry, but there's too much else going on in my head. Too many thoughts bouncing around my mind tonight. Too many thoughts about boys. I swear boys will be my downfall. Too many boys to write about. Well, not too many, as three really aren't a whole heck of a lot. But three boys are more than I'm used to thinking about at once. So maybe I'll just hit the highlights, because, much like Lays (heh), I can't choose just one.

The trick now is to figure out who to start with. Why not he who has figured so prominently thus far? It feels as if CuteNerdBoy and I are really, truly working our friendship out. We've continued exchanging e-mails while he's been out of town this past week (mine incredibly rambling, as I can't seem to be brief to save my life), and I feel as if we're on firmer ground. The sadness is mostly gone, with the occasional twinge here and there. But that's normal, as I tend to take a little while to work through my emotions. As I predicted, I'll be okay. We'll be okay.

Next up? LiterateLawyerGuy. We chatted last night for a while, then switched to talking on the phone. Yep, we've already moved on to the phone. We spoke for 1 1/2 hours, about various subjects, he read some poetry to me (both original and poems by T.S. Eliot and Wilfred Owen) and we flirted shamelessly. It was fun, I really enjoyed it. We've decided that we want to continue with the chatting and the talking, maybe moving on to an actual date fairly soon. He's not always local, as the law firm he works for is based in San Diego and he splits his time between San Diego and Los Angeles, but I'm sure we'll get together soon enough. I have to say, the thought of dating someone that isn't within a 50 mile radius pulls me up short, but maybe it's time I tried something new.

Boy #3 is someone I shouldn't even be thinking about, or worrying about. He's in my past and will continue to be in my past. But what do you stumble upon some new information about him that maybe you didn't want to know? When you find out the man you once lived with, the man you once thought was the love of your life, who you loved more than life itself, the man that left you when you made it clear that the next step in the relationship was marriage and that you would accept nothing less - what do you do when you find out he's married? That somewhere over the last however many years it's been he found someone that he was more willing to marry, to share the rest of his life with, than you?

It's so weird. I'm not in love with him anymore. However, I learned so many valuable lessons from that relationship that I'll always be indebted to it, and to him.

But to know, without a doubt, that he's moved on, started a new life while I've felt stagnant for so many years, despite my best efforts, that it's only now that I'm starting to really feel like a truly desirable woman again, it strikes against me. I start to wonder what about me wasn't good enough for him. Or apparently any other man from 1997 to 2003. Yeah, that's how long it's been since my last romantic relationship.

Geez, self-pity much? Here I've been like Scarlett O'Hara lately, the boys flocking around (at least in the online world), and I'm saying, "Fiddle-dee-dee, oh woe is me." I'm just working it all out in my head again, trying to process this new information. Wondering where it's eventually going to be filed and why I'm letting it affect me.

It's affecting me enough that I can't even think of an ending for this entry. Well, ain't that a kicker? I'll just sleep on it and see where it sits tomorrow.

Thursday, November 20, 2003


People must be shot. It's that simple.

What people, you ask?

Public slobs. Those who are too good to clean up their own damn messes.

Look, I'm hardly the poster girl for neatness. My apartment is often a horrible mess, usually straightened or cleaned only when I'm expecting company (which is a good reason have people over fairly often). My past cars have generally had backseats covered with papers and bags and clothes. I frequently had to clear off the passenger seat whenever I had a passenger, the stuff formerly resting on the seat joining the growing pile in the back. My tiny work station has piles of papers everywhere and could use a good dose of organization (though part of it is there is a dearth of filing space, or any kind of space).

What I'm saying is I'm not the most uncluttered of gals. But when sharing a space I try to keep things neat and clean. I try to be always very cognizant of leaving things the way I found them (sometimes even better) when traipsing through shared apartments and houses and rooms, both at home and at the office. It's just plain common courtesy.

So when I go into the kitchen at work and find hot chocolate powder or spilled coffee or crumpled up paper towels strewn across the counter tops, it's all I can do to not charge through the office, screaming for the perpetrator's head, only to grab him (or her), fling her into the offending counter and force him to clean up the mess with their tongue and a toothbrush. Especially since I tend to clean up others' messes while cleaning up my own.

So yeah. Find 'em, line 'em up and shoot 'em. No, I don't think I'm being harsh at all. At least we'll weed the idiots out of the gene pool, hopefully before they can breed.

And that can only be good.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

It's a sickness... 

"You're addicted!" she shouted at me, her wavy reddish hair tumbling about her shoulders as she nearly guffawed.

I over-acted hurt, confusion, denial, though I laughingly agreed with her eventually. Thing is, she was absolutely right. I am addicted.

Addicted to my referral logs, wondering how many people have hit my site so far today, what odd search strings have sent them to my humble 'blog.

(Top two right now? "P*ris Hilt*n v*deo" - minus the asterisks - and "Pamie stee dating". Funny that.)

Addicted to my e-mail, wondering if the e-mails I've been expecting have shown up, or if any of my readers have e-mailed me or signed my guestbook.

Addicted to checking my comments, seeing if anyone has opinions about what I've written that day.

Addicted to reading and re-reading my own writing to make sure I conveyed the feelings, the thoughts I intended to convey and wondering what both strangers and friends would make of these public words.

I'm addicted to feedback, and I don't think there's a twelve step program for it.

Then again, I wasn't the only person playing at the computers at work until the late hours of the evening...


<Montgomery Burns>Excellent.</Montgomery Burns>
What? I'm too tired for original content tonight. They're much funnier. Besides, I have to save my witticisms for chatting and flirting shamelessly with literate lawyer boys.

Tuesday, November 18, 2003

Evil, I tell you... 

...simply Evil.

Like all red-blooded straight women (at least those with any shred of sanity), I'm totally in lust with Hugh Jackman. Not only is he very yummy eye candy, he's a very talented fellow (and his brooding ability in the X-Men movies makes David Boreanaz's Angel look like a pouty little boy).

So imagine my mixture of delight and dismay when I learned that he's in a Great Performance's production of Oklahoma!. Hugh Jackman as Curly, singing and dancing and being all manly (no, that's not mutually exclusive). A truly thrilling thought for a musical theatre geek like me.


It's Oklahoma! It's Rodgers and Hammerstein. With the exception of a few songs, I cannot stand Rodgers and Hammerstein. Sacrilege, I know, but they usually bore me to tears.

(Don't even get me started on the awfulness that is Carousel.)

And yet, I have no doubt I will watch it. Because I'm dying to see that lovely Hugh display many of his talents.

Therefore, Hugh Jackman? Is Evil.

Damn his sexy eyes.


Yea Massachusetts, go Massachusetts , it's your birthday, yeah momma!

Not surprisingly, I like John Scalzi's comments on the ruling. The boy's got some brains!

Mmmm, brains... *drool*

And now... 

...the sadness sets in.

It started Sunday night and, with the exception of a few bright spots here and there, I've been finding myself really sad about what's been happening in regards to CuteNerdBoy.

(I swear, one of these days I'll stop posting about him. Honest. I'll find someone else to post about endlessly.)

We're still friends. That hasn't changed. I have no doubt that our friendship (which, to be perfectly honest, is actually still rather new), will mature into an even more incredible friendship as time goes by. I actually look forward to that process.

I know that as the days pass and emotions settle, I'll move past this sorrow that pulls down on my heart. It's just all still a little fresh.

I suppose the melancholy is inevitable. I've allowed my emotions for him deepen, perhaps too quickly. I had a certain outcome set in mind these last four or five months. I knew what I wanted, who I wanted, and let his own mixed feelings and signals fuel my vivid fantasies, no matter how grounded I tried to be.

Now I'm having to stop, re-evaluate the feelings and the facts that are roiling in me. It's hard to change gears, especially for someone like me. Someone who knows that change is inevitable, having grown up in a constant state of flux, but unwittingly resists it. Especially when my emotions are involved.

That shift makes me sad.

Oddly enough, there's a new development that, while it has proven to be one of those bright spots I mentioned at the beginning, is also exacerbating my sense of loss.

I previously wrote that I've been having an e-mail exchange with a fascinating gentleman that I met through Match.com. We've since chatted online a few times and I'm finding him thoroughly delightful. He makes me smile and laugh and even blush. We've yet to speak on the phone or in person, but so far I'm enjoying our exchanges immensely. We have another chat date tonight.

In addition, I've since received lovely e-mails from a couple of other gentlemen that seem interesting. The dating life could be looking up.

How does that exacerbate my sorrow about what's happening with CuteNerdBoy? Well, you see that door in the corner? The one to a hopeful, beautiful romantic relationship with him, the one that he had closed for the time being, but was perhaps still open just a little bit? With other men entering the picture, it feels as if the CuteNerdBoy Relationship Door is shutting completely. It's shutting and might be locked, then nailed close.

That hurts. That makes me very sad.

Look, I'll be okay. We'll be okay. As I've said way too many times before, he means enough to me as a person that I value him too much to let him leave my life completely. Aside from what is going on with him in his own self, he's just a fabulous guy. I like to have fabulous people in my world. It's one of the things that make me happiest. Like root beer and peanut butter.

CuteNerdBoy can no longer be my oxygen. He must now be my peanut butter. And it's time for laughter and flirtation to lighten my heavy heart again.

Monday, November 17, 2003

Deep impression... 

I first saw him when I was young, perhaps too young to really know what, who I was seeing. He stood tall, commanding, his deep English-accented voice rumbling through the room, reaching through to me as I cowered behind my mother, hoping that this 5'2" woman in front of me could protect me from the menace in his dark, penetrating eyes.

Despite my fear I watched him in fascination, mesmerized by his authority, by his elegantly cut clothes, perhaps even by a certain smouldering sensuality that lie barely hidden beneath the veneer of civility he wore as a cloak. At such an youthful age I had no knowledge of sensuality, but I knew that this man with the thick black hair and the deep-set eyes before me was very different than any I had seen in my short five years upon this earth. He was new, exotic, compelling to the suburban, Midwestern-parented child that I was.

When at last he pounced I screamed, darted even further behind my mother, but I could not take my eyes off him, off his power, though I soon realized that perhaps even my mother and her recliner could not save me from the whippet-fast creature flickering on the late-night TV screen.

Christopher Lee as the title chracter in The Horror of Dracula. Is it any wonder I fell in love with vampire lore and tall, dark Englishmen?

Sunday, November 16, 2003

It's okay... 

...to like uncool music. DragonAttack says so. Now I don't feel bad about my own love for Take On Me. Or Weekend in New England.

(You, over by the fence. Stop your snickering. That song means a lot to me.)

Thank you, DragonAttack!

Angry and bitter... 

...table for two.

It's always so interesting going back to read my posts the day (or the week or the month) after I write them. Even with carefully chosen words the emotion comes through loud and clear.

Which is perfectly okay. After all, that's how I was feeling yesterday and it would be dishonest of me to pretend otherwise. Especially since I'm one of those people who believes it's best to own up to my "negative" emotions, at least to myself if no one else, to allow myself to feel them fully in order to purge them and move past them. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

This time I think it pretty much worked. I'm feeling much better today. Oh, I'm not saying there aren't traces of anger and bitterness still circling around my heart. Of course there are. It'll be a little while before they disappear completely.

But it's a beautiful sunny day out today, which is welcome after all the rain L.A. received yesterday. I'm about to go off to work (which isn't so great, but I don't mind it too much) and CuteNerdBoy apologized for coming off so harsh, as he didn't mean to be. And for once in my life I didn't respond back, "Oh, it's okay." Because it wasn't. As I told him, I'm finally learning that I don't have to be agreeable all the time, that being so would be dishonest and wouldn't be fair to either one of us. But I told him that I did appreciate his honesty, even if it was a bit brickish. And I appreciated his e-mail.

I can't say we're back to Square One, because we're very much not. Our friendship has taken a new step down this strange road we're travelling, with the way maybe a bit clearer on my side.

Much as I didn't like it, and still don't, and I'm not entirely sure it was needed, maybe the brick finally dislodged a few firmly planted ideas. That's not necessarily a bad thing.

On to the future. And a new table.

Saturday, November 15, 2003


I can't believe I forgot a rather disturbing part of last evening's festivities: a viewing of the infamous infrared H*lton p*rn v*deo.

There's not enough "Eeeewww!!!!" in the world.

I say having seen some of the Pamela Anderson/Tommy Lee video back in the day (oddly enough, at a birthday party thrown in RockerChick's honor). That was actually kinda, sorta sweet, in a weird way, what with them being in love and all.

The H*lton vid*o? Chaos demons are more cuddly. And the infrared made their eyes frighteningly glowy. I swear they were possessed.

I have no idea which sister it was. And I can't seem to find the energy to care.

Update: Accidentally found out it was P*ris Hilt*n. Still lacking the energy to care.

Updated update - 11/18/03: Asterisks added because, while I'm happy my traffic has gone up, the referrer logs tell me it's because I mentioned the you-know-what, which is popping up in searches. I'm hardly a prude, and at first I was amused, but now it's just skeeving me out for some reason. Sorry to disappoint - no s*x v*deo here!

At least it's not like one search referral I received a few weeks ago: l*ttle g*rl p*ssies (with no asterisks - that's what happens when you call your co-workers "p*ssies" for not dressing up for Halloween).

That's just unbelievably sick.


Okay, I get it.

I finally get it.

Yesterday, in response to something CuteNerdBoy e-mailed to me a couple of days ago, I e-mailed something in return that essentially said, "Dude, don't let your issues cause you to miss out on something that could be great." What the hell, I decided to get bold for once in my life, to grow some cajones.

Turns out I had somewhat misunderstood something he had written. The upshot of his response today? "Thanks for being honest, but hear me now and hear me later - we're Friends. Terrific Friends, but Friends. Accept it."

Oh, he used some nicer words, talked about our friendship mellowing with age and enjoying what we have and making no promises. He was a little gentler than the words above (though not by much), but that was pretty much the gist of that portion of the e-mail.

Fine. I get it. He can put down the damn brick. And I hope he doesn't mind giving me back that chunk of heart, because I'm hoping to use it later.

I guess my cajones must have shrunk a little after reading that, because in my return e-mail (in which I said, okay, we're fabulous friends with a lifetime of wonderful friendship ahead - I can deal - moving on now) I should have told him to stop with the fucking mixed messages already. Then again I admit that I'm very much enjoying the physical portion of said mixed messages, with the hugs and little kisses. I have no problem with that continuing. It's not like I'm getting it from anyone else of the male persuasion these days.


It's a good thing then that I'm back on Match.com again. There is another gentleman with whom I've recently started a correspondence (the previous guy has dropped off the face of the earth - oh, there's something you don't see everyday - unless you're me). He's funny and flirtatious, resourceful and literate and cute, with many intellectual references that I barely understand, challenging me to think on my feet. But he manages such references in a manner that comes across as charming rather than pretentious. We're both geeks with a love of theater. And he really likes my writing. All very good things in my book. *shrug* We'll see what happens

Now that CuteNerdBoy has let me know the lay of the land in no uncertain terms, I can stop letting myself be distracted by his presence and truly cast my eyes elsewhere.

I guess sometimes a girl needs a good kick in the ass.

Musical Interlude... 

Go ahead, push your luck
Find out how much love the world can hold
Once upon a time I had control
And reined my soul in tight

Well the whole truth
Is like the story of a wave unfurled
But I held the evil of the world
So I stopped the tide
Froze it up from inside

And it felt like a winter machine
That you go through and then
You catch your breath and winter starts again
And everyone else is spring bound

And when I chose to live
There was no joy, it's just a line I crossed
It wasn't worth the pain my death would cost
So I was not lost or found

And if I was to sleep
I knew my family had more truth to tell
And so I traveled down a whispering well
To know myself through them

Growing up, my mom had a room full of books
And hid away in there
Her father raging down a spiral stair
Till he found someone
Most days his son

And sometimes I think
My father, too, was a refugee
I know they tried to keep their pain from me
They could not see what it was for

But now I'm sleeping fine
Sometimes the truth is like a second chance
I am the daughter of a great romance
And they are the children of the war

Well the sun rose with so many colors
It nearly broke my heart
And worked me over like a work of art
And I was a part of all that

So go ahead, push your luck
Say what it is you've got to say to me
We will push on into that mystery
And it'll push right back
And there are worse things than that

'Cause for every price
And every penance that I could think of
It's better to have fallen in love
Than never to have fallen at all

'Cause when you live in a world
Well it gets in to who you thought you'd be
And now I laugh at how the world changed me
I think life chose me after all

After All by Dar Williams (from Green World)

Lovely song. I can find no other words except "lovely song". It speaks to me. Sometimes, most times, that's all you can ask from music.

Once upon a time I was very withdrawn, from the world, from my family. I held the reins on my emotions very tightly, terrified to again feel the pain and confusion that several childhood events, including the death of my older sister, had carved into my soul.

Somewhere along the line I learned to let go of most of that tight control, to allow myself to experience as much of the world as I could handle. There's still a fair amount that scares me, I admit, and I'm working on pushing that fear out of my life, to stride out into the world with more confidence, more boldness. Despite some terrible blows to my heart over the last few years, I'm embracing the emotions that I stuffed into a little hamper in my youth. True, having my once repressed feelings so close to the surface so often can be painful sometimes, making me want to chuck it all and become a hermit. But I've been there before. It wasn't pleasant at all. I cannot turn back, because those so-close-to-the-surface emotions can also be wonderful.

Though I often get angry and frustrated and sad at things that are going on in my life and the lives of those I love and care about, I'm still very happy that "life chose me after all."

I rather like Dar Williams.


Girls' Night... 

I hung out with RockerChick tonight. Um, I mean, last night. Very fun. Originally she was going to have a few friends over on Saturday, but she ended up having too crazy a week to want to deal with too many people, opting instead to spend Saturday night alone with her hubby, UPSGuy. However, since UPSGuy works Friday nights, we decided to hang out and have a nice low-key girls' night. And for the most part it was low-key.

We had dinner, flirted with the waiter (my, what nice arms and calves he had!), talked about her work situation and CuteNerdBoy and me. Back at her place I had half a raspberry ale while she drank two Seven and Sevens and we played some Addams' Family pinball (she and her hubby have a very cool refurbished pinball machine). She trounced me soundly, getting the second highest score on the machine, which meant that she had to call UPSGuy to let him know. Unfortunately he was less than impressed at that moment because he was on the phone with someone else. We continued to play, coining new words for the machine when I lost ball after ball. Our favorite? Fucker Monkey. I came up with that when the ball was particularly evil (it was an off-shoot of a favorite of hers and her hubby's - fucker whore; later she came up with fucker hole - we were rather foul mouthed tonight and having lots of fun with it).

A couple of times I'd lose the ball, growl, "Fuck you," at the machine, then pretend to hump it in displeasure. It shocked RockerChick a little, but only because it turns out her hubby does the same thing. Must be a Taurean deal. To be honest, I think that's the only time I've ever done something like that.

Later while I was taking her bonus turns UPSGuy called back and was finally properly impressed at her pinball wizardry. As she was telling him of my machine humpage I lost a ball, leaned the machine and told her to tell him I was now resting my breasts on the glass. Of course she couldn't leave well enough alone, embellishing it by saying I was nippling the glass. I stood straight up, giggled, then asked, "Do you want me to?"


I walked around a bit, giggling and tee-heeing, wondering if she were joking, and asking several times if she were serious. She said yes, though I honestly didn't think she was. I decided to do it anyway. I unlaced my black peasant tank top, and she looked over.

"Oh my G-d, she's going to do it! Her shirt's unlaced!"

I turned around, my back to RockerChick, pulled my breasts out of the demi-cup satin flowered bra and very quickly pressed my bare nipples against the cold glass. In seconds the girls were back under cover of bra and top and I turned around and smiled.

RockerChick laughed. "She did it. The glass has been nippled. And she's got some big breasts." (She once christened my cleavage the "Grand Canyon". That was when my breasts were smaller than they are now.)

Soon afterwards they hung up. She said to me, "You know, he's going to check it as soon as he gets home." I giggled again.

I'm sure this is the portion of the post where the male readers are hoping for some hot girl-on-girl action. Sorry to disappoint, but, aside from talking about sex, flashing my ta-tas at a pinball machine is about as racy as it gets. RockerChick didn't even see anything. Considering I've never flashed anything before, or anyone I wasn't having sex with, that's still going kind of far for me. Especially since I wasn't close to being tipsy.

Nope, the rest of the evening was spent with more talking about family and CuteNerdBoy and work and sex, more music, and playing with her kitty cats. Then I took my leave of her, drove home, checked my e-mail, read a few erotic stories because talking about sex made me realize again how much I miss having it, even though I'm not interested in casual sex at this point in my life. Well, there is one fellow that might persuade me, and I think I could keep it casual as long as I know that's what it is, but other than that, I'm not so much into the un-relationship sex. As I've said, been there, done that, shrunk the t-shirt.

And now I must needs sleep, perchance to dream. Dream about strong hands and warm brown eyes and hot mouths and...

Well, whatever else my horny little barely-subconscious will dredge up.

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Reading does a mind good... 

* ...as does contributing to literacy projects. John Scalzi has started a fund drive for Reading Is Fundamental. Those who donate get access to three spanking new Scalzi stories during the month of December. John is a fabulous writer, and the man who, unbeknownst to him, sparked my interest in online journals and, by extension, 'blogging, one could make the argument that it's all his fault I'm 'blogging maniac.

So go over there and contribute. It's a good thing.

* Pamie had a link in her blog (that I'm choosing to take as a heavily veiled shout-out to me, because, again, I have an ego the size of Canada - and she did write the words "hit slut", which is what she called me in the inscription in her book).

It looks like a pretty interesting idea. I'll explore the site further this weekend when I have a little time.


I had been having a kind of down day today. Thoughts kept crossing my mind that I had been trying to kick away. There are issues with my mother that have been weighing on me.

I'd also been considering that, with my focus on CuteNerdBoy over the past number of months, I'd missed out on a possibility with a gentleman who is now enjoying a lively exchange with a dear friend. I'm very happy that things are going well for them, considering that I introduced them and I think they're both being very cute. It amuses me, as well as, well, making me happy for them. But today the niggling thought that, had I not been concentrating on that sweet, lovely, yet frustrating young man with the glasses and wit and issues, that might have been my lively exchange - that nagging thought kept coming back around to burrow in the wrinkles of my mind.

In addition, there were a few e-mails that I had been expecting that weren't materializing, a couple of which were from fellas that had flocked around me via Match.com over the weekend to whom I had responded in a positive fashion. Not receiving the e-mails made me pout. As I have a rather wide mouth, with a somewhat over-full bottom lip, me pouting can prove dangerous for those around me.

(I received a fair number of e-mails and winks this past weekend - talk about your ego strokes. And some of the boys were both cute and articulate.)

All hoped-for e-mails surfaced today, right around the same time, and I admit each and every one cheered me up and made me think. I love to be cheered up and I love to be made to think, even with this stupid headache I've had all day.

There's got to be a way to stop living in my head as often as I do. True, there are benefits - writers have to live in their heads to a certain extent.

But it can also be rather detrimental to my moods if I'm not careful.

Stupid head.

Unbe-fucking-lievably wrong... 

If this is true, I may very well boycott LotR: Return of the King. One of the main reasons I watched LotR:Fellowship of the Ring was the presence of Christopher Lee (in addition to Ian McKellen).

Heads will roll, this I promise.

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Story time... 

They stood on the shelf, all lined up in an odd little row. Well, as lined up as they could be. Some were straight, others bent in the center and seventeen had tips that were practically frayed with over-use.

And the colors… A pale pine color served as the base for a palette of faded tints of green and red and orange, amongst others. Those with unfrayed points displayed every shade of every color of the rainbow, the halogen lights shining on the acrylic case infusing the fifty objects on display with a peculiar richness and beauty.

At this thought I turned to my host, looked at the strange glint in his huge gray eyes, the unsettling proud smile on his narrow face, then took a quick glance of the bizarre collection, the used toothpicks on parade.

“What are you, fucking nuts?” I asked, running out of the dingy little studio apartment near Santa Monica and Highland as fast as I could, praying he wouldn’t follow me. He didn’t.

Never again would I answer personals from the back of the free weekly.


It may not have been meant as a challenge, but I took it as one. Thanks, Christopher!



I stop by here pretty much everyday to write something. I'll admit part of it is due to obligation. I know that I have several regular readers, all wonderfully loyal, and sometimes I think that if I don't have at least a little entry everyday - if not several - then I'm letting them, letting you down. For whatever reason you've decided that my writing is entertaining enough to keep coming back.

For that, I thank you. From both the heart of my bottom and the bottom of my heart.

If on one level it's an obligation, it is one I embrace whole-heartedly. I'm finding a joy in writing that I haven't had for a very long time. Whenever I'm happy or sad or pissed (or all three at once, as happens occasionally), I know I can find a way to write about my days or my nights that won't seem too self-indulgent. And it makes me feel happier or better or less angry. Writing here, for myself, for you, has made me a better writer. It started with the writing group that FFDWG(FKaSarah) invited me to over a year and half ago and has continued with time buried in books, causing that long dormant writer in me to spring forth.

(For the first time ever I feel that I can call myself a writer and not seem pretentious. It feels honest. It feels right.)

That long dormant writer isn't quite Athena, fully formed, though she does originate from the forehead area. And the heart area. Maybe she's Athena's younger sister, Skipper, still developing her powers but full of wonder at and love for everyone.

Especially y'all. She just adores you guys. She, and I, thank you for helping her to break out of her long self-imposed imprisonment. We're both discovering that life is so much more enjoyable when she's out and about in the world.

She, and I, also thank CuteNerdBoy. (Yep, back to him. You, in the corner - stop rolling your eyes. You're gonna sprain an eyeball that way.) From the very beginning he's been quite encouraging. That encouragement has opened my eyes. As a result I find that a lot of the time I want to write about him. Since we had a BookCrossing meeting tonight, this entry is no exception.

But then I wonder, what's going through your minds? In the end I have to write for myself, of course, but like other online journallers and 'bloggers, there is always the audience to consider.

(I'm certainly not the first person to ponder this question. I'm definitely not going to be the last one.)

Do you tire of the same cast of characters, of CuteNerdBoy popping up so often? And do y'all really want to read the rundown of another evening of coffee and talking about books, the stupid twinges creeping over my shoulder again, to be soundly smacked back? About dinner and the usual book/movie/music talks deepening into conversations about family and moral dilemmas and the like? Descriptions of hugs and the now all-too-familiar conflict in my heart, wanting more from him but knowing that there's nothing else I can do, short of doing something that might appear to disrepect his own feelings, which I certainly don't want to do?

We shared more of ourselves in our talks tonight. We opened ourselves up just a bit more. I'm always so afraid of delving into painful subjects. Not for myself so much, because I'm positive that anything I tell him will be treated with the utmost compassion and respect.

I'm reluctant to question him. It's not because I don't want to know. I do. I want to know anything and everything he feels comfortable telling me. Details will never be shared with others, of course, because it's no one else's business. I value his friendship and his confidence in my friendship.

My hesitance to ask him questions stems from 1) a terror of seeming to pry out of purient curiosity and 2) a reluctance to dredge up memories that would cause him pain. Still, isn't that something that develops in true friendships? Sharing of joy and pain in equal measures in order to lighten the load? To know that, whatever happens, there's at least another person (or two or three or ten) that is ready to pitch in and help out?

I like to think so. Apparently so does CuteNerdBoy. As we parted from our good-night hug (again so hard for me to disengage from his arms), he smiled at me, said "Good talk tonight," and gave me another of his patented slightly-lingering peck-kisses.

(My pithy response? "Me too." Don't think I didn't mentally kick myself for that one. My brain picks the most inopportune times to stop working.)

I did it again. Another description of another evening. At this point is it exhausting to read? Is it boring? Are y'all yelling at the monitor that single-celled life forms at the bottom of the Black Sea are aware of my feelings for CuteNerdBoy and it's time to find another damn subject already?

At what point does enough become more than enough?

I guess that's the question I come up against when writing here.

Ultimately this 'blog is for me. Pure and simple. But it's also for you. For all of you currently reading as each post magically appears. For all of you who may stumble upon my words in the future.

I don't think I've lost any of my regular readers due to my ramblings involving the same person over and over and over. Not that I know of. There may not be many of you, but you guys (youse guys?) have been fantastically supportive in your e-mails. For better or worse, that makes me want to write even more.

Believe it or not, I'm not looking for reassurance or answers. Or anything, really. I don't even know where I'm going with this post tonight. Just writing to write, taking an incredibly public stroll through my thoughts, as usual, though perhaps more randomly than is my habit (which is saying something, since I tend to be pretty damned random). Skipping word stones across the surface of my mind, wondering which ones will sink in. Reveling in the act of putting fingertips to keyboard knowing that the jumble of letters that appears on the screen almost make sense. And all that other writerly stuff.

Thanks for bearing with me. Y'all just soundly and roundly rock.

Monday, November 10, 2003

Musical interlude... 

Take away my inhibitions
Take away my solitude
Fire me up with your resistance
Put me in the mood
Storm the walls around this prison
Leave the inmates
Free the guards
Deal me up another future
From some brand new deck of cards
Take the chip off of my shoulder
Smooth out all the lines
Take me out among the rustling pines
Till it shines

Like an echo down a canyon
Never coming back as clear
Lately I just judge the distance
Not the words I hear
I’ve been too long on these islands
I’ve been far too long alone
I’ve been too long without summer
In this winter home
Still if we can make the effort
If we take the time
Maybe we can leave this much behind
Till it shines

See the rich man lost and lonely
Watch him as he dines
Sitting there just testing all the wines
Till it shines

Till It Shines - as sung by Lyle Lovett and Keb' Mo' (from the Mumford:Original Soundtrack - words and lyrics by Bob Seger)

This is the first song on Another Disc #8 and it struck me the first time I heard it. The voices, the music, but especially the lyrics. They hit home for me. I've wanted others to storm the walls of my prison, these self-constructed walls that I've sometimes been too scared to tear down by myself. And there have been times when I've wanted to be the one to take people off their islands so that they could leave it all behind, but I've been too timid, too uncertain about how to proceed because I didn't want them to back deeper into the island jungles.

There are several tunes on this disc of which I'm enamoured, but the other song that stops, then gently wraps around my heart, makes me a dreamy eyed girl full of wonder? Moon River. This is one of those songs that I've always, always loved and the innocence mission's rendition is simply too lovely for words. It's soft and simple, with sweet, wistful vocals by Karen Peris.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love music? I have? Well, I'll just say it again. And again. And again.


Sunday, November 09, 2003

Please, sir... 

...may I have some more?

Fuck that. Asking all nice and polite ain't gonna cut it this time.

More! I want more! And if I don't get it I'm going stomp my feet and scream and hold my breath until I turn blue and fling myself on the floor and throw the biggest hissyfit you've ever seen until I get more. I don't care if I have to do it for days or months or even years. And when I have to sleep and eat and take care of bodily functions I'll play a tape of me screeching for more like a very, very peeved-off banshee. I may even get all Veruca Salt about it (but hopefully without falling down a chute of some sort).

I just finished reading The Princess Bride.

It took me a little longer than usual to finish because I'm no longer taking the bus (thanks to the bus mechanics strike, at which I'm really getting annoyed), which was my primary reading period. So I lost a bit of momentum about 2/3 into the book. But I reared up strong again in the last few days, flew through the finish line and am now looking around, wondering what happened to the rest of the book. Because there is no way on G-d's green earth that there cannot be more.

Just completing The Princess Bride would have been reason enough to be saddened. Heaven knows there are a few things at the end which make you scratch your head and want to know more. But the edition that I'm reading (no, I've been reading - I have to be honest with myself here) ends with the first chapter of Buttercup's Baby, which, apparently, is all Goldman was allowed to abridge. There are so many questions left unanswered and I don't know how to deal with them, with nowhere to turn for answers, for satisfaction.

I've come to the conclusion that William Goldman is just evil. There's no other explanation. And I'll probably end up searching out his other novels.

The manipulative fiend.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go off to the corner and suck my thumb while I gather my strengh for my upcoming hissyfit-a-thon.


I must have the most comfortable sofa in all the land. I keep falling asleep on it. This morning is the third morning this week I've awakened on the sofa. I have to stop lying down on it while watching TV. Which, oddly enough, is a big reason I got the couch. Because the pine loveseat I was using before? Not long enough to stretch out on and not cushy enough to find restful. I still have the pine loveseat, but it sits to the side, used only for stuff piling, cat sleeping and the occasional guest.

Like practically everything in my life, there is a story behind the sofa. For many years I just had two loveseats - the aforementioned pine loveseat and a wicker loveseat that I bought from my friend RockerChick at a yard sale for $15. They served me well over the years, especially that pine loveseat. Born at Ikea, I've had it for about seven years. The poor thing has gone through several sets of cushions because, whenever my oldest cat, Noel, was really upset at me (for going away or having an exceptionally busy week where I was barely home or letting the litter box ripen a little too long), he'd piss in the spot that I'd always sit in.

(Then there's the makeout sessions it's seen - that can't be good for Ikea joints. Thank heaven for those silly little Allen wrenches enclosed in every Ikea product box. Plus my power drill has some Allen wrench heads.)

But wait, this is the story of my sofa. Not my loveseat. I think the loveseat is trying to influence me into making it the prominent piece of living room furniture again. Loveseat, I love you and always will, but the couch is the one I need. I'm sorry.

Anyway, I'd been on the lookout for a cheap garage sale sofa for a long time. One day, while walking back to my apartment from the corner donut shop (I only ever buy sealed drinks there - the place looks so run down and dirty that I'm afraid to eat anything made there, though it does a pretty brisk business - I guess not everyone is as picky as me). In the yard of the duplex next to my triplex was a long hunter green sofa with puffy arms and back and wood trim. Not the most attractive sofa in the world, but not terribly ugly either. And it matched my living room color scheme perfectly. I took a look at it, sat on it, laid down on it. In okay condition, but definitely comfortable. Easily around 8 feet long and about 2 1/2-3 feet deep. Because when I laid down on it my 5'6" voluptuous frame easily fit between the big puffy arms.

A guy came out of his apartment and I asked him about the sofa. Turns out that it actually originally belonged to some other neighbors who just gave it to him. And he had no use for it now, since he was moving, so he was willing to part with it pretty cheaply. I offered him $20 and he said great. I went to get some money and he, FFDWG(FKaSarah) - who happened to be over at my place at the time - and I lugged it into my place. I steam cleaned it the next day, but left it to sit in the middle of the room for a while.

I finally took the wicker loveseat out to the garage (which was later sold in a garage sale - the loveseat, not the garage) and pushed the sofa into its new home against the wall, but due to the layout of the living room it was a tight fit. So a few weeks later I rearranged the living room, taking out some old stuff and opening up the space (I used to have it set up as two separate areas, with a wicker $8 garage sale room divider between the pine loveseat and my art table).

Now my living room looks big and spacious, And my long, comfy not-ugly couch rests in a place of honor in my living room, facing the TV. I can curl up or stretch out or, as I've mentioned before, fall asleep on it. During the height of summer, when the Valley temperatures can sit in the still 80s at night, I slept on the sofa because my bedroom fan was broken and the window air conditioner was in the living room. Very nice. There are times when I prefer to sleep on the couch as opposed to my bed. I'm not sure why except that my bedroom is a little small, dominated by my queen size bed, and sometimes I feel kind of claustrophobic in it. And maybe on those odd nights when I set out to sleep on the couch - as opposed to accidentally falling asleep on it - I may be feeling a little lonely and the living room just feels less solitary.

Besides which, I actually tend to sleep the night through on the sofa, which is not always the case with my bed.

The cats love the sofa too, resting on the big puffy back and arms, decorating it with their cat hair that clings to the dark green, burgundy accented fabric for dear life, resisting my attempts to de-fur it with all of its considerable strength. Maybe I should follow FFDWG(FKaSarah)'s suggestion and cover the thing when I don't have guests.

Hey, there's a thought.

I don't know how long I'll have this sofa. Knowing me, probably until the only thing holding it together is fond memories of its service. But I'm certainly going to enjoy it until that day.

I just hope it sees a few makeout sessions out while I still have it. Maybe, if it's not too much to ask, even a little honest-to-goodness sex. I wouldn't want the loveseat to feel superior for all its days. Because I know it does.

Saturday, November 08, 2003


Entry #4 of Stale Steele is up.

And I need to get some sleep. Good night! Or morning, as the case may be.

Friday, November 07, 2003


Is it wrong of me to love this so very much? (Link via stee.)

All hail... 

Yesterday I was speaking with a co-worker (yes, sometimes they speak to me of their own volition), bemoaning the fact that some e-mails I was expecting hadn't come through yet.

"I mean, just because they may be extremely busy is no excuse! By now these people should realize the entire universe revolves around me!"

SaintlyAssistant, who deals with people a bit more difficult than sweet lil' ol' me (and who was a production assistant for Buffy's seventh season - how cool is that?) nodded, a look of understanding on his friendly face.

"I was just saying that last night, in front of my alter to you. You should institute a tithe!"

My eyebrow raised as I gracefully moved out of the way of people coming and going from the office, then danced back to my original position.

"An excellent idea! I like the way you think. You are an excellent acolyte, SaintlyAssistant." More people entered and exited the office, causing me to slide back and forth in a balletic manner, as befits an everyday, ordinary goddess such as myself.

He smiled and inclined his head respectfully. "I do my best. I would offer a tithe myself, but 10% of almost nothing is still almost nothing."

I gestured dismissively, yet graciously, my hand poetry in motion. "That is fine, I understand."

More people walked by. I grew tired of having to move, so I stood behind him, we spoke a little longer, then I went back to my desk.

Moving amongst my subjects is most gratifying. And gives me fantastic ideas...

I love personality tests... 

I don't know why, but I've always been seroiusly addicted to them. Anything that professes to identify my personality, or its various aspects, holds an undying appeal for me. Which probably goes a long way in explaining my fascination and (occasionally grudging) belief in astrology.

(CuteNerdBoy and I had a fun little conversation about astrology on Wednesday. Not surprisingly, he's not much of a believer. But that's what I'd expect from an Aquarian. I'm very much a Taurean, though the many water signs in my chart help to balance the more "earthlike" qualities inherent in my sign. Okay, fine, I admit it. With the heavy earth and water in my chart, I am, basically, mud.)

As you can imagine, eMode is crack for someone like me. Since I discovered eMode, back in '98, I think, I've learned that I'm both a gibbon and a Bernese Mountain Dog, my inner rock star is Bjork, my theme song is Dancing Queen and in high school I was Angel, er, I mean, a brooding artist.

I'm not saying all of that is accurate. I think some of it may be colored by the way I'd like to be than the way I really am. But I find it all intriguing, nonetheless. Which is interesting, since I'm not such a fan of labeling people.

Maybe I just like to label myself. Go figure.

So when I discovered that Match.com has started with little quizlets, I was almost beside myself with glee. So far I've found out that I'm a sensible sweetheart and an actor. Okay, none of that is terribly surprising, but I still find it fun.

I think I know how I'm spending my Friday night.

Gee, that sounds kind of sad. But it's fine if it's something I really enjoy, right? It's not like I'm taking all the fur that my cats have shed and I'm using it to knit matching sweaters for them, with a jaunty little beret for myself. I'm saving that for Sunday...

Um, never mind.

It's 9:30 am... 

...and it's quiet in the office.

Too quiet.

The type of quiet that seems forbidding, foreboding. A person doesn't want to break that sort of quiet, for fear of bringing the wrath of the gods of silence upon her head.

A co-worker sits in front of me, chafing against the still air. She turns to me, pale skin, fair hair, a young, sweet, innocent visage that hides a love of Buffy and a particularly wicked sense of humor. It's no wonder we've started clicking.

She whispers to me, her gently Southern voice lilting, "It's too quiet."

I nod in response.

"It's like a library," she says, "only not as fun."

I smile and shrug, not sure how to answer her, not entirely awake enough to formulate a witty riposte. Our conversation remains a whispering one, just barely loud enough to hear each other.

"It's the end of the week. I think people are just tired," I say. "They'll wake up after the lunch. Eating the free food and considering the weekend plans will make everyone more lively."

She nods sagely, turns back to her work. After a few minutes she spins to face me again.

"I just want to throw things," she whispers.

I start to say something, but another co-worker stands near the laser printer in front of SouthernGirl's cube, noticing our whispers, a look of confusion on his face. He's a fun co-worker, so my response mentions him. I tilt my head in his direction, smiling mischievously.

"Well, I heard that BandBooker was..." I realize that any fun that might be generated by acting as if we were talking about him is negated by the fact that he can't hear me. He still seems to know something is up, perhaps my sly grin giving a hint, and he hurries away.

SouthernGirl turns to around in time to notice him rushing away, and jumps up, her smile even more mischievous than mine. "I'm going to cause trouble!" she says perkily, following BandBooker.

I turn back to my work and continue a totally non-work related e-mail exchange with a couple of other people.

A little while later SouthernGirl returns to her desk, works a bit more, then sends me an e-mail, stating it is still too quiet and that she may need massive amounts of simulants to get through the day. I respond that I feel like that pretty much everyday. I offer to play my Red Hot Chili Peppers on my CD player sans headphones. She exhorts me to blast it.

I'm too timid to do so, my innate fear of breaking the heavy silence pushing itself forward. SouthernGirl and I have a little e-mail conversation about my timidity while I continue the other e-mail exchange. But I play the music, a little of the quiet displaced.

Some time later the quiet is shattered by the annoying voice of IdiotBoss carrying from his office (the one he stole from ExBossGuy and don't think I'm still not bitter over that) over the cubicle walls, crashing obnoxiously on my ear drums. I turn up the music a little, bury my head in my work and wish for the unsettling silence again.

I've got to think of a fun way to liven things up.

Thursday, November 06, 2003

Tra la la... 

Just came back from a somewhat spontaneous dinner and movie with CuteNerdBoy which, perhaps not surprisingly, I suggested. It was very nice.

See, it all started when the Mustang started making some strange noises. NeighborGuy listened to them and proclaimed that the suspension was rapidly going bad and, if I continued to drive the car, the suspension could snap. As you might guess, not really a good thing. So yesterday and today I rented a car. I asked for a economy car but they didn't have any so I ended up with a Chevy Malibu. Hardly my dream car (and it's pretty damned big besides), but driving something that doesn't terrify me every time I take it down the street? A very good thing.

Last night, as I was driving home from the writing group meeting, I took Sepulveda, which has a stretch that's big and wide and curvy. It's a stretch that's tremendous fun to drive. And I had so much fun. Okay, the car could handle the curves better, hug the road and allow me to fly down the street at 45-50 mph, like my Saturn did, but it was still a great time.

So this morning I decided that I wanted to drive someone in the car. And I wanted to go see a movie. Okay, I also wanted to see CuteNerdBoy, but the car was a luxurious silver icing on that oh-so-delicious cake. So I dashed off a rather peppy, bouncy e-mail before I left for work, suggesting we do a movie and dinner and I would meet him in his neck of the woods. And if we needed to go somewhere that required me to drive him? So much the better.

In the afternoon, after getting back from a quick late lunch I received his answer. "Okay, Mario Andretti, you're on." Cool.

We agreed to meet at 7pm at a theater in Encino, which is about halfway between his place and mine. The Singing Detective was playing at 7:15pm. Doubly cool.

I left work a little later than I anticipated and got caught in rush hour traffic, which meant I showed up at the theater just after 7:15. Thank heavens for previews!

I liked the movie well enough, more than CuteNerdBoy did. Unlike me, he was not only very familiar with the miniseries and book, he loved them both. So the movie, which attempted to cram too much into its limited time, didn't compare well. It was still a very enjoyable evening, with dinner at a very nearby Chilis that we walked to. I never did drive him, though.

The toughest part about the evening was keeping my hands off the boy. I have a tough enough time as it is, but there was a fair amount of sex in the movie, both stylized and realistic. It kinda got my motor revved. The occasional brushing of arms and legs certainly didn't help matters. Nor did the fact that there were a number of instances when the images that I was seeing in front of my eyes were not necessarily the images that were flickering onscreen. I doubt I need to elaborate. *ragged sigh*

And during dinner? More scenes in my mind's eye. I was certainly able to concentrate on our conversations, but at times it was a little difficult. Once again I wondered if he was feeling it too. I can't imagine that he was immune to it, but one never knows.

I'm sure that once we settle into whatever our friendship is going to be everything will be easier to handle. Maybe.

Even if it isn't, I'll be cool with it. Because hanging out with him and experiencing those fabulous hugs and simple little peck-kisses? So very worth it. Especially those hugs. He takes me in his arms and I sink into the hug and it's so very hard to let go.



Okay, I'm back.

My G-d, the man can hug.


In other news, signing back up to Match.com has proved enlightening. I've gotten a few e-mails and winks from guys, most of whom, again, just don't appeal to me. But one guy seems like he could be interesting, and we've exchanged a couple of e-mails, so it's nice to know there's another fella out there that has potential. I'm just going to sit back and see what happens. Maybe enjoy being single again. It's been a while since I've had fun with the whole "single girl" thing I've got going and the Halloween party certainly helped to revive it.

I've got some worries and concerns going on in my life right now, like most everyone else, but it's nice to feel my confidence growing stronger again. I think I'm going to be okay.

Wednesday, November 05, 2003


Since I've mentioned how cool Pamie is, on more than one occasion, I thought it only fitting to link to this.

How unbelievably fucking cool is that? Because I'm so happy for her (and also because I'm the dorkiest dork in all of Dorkonia), I squealed like a cute little pig. Okay, I didn't, because I was at work. But there was an inner squeal and inside my head it was very, very loud. And only slightly pig-like.

As screwed up as the entertainment business can be, it's nice to know that talent can still find a way to rise to the top. Mark my words (and everyone else's): Pamie and stee are becoming a power couple to be reckoned with.

Rock on, Pamie. Rock on.

Tuesday, November 04, 2003

A little short story... 

My writing group has a new thing these days - a weekly e-mail reminding people of the meeting place (it's at a different member's place each week) and a couple of writing prompts: a word and a headline. Since I'm the only member who can't host a meeting, due to my living location being far too north, I've been elected to send out the e-mails. Which is totally cool, since I feel as if I'm contributing to the group more.

This week I wrote a story inspired by this story, which I linked to on Halloween. I dashed it off and I have to say, it's actually one of my better stories. So I'm going to share it with y'all. It's rather a departure for me. I've done a couple of revisions, but I like the way it turned out. Enjoy!


So there I was, just hanging out with my friends after school. No biggie, we did it all the time. Sylvia was hiding her joint from one of the sisters who was passing by, but her nose, which can usually smell an extinguished ash from five miles away, stopped working or something. Sister Mary Margaret was off to the side and she looked pretty horrified. We all looked over to where she was looking and saw why she didn't care about the joint all that much.

This young guy was standing there, staring at us girls. We got that all the time. It's that whole Catholic school-girl thing some guys are totally into. It's always a little icky, but we learned to shrug it off a long time ago.

This guy was different. It wasn't just that he was a lot younger than most of the creeps. It wasn't even that he wasn't bad looking for a creep.

He wasn't wearing any pants.

He had on shoes and a coat that came down past his knees, but no pants, even though it was hella cold. I think Sister Mary Margaret was praying that maybe he was wearing shorts under the coat. I guess she prayed in vain because the guy opened his coat and let all us girls see what he had. Well, it was really what he didn't have. I would've laughed if I wasn't so shocked. I mean, at 15 I'd already seen a lot, you know? That's what happens when you're being told that everything is bad and you just had to find out what the big deal was about.

This? This was a new one for me. And from the looks of my friends and the other girls leaving the school, I wasn't the only one it was new for.

Some wussy girl screamed, I think it was Charlotte. She gets shocked if you look at her wrong. But I couldn't blame her this time.

And the perv just kept standing there, grinning.

A couple of neighbor guys across the street saw what the asshole was doing, so they ran at him. Pervy wrapped up his coat and started running too. He was too slow, though, and the neighbors knocked him down.

I looked over at Sylvia. She's been my best friend since kindergarten and I knew she had a lot of things in her childhood that would make this sort of thing hit her pretty hard. She had this really strange expression. She was furious, I could see that, but a really scary smile spread across her face. I mean, fucking scary. The kind of smile you don't want to come across when you're in a bad neighborhood alone after dark.

She ran over to the perv and dropped her joint on his face, still burning and all. He flicked his head super fast and it fell off, but you could still see the red mark on his cheek. Then she started kicking him. Hard. Man, all her anger that she had pent up over the years just burst out and bam! A kick in the stomach. Bam! Another kick to the legs. Slam! Right upside the head. Wham! In the gonads. That one was the hardest of all.

The neighbor guys looked at each other. They didn't know if they should stop Sylvia or let WhackJob go or what. I made up their mind for them. I went up right next to Sylvia and kicked the fuckwad too. I started to beat on him. Sylvia smiled at me, grateful this time, and landed a punch to the kidneys.

The rest of the girls rushed up and the next thing I knew there we all were, just whaling on this freak. All of our anger at the creeps that stared at us or tried stuff we didn't like or shit with our childhoods and families poured out over his punk-ass. And it felt good. Even Charlotte got a few good licks in. Who knew mousy Charlotte got angry too?

Finally we were stopped, I guess because the neighbors were afraid we'd kill Freakazoid before the cops got there. They finally showed up and talked to all of us. We were kinda scared at first that we'd be taken in, but the cops didn't even care! Even Sister Mary Margaret was all on our side, smiling at what we did. She didn't even get her panties in a bunch over Sylvia's joint.

Turns out the perv had done this all over the city. Turns out we were just meting out a little justice, the first time anyone had actually tried to get back at the piece of shit. After he healed in the hospital he got his ass thrown in jail for a bunch of counts of, quote, harassment, disorderly conduct, open lewdness and corrupting the morals of a minor, unquote.

Sylvia is a little less angry these days. I'm hella happy about that. Justice feels really good.


Hold me back... 

...I'm getting all fancy now. I've joined blogging in 2003 - behold the comments feature!

Please hold your enthusiasm, it's deafening.

Quick one... 

Updated Stale Steele and added a guestbook and some links. Until the end of November it'll be linked in the sidebar.

I may have to post my updates to it each morning at work - I have trouble accessing it at home, though I'm fine with this 'blog. Huh.

Monday, November 03, 2003


I haven't written a lot about movies in this space, but that's not because I don't like them. Au contraire, mes amis. I adore them. But I'm a very critical movie watcher, as well as a very lazy movie goer, so I don't see all that many.

(My mom once said I'd make an excellent movie critic because I always have something to say about movies and I'm not the most complimentary person. Now, if a movie is good, I'll be the first to say so. But, hey, if it sucks, it sucks. Episode 2, I'm looking at you. I'm still kind of upset that Christopher Lee's character, Count Dooku, survived. Because that means I'll be forced to watch Episode 3. I love Christopher Lee that much. Damn you, Lucas! Damn your inept writing and directing to hell!)


In the last couple of years I've seen more movies than I have in the previous five combined, and this year, since the commencement of dating CuteNerdBoy and the free screenings through work, my movie going experience has gone through the roof. Relatively speaking, that is. I still see less movies than the average single-celled life form.

There are three movies that have recently or will soon be released that I'm dying to see:

* The Singing Detective - I've never seen the BBC miniseries, though I've always wanted to. I've heard such great things about it and the commercials look very interesting to me. Plus Adrian Brody!

* Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World - Having recently read and enjoyed the book, I'm eager to see how it's been translated to the big screen. James D'Arcy is also in it - he did a fine job as a rather young Sherlock Holmes in A Case of Evil last year. It'll be nice to see more of his work.

* Love Actually - I love good writing and good direction and all that sort of stuff, but what really gets me excited is good acting. This cast is an acting addict's wet dream. I look at names like Alan Rickman and Colin Firth and Emma Thompson and Liam Neeson (and Keira Knightly has favorably impressed me in the two movies in which I've seen her) and I start salivating like Homer Simpson at Krispy Kreme.

I'm rarely one for romantic comedies, mainly because so many of them are obviously, painfully manipulative (you know who you are, The Wedding Planner - I didn't even watch you but your commercials made me want to gouge out my eyes, so the thought of sitting through all of you was too horrific to contemplate).

(Confession - there is one bad rom-com I love, though I try so hard not to: French Kiss. Even with Meg Ryan, whose perkiness tends to bug the crap out of me, I'm held captive by this movie whenever I stumble across it on TV. It must be the double delight of Kevin Kline and Timothy Hutton that enthralls me so. Jean Reno does a fine, fine job as well.)

But give me a good romantic comedy, like Princess Bride, Bridget Jones Diary (which I enjoyed despite myself, thanks to Colin Firth) or even Sleepless in Seattle and I'm a happy, happy little girly-girl. Love Actually looks like it might be good clean romantic comedy fun. And all those lovely actors. *sigh*

I just may swoon.

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Carol/Female/36-40. Lives in United States/California/Los Angeles/San Fernando Valley, speaks English. Spends 40% of daytime online. Uses a Normal (56k) connection.
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