Friday, January 30, 2004

Quick lunch update... 

My new assignment isn't far at all from a former job of mine, as well as fairly close to the home of WestHollywoodBoy; on my first day the people are already ten times friendlier than the Disney folks; the computer was up and running, with a user id and everything, by the time I arrived at 9am and I've got honest to goodness work to do all day; and, possibly best, or worse, of all - I'm within walking distance of both Tower Records and Book Soup, which proves that the universe is conspiring to rip all of my money from my bank account.

I'm a bit more exposed in my cubicle than at Disney, but other than that I'm already liking this place a whole lot better, despite the fact the company has been called evil, not unlike Disney (though for different reasons) and I simply could not sleep last night (paranoid about sleeping through the alarm - I'm surprisingly alert right now).

Not too shabby.

It's sex quiz time... 

Once again Beth offers up a nice, wholesome little sex quiz link:

candy delight
Your Stripper Name is Candy Delight!

You are always the feature dancer at the best clubs.
Your customers pay big money to see you, even if it means starving six days of the week.
For you, stripping is an art form, and you are a grande artiste.
Very classy and never trashy - you won't stoop to doing anything sleazy.
You are constantly posing in magazines and winning Miss Nude contests.
In StripperLand, you are the ultimate queen.
Other strippers may be jealous by all the attention you get, but you walk away with the most money!
What's *Your* Stripper Name?
More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

...which led me to:

You Are A Juicy Kisser!
About Your Kissing Style:
Your lips are totally kissable baby, and you know how to use them.
You are the perfect - with the right combo of lips and tongue.
It's important to flaunt it, so kiss early and often on dates!
What Your Kissing Style Says About You:
You're 100% hot, and you know it. You're all about being sexy, all the time.
You have no trouble scoring dates or kisses ...
Just trouble getting rid of jealous people trying to show you up!
You attract attention from every hot guy and girl... even before you show off your kissing skills.
Your Personal Kissing Matches and Mismatches:
Go out with another Juicy Kisser and you'll be the power couple of the party. Sure, you'll have a ton of hot kisses, but only after everyone there has checked you guys out. Hook it up with a Romantic Kisser and you may have found your soulmate. Romantic Kissers will be attracted to your appeal, and you'll appreciate their loyalty.

Keep away from Carnal Kissers! They'll just try to play you for sex, and ruin your reputation in a heartbeat. And Freaky Kissers are way too wild and rough for your style. You prefer pleasure to pain, thank you very much.
How Do *You* Kiss?
More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

So, why don't they tell me something I don't know?

Thursday, January 29, 2004

Well, well, well... 

You know, that story that I wrote last night certainly didn't turn out the way I intended. I was thinking about something a bit more sensual, yet run of the mill. I like the way it turned out. And I like when that happens.


I'm not at Disney anymore.

Tuesday afternoon the fellow I was reporting to popped his head into the cubicle I was occupying.

"Has your agency called you?" he asked.

"No," I replied, shaking my head in puzzlement.

He looked surprised. "We won't need you to come back tomorrow."

In temp speak, that phrase means I won't be needed back. Ever.

"Oh," I said ever-so-cleverly. I was stunned. I thought I had been doing a good job with what had been given to me. I was fast (a little too fast, perhaps), I was accurate and I was pleasant yet firm in dealing with customers on the phone. There was a lot of work I was unable to do due to not having computer access, but on Tuesday I was set up with access and I was rearing to go.

Until DisneyBoss decided otherwise.

Later that day I called the agency to tell them what I had been told and asked if he had mentioned any reason. "No," AgencyContact responded, "he didn't say anything negative about you, but I can certainly find out if you like."

"Yes, please, if there's anything I need to improve I'd like to know." I didn't mention my sneaking suspicion that my inconsistent arrival times might have had something to do with it - I am patently not a morning person and getting there at first 8am, then 7:30am, was difficult, especially since I'm bus reliant. I haven't heard back from her.

While the dismissal brought me up short, ultimately I decided it was for the best. Because the moment I walked in the door I felt comfortable there, in a way that I never felt at Lions Gate. Disney brings me comfort, even when I'm miserable, as I often was during my first tenure there. And I sort of don't like that comfort.

See, there are many things about Disney that grates my cheese. The CEO is the main thing. I don't think Eisner actually had heart surgery in 1994 because how can you operate on something that never seems to have existed? The merchandising being produced overseas for slave wages (though the wages are consistent with the laws of the countries in which the factories are based, they are still obscenely low), the increasingly poorly done films (except for Pixar movies - I love Pixar), the bashing-over-the-head marketing, the sometimes repressive atmosphere - these are all things, among others, I despise about Mouseschwitz, er, I mean, Disney. And I will never, ever forgive the company for the extravagant, $5 million premiere gala for the $140 million steaming pile of shit that was Pearl Harbor while they were asking employees to voluntarily jump ship before cutting the rest of us from their tethers. (Mixed metaphors much?) I know that $5 million is a drop in the bucket to a company like Disney, but I'm still a bit upset about it, in case you couldn't tell.

Still, when I go to Disneyland I feel like a little girl again. In many ways I feel like the little girl I never really was, joyous and ebullient and reveling in the wonder and magic of it all, no matter what CynicalCarol tries to whisper to me. The first time I went to Disneyland I was twelve, still painfully shy and serious, I had been having a very emotional day, and I ended up going on rides with the daughter of a family friend who insisted on telling me everything that was going to happen, thereby nearly ruining it for me. So to be able to tap into that girl that I wanted to be but never was makes me grateful that I can enjoy it anew.

There are times that I wish I could work for Disney again. I got some nice perks, the benefits are actually pretty good, they have a good credit union, I think their Commuter Assistance is excellent and, though I once thought they paid crap, I realized after working for Lions Gate that, in fact, Disney is not the worst paying entertainment company around. And it's very close to my home.

And the comfortable feeling of belonging that embraced me when I strolled through those doors was enticing, the familiarity welcoming. I wanted to be a part of that world again while simultaneously disliking so much about it.

I'm sure if I had stayed long term the jangling dichotomy would have blown my brains apart. So I'd say not staying is probably a good thing. And now that I have another temp position lined up - for another company that I have reservations about, but it'll only last a month before I start a three month position with a non-entertainment company for whom a member of my writing group works - I'm feeling better about being let go from Disney Credit and Collections. Because really, out of all people, with my rather, um, spotty credit, do I have the right to ask companies to pay us money? I think not. And who wants that kind of irony weighing them down every day?

Not me.

Story time... 

Warm. Bright. Fragrant. Isolated.

Such love she had for this spot, this tiny piece of earth near the trickling stream. Barely enough lush grass for her to stretch out upon, but it was still enough. The trees rose up around her, protecting her haven from the rude, mechanized world in which she lived. A world she had once enjoyed, truth be told, with the bustling energy that swept her up and whirled her around, leaving her breathless, dizzy, unsure, but yearning for more, like the teacups at Disneyland.

But for those times when even she could no longer bear the ruthless pace of the city she had come here. A patch of grass and dirt, a few rocks at the edge of the stream, and the forest, so close to the highway, yet a universe away. None of this ever appeared to be disturbed by human hands, for which she was grateful. She had no idea how the area had managed to elude groping teenagers and littering troglodytes. She tried not to think about it too much, to just enjoy the nature surrounding her for as long as possible.

As she lay on the green turf, the singing of birds and gurgling of water fluttering in her ears, she felt the sun gently wash over her, warming her, soothing her. It had been too long since she felt this simple pleasure, too many years spent in the "real" world. She had almost let him, her memories of him and their shared time, steal her sanctuary. The last time she visited this retreat she brought him with her. It was the last bit of herself left to share with him. And share she did, as they sank to the ground, cushioned by verdant wild flora underneath. They sat and listened to the music of the forest, felt it enter them and swim in their blood, the ever-present warmth of the sun charging them with an erotic languor. Slowly, with a fluid serenity generally uncommon to their encounters, clothes were peeled off and skin was stroked, tongues and lips and limbs entwined and explored, crescendos were reached again and again.

She was happy to share this final piece of herself with him. She felt drunk, with the perfume of the earth and trees and water, with the sounds of nature, with the scent and feel and sounds of him, enveloping her, filling her, a part of her. It felt as though he would be a part of her always.

It was not long until she discovered that always was a nebulous concept at best. Soon after their wondrous time spent in her refuge, no, their refuge, always was ripped from her, wrenched away by a young man with too much alcohol and too little sense. The pain was too great to bear, so it was stuffed down and down until it seemed to disappear, along with recollections of the beauty of their perfect afternoon together along the side of the stream.

Finally not even she could escape the reality of his death. Years later it overwhelmed her, flinging itself at her to be faced, to be dealt with, to be truly accepted before she could heal again. Tears fell until she was dry and numb, then they came again. She was afraid to go to her usual place of peace, terrified of the reminders that might incapacitate her until she dissolved into a puddle of tears and pain and anger.

At last she realized she could stay away no longer. Not if she was going to finally live her life again. And so she entered the place that had once brought her so much contentment, almost surprised to find it exactly as she remembered, happy that humans had not desecrated it. Even more surprising was the pain that she feared so much never materialized. In its place was the peace that used to bring her here. Tinged with sadness, it was true, but somehow fuller for the bittersweet it brought. She sat on the ground as she used to, the light breeze stirring her soft cotton sundress, the sunshine warming her supple pale skin and glinting against her burnished tresses. She thought she could smell his fragrance enfold her, feel his arms embrace her, and the burden she had carried for so many years evaporated in the simple pureness of the landscape and remembrance of his love. The burden would come back, she knew that, but she also knew it would be less than before.

Again she was grateful for this secluded bit of earth. She found that she had been right so long ago, that he would be a part of her always.

And, as she lay down on the thick lush grass, she knew she would never forsake her haven again.


Monday, January 26, 2004


I got my Epson, I got my Epson! In so much as a material thing can make anyone happy, this material thing makes me very happy. It's so pretty and nice and, well, a little on the big side, compared to my old all-in-one (no photos seem to be available) (the print quality had gotten rather smeary and it likes to feed several pages at the same time - sometimes as many as 10 pages). But the Epson is rather professional looking, which I like, and performs its tasks admirably. At least the ones I've tested so far, like simple printing/scanning/copying. There are all sorts of other features that I haven't tried out yet.

But I will, I assure you.


Thank you, Heather, for perfectly explaining my own dislike of Oprah. Man, I find that woman annoying (Oprah, not Heather - I like Heather).

Bonus points for quoting Clue. Oh, how I love that movie.

Sunday, January 25, 2004


Last Sunday, as I was having dinner with WesyHollywoodBoy, my throat started giving me the tell-tale tickle, then burning sensation, of an incipient cold and/or flu. Having managed to avoid catching everyone else's germs since November - thanks to a flu shot - I was not looking forward to being sick. Especially since I had an assignment lined up.

Well, it turns out that all week I've had one of those annoying little colds. Not the kind where you're completely miserable, wishing death would just come and take you already, because, really, how on earth can you survive after regularly delivering your lungs into a bag or toilet or trachcan?

Nope, this cold is just one of those annoying little things where you're feeling just a little under the weather, with a slightly stuffed nose and your lungs are just congested enough to make you sound even more like a ten-year, two-pack-a-day smoker than before.

(I warned FFDWG(FKaSarah) about it yesterday when she came to pick me up. When she heard that I wasn't exaggerating she just laughed. Ooh, look at me, I'm just so sexy. *hack, cough*)

And in the mornings I've got this Kermit the Frog sound going for me, which is just even sexier. Actually it's been kind of interesting. My voice is normally on the low side and has been called sexy by many a man - and even a few women. But when I've got a cold like I do now, where my nose doesn't sound stuffed, I've got that whole "young Kathleen Turner" voice happening and I've been calling complete strangers, asking them for money. I wonder if that'll make the men send the money even faster. FFDWG(FKaSarah) thinks they won't send the money so that'll I'll be forced to call back. It'll be interesting if she's right.

But ya know, I am definitely ready for the cold to go away. Maybe I shouldn't be walking as much as I have been. Though I rarely feel as if I've been exerting myself, it still may be too much physical activity for my sick body to handle. It's just that I'm really in the mood to walk. Everywhere. And I've been so happy with the five pounds that I just lost (the cold hasn't affected my appetite or taste buds one iota, but I don't feel like eating tons of food either - a perfect balance for me) that I just want to lose a little more.

I've lost about 15-20 pounds since May, which is a really fast weight loss for me, and another 15 pounds will get me back to where I was before I gained back so much lost weight back in 2002 (I had lost about 10 pounds previous to May). For now I'll be happy with that. Then maybe I can work on another 15 or 20 pounds. I don't want to be all skinny, because I would look awful skinny (my bone structure is honestly on the large side). But back to the weight I had about 10 years ago would be very nice. And would look good on me. If it takes another two or three years to get there, that's fine with me. It's healthier that way. And more realistic for me.

First step though? Get rid of this damned cold.

London Bridge is falling down... 

Heh, I just used that subject line for an e-mail I just sent (which is a wonder in itself, I have so not been in the mood to send e-mails lately, so I've got several friends who are no doubt languishing in waiting for me to respond to them - or they're just going about their lives, mildly cursing me for being such a flake - I'm betting the latter scenario is most likely).

So I'm not always the most original gal around. It's nearly 2am in the freaking morning, what d'ya expect?

A few days ago FFDWG(FKaSarah) decided that, having missed seeing the London Bridge while she was recently in London (what with it being in Arizona and all), she wanted to go on a road trip to Lake Havasu to check out the 131 year old bridge and she invited me along. I said, Sure, why not! So this morning we headed out there.

Really not much more to the story - we drove approximately four hours, walked around the "quaint English village", walked across the bridge (which was actually kind of neat), had some lunch/dinner, I shopped a tiny bit (a tiny bottle of actual London Bridge bits, a couple of strands of Mardi Gras beads to go with the beads from my recent Vegas trip, the beads that NeighborGirl brought back from New Orleans a few years ago to thank me for watching her kitties and the beads that CuteNerdBoy brought back for me from his recent New Orleans trip - along with a lovely red and black feather boa that I love, fun little things like that make me happy), then we headed back, getting into L.A. around 11pm. We stopped off at her place to pick up a desk chair that her roommate got from work but had no use for (which I am now sitting in, whee!), then back to my place a little after midnight.

While Lake Havasu is quite lovely and I'll admit the bridge is kinda cool - with its original lamp posts fitted for electricity - I can't say that I'll be rushing out there again any time soon.

But I am certainly ready for another road trip. They can be pretty fun!


So, I've been doing some thinking.

(Oh, stop with the screaming, already. Sheesh!)

It's been over a week since LiterateLawyerGuy and I had our IM conversation. I've thought about my feelings, processed them to a certain extent, and wondered why I didn't cry more about his decision. It comes down to this: yes, I was hurt. I was angry. And I was disappointed.

I still am disappointed, because I still think he's wrong about us ultimately not being compatible. But those other feelings have somewhat dissipated. The anger and the hurt. I'm left with a certain fondness for him, and I hope he does call me at some point, as he promised he would, but otherwise I'm okay. Because I realized that, as fond for him as I grew to be, and as much as I hoped that something positive would develop between us, I never let my feelings get too deep. I'd been down that road far too recently to let myself really be there again. Especially since, when LiterateLawyerGuy and I first started to get to know one another, through e-mails and IMing and phone conversations, I was still working out my feelings for CuteNerdBoy, working on transitioning them into something that was less all-consuming.

(Every once in a while I still have to work on that. But I'm getting better about it. Most of the time.)

What will happen with LiterateLawyerGuy in the future? Will anything happen with him, such as becoming friends? I don't know. I haven't the foggiest idea. And sometimes I wonder if I would even have time for another friend, much as I like having cool people in my life. It seems I barely have time for the friends I have now.

But I am starting to think my stand on no casual sex is a little wrong-headed. While I had tremendous fun with LiterateLawyerGuy, it's been nearly two years since I've had full-on, all-out, go-all-the-way sex, with intercourse and everything. As you may have guessed by now, I am not a woman that does well with a celibate lifestyle. And that whole "women reaching their sexual peak as they near 40" thing that people talk about? Well, those people ain't just whistling Dixie, my friends.

Maybe I just need to take fuck-buddy applications. Just until I can get a relationship up and running. Hey, there's an idea.

Granted, it's probably a bad idea, but an idea nonetheless.

Friday, January 23, 2004

I am gone... 

...I am lost.

All that money I received as a severance from Lions Gate? Will be gone in a matter of days. I can feel it in my bones. Goodbye, new (to me) car. Adios, paid bills. Au revoir, Epson all-in-one printer I was hoping to buy.

This morning, in an effort to not be late for work, I ended up taking an earlier bus (oh, how wonderfully luxurious is the Commuter Express - I would happily forgo ever getting a car if all public transit was as marvelous) and arriving in the area a full hour before my start time. So at 7am I decided to walk around the neighborhood, get the lay of the land. It was a gorgeously clear, slightly nippy morning - the perfect ambling weather.

After approximately ten minutes of walking my wide brown eyes lighted upon it. My love. My salvation. My downfall.

I knew of its existence in the area, but I had no idea how close it was to my new work digs. As I gazed at the huge red sign on the side of the building, I knew that I was lost. But I was also found.

Oh fabulous, wondrous, evil Cost Plus.

That store holds an unnatural hold over me. So much so that I had stayed away from it for several years. Until that fateful day in Santa Barbara, when CuteNerdBoy and I stumbled upon it during our rambles. I begged, pleaded with him to allow me to enter the store, knowing he was unaware of the true pull the edifice had on me (alright, I really just asked, "Can we?" and he responded with a smile and a shrug, "Okay."). After several minutes - 20? 30? 40? who could tell? - he practically dragged me from the building and I realized I was lucky to get out of there with only water (in really cool bottles), Koala Blue Chardonnay (yes, that's the Olivia Newton-John wine - it might be good) and a couple of food stuffs ( I think Thai curry soup and chocolate). Had he not told me that his head was in danger of exploding I have no doubt that I would have sent him on to dinner and happily spent the rest of the evening touching and caressing and buying all that incredible stuff. But since I was - and still am - singularly disposed to keeping his CuteNerdHead intact on his CuteNerdBody (I'm just funny about my friends that way), I thought it best to heed his warning.

Now I am close to another Cost Plus. Not just any Cost Plus, but the specific store that started my on/off again affair. Only Ross and Ikea - and Payless, oh and Claire's, and now Amoeba Music, thank you very much, FFDWG(FKaSarah) - have a stronger hold on my wallet--er, I mean, on me. And next door to Cost Plus is a used book store. If I find a record store in the vicinity, I will be well and truly screwed.

Pray for me.

Thursday, January 22, 2004

Nice view... 

I have a window.

Not that having a window is something new for me. It's not as if I've lived a windowless existence until now, wondering if only there were some way that I could see the outside world from inside a building, only to be amazed and shocked at the newfound clear glass pane in front of me. As a matter of fact, I've experienced windows for pretty much my entire life. I'd even go so far as to say that pretty much every house and apartment in which I've lived have had several windows, some of which I could claim as my own.

My current temporary assignment has placed me in a cubicle with a big lovely window, one that I don't have to share with anyone in my isolated little corner, the only sound the clacking of keyboard and the soft voice of the woman who is showing me the ropes.

The view from this 7th floor cubicle is hardly breath-taking, with visions of the rooftops and parking garages of Glendale. But over and past the buildings I can see the mountains. And on a breezy clear day like yesterday I can see downtown Los Angeles, deceptively pristine from my eastern San Fernando Valley vantage point.

During lunch I took a short walk to a nearby restaurant and I realized anew that I'm a big city girl. Maybe it's just a reaction against the past month of no work followed by a day and a half in the unattractive industrial parks of Pacoima. The tall buildings and bustling lunch-goers that surrounded me gave me an odd sense of belonging. It was almost the same feeling that assailed me when I when I first worked outside the Valley, for a media buying corporation on Sunset Blvd. I loved the energy of the area, so very different from the more staid Simi Valley - where I had lived - and western San Fernando Valley - where I had previously worked. As surreal as it all seemed to me, I felt at home.

Then again, I'm also very much in love with a place like Lake Tahoe. Maybe I'm just very adaptable.

Yesterday was fairly quiet, but I actually worked for most of it - unlike at the fulfillment warehouse - diving into making collection calls to various vendors (and don't think I don't see a certain amount of irony in that). And I know that once I'm set up on the computer I'll be kept busy, but I don't think it'll be crazy. That'll be a nice change. After the high volume of A/R work I did at Lions Gate I almost feel relaxed.

I think my next step is to see if I can play music very softly. Because it's actually a little too quiet in the office, half-empty due to the Disney layoffs that caught me in 2001.

Yep, a trouble-maker. That's me alright.

Tuesday, January 20, 2004

Sorry I've been gone... 

... I've just been a bit bored with what's been going on in my own mind. It's the same stuff, all the time, and I'm sick of thinking about it and writing about it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not having a bad week and I'm not in a shitty mood or anything. I'm just...bored with my brain. I get like that sometimes. So if there's a noticeable lack in engaging writing, I apologize. But I've been told that my lack of updates is disappointing at least one of my regular readers, so I can only imagine that I'm letting down my other regular readers - all five of you, or maybe it's up to six now, woohoo! - and I so hate to let y'all down, so I'll try to update at least a few times a week. At least until my brain stops boring the crap out of me. So here goes:


Because I feel it’s significant, I have to mention that today is my father’s 65th birthday. It’ll be his second birthday that has passed without his family about him.

I can only wonder if he’s as sad about that as I would be, had I been sick enough and stupid enough to be in his position. I’d hate to think he would be sad, but I would hope that he’d have enough self-awareness to realize that he has wrought his isolation from the people he supposedly loved.

I know he won’t see this, but: Happy Birthday, Dad. Despite everything, I still love you. I doubt that will ever change.


I’m working this week. Yea!

It’s already fraught with minor drama, of course, because this is me we’re talking about. But at least I’m working again. And I may even come out on top. I hope.

On Friday I was sent to a fulfillment warehouse in Pacoima to “interview” with someone regarding an indefinite temp assignment in A/R, dealing with a software program that I used (and hated) at Lions Gate. It’s a program that isn’t widely used, so I definitely had a leg up on any competition. Except there really was no competition because it turns out the other person that was interviewed was also wanted, since her expertise was with A/P and GL. Granted, I didn’t have much A/R experience in this software, since I was the billing maven at Lions Gate, but at least I was a little familiar with the A/R modules. I could figure it out if I had to. I’m very good at that sort of thing.

Anyway, long story short (too late), they liked me and offered me the assignment, to start as of yesterday. Twenty minutes after accepting the assignment (with the assurance from my agency contact that she would get me as much per hour as she could, especially since I had told her the previous week that another agency was submitting me for an administrative assignment at Disney for $15.50/hr), I received a message from the Disney agency, saying that another assignment for which I was submitted (A/R - $17/hr) really wanted me to start on Monday.

Hmm. You see my dilemma. Well, because I try to be a woman of my word, I declined that assignment. Some hours later I was at home, getting ready to go to Game Night, when I called the warehouse agency to go over details we couldn’t go over earlier, due to me walking to the bus stop at the time. My contact was in a meeting, so I left a message for her to call me back. The anxious feeling that I had felt after declining the $17/hr assignment came back to me and I envisioned me talking to the contact, haggling with her over money while in front of CuteNerdBoy. Oh, did I envision correctly? Yes, I did.

So there we were, CuteNerdBoy and myself, driving to pick up The Princess Bride tickets, when I realized that it was 5:30pm and I hadn’t heard anything. So I called the agency back on my nifty new cell phone. I actually spoke with my contact and she informed me that the warehouse wanted to pay $14/hr, but she was able to get it up to $15/hr.

“Excuse me,” I said, and I launched into the “That’s Not What We Talked About Last Week” song. She hemmed and hawed, I got rather ticked off (but completely in control at all times), and she agreed to up the money to $16/hr, which was what I expected. And since I was sure that I had lost the $17/hr assignment, I agreed to accept the lesser assignment while thinking that, first thing Monday morning, I would call the Disney agency and tell them I was available after all.

Yesterday morning I arrived at the assignment right on time, and the other temp and I spent several hours shooting the breeze because no one had the time to really explain what we were doing there. Eventually, over the course of several conversations, it turns out that we weren’t there initially to help reconcile accounts and the like, which we thought were going to do. Nope, we were going to retrain some people in the new software program. Essentially we were going to be the consultants that the company was too cheap to pay for.

Um, no.

Still, I do need the work, since I really want to use my severance from Lions Gate to get a car and pay some bills. So I agreed, keeping in mind the Disney agency. Today I received a message from that agency saying that the $17/hr A/R position at Disney is still open and did I want it?

You bet your sweet bippy I did.

So starting tomorrow I’ll be temping at Disney again, doing work I learned at Lions Gate and earning more money than I did there. And I’ll be closer to home. It’s not at the studio, unfortunately. I have to bus to Glendale, which wouldn’t be too bad if I didn’t have to be there at 8am (ugh!), but I’ll have to deal, won’t I?

I can’t tell you how pleased I am that I don’t have to go back to the warehouse. While the few people that I met were nice enough, the environment was one that I definitely would have felt stifled. I’ll be happy to be back in the whacked-out, significantly dysfunctional world of entertainment that I love so much.

Even if it still is in accounting.

Saturday, January 17, 2004

My love is like a storybook story... 

The strains of Mark Knopfler's score still linger in my ears, graceful and gentle, the epitome of romance. Neither epic nor over-orchestrated in tone, its seeming simplicity speaks of tribulations conquered and lives enhanced by the power of love. Or perhaps I should say, "Wove, twue wove." A perfect compliment to the perfect movie just experienced on the big screen for the first time.

I've written before about my love for The Princess Bride, both the book and the movie. Well, tonight, after the Game Night event (which was a big hit - yea!), FFDWG(FKaSarah), Summer'85Boy, CuteNerdBoy and I joined some other LAPC folks for a midnight screening of The Princess Bride at the Nuart.

Once again I say, what a perfect movie it is. And so much fun to see it in a theater of over 300 people, nearly all of them devoted fans of the film. Anticipating all the good lines (which comprise at least 85% of the movie), but not shouting them out, ruining it for the newbies, the virgins. And next to me sat CuteNerdBoy (we got split up from the rest of our group), reveling in his own love for the images flickering on the screen before us.

At times I wondered at the wisdom of watching such a lovely film so soon after the latest failed "promising romance", thinking again about the dangers of the fairy tale, wondering how much longer I can believe in the fairy tale. I wondered at the wisdom of some of my comments tonight while talking to CuteNerdBoy about the latest developments between LiterateLawyerGuy and myself, which led to a conversation about guys in general and my damn biological clock, which is thundering in my head and makes me think that I sounded like I needed a husband and child this instant, which certainly isn't the case.

CuteNerdBoy's response: he's sure I'll find the right guy someday. That's nice to hear, of course, especially from him, and I know he's completely sincere. But "someday" has been a long time in coming. Sometimes a woman gets tired of waiting for "someday."

Another response: if the biological clock is an issue, maybe I should put some of my eggs on ice so that I no longer have to worry about it and I can just have fun. It's certainly an idea that merits consideration, but it's one that doesn't sit well with me. Maybe I'm just too old-fashioned in that regard. Or maybe the thought of being a mother for the first time at 45 - if I'm lucky - fills me with a certain amount of fear.

Still, despite these thoughts that have been rebounding about my brain, causing a certain amount of wistfulness to overtake me, I was - yet again - blown away by this movie that I love so dearly. I had a terrific time with people that make me very happy to hang out with (it's definitely great getting to know Summer'85Boy all over again). And pretty much all of the participants of the Game Night event told me they had fun and would definitely be up for the next one.

On top of that, I gave CuteNerdBoy a copy of Mix CD #2, which we listened to on our way to picking up the movie tickets before heading to the bakery for games. I think he enjoyed it. He was busy driving and all, so letting the music sweep him away would not have been prudent. But he told me he definitely liked Mix CD #1 a lot (I gave that to him on Tuesday night when we met for the BookCrossing meeting) and that it's on his permanent rotation. It's so nice knowing that a mix CD that I put together is giving him, the master mixologist, as much enjoyment as the numerous mix CD's that he's given me.

(I'll post the playlists soon, I promise.)

Definitely a successful evening. I could get used to that.

Thursday, January 15, 2004

I'm Tired... 

I'm just so fucking tired of it all. I don't know why I can't seem to catch a fucking break in the romance department.

Finally I heard from LiterateLawyerGuy. Actually, we both happened to sign on to IM at the same time. That's happened before, but, in keeping with not trying to be one more thing to overwhelm him in his already far too busy life, I never instigated a chat session, wanting him to make the first move. Especially after a rather steamy story that I sent him last week. Well, he never made the first move.

So today I thought, "What the hell? I'll just drop a quick little line. Can't hurt, right?"

Au contraire, mes amis. It most certainly can hurt.

We chatted for an hour, but there were long moments of silence. The gist of the IM chat? From his viewpoint, our timing is off and, much as he likes me, thinks I'm smart and cool, in the long run he just doesn't see us as compatible. According to his gut instinct. He admitted to pursuing me heavily and overpromising himself when he wasn't in a position to do so, and of course he gave me the "I don't want to hurt you and I hate hurting you" line, which I know is completely sincere. But if these men hate hurting me so much, why do they consistently do so?

I was honest with him, told him I was angry and hurt and disappointed. At the developments, at him and at myself. Angry at him, for overselling himself and not coming through. I know he sincerely meant it all at the time, but fuck! Have a realistic idea of what is happening in your life before pursuing a woman full tilt like that! And I'm angry at myself for, once again, letting someone in too quickly. I tried to hold off with him, I really did, but I just got caught up in the whirlwind of his pursuit and thought, "Hey, this guy just might be different."

I'm beginning to wonder if any men are different. It's the same old pattern of me getting involved with someone unavailable. Usually it's emotional unavailability, but this time it was geographical and time unavailability. And maybe a bit emotionally as well. When he signed off he said we'd talk soon, and again I know he meant it as he typed it, but the cynic in me - never far away - just snorted and said, "Yeah, right. what the fuck ever." If I'm not careful, that cynic could take over way too easily. I just have to be on my guard against her.

At least the men are being more honest with me these days. That's got to count for something, right? Now I have to figure out how to attract honest men that are available, emotionally and geographically. That was one of the things that I burned on my effigy at the New Year's Eve party, unavailable men. I hope it'll do some good.

I've got to get off-line now. I've been up for over four hours, I'm hungry because I haven't eaten all day, I've had a headache since I woke up that is steadily getting worse and I'm just fucking tired of everything.

So, how long does it take before 2004 starts getting better? I mean, I know it's barely underway, but I'm ready.


Wednesday, January 14, 2004

worlds of stories... 

Sounds seeped through the thin, heavily teen-idol and bygone movie star papered walls from other rooms in the house: her two brothers in the next room practicing to be rock stars with their inexpensive electric guitars and amps received as Christmas presents; her two sisters squabbling about some insignificant thing, again; her mom trying to referee the latest fight. Her father's voice - deep, authoritative - would have also been heard throughout the cheaply built naval house had he actually been in town instead of sailing the ocean. Perhaps this time he was on his way to Greece, or possibly Japan. After all the countries he had visited since she was a baby, it was hard to remember.

The familiar familial sounds could be heard even over the big band music pouring forth from the chintzy speakers of her old beat-up stereo. At least, they would have been had she actually been paying attention, had her mind occupied the here and now of 1980 San Diego. Her adolescent body, looking far more mature than its fourteen years, sat curled up on the tiny single bed, sharing space with clothes and papers and books. Her heavy plastic-framed glasses, needed to correct nearsighted vision that had been her companion since she was eight years old, lie discarded on the headboard, which also served double duty as a bookcase. Resting on her knees was the world to which her mind traveled, the world of foggy Victorian London, where blackguards accosted innocent young women and naive men were nearly pressed to death in elaborately built rooms. Where a complicated yet heroic detective and his loyal Boswell, without whom the detective would admittedly be lost, worked to right wrongs and to serve justice to evil doers.

Despite multi-faceted characters, it was still a world of black and white, of good and bad. A world where all lies would be exposed and be properly dealt with, where memories of previous injustices didn't lie dormant, to be sprung upon the unsuspecting years later. This world, and others like it - some of the past, others of the future - were frequently visited by the young girl with the long dark hair and big, distant brown eyes. The far-away worlds, etched on bound paper with black typeface, were often more real to her dreamy mind than the lathe and plaster and glass that surrounded her and her seemingly normal family. Oh, she knew the difference between reality and fantasy, never truly believing she was anyone beside herself. But increasingly she chose to live in the worlds she carried around with her, worlds without which she seemed incomplete, to herself and to others.

She chose to live in these worlds in the privacy of her room, the room she shared with no one except those that peopled her beloved bound pages, unlike her sisters and brothers. There was definitely an advantage to being the oldest surviving girl and the favorite of her mother. Here in her room she saw shadows of London and the Enterprise and other environments through the secondhand furniture and floor covered with clothing - both clean and dirty - and papers and, yes, books. She created a character that found her way into the environments, a woman five years her senior. A woman of brilliant intellect and exotic beauty and strong character. A woman who was all the blossoming young girl hoped she would become, despite her near crippling shyness and, to her eyes, average looks and figure.

An outside voice broke through the smoky London rooms the girl inhabited. It was a voice steeped in frustration, accompanied by sharp knocking. "We've been calling you for five minutes," the voice belonging to one of her sisters yelled out. "Come downstairs for dinner! Before it gets cold!" Again the solitary room in San Diego snapped into her vision.

"I'm coming!" she responded. She sighed, feeling bereft for an instant. She considered turning back to Victorian England, but thought better of it. The book closed, then was placed on her bed. She could always come back to it after she washed the dishes. She stole a quick glance at her watch. M*A*S*H was going to be on soon. Okay, after M*A*S*H, then.

Monday, January 12, 2004

Yet again... 

Beth has provided a link to a good sex quiz. I don't think she realizes she and her hubby are my quiz pushers.

Anyway, the quiz: So just how kinky is your sex life?. My score: 385. [300 to 400 -- You are definitely a kinky player.]

I can handle that.

Oh, yeah, baby... 

Sir Ian McKellan is the shizznit.

(Did I just write "shizznit"? Oh G-d, just take me now.)

I've been in love with him since high school, where we were required to watch Ian McKellen: Acting Shakespeare in Play Production. And I saw him in Richard III at Royce Hall over ten years ago. I'm so happy the world is catching up to us theater geeks. Yea!


Ya ever have one of those days where you want to write, you really, really do, but nothing interesting is popping into your brain? Well, you can think of things to write, like how very much you miss LiterateLawyerGuy after not hearing from him for a while, or how very pleased you are that you'll be seeing CuteNerdBoy soon, or that the next mix CD is nearly compiled, ready to be copied.

Or even how the job search is going (slowly, through your own fault - G-d, how you hate writing cover letters with the fire of a thousand intensely burning suns - then you start wondering if blue stars burn more intensely than white stars or vice-versa, trying with all your might to recall the astronomy you used to know like the back of your hand when you were a kid and failing miserably, so instead you decide to Google it and discover that indeed, blue stars are hotter than white stars, but you wish to heaven that MSN Encarta didn't have the ready answer because you're not very fond of Microsoft or anything Bill Gates related, despite his strangle-hold on the personal computing world and the fact that your once beloved Netscape is now impossibly crappy, forcing you to use Internet Explorer and maybe looking into installing Linux in the future isn't such a bad idea - then you realize that you're getting hopelessly off-track again because, you know, you embody the phrase "Tangents-'R-Us", so you search and search for the main point, using your visual machete to hack through the thick underbrush of the parenthetical aside that has grown to monstrous proportions, trapping large animals and small children in its living branches, looking to suck the life out of them, but instead you free them and send them back to their points of origin, after which the parents of the freed children have an immense celebratory dinner with the entire village invited, thanking you for your bravery with a small cottage on the edge of the village, near your increasingly Godzilla-like stream-of-consciousness so that you might save others unwise enough to venture into its mysterious depths, not realizing the size and viciousness of the aside is all your doing and still it grows and becomes mixed metaphors and - oh, here's that main point you were searching for...)

So yeah, there's stuff to write about. But you're tired of writing about your boys and you're tired of the job crap and you think that there's got to be something out there worth writing about, whether it's the weekend you spent with FFDWG(FKaSarah) - shopping (Books! Music! Clothes! Computer stuff! All very cheap, but all stuff you love with a deep passion, so whee!) and eating and watching Lord of the Rings:Return of the King (excellent movie, but boy, were you and your horribly sore ass ready for it to end at least an hour before it did or what? And no Christopher Lee makes you a very, very sad little girl) and going down to Torrance to check out cars for her and maybe you too.

Or you could write about the board game night that your writing group compatriots and you are hosting on Friday night after too long a time - 25 LAPC people are already signed up - too bad only two of your friends have RSVP'd thus far and that was to say, "No, sorry," (one of them, that cute SingleUPSGuy (see end of entry) from Rockerchick's surprise birthday party (again, see end of entry) even tried to get the night off from work for it).


Nothing else comes to mind. Maybe you're just not that interesting any more. Or despite your desire to write, maybe you're just going through a dry spell. Hey, maybe it's time to concentrate on writing cover letters! Or e-mails that you owe to other people! That should channel your need to write just fine.

Then again, that mounting pile of laundry might need to be addressed pretty damned soon. Yeah, that's what you'll do today.


Saturday, January 10, 2004


Read this. Now. Nothing new under the sun, but man, does it say it all.

(Thanks to Kymm for the link. BTW, she too has written an entry that must be read. These women, with lives very different from mine, have managed to reach into my head and heart and verbalized so many of my thoughts and feelings roiling around inside me. And have done so far more eloquenly than I am able to as of late. These women rock. [Psst... I've always had a little crush on Kymm.])

Thursday, January 08, 2004

My new favorite quote... 

"Vegan cheese sucks hairy balls.".

That it does, Glark, that it does.

Though there was one nearly vegan cheese I tried that was almost okay, even in a grilled cheese sandwich. (I say nearly vegan because it contained casein, which is a milk product. Then again, most "vegan" cheeses do.)

Unfortunately I don't remember the name of the cheese, just that it was supposed to taste like Monterey Jack. Or Swiss. It was white, I remember that much. But since I'm hardly VeganGirl these days and I've been eating dairy since around June, I can't really recall.

I still rarely bring dairy into the house, but when I'm eating out all bets are off. I really should give up all milk products, though. Not just for ethical reasons. That stuff plays serious havoc with my already sensitive sinuses. I already sound like a ten-year, pack-a-day smoker every morning with the hacking and the coughing and the nose-blowing (yeah, I'm just a sexy, sexy girl in the morning - your collective sexual desire for me has just tripled, hasn't it?). I don't need dairy to aggravate the problem.


A word of advice: if you don't have anyone available to help relieve certain, shall I say, needs and desires, it's probably not a good idea to transcibe one story that you've written that contains scenes hot and steamy, then start writing another such story.

Frustration 'R' Us, baby!


Here's a fun little thing I'd almost forgotten I'd written, about three years ago. Some of it still applies, some of it is old. Y'all have to figure out which is which!


*snicker* Favorite new search string: "on christopher lee's hot ass".

While my love of Christopher Lee is well documented, I'm pretty sure I've never written about his "hot ass". Nor do I think I've ever checked to see if, indeed, he has ever possessed one. Maybe I'll watch one of his older movies for research. Because one who adores the man as much as I do should really know these things.

Wednesday, January 07, 2004


I just realized I never talked about the New Year's Eve party I went to last week. It was fun. While I did look absolutely stunning (even with my skinny little eyebrows) I neither flirted my eyelashes off nor displayed as much cleavage as I normally would. Not that I didn't try, mind you. When I put on my simple long black gown the cleavage was out, loud and proud. Unfortunately the dress kept slipping upwards. I guess it decided I needed to be a bit more modest. Stupid dress.

None of my friends that I invited could make it. Again. WestHollywoodBoy did want to go, but only because I was going and he didn't want to drive. I knew he probably wouldn't want to stick around as long as I probably would, so I told him that if he wanted to go he should meet me there because I didn't want to have to leave early if I didn't want to just because he did. He ended up not showing up, but it turns out he was just exhausted from a long work day and didn't do much of anything that night.

So I hung out, chatted with a few people, nibbled on food and had one drink. Two men took a shine to me over the course of the night, but I found neither attractive in the least, so I ended up trying to avoid them most of the evening. It wasn't too hard with the crowd of people.

Just before midnight I stood near the bonfire, having already tossed my wooden effigy into the fire, when to my delight OBGirlfriend showed up while OlderBro was parking the car. Yea! The three of us ended up hanging out the rest of the night and morning. I also ended up kissing them at midnight. I was a little disappointed, because, though I love them, they weren't quite the people I had in mind to kiss at midnight. At least it wasn't the guy that was trying to reserve me for a midnight kiss earlier in the evening. While I don't mind a nice beard on a guy on occasion, this guy's beard looked like it was going to take over the room. Um, no thanks.

It was an interesting New Year's morning, though. OBGirlfriend, while a wonderful woman with a big, generous heart, is, shall we say, a very honest woman. Especially when she's been drinking. And she lets everyone know how honest she is. She is truly a force of nature and has been known as being more than a little on the brash side. I think she managed to tick off PythonMan (one of the hosts - a pretty laid back guy) and make Summer'85Boy shake his head more than once.

I think the best thing about the party, though, was getting a chance to hang out with PythonMan and Summer'85Boy. I tried not to monopolize their attention during the party because, hey, a ton of guests, but as the night wore on and people left I was actually able to talk to them, as well as PMWife, who showed up for a few minutes. She's a very cool lady. And during the very early morning hours, while OlderBro and OBGirlfriend were talking with a kid that OBGirlfriend decided would be her next project (she loves to find people she can help) in Summer'85Boy's bedroom, Summer'85Boy and I sat on his bed and just chatted. About his current dating life and gaming and a few other things. It was very nice. As was the big hug at the end of the evening (beginning of the morning?) from him. And his offers to watch my DVDs at his place sometime (since I have no DVD player and several DVDs, many of which he also likes). Even nicer? When I mentioned that he had barely changed over the last eighteen years, I said, "Unlike me." His response: "Not really." I think he was just being nice, because I'm easily over fifty pounds heavier than I was in '85, but it was still a great thing to hear.

It looks like I have another couple of friends in the making, which is always a good thing in my book. I hope we can continue to be friends.

BTW, I got home at about 6:30am on New Year's Day. Yeah, I was exhausted. I slept off and on the entire day.

A fun New Year's Eve, in the end. I'm glad I went.

Tuesday, January 06, 2004


This is just way too cool. I especially love how tiny the sun looks from Mars. And check out this devil-streaked crater!

Positively neato-keen, I tell ya!

(Thanks to WIL WHEATON dot NET for the link.)


Sometimes I feel sorry for some of the people that stumble across this 'blog through web searches. Oh, not the sickos that use words such as "l*ttle g*rls" and "f*ck" in the same search string. Those fuckers need to be stringed up by their tiny dicks and flayed alive.

No, the folks I feel sorry for are the ones who click on the links, fully expecting a nice bit of porn or erotica, and instead come up with my blatherings. For instance, this morning one fella (or chick) searched using the string "pulled my breasts out" and instead found my entry about my entirely wholesome evening with RockerChick. Even the little bit of description on Google was misleading: "... 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 ..."

No wonder the poor guy (or gal) expected more. Sorry about that!

My eyes, my eyes... 

Um, could I talk for a second with just the young girls out there? And women who are into the latest fashion trends? Yeah, if you'll just step over here, that would be great. Please, sit down, relax on the sofa. Here, have some tea.

Everyone comfy? Everyone have a refreshment? Great.

I have a wee bit of a suggestion, if y'all don't mind. You know those low-rise jeans that are so popular? I have a couple pair of them myself. Yeah, even a big girl like me likes the way she looks in the low-rise jeans. They're pretty cool.

But you really should know that, if they're so tight that you look like an overstuffed sausage, with rolls of skin popping out over the waistband, well, that's not really a good look. Hey, I'm not saying that you need to be rail thin to wear them. I mean, look at me. This may come as a shock to y'all, but I ain't tiny. (CuteNerdBoy takes cute pics, doesn't he?). Those jeans in the pictures aren't really low-rise, but they do fasten a little bit lower than my natural waist, so close enough. (Hey, even a shopgirl in Santa Barbara said she liked those jeans on me. *preen*)

So I guess what I'm saying is, don't be a slave to fashion at the expense of looking your best. And your dignity. Trust me, it's not doing you, or us, any good.

What? No! Please put down the pot of hot tea, I beg of you! You'll regret it if...

Musical Interlude... 

I went home for Christmas
To the house that I grew up in
Going back was something after all these years
I drove down Monterey Street
And felt a little sadness
When I turned left on Laurel and the house appeared
And I snuck up to that rocking chair
Where the winter sunlight slanted on the screened-in porch
And I stared out past the shade tree
That my laughing daddy planted on the day that I was born

And I let time go by so slow
And I made every moment last
And I thought about years
How they take so long
And they go so fast

Across the street the Randol's oldest daughter must have come home
Her two boys built a snowman by the backyard swings
I thought of old man Randol
And his Christmas decorations
And how he used to leave them up 'til early spring
And I thought of all the summers
That I paced that porch and swore I'd die of boredom there
And I thought of what I'd give to feel another summer linger
Where a day feels like a year


Then the door flew open, and my mother's voice was laughing
As she called back to my daddy, "Come and look who's here!"
And I thought about years

Years by Beth Nielsen Chapman (from Beth Nielsen Chapman - Greatest Hits)

Oh, how I sometimes wish for such a home to go back to. Kind of impossible when, as a kid, it seems as if you're living in a new city every year.

Mind you, I wouldn't change most of my youth for almost anything. Being exposed to so many different areas of the U.S during my childhood (even in the limited fashion afforded by the military) was a terriffic learning experience.

Still, the thought of having roots somewhere, of having a family home to go back to, one that holds many milestones in its walls, is a very seductive one. The home that my family lived in for over ten years in Simi Valley (from 1987 to 2000) came closer than any before or after, despite my own dislike of the town.

It saddens me a bit that no such home exists any longer. That there's no familiar place we can congregate for family get-togethers, where we laugh about the failed paint color or remember when rose bushes were planted or marvel at the evolution of the garage. I now know that those memories were built on a foundation of lies, but the memories are very appealing nonetheless. That house was another symbol of the fracturing and reconstruction of our family, I suppose. One I'm sure I'll learn to move past. Eventually.

However, it has made me resolute about one aspect of my future. When I marry and have children, I want to live and love and raise my children in the same house. Of course I'll want to travel with my family, my someday husband and I taking the kids to new and exciting places so that they can experience the wonder of the world. But, after our vacations, our travels are done for that week or month or year, I want a home to come back to, one which holds mostly fond memories for the family I hope to help build. One where, once the children are grown, with little rugrats of their own, they can all gather for holidays and birthdays and just because.

I guess I just want my children to have the roots that I was denied as a little girl. And maybe spread new roots of my own, entwined with theirs and with the man I end up loving enough to marry, whoever he may be.


Monday, January 05, 2004

Let me help you... 

What Classic Movie Are You?

I don't know how well I succeed, mind you, but I do try.

At least I'm a Spielberg movie that I like (which is fairly rare, actually - Schindler's List and Young Sherlock Holmes are the only Spielberg movies I love unreservedly). And I'm happy they don't consider Always to be a classic movie. If I had gotten that one... *shudder*

Sunday, January 04, 2004


I've got to stop listening to music. That's all there it to it. Why? Because lately music has been making me weep like a little baby. And it certainly isn't the first time.

Today I picked up a used Beth Nielsen Chapman CD, remembering how much I love The Color of Roses and thinking I could probably find another song that I would love and that would go on my third mix CD. I was right, but I didn't bargain for the waterworks that erupted from my eyes. Same thing yesterday - in listening to a song that would up on Mix CD #2, I practically sobbed. I've probably cried at least three or four times in the last week.

Granted, I've been very emotional for some time now (gee, ya think?), but it's strange how and when it makes itself known. Hell, a few weeks ago I was sitting on FFDWG(KNaSarah)'s sofa, watching TV, and I got choked up at a stupid commercial. Okay, the commercial involved a father putting up Christmas decorations and, as my father has always been known for his extravagant outdoor decorations, I thought about how I'd probably never see him do that again. Still, it was a friggin' commercial, ferchrissakes.

Now, some might think that maybe, just maybe, I should see a doctor to make sure there's no bun in the oven, but considering I haven't had actual intercourse since the beginning of time, it seems - okay, for over a year and half - I'm not too worried about that. And I'm pretty sure G-d hasn't chosen me to be the mother of his next Saviour, what with me not being a virgin or saintly or anything like that.

(While LiterateLawyerGuy and I, shall I say, enjoyed each other's company immensely the two times we've actually been able to see each other, we've not done anything baby-making as of yet. See, we've been good. Honest.)

Then again, maybe it's just PMS again. I think I'm due next week (my cycle has been a little off the last couple of months, so I'm not really sure), so that awful PMS that has reared its ugly head over the last five or so years could be just saying, "Hi!" And when I PMS, I get weepy. And horny. I'm just a weepy, horny mess.

(You. Huddled over your computer like it's a friggin' campfire. Yeah, you. I heard you and I'm not "always horny". So stop your sniggering. Before I take an axe to your precious lil' PC.

That's better.)

This is the real reason I'd like to have a boyfriend (I'm 37 years old - is "boyfriend" really the proper word for the significant other of a sexy, vibrant old bat like me? Though if he were a young stud in his twenties, I could see how that might work - nah, I actually prefer guys in the same decade as me, if not a little older - where was I? Oh yeah...). For those times when I'm PMSing it sure would be nice to have someone to hold me when I cry, then fuck my brains out afterwards...



Sorry, my mind must have taken a little trip there for a second. And such a lovely trip it was...


Okay, I'm back again. Anyway. Yeah. WeepyGirl. HornyGirl. And GotToStopListeningToSoMuchMusicGirl. Which, considering I've pretty much immersed myself in music for the past few days - we're talking way over my head, practically drowning in music - I'm sure y'all can see the issue.

Or maybe I just need to listen to more Squirrel Nut Zippers. I think it is impossible to be weepy while listening to their music. There may even be a law against it.
The "crying while listening to SNZ", I mean. Not the actual SNZ.

I think.

Bless you, child... 

What Famous Leader Are You?

Cool! Thanks again, Chuck!

Saturday, January 03, 2004

Cutting edge... 

Yep, I'm on the cutting edge. Always. Know what I did a few nights ago? I acquired a program that enables a person to download music files from other users. Check me out.

Oh, shut up.

Yeah, I never got around to using Napster or Kazaa, what with my old computer not being able handle anything more than the standard Windows tiny sound files. And by the time this computer was set up, Napster had gone the way of the dodo (at least the version that people knew and loved).

There were a couple of songs I desparately wanted. Sure I could have bought the CDs but 1) I would have had to wait until the next day and 2) I didn't have the money. So I poked around a bit and found a program that would suit my needs and that didn't have a bunch of crap bundled into it - I'm firmly against spyware, for instance, which Kazaa and a bunch of others include in their programs.

Now, I'm not about to use it to download entire albums. I'd rather support my favorite artists by paying for their CDs, especially non-Top 40 artists such as Beth Orton, Oh Susanna, Bif Naked and Ani DiFranco. Not to mention local bands I've seen and loved - Third Door Down, Gangster Folk, The Naked Pilgrims and The Uptown Rulers, for example.

But I will say that I love being able to download a song that's been creeping around in the back of my mind. And being able to put that song on a mix CD. Yep, I'm making mix CDs now. In the past few days I've completed two and I'm compiling a third. I've probably got 2/3 of it selected and that's just been in the last few hours. I can see why CuteNerdBoy has done so many - it's positively addicting! I don't think about the content too much, beyond trying to find a little bit of a balance. For instance, if I look at the playlist and notice that most of the songs are slow and sad, or just emotionally intense, I might decide to throw in something a bit different. Just for a little break.

So far my CD titles aren't all that imaginative (Mix CD #1, Mix CD #2), but after listening to both CDs today, I just might rename them. Because I hear definite themes running through them. (I won't put up play lists on the 'blog just yet, since I plan on giving copies to a couple of my readers - who both happen to be friends - and I want them to listen to the CDs first, to draw their own conclusions).

I'm almost afraid to see what the theme for #3 will turn out to be.

BTW, since I'm all MusicalCuttingEdgeGirl now, here's a bit of advice: those fancy music file downloading programs work best with DSL or a cable modem or one of those other new-fangled fast internet connection thingies. Dial-up? Can be painfully slow.

Just thought you might like to know. You can thank me later. I'd recommend a CD from any of the folks mentioned above. Because that way you can thank me and support them at the same time.

Yeah, such a giver. That's me, alright.

Musical Interlude #2... 

Original French lyrics:

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal
Tout ça m'est bien égal
Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
C'est payé, balayé, oublié
Je me fous du passé

Avec mes souvenirs
J'ai allumé le feu
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux
Balayés mes amours
Avec leurs trémolos
Balayés pour toujours
Je repars à zéro

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal
Tout ça m'est bien égal
Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Car ma vie
Car mes joies
Ça commence avec toi...

English translation:

No there's nothing at all
No, I have no regrets
Not the bad or the good I've been done
I don't care - it's all one
No there's nothing at all
No, I have no regrets
It's all paid, all forgot, swept away
I move on day by day.

All my souvenirs serve
Just to kindle a flame
The delights and the hurts
I won't need them again
My old lovers, their lust
All their trembling is gone
Swept away like the dust
I return to square one

No there's nothing at all
No, I have no regrets
Not the bad or the good I've been done
I don't care - it's all one
No there's nothing at all
No, I have no regrets
Because my life, and my joys
Spring anew
And it all starts with you.

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien by Edith Piaf (from The Voice of the Sparrow: The Very Best of Edith Piaf)

Proof positive that one does not need a strong grasp of a foreign language to fall in love with a song. The music is stirring, starting out so strong that you think there's nowhere else it can go before it proves you wrong as it builds to its inevitable climax. And Piaf's voice, so unique, brings so much passion and conviction to the song you can't help but be carried away.

I think this song is going to become one of my theme songs. Because, despite anything bad or stifling that has occured in my life, I regret very little of it, because I've learned so much. That knowledge is invaluable.

(And no, this 'blog isn't going to contain just song lyrics from now on. I promise.)


Friday, January 02, 2004

Musical Interlude... 

I'm the kid who ran away with the circus
Now I'm watering elephants
But I sometimes lie awake in the sawdust
Dreaming I'm in a suit of light

Late at night in the empty big top
I'm all alone on the high wire
Ladies and gentlemen, there is no net this time
He's a real death defier

I'm the kid who always looked out the window
Failing the tests in geography
But I have seen things far beyond just this schoolyard
Distant shores of exotic lands

There's the spires of the Turkish empire
Six months since we made landfall
Riding low with the spices of India
Through Gibralter, we're rich men all

I'm the kid who thought we'd someday be lovers
Always held out that time would tell
Time was talking
Guess I just wasn't listening
No surprise, if you know me well

As we're walking down toward the train station
I hear a whispering rainfall
Across the boulevard, you slip your hand in mine
In the distance the train's last call

I'm the kid who has this habit of dreaming
That sometimes gets me in trouble too
But the truth is
I could no more stop dreaming
Than I could make them all come true

The Kid by Buddy Mondlock - as sung by Dar Williams, Lucy Kaplansky & Richard Shindell (from Cry Cry Cry)

A lovely song - beautiful harmonies compliment wistful lyrics and gentle music. As someone who perhaps spends more time dreaming than she should, The Kid certainly hits home.

Perhaps now is the time to make those dreams come true.


Thursday, January 01, 2004

Only twenty minutes left... 

...of this first day of 2004. A bright shiny spanking new year lays ahead, full of promise and wonder and uncertainty. I look at the 365 days left, think about how much time that is, how this year can be better and brighter than any of the recent years that my family and friends and I have managed to survive.

In many ways the division of time is an arbitrary one, with only the marching of days and the changing of the seasons truly marking the passage of what we call months and years. But this division of time is an important one for most humans, myself included. It is a means by which we mark the occurrence of events we deem important, perhaps even life altering. How else could we tell others when we were born or married? The births of treasured children, deaths of loved ones, the loss of virginity, the destruction and reconstruction of familial relationships, or the meeting of people that would become integral to the progress of our lives, whether for good or ill - through the existence of simple sheets of paper marked with grids and numbers and letters and occasionally images (our tactile representation of the passing days and seasons), we can say, "Oh, that happened in April 1973." So much easier than saying, "That was near the beginning of ten growing seasons past."

As 2004 stretches before me, seemingly endless, I remind myself that the 2003 calendar once looked as pure and white and limitless, as did those for 2002 and 2001 and all the other years, and New Year's Eve appeared in a heartbeat, as it has before. And, with luck and perseverance, will again. In the meantime I wish for a 2004 full of light and love and miracles for those dearest to me, as well as for myself.

Do I make a New Year's resolution? Since high school I've been wary of those, yet I've always sworn that I would do what I could to be a better person by the end of the year. Exercise more, get a better job, move in with another person, be a better daughter and sister and friend and aunt. Sometimes I succeed, but more often I fear that I don't. Which means that I kick myself for failing in my goals, wondering why I'm more successful at procrastination than anything else in my life.

This year I will work on those things. If I slide back into old habits I'll do my best to learn from the sliding and get back on those horses, to move forward again. Not resolutions so much as acknowledging my own efforts, I guess. But the one thing that I do resolve this year - try to treat every day as the precious thing that it is. Try to cherish the people in my life and to let them know that, even when they may irritate me or tick me off, that they mean the world to me. It's something I try to do anyway, but I always think that I could do so much better.

I have one other resolution - that I have someone that I like to kiss when midnight on 12/31/04 rolls around. Much as I love my friends and family, several years of having no one else to kiss when the clock strikes is rather depressing. (Though not as depressing as the one year when I had no one at all to kiss. I'm never letting that happen again.)

Oh, and to leave my damn eyebrows alone until they grow back, no matter how scraggly and sad they may look.

Come to think of it, that last may be the hardest of all.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours? www.blogwise.com Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com Listed on BlogShares Free Image Hosting at ImageShack.us

Listed on LABlogs.com

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.
This is my blogchalk:
United States, California, Los Angeles, San Fernando Valley, English, Carol, Female, 36-40.

WWW all the fun of the fair...