all the fun of the fair...

As if there were any doubt:


You are a goddess!


Which Ultimate Beautiful Woman are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

(From the rockin' Beth)

BTW, weekend tales will come in the next day or two, once I get a little time. Let's just say that the weekend held danger, excitement and romance. Okay, so it wasn't my romance, because I ain't got none goin' on (BabySis' bridal shower, doncha know?), but the danger and excitement? Most definitely mine and CuteNerdBoy's.

... as that of a woman who has had her stomach turned and her intelligence denigrated by the ostensible leader of her country.

It was an interesting weekend, all told, to be recounted in full, hopefully later today (Monday), but I will say that an odd confluence (er, I mean "sequence" - I shouldn't type [or think] when half asleep) of events caused CuteNerdBoy and I to watch Fahrenheit 9/11 on Sunday evening. And all I can say is, "Wow."

That is a powerful movie. And one that makes me furious. It's several hours later and I'm still furious.

I'll make an admission, one that I made to CuteNerdBoy, which brought about his patented, "Carol, you've grown another head," look (it's one he's employed often in the last year): I'd never seen a Michael Moore movie before.

Odd, I know, especially for a raging liberal/progressive like myself. Like so many other things, I'd just never gotten around to it. Oh, I'd seen The Awful Truth and TV Nation before, but his movies had, thus far, remained unviewed by me, even though I've wanted to watch them. But I was certainly familiar with his work, his penchant for incendiary filmmaking and many of the facts presented (and yes, those were facts - presented in a blatantly biased fashion, of course [it's Michael Moore, for heaven's sake - what do people expect by now?], but still facts). All of that, and my habit of taking any media that is politically or religiously motivated with a huge salt-lick, did not negate the power of the movie.

I've got to run off and get some sleep now because I'm finding it increasingly difficult to type (I just hope I can sleep after that movie), so I'll just urge y'all to go see Fahrenheit 9/11. It's a hell of a film and one that needs to be seen, especially in this election year.

I'm glad we contributed to the huge opening weekend box office.

Oh, and apropos of nothing else here, except for the whole "good stuff" thing, check out Pamie's book drive for San Diego. I'll be contributing once I get the funds to do so. After all, while I'd been reading avid since I was 5 or 6 years old, it was in San Diego that my love for books truly blossomed. And that was thanks to the bookmobiles and libraries. I'd love to give back to the library system that gave a shy, awkward teen an outlet for her imagination, the nascent writing desire, and the opportunity to live in, and create, other realities, if only for a little while.

And if you'd rather give to your community, there's nothing wrong with that. That's what I did last year.

I finally have the donor form up, for your dowloading and printing pleasure. All necessary mailing/fax info is on the form, so just follow that. It will also be linked to the right.

(I just tested the donor site - still down. *fume*)

Thanks again!

Forget about finding DevotedMan and celibacy and meaningless sex. Because I have found a new, previously undiscovered man with whom I would like to have lots of sex. And trust me, none of it would be meaningless.

I would like to fuck Jon Stewart, if I may.

Okay, maybe he's not exactly undiscovered, what with him being on the cover of Newsweek back in January, or those two Emmys he won, or that itty bitty little basic cable show he anchors. And it's not like I hadn't discovered him before, since I do enjoy watching that itty bitty little cable show whenever I'm not otherwise occupied. And I am frequently otherwise occupied, even if I'm at home watching something else, or futzing around on my computer.

But this week, because I really don't watch the show that often, I decided to start taping it so that I could watch it at my leisure. I think missed Monday's show, but halfway through Tuesday's show I set up a tape and hit "Record" on my VCR remote, then went to bed. The next day I programmed The Daily Show to be a regularly taped series.

Tonight I sat down to watch. And watch I did, as Jon spoke with Stephen F. Hayes, staff writer for The Standard and the author of The Connection, about the supposed connection between Saddam Hussein and al Qaeda. I've known for a while that Jon is a sharp, intelligent fellow, but watching him debate Hayes, making salient points that the author couldn't refute, while maintaining his humor and never once being seriously insulting to Hayes himself (okay, maybe once, but it was still said with loads of humor), well, let us just say that your humble 'blogger was most favorably impressed. And maybe more than just a little bit a-tingle.

Fine, he made me growl like a horny schoolgirl.

So, yeah. Sex with Jon Stewart. I could definitely jump on that bandwagon.

*growl*

Several weeks ago, while I was camping in Big Sur (hard to believe that was nearly a month ago), I dreamed. Which was a good thing, because that meant I was actually getting a little sleep, which had eluded me thus far over the long holiday weekend.

Anyway, in this dream that I dreamed - of which I remember little, which is the nature of the majority of my dreams - CuteNerdBoy was featured.

(I'm sure y'all aren't surprised by that, but considering he's actually not in many of my dreams, at least that I can remember, I was actually a wee bit surprised. But not too surprised, considering what constant companions he, MoulinRougeFan and I were over the weekend. But I digress...)

He was sitting on an overstuffed recliner in what I believe was my parents' old living room in Granada Hills. Which, considering he's never been in said living room, might be interesting and of itself. I was sitting on the floor in front of my folks' glass and wood coffee table, which was situated not too far from the recliner (which also existed in my parents' old living room, but not in that configuration). I remember him asking me several rather pointed, personal questions, the answers to which were interrupted by something or other. I formulated my answers while I waited for the interruption to pass. I opened my mouth and --

"I'm sorry, Carol, but you were snoring again." I sleepily opened an eye and saw MoulinRougeFan's face hovering over mine. I mumbled a heartfelt, if barely heard, apology, rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep.

But I couldn't. My mind raced and raced, chasing away the remnants of slumber despite the comfortable coziness of my comforters and the sleeping bag that CuteNerdBoy had lent me. All I could think about were the questions that DreamCuteNerdBoy had asked, and the answers that I had been prepared to give him. Finally I bundled up against the deeply chilled early morning air and left the tent. I sat in one of the collapsible chairs set up around the cold fire ring and I wrote. I wrote about the dream and I wrote about my answers. I wrote pages and pages of my answers, trying to work it all out in my too-logical-mind and too-tender-heart.

Some weeks later I read my conclusions to my writing group. That's a lot of what we read and write for the group - creative journaling. As I finished, one of the group members - the USC professor with the published book who has braved Bill O'Reilly on air and lived to tell about it - stated how much clarity she heard in my writing. Clarity of thought and action. I laughed. A half-hearted laugh, perhaps, but still a laugh of sorts, and I replied, "Yeah, this week."

I thought about that "clarity" tonight and wondered where it went. Thing is, I am frequently clear about what it is that I want, but sometimes what I want just isn't available. Such as a family that hasn't been torn apart. An older sister that is still living. Affordable health care. Jonatha Brooke and Common Rotation giving me and my friends a private concert. A free all-you-can-eat soup/salad/pasta bar in the showroom at work. CuteNerdBoy.

Which brings to mind one of the questions that DreamCuteNerdBoy asked: "Carol, what do you want?"

Such a good question, isn't it?

Sometimes I want to remain celebate until I'm in an established relationship. Or at least close to it. So that men realize that I'm a woman who is looking for more than just casual sex. Then I remember that I tried that a couple of times before - for several years at a stretch - and ya know what? The men weren't exactly flocking to my door to woo me. Besides, I'm such a naturally physically affectionate person (which I, quite frankly, keep pretty reined in, because I'm always afraid of making someone else uncomfortable) that more than a couple of years of celebacy would probably drive me even more batty than I am.

So how about lots of meaningless sex? I mean, if men just want to sleep with me and nothing more, why not oblige? I like sex. I like sex a lot. At least then we'd both be getting something we enjoyed. But -- no. Not really my style. The last time I came close to lots of meaningless sex - back in the late 90's, though I was hardly promiscuous - I grew tired of it pretty quickly. There's little in the world that's more depressing to me than sex with little or no emotional connection.

As I wrote on that nippy May morning in that Big Sur campground (and I've written here more than once, so please forgive me if I'm being repetitive), I just want someone with whom I can share myself, be myself totally and who will share himself and feel comfortable enough to be totally himself with me. Not a carbon copy of me, just someone whose qualities, good and bad, compliment my qualities. I'd like someone who will be devoted to me in the way that I'd like to be devoted to him. And that someone needs to possess generosity of heart, humor, intelligence, compassion and principles. And, of course, that ever-undefinable chemistry. It's as simple, and as complicated, as that.

If such a man does not enter my life, then I suppose that I'll never have the husband and children that I want. Because I cannot be in a relationship with any other kind of man, no matter how nice he may be.

Pretty clear, huh?

Okay, here's the deal with the broken marathon donation page. Recently a hacker tried to break into the main AIDS Marathon website and has sent up all sorts of red flags on the secure part of the site. I'm working to get that fixed (e-mails are going out, by G-d), as are the folks at the marathon, but until then I don't want anyone to feel left out.

Tonight I'll be scanning in the donation form and placing it online, so that y'all can print and fax/mail that (all fax number/address info is on the form - please use that form as it has my runner code on it). If you like, you can e-mail me directly (please remember to remove SPAMBAD from address) and I can give you further information or e-mail the form to you.

I'm very sorry for any inconvenience this has caused, but I thank you for your patience. And mucho, mucho thank yous for wanting to donate. It really is very cool of you.

And I will try my best to keep the 'blog from devolving into, "All marathon, all the time."

** NOTE (6/22/04 - 1:27pm) Still working on this - the file is huge and I'm not used to manipulating files so that it'll print 8"x11", but is still a manageable download. I'll figure it out tonight, after writing group. Thanks again for your patience.

I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I've usually been pretty good with dates my entire life, but lately I've not been so good with remembering birthdays.

As a result, even though I thought about it for the week preceeding it, I forgot my blog's first birthday yesterday. For shame.

Yep, it was a year ago yesterday that I wrote the first entry of all the fun of the fair... and I didn't even give it any birthday cake. Or ice cream. I could have at least given it some ice cream.

What kind of 'blog mommy am I?

I did spend yesterday morning marathon training, then attending both a marathon info meeting and orientation (BTW, still problems donating through my participant webpage - I was given a solution yesterday, but it turns out the solution didn't solve anything, so I've got to e-mail them again). I got home around 2:30 pm (after walking about a mile from a certain bus stop, just to see how far it was from my home - I thought it was further than a mile), decided to sit and rest for a few minutes before doing anything around the house. So I watched a little TV and ended up falling asleep on the couch. Until 7pm. At which time I moved into my bedroom and fell asleep again. Until 6:30am this morning.

I think I was a little tired.

Today will be spent doing a few things around the house, then going hiking again, this time with Sarriah and possibly Boychik. I'm just in a hiking kind of mood lately.

But I at least wanted to mark the birthday/anniversary/whatever-you-want-to-call-it-day of the 'blog.

I still feel like crawling into bed, though. Maybe I better make myself some tea...

I'm sitting here at work, trying to get some stuff finished before the weekend starts. Kind of a busy day, but not outrageously so. Everyone in the showroom left early, so a little before 5pm I locked the front door and turned up the CD that I've been listening to all day, albeit at low volume.

I'm typing and printing, but the music pulls me out of the report that I'm updating, lifting and throwing and bouncing my heart like a basketball, and all I want to do stop working, curl up on the floor with a stuffed animal (of which there are none in the vicinity) or a nice young(ish) man (again, none around) and listen to the songs - my eyes closed, the feeling of blood rushing through my veins in the indescribable way it tends to do only when I'm listening to music that I love. Especially Smoke, Born For Me, A Minor Incident and You Had Time. G-d, those songs are just so heart-breaking, and heart-breakingly beautiful.

You think I'd learn to stop listening to music by now...

Did I say "fuck"? Silly me. I meant, "FUCK!" Or perhaps, "Fuckity fucking fuckers." I'm not quite sure.

(You'd never believe I was once so pure and innocent that I had trouble spelling "H-E-Double Hockeysticks." I even had trouble saying the phrase, "H-E-Double-Hockeysticks." Yeah, those days are pretty much gone.)

A few months ago I ordered the bridesmaid dress for BabySis' wedding. It came in a few weeks ago and BabySis picked it up while I was in Tucson (not sure why - she was trying to do a favor for me, which I totally appreciate, but was certainly not necessary, since I was just waiting for the fitting appointment this weekend). On Sunday, since she was in the area, she dropped it off at my place. I pulled it out of the closet to try it on last night, hoping that maybe it'll fit me well enough that I wouldn't need to have it altered. Because I am a bit on the broke side right now. I slipped into (more like “jumped and wriggled and did my best ‘dying fish’ impersonation”) my “foundation undergarments”. You know, the ones that flatten and lift and separate and have all the advanced engineering of the Spitzer Space Telescope for just as important a mission – smooth out all the annoying little bulges that I’m not particularly fond of. I don’t like the undergarments much, but they are needed for the occasional formal gown.

Over these fantastic torture devices, I slid on my lovely bridesmaid dress - in wine - and zipped up the back. I looked in the mirror, the scarf draped around the front of my neck to fall oh-so-elegantly down my back, I thought, “Not bad. Not bad at all.” I didn’t even mind the exposure of my upper arms – a body part I am very careful to keep covered, due to my belief that they aren’t very attractive. Then I turned to view my profile.

Fuck.

I will say that nothing needs to be taken in, for which I say, yea!

But.

First of all, even with the lycra/spandex/lastex/whatever-the-fuck-tex vise of my (fine, I’ll say it) girdle (are you happy? Sheesh!), my tummy was more pronounced than I would have liked. Which sucked, to be sure. But what’s worse is the zipper. It puckers. It pouches. The part that runs along my ass zigs up and down like the Appalachian Mountains.

It does not please me.

When I tried on a dress at the store, the only one that was in my size was in a navy color. There was some puckering in the zipper, but not much. And nothing that couldn’t be solved with a few sit-ups and the proper underwear. Same with the tummy, or so I thought. The next larger size was way too big in the chest and torso and still had a few zipper/tummy issues, so I thought, “Eh, I’ll go with the first size I tried on.”

Now I’m wondering if 1) that was a good idea, 2) I gained weight, 3) the navy color hid any possible problems, 4) that navy dress was, perhaps, cut a little more generously than the one I currently have and 5) it's too late to ask BabySis to change the color of the bridesmaid dresses. I’m pretty sure the answers are 1) no, 2) not according to my scale and the rest of my clothing – I’ve actually lost a little bit more, 3) yes, 4) it’s possible and 5) are you out of your fucking mind, you narcissist?

(Also, do these people not realize that women have asses? I mean, I know mine is, well, big, but even so, the zipper sould not be puckering the way it is.)

So I have three options: call my local David’s Bridal and see if they happen to have the same dress in stock so that I can maybe try it on, see if it fits better, and swap it out; call my local David's Bridals and insist that they send me a dress ASAP that does not have a zipper that looks like it was stitched by arthritic monkeys; and/or work like hell to lose about ten pounds in the next five weeks. I know it can be done, but it’s never been done by me because I think that kind of weight loss is too fast and unhealthy. Being a Taurus, I’m all about the “slow and steady” approach. But if I want to look nice for my sister’s wedding, I don’t seem to have much of a choice.

It’s a good thing I’ve started this marathon training, because that will definitely help. Maybe I’ll just throw in additional ab/glutes workouts, since that’s where I need to be a bit more svelte.

GrrrrAarrgghh...

There seems to be a problem with the donation page - people are unable to finish their transactions. I'll contact The Powers That Be and try to get that straightened out ASAP. I'll let y'all know when that gets fixed.

Besides being cool enough to put my donation plea on her site, Pamie (who's not feeling too well right now - poor Pamie!) has been racking up the Good Karma points:

* Two sick babies need an escort to the East Coast of the US.

* A call for A or O blood types in San Diego.

* An auction to help with medical expenses for the kidney transplant for a reader's brother-in-law.

* A fundraiser for Pet Orphans of Southern California.

While you're at it, why don't y'all help her with some film clip ideas? I can't think of anything, because I have a steel-sieve memory, but I'm sure you can. 'Cause you're smart and caring and gorgeous and pop-culture literate like that. And Mama Carol loves ya for it, yes she does...

It's been a while since I've any quizzes, so here are a couple (kinda sorta quizzes) from Go-Quiz.com:

PARENTAL

ADVISORY

ORDGDDSS CONTAINS EXPLICIT LYRICS

Username:

From Go-Quiz.com

C	Comical
A	Amazing
R	Relaxed
O	Organic
L	Lovable
E	Exhausting
L	Legendary
A	Astonishing
I	Influential
N	Naive
E	Exciting

Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

...at least my AIDS Half-Marathon Donation Page has.

If you've a mind to, please contribute. Not only does every little bit help, but if I don't raise $1,900 by August 31, I may not be able to go. And I really want to participate in the half-marathon.

The AIDS Marathon Training graphic to the right will also go directly to my donation page.

Thank you so much!

I know I've mentioned this before, but my friends rock. They're also goofy as hell, but since I am too, I think that's a good thing. Case in point:

CuteNerdBoy's show of support.

Unfortunately I saw this at work, which had me laughing the laugh of Muttley and, possibly, snorting once or twice. Thank heavens everyone was out of the showroom.

So I sent my thanks.

I shouldn't be surprised, since he's already said that he's thinking about going to San Francisco for the half-marathon to show his support for me. He has close friends in the area, so he can visit them, too.

*happy little sigh* Dear friends are cool.

I think we all knew this day was coming, myself especially, but we denied it once, twice, three times or more, uttering a simple, "Pooh pooh," whenever it was suggested.

But we can't - I can't deny it any longer. I must face up to the facts, like a woman.

I've lost my mind.

Mind you, many might argue that my mind was lost many years ago. And they'd be right to think so. Thing is, after a while my mind forgets what it was like being with me and starts missing me, so it comes back - and I take it back because I've missed it terribly - it hangs out for a while, then remembers why it got itself lost in the first place. And takes off.

Such is the case this time. Why?

Because I've actually started training for the AIDS Half-Marathon in San Francisco in October.

I must be crazy.

It's not so much that I'm not an incredibly athletic girl, though that does figure into it. It's that I hate to run. And I hate to jog. So a 13 mile run in the streets of San Francisco is a perfect way to start to run, doncha think?

The really cool thing about this - besides the whole "raising money for AIDS patients" thing, which is actually the only way I'd get off my well-padded, yet shapely rump (oh, hush you - how many times have I said, "It's my world and I'll live in it as I choose."? So, as far as I'm concerned, my rump is shapely. :p) and get running - is that the folks in charge really do train people to just finish the marathon (or half-marathon, in my case). It's geared towards people of all fitness levels, which I really like.

Then again, I'm supposed to show up at Griffith Park by 7am every Saturday. Even more evidence that my mind has flown the cookoo's nest. Considering that I was out until 1:30am this past Friday/Saturday, after an evening of dinner and Harry Potter (which I liked better than the first two, though I've concluded that the books are just hard to truly adapt) with CuteNerdBoy, Boychik, Sarriah, MidWestRoomate, and a member of the BookCrossing MeetUps, TragiComedy, well, come 6am, when I left the house, I was convinced that I had made a very grave mistake.

(CuteNerdBoy is very fortunate I didn't actually thwack him whilst he was driving me home, with his teasing about how he could sleep in and all - my fingers hovered perilously close to his face, my fingernails brushing his stubble as they rested in thwack-in-wait position. It was only driving that saved him. But then, as I was collecting my stuff, he bucked me up with, "You're doing a good thing," which kind of evened out the hard time he had been giving me.

Kind of.)

So I ran/walked a mile on Saturday morning. Not far at all, but a good way to gauge my current pace. Actually I ran/walked more than that, because I woke up later than I planned on Saturday and had to run/walk half a mile to catch my bus to Griffith Park. And I walked home from the MetroRail station, which is a little over a mile in distance. So, yeah, I'd say I earned my day of dozing and futzing on Saturday. Especially since I, oh, Hate. To. Run.

(Though, for some reason, I didn't hate it too much. Yeah, there's definitely something wrong with me.)

Yesterday Boychik and I hiked for nearly four hours in the hills near JPL, so I guess it was kind of an exercise weekend. I have to say, though, I may not be all that athletic, but I think my hearty Midwestern peasant stock background serves me well. Because, while I was tired by the end of the hike, I wasn't all that exhausted. Okay, the incline was very gentle, but still! Four hours! And any resting we did was instigated by Boychik. The only reason we didn't go any longer was because, despite my pretty good balance, I did slip once on a rock in the creek and I was afraid of over-exerting a possible injury, because I was feeling twinges in my left knee and ankle, so we turned around after two hours or so. Otherwise I could have gone on even longer. Luckily I didn't hurt my leg after all. I would have been a trifle upset had I hurt myself before I could really get started with the training.

Anyway, once the folks at APLA set up my runner website, I'll link to it so that anyone who wants to donate can. I have to raise $1,900 by August 31, or else I can't go to the San Francisco and run the half-marathon. I've got a bunch of ideas on how to do so, but I can use all the ideas, suggestions and help I can get!

...probably need an ointment.

There may not have been a plethora of questions asked, but they were still doozies:

Pratts Bottom (hmmm, real name? Probably not.) asks excellent questions that may require essay answers. Then again, even if they didn't, I'd probably write essay answers, longwinded person that I am:

1) Do you ever feel self-conscious about all that you reveal here, or wonder if a bit of mystery might not be in order, especially considering that your friends (including CuteNerdBoy) read your blog?

I do sometimes feel self-conscious about how open I tend to be, and wonder if maybe I'm revealing too much. But I also look at this 'blog as a (rather public) record of my life at this time. So I just write what goes through my mind. The whole mystery thing, while I can see the appeal, just doesn't feel natural to me. Especially since I used to be horribly introverted and rarely revealed anything about myself to friends and family. I just don't want to go back to being that person. She was actually pretty boring. And was more than a little dorky-looking. (Though she cleaned up nicely.)

I do have a notebook that is more private, where I write about things that I don't intend on divulging to the world at large. Believe it or not, there are a few things I don't divulge. Shocking, I know.

And because I'm so open, everything I've written here are things that my friends (including CuteNerdBoy) already know. Or could certainly guess about me, based on their current knowledge. So I doubt there are very many surprises.

2) Do you want to be a professional writer, and if so, do you have a plan for making that happen?

Actually, I do want to be a professional writer. As for a plan, I'm working on that now. I'd like to start small, get some literary or small magazines under my belt, and I've started marking up my Writer's Market 2004 to see where I can send some of my smaller pieces. Recently I've shown my cow story to a few people and gotten some wonderful feedback - and welcome constructive criticism - which actually surprised me a bit and started me thinking that I should submit it to a children's magazine, which I've never really considered before. As a result, I've highlighted a few possibilites in the above mentioned Writer's Market. It's exciting.

3) Do you think that progress in the world is best decided by panels of government experts who may or may not be able to decide on the one best way forward, or by letting enterprising individuals and corporations have the freedom to research, develop, and pioneer products and services that provide a better life for us all?

Wow. What a question. I'm not entirely sure what to say, except to say that, like in most areas of life, I think the answer is a combination of the two. I would much prefer to put my trust in enterprising companies and indivduals, but from what I've seen, a fair number of those companies and individuals care less about a better life for us all and more about the bottom line - screw the citizens. Which is where I think government should come into play.

I admit, my politics are inherently progressive, with a fair amount of libertarian thrown in. Needless to say, I frequently confuse myself. And if I've managed to answer this question with any clarity, I'm both surprised and pleased.

And now onto Big Toe, another name I suspect is not entirely real. But I know who he is, and I did say I'd answer any questions, so I suppose I shall honor my promise:

I'm gonna be naughty and make you blush...

1) When was the last time you indulged in a little self-lovin'?

Before the question was asked or after? Before: Tuesday night. After: Thursday night. I thought about it last night, but I was really tired and fell asleep.

2) Spit, swallow or teetotaler?

I've done all three, but I lean towards teetotaler. But for physical reasons, not because I find it distasteful.

3) Have you ever called out the wrong name while in "flagrante delicto"?

Nope. I have had the wrong name run through my mind a couple of times, but I've always called out the right name. I'm considerate that way.

Thanks for your questions!

I'm tire (though a bit mentally wired) after a full day and night and I have to be up early tomorrow - er, I mean, today. I'll write more this weekend, and later Saturday I'll post answers to the questions that have been asked. Of course, this means that those of you that haven't yet asked questions but have thought about it have a little more time to come up with something. So ask away until 8pm PST on Saturday.

Also, in far more exciting news, my darling friend ModelGirl and her hubby SurferBoy are now the proud parents of a lovely bouncing baby boy. The biggest, heartiest and most deeply felt congratulations to those three. I can't wait to meet little MGSon!

Uh oh.

It's gonna be a strange, strange day in CarolLand. Why? Because I feel like a hummingbird on speed.

I don't get like this often, but every once in a while the adrenaline gets a-pumpin' for no reason that I can fathom. On top of that was a cafe au lait, with the caffeine and sugar affecting me the way it affects normal people (for once) and a single mocha that one of the SisterCompany reps bought for me (he bought coffee for everyone) waiting for me (I've taken two sips so far) and, well, let's just say that two or three or ten Ritalin would probably not be overkill. Because I'm feeling unbelievably Cal-like.

I've taken my vitamins, and I'm going to try to drink an obscene amount of water, in hopes that those two things will help me to level out.

I do think I need to take advantage of this energy, though. Anybody need me to build them a house? I've done a little work for Habitat for Humanity. And I've painted many rooms and theatre sets over the years. I have experience! Use me!

Or maybe I'll just write a whole hell of a lot. And go for a jog during lunch.

Whee!!!!!!!

It's linking day!

* Fametracker is a pretty funny site, but Upcoming Dame Judi Dench Projects has got to be one of the funniest things I've read in a long time.

* My hand cramped up last night playing The Anti-Bush Online Adventure (link from Modern Monkeys). Fun, funny and informative!

* Two impossibly cute pictures of a baby panda (I love how he [or she] is looking up at the zookeeper) and a four month old wombat (so ugly s/he's adorable).

* Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan has been TWoP'd by the esteemed Keckler and Glark. All is right with the world. My life is now complete.

* Oh bugger. I would lovelovelove to go to San Diego Comic-Con, because it just sounds like all levels of fun, but it's the weekend of BabySis' wedding and BFSister's bridal shower, not to mention BabySis' bachelorette party and the rehearsal dinner. So I'm basically booked from Thursday to Sunday.

And since I'm a bridesmaid and all, I don't think BabySis would look kindly upon me opting out for a bunch of comic books and comic book geeks. Which, you know, I can totally understand, what with me actually loving my sis and wanting to be there for her. I'm just funny that way.

*shrug* There's always next year's Comic-Con!

Possibly more links to come...

...at least I hope so.

Well, I don't have a lot of readers, but I'm going to be hopelessly plagaristic anyway and steal a page from Christopher's 'blog.

Each of y'all can ask me, via the comments, three questions. Any three questions about me that your adorable hearts desire. I can't imagine anything about myself that I haven't already divulged, but if you're curious about something (and if it isn't about somebody else in my life), then ask away and I will answer to the best of my ability.

Remember, though, you can be perfectly anonymous if you want. Though I'd love for my readers to identify themselves, it isn't necessary. Just put a silly name in the "Name" field (i.e. Big Toe or Screw You or Nixon's Brain) and don't fill out the "Email" or "URL" fields.

I'll post answers either late Friday night or early Saturday morning, so you have a few days to come up with something that will explore my scary, scary thoughts.

Let the questioning commence!

(And before you ask, I need to know: an African or European swallow?)

The dynamics between people can be fascinating. And puzzling. One never knows exactly why one might react to someone the way s/he does, especially when there is no demonstrable reason for a negative reaction. A perceived slight can set in stone an attitude or outlook that, while the supposedly slighted person knows she's being silly or unreasonable, cannot be shaken. Or perhaps doesn't want to be shaken.

There is a woman with whom I am acquainted. We interact on a fairly regular basis, pretty much because we have to, and I'm completely civil when we speak. I may occasionally come across as friendly, because I don't know how to be merely civil without being outright rude and, to be honest, there's no real reason for me to be rude to her. But I get no pleasure from our interaction.

Frankly, I don't like her. Why? I couldn't really tell you. Maybe it's because of an unguarded look I once saw on her face - an odd, hard-to-describe look that, for some reason, boiled my blood. Especially when she noticed that I noticed her look and promptly glanced away with an "innocent" expression.

Or maybe it's just that we don't mesh. We all meet people in the course of our lives that get on our nerves for unknown reasons, even if the logical lobes of our brains tell us we're being silly. Perhaps that's the case here. I see her, I greet her, arrange my face into as pleasant an expression as possible. I know I'm being unreasonable, but I hold firmly onto that "I don't like her" feeling, because the sight of her causes my muscles to tense, my jaw to set and my lips to pucker in distaste, despite that fact that, as far as I know, she has done nothing against me and, indeed, is perfectly pleasant and friendly when we meet.

Or perhaps there's something about her that I sense isn't quite right. I can't pinpoint it, don't want to get close enough to her to figure out what it is, but there are times that I swear she's more than a little bit off, even if there's no way to say for sure in what way she's off.

I have to say, though, if I never had to interact with her again, I would not be sorry at all.

Buses, and their temporary denizens, can be most fascinating.

Recently, while riding one of my first buses of the day, my head was inclined downward, as it generally is while I'm reading. Through my headphones I heard a bit of a commotion. I looked up and noticed a fella, perhaps in his fifties, on the outside of the front of the momentarily halted bus, clearly visible through the windshield. As anyone who has ever seen a bus knows, the windshields are pretty far off the ground. Which meant that either the man was very tall or he was standing on the bike rack of the bus. My money was on the second option.

The bus driver slowly moved forward, pulling over to the side of the street. I watched in disbelief as the obviously disgruntled man climbed down from the bike rack and entered the bus, ranting and raving and throwing his plastic shopping bags on the seat opposite him.

"Oh no," I thought, "we're all dead now."

From what I could glean from his yelling and the bus driver's calm responses, the ranting man objected to the bus not waiting for him, despite the fact he was on the other side of the street from the bus stop and the driver did not see him there. Since I didn't recall the bus breaking suddenly, I can only surmise that the bus was stopped at a red light when HostileRider decided to climb up on the bike rack to get the driver's attention. Luckily he calmed down a little once he was actually inside the bus. And I had only two stops to go before my stop came up.

Later in the day, on my way to a BookCrossing meeting, I was sitting, calm as you please, reading and listening to music. I felt a presence and looked up. Next to my seat stood an older woman, perhaps in her seventies, whom I had seen sitting near the front of the bus earlier. She shakily reached out for the back of the seat in front of me, moved closer to me, and proceeded to try to climb over me, despite the completely open seat across the aisle and, oh, the fact I was sitting where she was trying to sit!

Because I was not in the mood to have her actually end up in my lap or step on my bare knees with her heeled pumps, I stood and moved as she pushed past me as if I didn't exist.

"Hey!" I yelled as she settled into the seat. "I was sitting there!" She may have glanced briefly at me, but she made no indication that she heard or understood me.

I sat rather huffily in the seat across the aisle and stared at her angrily, but she stared straight ahead, practicing the "if I don't look at you, you don't exist" method of ignoring me. Now, it is possible that her eyesight was so poor that she didn't see me, but surely she must have noticed my knees in her way as she tried to climb over me. Besides which, she boarded the bus at the same stop I did, and she seemed to see just fine then.

Finally I calmed myself down, thinking that she's probably just incredibly short on mental competence. It's the only explanation I can think of besides out-and-out rudeness. And while I know rudeness abounds in the real world, and I have no problem telling people when they're being rude, I thought it best to give ClimbingBitch the benefit of the doubt. I mean, how sad a life she must lead if my seat was so incredibly important to her that she had ignore any semblance of courtesy.

Ah, the joys of public transportation...

...what a lovely picture. What's even cooler about that picture? See that little dot on the right side of the sun? Y'all probably know this already, but that's Venus completing its transit across the sun, an event that hasn't happened in 122 years (though it will happen again in eight years - funny that).

If only I had been able to see it from the west coast... *pout*

It was a great weekend, as I've reported. Lots and lots of time was spent with BestFriend and BFDaughter, which was wonderful. I didn’t get as much of a chance to talk with BFHubby as I usually do, due to his non-Monday-Friday, 9-5 work schedule, but we still chatted a bit, which was good. He’s a smart man and a news junkie and we usually end up talking politics. It was interesting watching the Reagan motorcade on TV with him on Saturday. I wouldn’t have paid much attention to it because, though such deaths always sadden me, I don’t think Reagan was a good president at all. And such over the top coverage sickens me.

But BFHubby was switching the channels and asking me, “Any idea where they are?” Which turned it into a little bit of game for me, trying to recognize the neighborhood and failing miserably. It was especially hard when he had it on FoxNews – a channel which gives me the hives – but I couldn’t help myself. *sigh*

Anyway. I really did love getting to know BFDaughter better. She’s nearly four years old – a bright, energetic little girl that is extremely sociable and charming. And is well aware of how charming she is. What d’ya expect from a Leo? She also at the age where she is testing her parents’ boundaries, which was very much in evidence this weekend. She discovered, not only where her boundaries lay, but that Auntie Carol is a big believer in supporting the boundaries that her parents set for her.

Though I loved all of it, best of all was the few hours on Saturday night, when BFHubby took BFDaughter for the evening and BestFriend and I were able to get away for dinner and a couple of drinks and just talk. We talked about many things – the previous weekend’s camping and my roiling emotions left over from that, things that are happening with her health and work and family, stuff that’s happening with my family. Just a great time to catch up with one another with no distractions. We so rarely get a chance to do that, it was wonderful.

She also told me a few things that opened my eyes a little bit, about the ex-boyfriend and her impressions about him – things I didn’t know about. She had asked me what I thought might be the reason for not finding another relationship. I told her that since reconnecting with CuteNerdBoy, well, the reason was pretty obvious. But before then... I told her my non-forgiveness theory. For the first time she said that she had never seen him as my life-partner, that he seemed too quiet and morose for someone who has the love of life that I have, that, though he was a perfectly nice guy and may have been different with me than he was with others, he just didn’t seem like someone who would support me in the way she thought I should be supported. The way life-partners should support one another. I had never realized that she felt like that.

Thing is, he never seemed morose to me, never seemed unsupportive. Quiet around others? True. That’s actually something I tend to find attractive – the seemingly quiet man with the sparkling eyes and a hidden sharp liveliness.

I can't say that I agreed with her, as I thought FG was supportive, but thinking back on things, he had said a few things that, while not outright mean, really weren't supportive at all. That seemed to be borne from frustration with himself and me.

Considering that ModelGirl has told me several times she always thought FG was boring and didn't compliment my liveliness, it was interesting to find my oldest and dearest friend echoing her thoughts.

Then I start remembering how passive his form of support was, much like that of my family. Support that merely said, however sincerely, "You can do it," but never took an active role in helping me to do it. Hell, even laid-back, slow-as-molasses, no-pressure me used to buy the Backstage West and various acting books and point out audition notices and the like to FG. Those may not have been huge steps, but they were steps, nonetheless.

Then I'd remember how, in just the first couple of months of friendship, CuteNerdBoy stated unequivocably that I was a writer, or when he leant me his keyboard in February. Or even his recent smile and "You should send it in!" when I told him about the sketch I did whilst we were camping that I was thinking about submitting to BookCrossing for its bookplates. And how those simple generous actions, in addition to others, demonstrated a support I'd rarely had before, a support that I don't even think I've had from any past boyfriends.

It was an fascinating revelation, to say the least.

I may be exhausted. My patience may have been stretched a bit with BFDaughter's stubbornness. My eating habits may have been completely thrown off. I may possess unfortunately sunburned shoulders, despite the application of sunscreen lotion. And my emotions may be a bit tumultuous. But it was definitely worth all of that.

What a wonderful weekend.

I'll be writing more about my weekend in Tucson later, as I'm very tired right now and I'm feeling a strange letdown from a rather intense week and a half (emotionally and physically). Suffice it to say I had an excellent weekend, my face and shoulders are sunburned from much fun pool-time today, I love BestFriend and family even more, which I didn't think was possible, I'm happy to be home and spending time with my kitties and we're all okay. And I really wish I didn't have to go to work tomorrow.

But here's a little somthing to tide y'all over - from Thursday, a prime reason why I adore my friends so much (my Yahoo handle is BriteBlueBlaze and TikiGothBoy [not his Yahoo nickname] was formerly called Polarbeast here - I managed to have this chat at the same time I was chatting with my dear friend Squiggy, but that chat, though also tons of fun, was a bit more personal in nature, so no recounting here):

BriteBlueBlaze: Howdy, [real name]! How's things by you?
TikiGothBoy: They're by.
TikiGothBoy: :>
BriteBlueBlaze: As long as they don't stink by you, it should all be good.
TikiGothBoy: I have an ample supply of clothespins for my nose if need be
TikiGothBoy: One needs them, y'know, for web design
BriteBlueBlaze: Ah, a man able to breathe through his mouth. An admirable talent.
TikiGothBoy: And I also have plenty of Cinnamon Altoids
TikiGothBoy: AND I drag my knuckles most effectively
BriteBlueBlaze: Fabulous. Simply fabulous. [TikiGothBoy's wife's real name] is one lucky woman.
TikiGothBoy: She's several lucky women, now that my scientific experiments are going well
TikiGothBoy: Yay for cloning
BriteBlueBlaze: Maybe that's my dating problem. The guys I seem to date all walk upright. I've tried to change that, but to no avail.
TikiGothBoy: You need to take that classic picture of the apelike being-morphing-into-man sequence and pick something a little more in the middle
TikiGothBoy: They aren't as good at, say, balancing checkbooks but they're honest
BriteBlueBlaze: I'm glad they're going well now. I'd hate to think about the outcome of [TikiGothBoy's wife's real name] prototypes. Though I'm sure they were all cute as a button.
TikiGothBoy: And boy can they use tools
BriteBlueBlaze: Honest? Honest? What is this word you use?
TikiGothBoy: They were about the size of a button too, which was my problem
BriteBlueBlaze: Ahh...
TikiGothBoy: It means to actually mean the same thing as the lies one tells
BriteBlueBlaze: An odd concept. One I must investigate further.
TikiGothBoy: [nod]
BriteBlueBlaze: Actually, I should be fair - the guys I've dated in the last year (all three of them) have been honest with me. They're just afraid relationships right now, but at least they told me so, instead of just vanishing (the MO of several guys I dated back in '97). They're still wusses, but honest wusses.
TikiGothBoy: No, they're more elaborate about being wusses
BriteBlueBlaze: Well, I'm pretty handy with tools myself, which is I guess why the Cro-Magnum (sp?) type never really appealed to me. I guess I just need someone to balance out my own masculine traits. Like this lovely beard and mustache I'm growing.
TikiGothBoy: It's like using business-speak to avoid saying someone is fired... "we're downsizing"
TikiGothBoy: Cro-Magnon... the Cro-Magnums are the BBQ-scarfing idiots who own several guns and attend NASCAR rallies
BriteBlueBlaze: Ahh, thank you for clarifying that.
TikiGothBoy: (Hoping Carol is not a gun enthusiast who loves car racing)
BriteBlueBlaze: Well, now that you mention it... Dale Ernhardt Jr is just DREAMY!!!!!
TikiGothBoy: :D
BriteBlueBlaze: *cleans 9mm*
TikiGothBoy: You should get rid of that old Beretta 92F... they're too prone to jam
BriteBlueBlaze: Oh, I just have it for sentimental reasons. I used it the first time I ever killed a man in Reno just to watch him die.
TikiGothBoy: How many times have you done that in Reno since?
BriteBlueBlaze: My day-to-day piece is this. *pulls out Desert Eagle* Isn't she a beaut?
TikiGothBoy: Nice
BriteBlueBlaze: I think four... No, five. I was really drunk on Wild Turkey that last time so I don't remember it so well.
TikiGothBoy: Too bulky for everyday use for me... I prefer blades
TikiGothBoy: Or a good pair of jo sticks
TikiGothBoy: <-- hasn't actually fired a gun in over twelve years, and quite possibly never will again
BriteBlueBlaze: Yes, blades are much easier to conceal, but then there's that whole "close-fighting" that I'm not so good at. Besides, one look at old Betsy here and folks just take off and run. I find that, the older I get, the less inclined I am to find joy in useless violence. Funny huh?
TikiGothBoy: I imagine it's just the tedium of having to escape or make up an alibi or bribe juries and do the jail time, rather than any particular sensitive insight into human life
BriteBlueBlaze: It's been 14 years for me. And then it was only because of the guy I was dating, who is a gun enthusiast. So I have actually fired a Desert Eagle - yow! But I don't see myself ever firing a gun again, either. I do rather hate them.
BriteBlueBlaze: You may be right about that tedium thing...
TikiGothBoy: I am of course fascinated with them to an extent, but I'm also frightened of them and their potential. I don't need one. For "home defense", I'd rather have something I can wield.
BriteBlueBlaze: Me, I've got my crowbar and lead pipe. Anything else scares the crap out of me. Which makes for a rather unpleasant laundry day.
TikiGothBoy: Stop eating and passing crowbars and lead pipes, then
TikiGothBoy: Hello? Lead poisoning
BriteBlueBlaze: But they're chockful of iron!
BriteBlueBlaze: Or steel or something like that...
TikiGothBoy: That's how the Roman Empire fell, you silly person... eating lead pipes
BriteBlueBlaze: I'm slowly building up a tolerance, you see. Because once our environment is really fucked up and dangerous levels of lead are allowed in our drinking water due to "regulation concerns", I'll still be around when everone else has gone the way of the dodo. Oh, did you know small amounts of arsenic is actually rather tasty when sprinkled on lead?
TikiGothBoy: I'm a strychnine man m'self
BriteBlueBlaze: *sigh* I've got to be off, now. Gotta go catch a bus to catch a flyaway to catch a plane to go to Tucson!
TikiGothBoy: strichnine... strychnine... I forget... either way it's peppery
TikiGothBoy: All right... do have a good and safe trip
BriteBlueBlaze: I shall. And you have a most wonderful week and weekend and, once again, all the best to lovely [TikiGothBoy's wife's real name]!
TikiGothBoy: :):)
BriteBlueBlaze: BTW, I'm laughing my ass off over this IM - mind if I use it for a 'blog entry next week?
BriteBlueBlaze: :-*
TikiGothBoy: As you like!
TikiGothBoy: :>
BriteBlueBlaze: Thanks much!;;)
TikiGothBoy: <-- always a whore for having people read what he's written
BriteBlueBlaze: <-- so is she...
TikiGothBoy: <-- needs to stop writing in the third person
BriteBlueBlaze: <--she thinks it's fun - and really needs to go, so she says bye bye!

I like to travel.

I don't do a lot of it, and when I do I tend to stay in California, with Tucson the farthest afield from home, but I do enjoy getting out of town for a day or more, seeing sights that are not the sights I see everyday in Eastern San Fernando Valley or West Hollywood or West L.A.

So the opportunity to go to Big Sur last weekend with CuteNerdBoy and MoulinRougeFan, so close to 3 1/2 days planned in Tucson, seemed like a traveler's dream come true. How fun, I thought! How jet-setting it might seem to a suburban gal raised in Navy life by solidly MidWestern, small town parents. A gal like myself, for instance.

I imagined that this would be what it might be like to have a job that required frequent travel. Though I realized long ago that being away from home so often would be tough, I'd always thought that I'd like such a job, enjoy the different cities, the change of scenery. A new town every couple of weeks. How very cool.

How very tiring.

I'm happy I went to Big Sur, enjoying the company of CuteNerdBoy and MoulinRougeFan, and I'm happy to be in Tucson visiting BestFriend and family. But so close to one another? I'm thinking not so much.

See, I got home from Big Sur around 10pm on Monday, Tuesday was work and an information meeting for something I'm considering doing (more on that later), Wednesday was work again, with me staying pretty late to get some stuff finished up so I didn't have to worry about it while in Tucson, and Thursday was packing and sending out work e-mails from home and making a couple of work phone calls I'd forgotten to make the day before and then traveling to Tucson. Not a heck of a lot of relaxation time. Or sleep. Thursday I was actually dreading leaving home, though I always love to visit BestFriend.

And I miss my kitties. Oh, I know they'll be fine - I have someone checking in on them. But I don't think I've been away from them this long before. At least not since 1999. Sure, I was home for two days there, but barely, and I'm sad that I've seen so little of them and that they've seen so little of me.

Oh, while I was home I cuddled and chirped and loved them as much as I could, while still trying to get a few things done around the house, but it wasn't enough. Now I'm torn between enjoying my time in Tucson and just wanting to be home with them.

Though I've always loved the little buggers, and I miss them when I'm not home, I don't think I've ever missed my boys this much before.

It's official - I am a Cat Lady. And while I still want to travel, experience new cities and countries - because I really do love new experiences - I don't want to be a Traveling Girl.

Can I go home now?

Please?

Now! With vocal nuances! Hear me ramble about my upcoming weekend in Tucson! Listen as I attempt to be witty and fail miserably! Thrill as I am obviously in love with the sound of my own voice!

It's an entry - - you'll never forget! And trust me, you will try. Oh, how you will try...

I read. It's a fast read, over and done in less than 24 hours. Everything about the book is fast, rapid, rat-a-tat-tat, bam-bam-bam. I peruse the words in as leisurely a pace as possible, but still I manage to devour 3/4 of it by the end of the first evening, the only reading existing during the commute time.

Fast. And violent. And foul. I suffer through the painful phrases with only a few winces. Until, inexplicably, I find myself unable to continue around page 122. I'm waiting at the bus stop, waiting for a possibly non-existent bus, the bus I've been waiting for the last 20 minutes. I close the book, look up the street, and start pacing, tapping my fingers rat-a-tat-tat to the rhythm in my head that has nothing to do with the music in my headphones. Yes, waiting for the bus is making me antsy, but it's more than that - far more.

It's the book in my hands, the book that is telling me to open it again, to soak up the words through my eyes, into my bloodstream, so that they can swim and jump and make me feel jerky and nervous.

I open the book again, take in the disturbing written imagery, and feel a slight nausea build, the darkly metallic taste of bile and dental fillings swishing in my mouth. Again I close the book. And I pace.

The bus arrives. I board, sit near the back, and my hands open the book again, unbidden. I read. I want to stop, but I want to finish, get it done and over with so that I can move onto something more pleasant. As I read my fingers resume their restless rat-a-tat-tat rat-a-tat-tat, with my right knee and heel shifting, shaking, jumping in time to my rapid-fire digits. I nearly bark aloud with bitter laughter as the song "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", as sung by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole, seeps into my ears - the sweet, gentle voice so at odds with the jarring black letters on the off-white page.

Over the rainbow indeed. I am over the rainbow, a black/grey rainbow of anger and violence and mental instability, squeamish about the pictures the words paint in my mind, but curious about the end to this 208 page trip into nihilism and anarchy.

As I finish the last page today, as I close the book for the final time, I wonder whether I liked the story that just unfolded. I remain undecided, able to see the talent of the author, recognizing the story to be a worthy one, but thinking that it's not a trip I'd be willing to take again any time soon. And I think:

"I don't think I'll be watching the movie. At least not for a while."

My last post would definitely have to qualify as one of my longer posts. I think my eyes started to hurt when I reread it this morning, it was so long. And I keep wanting to add things here and there, because there was just so much about the weekend that was of note to me. But I shall refrain. Because I'd never want y'all to go cross-eyed when reading my entries.

I do want to mention, though, that despite all the emotional navel-gazing I participated in (picking out the overwrought navel lint, as it were), my withdrawn moods and "woe-is-me"-ness, I had an excellent time. There was certainly much fun to be had and I had a lot of it. I'm very glad I went. Besides, I couldn't have been too mopey over the weekend if I was able to nearly cause liquids to spurt from MoulinRougeFan's nose from laughing on multiple occasions. She got me back at least once, though, and so did CuteNerdBoy.

(Ooh! And how cute was it that CuteNerdBoy, who is Mr. Skeptic-Astrology-Is-Bunk, read all of our weekly horoscopes to us on Saturday? Maybe because MoulinRougeFan and I are both into that sort of stuff. Well, I am, which he knows, and I think she is a little bit.)

There was one other surprise lesson that the weekend held for me: I'd love to go camping again. I mean, I'd always known I'd like the nature and physical activity aspects of camping. But now that I know I can withstand sleeping discomfort and no showering - which is what gave me pause before - camping looks very appealing to me.

Whod'a thunk?

*************************

Oh, and here are my horoscopes from yesterday and today:

6/1/04
(which happened to be MoulinRougeFan's birthday - a belated Happy Birthday to her!)
Quickie - "You are red with anger and green with envy. Why get so worked up? Cool it."
Daily Singles - "Jealousy rears its same old head, and it's far too early in the game to give in to it. Manage your moods with strict measures and a kind heart."

6/2/04
Quickie - "Force yourself to realize how petty this is. You have better things to obsess about."
Daily Singles - "Strong passions and serious moods may be out of place right now. Don't suppress the intensity; just find a healthy outlet for your emotions. "

Ya know, sometimes these things can hit the nail on the head.

This Memorial Day holiday weekend was chock-full of interesting, fascinating lessons for yours truly:

1) If you actually ask for something, you just might get it.
For a couple of days I had been thinking about e-mailing CuteNerdBoy to ask him if he wanted to take a day trip on one of the days of this past weekend, because I just wanted to get out of town for a little while. After our Santa Barbara day trip in December he had said he'd like to take another road trip with me sometime, if I were so inclined. So, because I'm me, I hemmed and hawed a little, but finally e-mailed him early Thursday morning to ask him, thinking I was probably way too late, but hey, what the hell. Late afternoon on Thursday he sent his response: he was going camping in Big Sur the entire weekend, but I was certainly welcome to join if I wanted to. Oh, I wanted to. And I did. So Friday evening CuteNerdBoy, MoulinRougeFan (his friend for nearly 20 years, of whom I have certainly heard much) and I headed to San Simeon, where we shared a room, then headed up to Big Sur on Saturday morning to find a campsite.

2) Potentially stressful situations can be surprisingly unstressful as long as everyone knows possible outcomes.
CuteNerdBoy and MoulinRougeFan hadn't been able to make campsite reservations because the campsites were all booked months in advance, but they had done such things in the past and had no problems, thanks to cancellations and no-shows. Such was not to be the case this time, because we spent close to eight hours trying to find an open campsite, in public and private campgrounds. Finally, at a little after 5pm, the fabulous Dan at Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park found a spot for us. The uncertainty of knowing where we would be sleeping that night was, perhaps, of a wee bit of concern, but because we knew the lack of campsite was a distinct possibility, no one of us was horribly stressed out, which meant we could pretty much play it by ear. I won't say it was relaxing, but cool was kept by us most of the time, so it all worked out. Even if Saturday night's campsite was smack dab in the middle of paths to the restrooms and showers.

3) Nature is breathtakingly beautiful. *spit*
On Saturday, while we were waiting to hear about a possible campsite, my two lovely friends took me on a little hike (actually, more of a rustic walk) to check out an ocean view and a waterfall. As we came upon the view - a stunning one, to be sure - CuteNerdBoy, in his wry way, stated, "It's so beautiful I could spit." That became our mantra for the weekend. Whenever we saw something in nature that was gorgeous (practically the only adjective that came to my mind all weekend for all the incredible beauty), someone would say something like, "Look at that view!!", then all of us would pretend to spit. Amusing for us, needless to say, because sometimes it's fun to be twelve. But with the surplus of unbelievably lovely natural spectacles, we were pretending to spit quite a bit.

4) Unseen forces from the past can work on a sensitive person's psyche, no matter how she may try to break free.
I had a lot of fun on Saturday, but I spent a good deal of it very much on the quiet side. I thought it was the constant proximity to CuteNerdBoy - and that certainly figured into it, as did the beginnings of my oh-so-enjoyable PMS - but it wasn't until I was sitting in a prospective campsite (which didn't pan out), waiting for CuteNerdBoy and MoulinRougeFan to return from scouting out an area, that part of the reason for my withdrawal became clear. I sat at a picnic table, opened my notebook (which became my constant companion for the weekend) and wrote out the date. 5/29/04. As I read that date I felt a cold fist sucker-punch me in the throat. It would have been my late sister's 42nd birthday. And, had my family not fractured in the last couple of years, it would have been Children's Day (a family holiday instituted by my parents many years ago).

5) True friends can help to bring a gal out of a funk.
While waiting for MoulinRougeFan at some point, I turned to CuteNerdBoy to apologize for being such a quiet person for much of the day. I felt kind of bad that I wasn't in the most exuberant of moods and hoped that I wasn't being a wet blanket. His response (more or less - I can't remember the exact wording)? "There's no need to apologize - you don't have to be vivacious all the time. You just have to be yourself." I then told him about my sister and the Children's Day stuff, and he was completely understanding. I started feeling a little better then.

6) Alcohol help with the funk, too.
Well, duh. The Kettel One dirty martini at dinner was certainly a factor in the lifting of spirits, as was CuteNerdBoy's buying of a very nice dinner for MoulinRougeFan and me. His reasons? The enjoyable company of two beautiful women. And how he was the envy of every man in the room.

FYI, alcohol can also help bring on a funk, as I found out Sunday night when I, restless and unable to sleep, sat in one of the collapsible chairs near the cold fire-pit of our second night's campsite (so much better than the first night - a big thanks to MoulinRougeFan for getting up early on Sunday to get it for us) and wrote and cried silently and wrote some more by flashlight, long after the other two had gone to sleep, because, while I doubt I would have had a problem crying in front of CuteNerdBoy, I still don't like to cry in front of most people, especially people I don't know all that well. Besides, the only place I could feel as if I had privacy was, oddly enough, outside in the dark forest where no one could see me.

I was up early the next morning and back in that same chair writing dream memories, bundled up in my sweatshirts and yoga pants and two pairs of socks, not to mention wearing my coat, with my 6' red scarf wrapped around my head and neck. "Good morning, babushka," I heard CuteNerdBoy say maybe an hour or two later when he finally emerged from his tent, book in hand. Harumph! At least Saturday night, when my scarf was wrapped the same way as we stared at the dying fire, he said I reminded him of the French lieutenant's woman. Though I'm hoping I wasn't all pining-looking. Pensive. Yeah, that's what I was. Pensive. (Oh, shut up.)

7) Despite "Princess and the Pea" inclinations, one can get enough rest "sleeping" in a tent on comforters and a thin sleeping bag to make it through the next day.
I was frankly surprised, because I am so horribly princess-like in that regard, but I managed to get enough rest to actually be somewhat energetic each day. I also discovered, though, that when sleeping in the great outdoors, I snore. I was working the Breathe-Right strips, but to no avail. By Sunday night I was tired enough to actually sleep through most of the night, but my snoring nearly got me kicked out of MoulinRougeFan's tent (which she was gracious enough to share with no-camping-equipment-me) and into CuteNerdBoy's tent (he's quite the snorer himself). Damn. I should have snored more.

8) A princess-like personality can also deal with no showering for a couple of days.
None of us showered on Sunday or Monday, and hadn't washed our hair since Friday (at least in my case), but it wasn't too horrible. Brushing of teeth, cursory cleaning of face, and a soak in a mineral hot tub are enough to feel kind of okay. Must have been the singular lack of contaminants in the fresh mountain air. Of course, there was that whole, "I can't believe I'm actually risking smelling bad and looking grubby and Frieda Kahlo-esque around CuteNerdBoy not to mention the whole no-make-up/cute clothes/styled hair" thing. But hey, after a while a gal's gotta let a guy see her for who she is, right? Even if that gal isn't someone who looks all that cute sans make-up and soap. Like, for instance, your humble chronicler.

9) Mineral hot tubs feel really, really good. Especially on bare breasts.
On the way home on Monday we stopped off at Sycamore Springs for nice soak. It was my first time, and their umpteenth time. CuteNerdBoy opted to keep on the trunks (I think because of my presence - I don't think he's all that shy in that regard, but the whole world, including him, pretty much knows about my feelings for him, so he probably thought discretion was best), MoulinRougeFan had none of my hang-ups and enjoyed water as G-d intended. Me, I started out with my bathing suit on (which is now rather big on me - it's not supposed to look like boyshorts and I felt like my boobs were lost in the now-too-large support cups) and within minutes stripped to the waist. I didn't go any further because I have tummy issues. I was under water most of the time, so it wasn't a big deal, and besides, it's not like CuteNerdBoy hadn't seen most of my breasts by this point anyway. Hey, I may have tummy issues, but I think it's no secret that I have no breast issues.

There are so many more lessons that I learned, incidences and moments that could take up an entire journal (like the incredible blue jays and butterflies that were everywhere, or the friendly drunk fella at a neighboring table Sunday night that insisted on sharing his food and wine with us - despite the occasional discomfort of his long time female friend of over 35 years - or the vision of tens, if not hundreds of elephant seals lying on the beach, or the three of us checking out a library book sale, with me ending up buying the most books [oh, what an addiction I have!], or how it seemed to be "Jokingly (I hope) pick on the new kid" weekend, or my occasional melodrama-queen utterances, amongst so many others - who knew three and a half days could hold so much?), but I would have to say that the most important lesson I learned was:

10) Whatever CuteNerdBoy is to me, to him I am a dear friend. Period.
Again, nothing earth-shattering. Nothing all that revelatory, honestly. I've certainly known it for a very long time. But I'm at least a little bit closer to, if not exactly accepting it, at least acknowledging the truth of it. Once upon a time he may have had honest mixed feelings for me, but those days have been long gone. And, as I've said a billion times before, I need to come to terms with that. Somehow.

See, I've always known that he's naturally affectionate with his female friends. Not that I've seen him with any female friends before, aside from Sarriah and RockerChick, but it's something I've instinctively felt to be true. After watching him and MoulinRougeFan all weekend, with their casual touches and hugs and little kisses (not entirely unlike his and mine, if somewhat more comfortable in nature) borne of nearly twenty years of friendship, it was all brought home to me that much stronger.

Again, the PMS and the whole sister/family emotional overtones certainly didn't help my state of mind, and as I watched their friendly familiarity I found myself envious of their friendship, jealous of her for her place in his life, even though I honestly like her as a person. I think she's a pretty cool lady, and I knew, even before we met, that I'd like her. Intellectually I know I have no reason for the jealousy I was, and still am, feeling. I have absolutely no place to be jealous. And I hate it when jealousy flares up like that, because I fear that I'm turning into one of those insanely jealous women I both pity and dislike. Funny. I'm never like this when I'm actually in a relationship.

Well, I totally need to come to terms with all of this, because MoulinRougeFan (I really feel she needs another nickname, now that I've met her and spent so much time with her - MoulinRougeFan doesn't begin to describe what she's really like) is always going to be a part of CuteNerdBoy's life, as will his other close female friends, and if he and I are to remain friends, then I'm going to have to act like one and not some wilting jealous ninny.

Oh, and I learned one other thing, which I pretty much knew, but had confirmed:

11) Sometimes a girl just wants to cuddle.
Okay, there were more than a few times that I just wanted to jump CuteNerdBoy's bones. In that mineral hot tub, for instance, where I would have dearly loved to say to MoulinRougeFan, "Would you mind taking a walk while I give your very dear friend the ride of his life? Thanks ever so much." But most of the time I would have been fine with him and me just sitting or standing with arms around each other. That's the sort of touch I really miss, much more than sex. That simple companionship.

I have to say, though, it was rather cute when CuteNerdBoy looked a little surprised that I shared a bed with MoulinRougeFan instead of him that first night - though he knew he probably wasn't far off the mark when he earlier half-joked that he didn't trust me to keep my hands to myself. Or when the three of us had dinner Saturday night and, while she had gone to the restroom, he leaned over the table and asked me if I liked this long-time friend of his. It touched me, tipsy and just the tiniest bit high as I was, that he cared about my feelings for his dear friend. I answered in the affirmative, because that was the truth, and he smiled and said, "I thought you would."

Go to Parts One and Two for the complete story.

The End

She searched his beautiful eyes for a clue, confusion playing across her pretty features.

"I--" He took a deep breath, tried to steady his desire-shaken voice. "I think we should stop for tonight. It's not that I don't want to go further. I do. Believe me, I do." She smiled, her eyes flicking a glance downward at the outline of his still hard penis. "It's just, well, I think we should slow down a little." He drew her close, his lips brushing her hair. "I don't want to go too fast. Not with you."

She raised her head, gazed at his attractive face, into the dark eyes that took her breath away. She tried to hide the disappointment she felt, not succeeding as well as she might have hoped. Still she appreciated the sweet sentiment behind his prudence, the genuine affection she saw in those bottomless pools of brown.

"I know. You're probably right. I can't say I'm not disappointed, but I've certainly rushed into most of my previous relationships and look how those turned out. Maybe going slow would be a good thing. For once."

He nodded and smiled. "For once." He pulled her against him again and held her tight, burying his face in her hair once more. She felt safe in his arms, loving the security that he brought.

If only she had known that they would never again be so physically intimate. Years later she wondered if she would have done anything different.

Probably not.

Labels: story time