all the fun of the fair...

Even more than I thought possible, apparently.

How can this not be considered cruelty to animals? It's worse than poor puppies that are forced to dress up in costumes, because at least those lil' fellas can be divested of their owners' misbegotten idea of "cute". Not so these sweeties, who must go through life looking like sno-cones until their fur grows out.

Thoug it does look like the doggie on the left isn't too happy and may, in fact, be plotting her revenge...

1) Interesting:

I took the Blogging Personality Quiz at About Web logs and I am...

The Writer
Words captivate me. And, I like to capture words. Blogging enables me to write often. It also provides a place for me to share what I write with a reading public. I can be funny, inspiring, intelligent, cynical, or morbid. It doesn't matter what I write about in my blog. It only matters that I write.

2) Hee!


You are a ZINGARO - a gypsy. A free spirit, fun and free, with just enough
eccentricity to make people say, "God, are you WEIRD!"
What Atypical Noun Best Fits You?
brought to you by Quizilla

3) And last, but by no means least, from the "No! Really? Surely you jest!" department:


What's your sexual appeal?
brought to you by Quizilla

I'm not a violent person. Au contraire, mes amis, I consider myself to be very much a peace-loving kind of gal, the type of person that despairs when others argue and fight, always wishing they could find some sort of common ground, that they would, somehow, "just get along."

But over the last few days even I have been driven to extreme violence, frustrated beyond my breaking point by that over which I seem to have no control, no matter how hard I try rectify this situation. I see them, everywhere, into every little thing where they have no right to be. Which is strange, considering I know that they are merely dancing to the tunes of their own natures.

Had they stayed where I did not have to interact with them, I might observe them from afar, shaking my head yet fascinated with their actions. But they have entered my world now. They are desecrating that which is mine, and which belongs to those I care about. I am furious, frustrated, and as a result I kill as many of them as I can, feeling as if I'm committing genocide, but not caring a whit.

Still, despite my newly destructive tendencies, they keep coming. And coming. I am at a loss at what to do that will keep them away without harming those I love. So I move a few things. And just keep killing.

Fucking ants in my cats' food dishes.

No, I have no idea what that title means. I just felt like typing it, and I'm in the mood to do things I feel like doing, so there it is. You may imagine a fat juicy raspberry in this space.

I'm also tired, I feel like puttering even though there's a fair amount of work to do, and I'm more than a tad stressed over money. Oh, and both of my bra underwires keep poking my tits. And I think I'm starting to feel a little PMSy.

On top of all that, I do believe I'm coming down with a lovely lil' cold, which makes me feel even more tired and the tiniest bit weak. Amazing what a lack of sleep and a surplus of stress will do for a gal.

Fiddle-dee-freaking-dee.

Despite the appearance of my previous paragraphs, I don't feel cranky. Just kind of, well, here.

On the upside, NewYorkWriter has invited me to see The Manchurian Candidate tonight at a free screening, so I'm looking forward to that. I did want to see the original film first, but that's okay. This is a movie I wanted to see, so I'm a happy girl.

A tired, sick, puttering, worried, weak, blah, PMSy girl perhaps, but a happy one nonetheless.

The Life and Times of Nebraska has been updated. Enjoy!

It's Tuesday, late morning, and I'm feeling rather -- Parisian. This morning I decided that a short - but not too short - black skirt and form fitting - not tight or clingy - 3/4 sleeve v-neck black knit top would be the way to go. With my newly dark hair, black strappy heeled sandals and dark red finger- and toenails, I feel sexy and gorgeous and wholly European. Sitting outside a café at this time of day (even if it is a Coffee Bean) certainly contributes to that sensation. It's almost a shame that most of the cute boys walking the sidewalks - of which there are many - are so very gay.

And why am I sitting at a café table on a busy West Hollywood street during the work day, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze?

The power in our showroom went out.

It's probably just a rolling blackout, but after those of us in the showroom sat in near darkness for thirty minutes - the only light filtering in through the front windows - my SisterCompany counterpart and I decided to take an early lunch even though we weren't the least bit hungry. We had gotten the blessings of our respective reps (thank heaven I had enough time to inform my reps of the situation before the phone died) and there was no way any of us could work. So off we went in our separate directions, as we had different things we wanted to do.

I have to say, this is something I enjoy very much, this sitting at a café table in the middle of the day, people watching, reading, writing, sipping an iced double vanilla tea latte (though the egg salad sandwich was pretty substandard) and taking in a little Vitamin D. I need to find a way to support myself so that I can do this more often. It feels so very -- writerly. And since I've never felt more like a writer than I have in the past year, it would be quite fitting for me to relax like this on a regular basis, pen in hand, jotting down ideas and observations.

I think I'll go over to the Pacific Design Center and sit near its fountain for a little while so that I can enjoy the soothing sound of the flowing water.

This is a good day.

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

Postscript - 5:40pm: As soon as I got back all hell broke loose and I became extremely busy. But that's okay. Despite the craziness, it's still been a good day.

Y'all know by now that I'm one of them freaky-deaky vegetarian types, mainly because the thought of eating animals disgusts me. Not surprisingly, I happen to agree with many of the ideals behind PETA, even if I think a lot of their tactics are, shall we say, a wee bit over the top and tend to alienate more people than inform them.

But every once in a while they have a stroke of genius. A publicity stunt that is both incredibly obvious and wonderfully brave: a Live Make-Out Tour. To demonstrate how vegetarians make better lovers.

Well, duh.

I have to admit that I don't think I've ever had a vegetarian lover - though a clear majority of them have been quite talented - but I know I'm damned good, so there you go. Empirical evidence, in my opinion.

For those of you not in a committed relationship, I suggest you go forth and find a vegetarian to love, if only for a night. I'm sure you won't regret it one bit.

Maybe I should take my own advice...

Your score is 34/50
What does it mean?
Others see you as fresh, lively, charming, amusing, practical, and always interesting; someone who's constantly in the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to their head. They also see you as kind, considerate, and understanding; someone who'll always cheer them up and help them out.
What is yours?quiz by midgetfarm.com

Sorry I haven't posted since Thursday (make that early Friday morning), but it's been crazy busy. I'll try to post details later, but suffice it to say that it was a great weekend. Terrific rehearsal and rehearsal dinner on Friday, an incredibly beautiful wedding on Saturday, wherein your erstwhile narrator nearly cried on several occasions, including in front of all of the guests and wedding party as I made my toast to the happy couple at the very fun reception (naturally we closed down the country club, with my mom and siblings and their SOs/children - and myself, of course - taking at least 1 1/2 hours to say good-bye - BestFriend and I got back to my place around 2am) and a lovely bridal shower on Sunday. With BestFriend visiting from Saturday through this morning - putting up with my occasional freak-out (Ohmig-d, I'm never going to have time to have my nails done! AAARRRGGGHHHHH!!! Wait, that rental car clock is an hour fast? Thank heavens! *collapse in relief*) and seeing BFParents for the first time in at least five years, it was a wonderful weekend.

Especially when they told me several times how terrific I look and the wedding photographer told me that I'm very beautiful and took more than a few photos of me (though he was good about taking pictures of others). And I danced. Oy, did I dance. I think I danced more than anyone else there. I barely got tired and the combination of alcohol and adrenaline assure that I felt no foot pain until the very end of the evening, where upon I put on my "Chicks Rule" flip-flops before going home.

(My G-d, BabySis was gorgeous. She was so happy and so radiant. She was perfect. Despite a few little things here and there, the entire day was perfect. And she, BSSon and BSFinancé, er, I mean, BSHubby are such a lovely family. I think I'm gonna cry just thinking about it.)

(Oh, back to the dancing - something I forgot to mention about Thursday night: I finally learned how to do the time step. From CuteNerdBoy. It's actually pretty easy and there's no reason on earth that I should have had such a hard time learning it. Except that, though I'm a very good dancer, I suck at following someone else's choreography. But he was patient. And he told me that it took three hours for him to learn it from Debbie Allen, so I feel a little better. Though I definitely need to practice for it to look smooth. Anyway, that has nothing to do with the weekend - I just thought it was a fun dance fact. Moving on...)

Not much sleeping was had, and I'm more than a little tired. I don't think the yummy lunch I just had with GrüvLoungeGoth at Newsroom is helping to keep me awake. We'll see if drinking this can of Coke on my desk will help.

Now I'm deciding if buying haircolor at 4:30 am on Saturday morning after two hours of sleep is a good thing. I ended up getting something darker than I was going for - actually darker than my hair has ever been, including its natural dark brown - so normally I'd say no, but I've gotten nothing but compliments. So perhaps being half asleep is the way to pick out haircolor from now on. I was going to just let my original color grow out, but even with my fast growing hair that could take the better part of a year and I just didn't want to wait. I was going to try to match it, or go slightly darker, but that didn't happen.

Anyway, back to work I go, though I really don't want to. Hope y'all had as good a weekend as I did!

...I think.

CuteNerdBoy stopped by to drop off the sales rep's computer (after all that UPS rigmarole, it's pretty much unfixable, at least for any long term use) and played around with my computer, updating a few things, adding anti-virus and anti-spyware software, performing a sweep of the drive. He was here for about two or two and a half hours. We talked about nothing in particular, he played with my cats (they love him too), I washed dishes (I was very dressed down for once in my shorts, oversize mens shirt, hair back in a ponytail and no makeup - hey, if we're just friends, welcome to schleppy me) and he was on his way.

He gave me a hug and a kiss, told me in incomplete sentences which I understood that, if I feel I need to do the space thing, he understands but he'll be out there whenever I'm ready, and then he left. Whereupon I tried to watch some shows I had taped, but instead curled up on the couch and napped, my exhaustion from irregular sleeping habits of the last week or two catching up with me.

I think the exhaustion is the only reason I haven't cried tonight. I'm too tired. Oh, there were a couple of times while I washed dishes that everything hit me, and my knees would sag a little, but I'd get it under control pretty quickly and soldier on.

I'm also looking ahead to a very busy weekend, what with errands and rehearsal/rehearsal dinner Friday (taking the day off), BabySis' wedding on Saturday and BFSis' bridal shower on Sunday, with BestFriend flying in from Tucson on Saturday morning (I'll be meeting her at the airport) and crashing on my couch that night. So my brain is awhirl with all of that.

Not too mention that my work computer is acting up terribly, the corporate office in Missouri doesn't seem to be able or willing to do anything about it, so the chances are pretty good that CuteNerdBoy will be heading out to my office to work on that. Which will cut into the whole space thing, but I'm not going to deprive CuteNerdBoy of work or me of a functioning computer because I couldn't control my heart from doing something it should have known better than to do.

I don't know. There are times - such as most of the time - when I think, "To hell with the time away, I'm a big girl, I can handle this." Then I remember that I, in fact, can't handle it, because if I could I'd be much further along in healing. Besides, let's be honest. The reason I think that? Is because I can't bear to not talk to him or write him or see him. And I'll never feel better about this whole situation if I can't get past that.

But that doesn't stop the pain and the anger from coming back, my sleepy eyes and weary body creating a strange numbness that accompanies these emotions, so that everything is both deadened and heightened at the same time. I want to cry, I feel like crying, but I just don't have the energy, my eyes lacking in moisture, dried out by the heat and the exhaustion.

Still, space. A good thing, right?

Only time will tell...

This whole "waking up to go to work" thing I've been doing for almost 20 years? Totally over it.

Couldn't I just work from my bed, all cozy in my oversized t-shirt with my cats arrayed ever so elegantly about me? Hell, I'll even dress up a little and work in a lovely peignoir set. With maribou slippers. I mean, Hugh Hefner can do it, I don't see why I can't.

Fine, fine, he's rich as Croesus and I'm... Well, I have a few dollars less than he. Still, there's no reason why-

What's that you say? There is a way I can work from my bed? How? Tell me how!

Oh. That.

Well, it is something I enjoy quite a bit and I've always wanted to be paid for doing something I enjoy.

Hmmm...

Gotta jump in the shower now and head for the bus! Have a great day!

Red lights are flashing on the highway
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home tonight
Everywhere the waters getting rough
Your best intentions may not be enough
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home tonight

But if you break down
I'll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I'll try to remind you
And stay by you when it don't come easy

I don't know nothing except change will come
Year after year what we do is undone
Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home

You're out there walking down a highway
And all of the signs got blown away
Sometimes you wonder if you're walking in the wrong direction

But if you break down
I'll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I'll try to remind you
And stay by you when it don't come easy

So many things that I had before
That don't matter to me now
Tonight I cry for the love that I've lost
And the love I've never found
When the last bird falls
And the last siren sounds
Someone will say what's been said before
Some love we were looking for

But if you break down
I'll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I'll try to remind you
And stay by you when it don't come easy

When It Don't Come Easy by Patty Griffin (from Impossible Dream)

One hell of an artist is Patty Griffin. I'd heard about her for quite awhile, but it wasn't until I was given a mix CD by CuteNerdBoy that I'd heard her music. I loved that song, but it was the the next one (on another disc) that grabbed me and refused to let go. Still I hadn't gotten around to getting one of her CDs.

Until I received Impossible Dream for my birthday. From CuteNerdBoy.

As I listened to it I swore one of those songs would show up on Mix CD #7, but it was hard to narrow it down. Finally it was between two: When It Don't Come Easy and Useless Desires. For reasons that are now rather obvious, I chose the latter.

Just as well. Because CuteNerdBoy had chosen the former.

There are times I wish I had gone with When It Don't Come Easy, because the sentiment is one I often feel, but Traversing in Cobalt (while pretentiously named) is perfect the way it is. And lord knows I've often cursed my own useless desires more than once.

Labels: musical interlude

I was kinda hoping the previous post would come across as funnier, 'cause at this point I'm just laughing about the whole situation. I think I lost my funny today. I mean, I don't feel unfunny - in a pretty good mood, actually - but, well, that post down there is proof that the funny? She not be around today.

*shrug*

You've agreed - a time away. Space to collect your thoughts, to work everything out so that you can come back to the friendship with a clear head and heart. You and he think it's a good idea.

The universe has other ideas. More specifically, UPS and your computer. You had given him the laptop of one of the SisterCompany's sales reps to work on, as it had decided the day before that it no longer wished to be of use. There were cords and disks the rep had not given to you, so you get them, send them via UPS overnight. Piece of cake, right?

Wrong. So very, very wrong. The package never arrives. An "Attempted Delivery" sticker is left on the gate behind which his apartment does not lie, when there is no reason for it to be left because he was home, waiting for the package. He calls UPS and arranges for a Monday morning delivery, with explicit instructions as to the location of his apartment - where, again, there is no gate access - then he e-mails you to let you know, his obscenity-laced words conveying his displeasure.

Monday arrives and yet again there is no delivery, despite the instructions, despite the phone call. Once again you receive an e-mail, devoid of obscenity but still clearly not happy about the incompetence of those at UPS. He calls Customer Service. You call Customer Service. Both of you tell the people at the other end of the line the situation and you hope that it gets straightened out.

Apparently you're both outrageously optimistic because it is now Tuesday morning and the delivery man pulls the same fucking stunt. His newest e-mail is, quite understandably, the angriest yet. Not that he's angry at you, because he knows where the idiocy lies (though it is true that, in your original haste, you put down the wrong apartment number, but he had given them the correct information during his first and second calls), but still he's angry.

And so are you. More calls are made, more assholes reamed, and promises are offered. He has to leave for another job, so on his second call that day to them he leaves his cell phone number. You call him to see if they followed up as he was promised. His answer is negative and you hop on the phone yet again. Though you neither yell nor use profanity, the customer service representative on the other end is very quickly clear about the fact that you are furious at the incompetence of someone - make that several someones -down the line. While you do not rip her a new asshole, her bottom is nonetheless now very sore. But she is able to calm you down just a little. She mentions a "successful connection" note on her logs, which you say is impossible unless the local center called him on his home number - after he had given his cell number - left a message and marked that as successful. When you find out later that day that was, in fact, the case, you laugh despite the shiver that run up your spine. Damn, you're good. She sends a message to the local center, marking it "Refund" so that they know they have well and truly fucked up.

Here it is, Wednesday morning, and you receive an e-mail. From him. Miracles happen, proof of G-d exists: the package was delivered. Despite the local center's early morning call that divulged the fact that someone, once again, did not pass on the painstakingly detailed instructions imparted by both him and you to your respective CSRs during the previous 37 billion calls. And the driver that arrived two hours later had NO information as to the apartment's whereabouts, no doubt a blank expression in the face of the facts presented. He hypothesizes the existence of an alien brain softening virus infecting UPS, expresses concern about a mutual friend that works there, and you agree that must be the explanation for the flat out incompetence of so many people in a single company.

Still, the package is there. Finally.

So, all that remains is for him to work on the laptop and get it back to you, right? And then the break can commence.

Wrong. Oh, how wrong you are, you silly mortal. Because your computer is having a field day, not letting you open certain sites and booting up all on its lonesome, logging itself on the internet when you're not home, so now you have to remember to turn off the external modem when you turn off the computer. And there are a few other things you can't recall when you e-mail him. He had said that he would look at your computer before you proposed space. And you really don't want to have to put up with two or three months of a wonky computer. You would prefer to get it done quickly, so that space-time can commence, but there are schedules to be worked out.

As a result of the UPS moronity (not a word, but you don't care) and your own precious computer, in the past week you have communicated with each other every day, via e-mail and/or phone, trying to get everything ironed out. You suspect the universe is laughing its ass off right about now. You decide to laugh along, because really, what else can you do?

The universe just has a hell of a sense of humor, doesn't it?

The Life and Times of Nebraska has been updated.

It's fun, finding out about Nebraska as I write. I wrote the second installment (third for my writing group) on the bus as I headed towards the meeting tonight. I've decided that this story will be for group writing exercises only. Not too much thinking about him until it's time to put pen to paper. Unfortunately Sarriah asked me a couple of questions about the main character, ones I had no answers for since I hadn't thought that far ahead. My brain started to look for answers, but I shut it off, letting her know that I had no idea and I didn't want to know until I got to that part. I've got to put those questions from my mind, but they keep creeping back. Quick, someone get me a memory wipe!

When I mentioned tonight that I had a little more about Nebraska, NewYorkWriter smiled and said, "Oh good!" She told me later that she definitely wants me to keep writing about him, because she can totally picture who this guy is.

Very cool.

As a consequence of this writing style, there may very well be factual errors in regards to football or Ohio State or universities in general. I know very little about these subjects, having never studied any of them and having never gone to a university, with only two semesters at Pierce Community College serving as my formal post-high school education. And those were back in the late 80s.

Perhaps when I finish it I can go back and clean up the mistakes. But for now I'm going to let it stand as it is.

This is really a lot of fun.

I don't (or try not to) pay much attention to celebrity gossip, but Michael Jackson a father to quadruplets? What is that woman thinking? I mean, besides "Ooh, look at all this money!"

Oh, guess what? Bush wants to be a president who promotes peace. Isn't that sweet?

I think my brain has officially exploded...

(FYI - I know the title has nothing to do with the post, but it's a phrase I'm fond of. Plus that's what went through my mind when I re-read what I referenced below.)

Last night I was going through some of the pages on the old journal and stumbled across this fervent hope. Looks like my wish was in vain.

Let's see what we can do about helping that to end, shall we? Take a gander at Project Vote Smart. Now, I'm horribly lazy. I can never get through the voter pamphlets that are mailed to me. So this website is a godsend to voters like me, who want to be informed of all pertinent histories of the candidates, but start dozing when faced with the language used.

I think I want to marry Project Vote Smart and have its babies.

Also, if you're a progressive, liberal or undecided voter thinking about voting for Nader (as I have in the past), mosey on over to Don't Vote Ralph. I hate voting against a candidate, as opposed to for a candidate, but I believe that it's absolutely necessary in this election year.

While y'all are at it, Take On Tom Delay, especially if you happen to be citizens living in District 22 (in Texas). The arrogant fucker has got to go.

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

Newsflash: I still would like to fuck Jon Stewart. I've been catching up on The Daily Show and he is one smart, cute, funny mo-fo. I know he has a wife and a newborn baby, but we could go to Utah. It's supposed to be pretty. Just think of it: Jon Stewart, his wife and baby, Project Vote Smart and myself with our 2.5 kids, my cats and, well, why not a dog too? All cozy in a nice little home in Salt Lake City.

Paradise.

...quiz-a-lot...

I'm in a quizzy kinda mood, but this time let's go for something a little less wholesome:







Yeah, that's about right. Granted, I think it's gonna be a while before I can verify these results, since, no matter how horny I may get (which is actually - TMI Alert!! - riduculously so right now), I'm not gonna be in the mood for casual sex for the forseeable future, especially with a stranger (as I discovered last night). So content myself with silly quizzes and Clean Sheets and other outlets I shall.

*sigh*

I can't even remember where I found the link to these quizzes, but they are interesting. Two different quizzes to judge brain hemisphere dominance:





Is that shocking to anyone? Anyone at all? Hmmm, guess not...

Over the last few days I've been talking with friends about what's been going on, and they've been great and supportive. Sometimes it's a little irritating when they give me suggestions about things to do so that I feel better, because, well, I'd like a little time to actually experience my emotions. If I shove them out of the way they'll just come back to bite me on the ass months - or years - later. I speak from experience.

But I know that my friends just want to make sure I don't slide back into a depression like the one I had a couple of years ago and I certainly appreciate their caring and words and effort. Because of their proximity and their coolness, Sarriah, Boychik and -oddly enough, but not really, if you think about it - CuteNerdBoy have been the ones that have been right there for me, talking me through stuff, understanding my emotions, my inclination to run around in my head way too much but reminding me that extended wallowing is not such a good thing.

So when Sarriah called me on Wednesday night ("Carol, are you okay? Your 'blog entries seemed a little down." And I thought I was the mistress of understatement!) we spoke for a few hours. At one point she told me about an exercise that a friend had asked her to do after she had a major break-up (not saying what happened was a break-up, because, well, it was all one-sided, but y'all know what I'm saying - you guys are smart like that): "Sarriah, I want you to list 50 things that make you happy." Her initial reaction was like mine - fifty? Could she start with ten?

"Carol, can you do that for me? Can you list ten things that make you happy?"

I hemmed and hawed, wondering why she wouldn't just let me wallow the way I really wanted to. Homework? I finally get it through my thick, stubborn, Taurean skull (well, mostly, at any rate - my skull is so thick that you could probably set off a nuclear bomb in there and someone standing right next to me would be perfectly okay) that the guy I've been yearning after all these months just doesn't reciprocate my feelings and she wants me to do homework?

(Boychik sort of did the same on Thursday night. "Okay, Carol, I know you're feeling bad right now, and everything I'm saying probably doesn't make you feel any better, but remember: everything you do is a decision you've made. It's okay if you decide not to do something, but it's still a decision. Just make more active decisions than non-active ones." Um, thanks guys?)

I heard a short laugh on the phone. "Look, you don't have to do it. I don't care one way or the other. But I think it would be good for you."

I thought of a few things that make me happy, none of which I can think of right now, but I felt sort of on the spot. And not quite ready to go there. But it's been running through my mind since then, and for some reason, while I can't think of ten things that make me happy, I have been thinking of scents that make me feel good. Probably because there is a specific scent that is filling the air right now that I've always loved and every time I smell it I have to smile, if only for an instant.

So here's my list of scents – six, to start - I hope they're scents that make you happy too:

1) Eucalyptus trees - in San Diego we has a eucalyptus tree in our back yard and whenever I passed it I would pluck a leaf and crush it in my fingers, then inhale the fragrance. The clean, fresh, very green smell always clears my head. I don't know why, but that scent is practically everywhere right now. I even smelled it on my training run yesterday morning (six miles - whoo!). Just a great scent.

2) Tea rose - I used to be crazy about the perfume Opium, but somewhere along the line it no longer smelled good on me. What does now? Rose or tea rose essential oils. Whenever I wear it I always have someone commenting on how good I smell. Or just smelling an actual rose makes me smile with pleasure. Simple feminine fragraces are good.

3) Vanilla - this will bring me to my knees. Rich, full, complex, yet surprisingly simple. Give me something with a good vanilla aroma to it and I will roll my eyes in ecstasy. And I do not exaggerate.

4) Coffee – it’s funny, coffee is one of those things that, when I have it (which is fairly often), it has to be heavily adulterated with cream and sugar, if not sometimes rendered unrecognizable with chocolate and whipped cream. But whenever I smell a freshly brewed pot of coffee I feel all tingly and my mouth starts to water. I love coffee.

5) Freshly laundered clothes – odd, I know, but I’ve always gotten off (so to speak) on the scent of clothes straight out of the dryer. Preferably clothes that were not washed or dried with heavily fragranced detergent or dryer sheets. Newly ironed clothes have the same effect, especially when a light starch has been used. It goes back to the way that clean smells make me feel: light and airy and fresh.

6) Recently struck matches – this may be very odd, I know, but I’ve always enjoyed that smell. Something about the sharp, acrid aroma of flash-burnt sulfur appeals to me. Between that, my love of the scent of burning wood and my enjoyment of staring into flames, it’s a wonder I never became a pyromaniac.

Oh, how I love a good smell…

Last night was BabySis' bachlorette party. I don't want to detail the night, because what's there to say about nine women out and about on the Universal CitiWalk on a crazy-busy Saturday night? Besides, we all signed an oath: what happens at the bachlorette party stays at the bachlorette party. And the first rule of Bachlorette Party is --

Wait, what bachlorette party?

I did learn (or re-learn) a few things last night:

1) I'm not a fan of the bar/club scene unless I can dance. And we didn't go anywhere that involved dancing, unfortunately.

2) Flirting with the doorman can score a few things. We got in free because it was my sister's bachlorette party, and BabySis is pretty hot (I'm gorgeous and sexy and all, but she's got the type of body most men drool over), but I did flirt with the rather cute doorman in my slightly tipsy state and came away with a bunch of VIP passes (though I have to say, I had no idea he was going to do that - I was just flirting to flirt). Of course I'll pass them around to the others that live locally, but with me living closest, I am the most likely to use it.

3) I really am not attracted to men with big muscles. There was a guy that hung out with us all night. He was drunk and hoping to get laid. As a consequence he flirted with each and every one of us, but as apparently the only single girl in the group (though I have a feeling that if any of the women wanted to go home with him, no matter their relationship status, he would have had no qualms), he did focus on me quite a bit. Which was flattering and all, since his looks are the type most women would go for but, well, he was more than a bit of a jerk. And I had to take him down a peg for the way he talked to one of BabySis' friends. When he asked me why I had to show him up like that, I responded that A) because I felt like it and B) he talks shit to my friends, he gets what he deserves (no, I don't remember what I said).

At any rate, at one point for some reason I lightly placed my hand on his bicep and thought, "Wow, one side of his bicep is nearly as big as my entire hand. That's actually rather unappealing. Huh." Now, I've never been into muscly men, but last night reinforced it.

I have to admit, while he didn't have a chance in hell with me, I did lead him on a little. I wouldn't normally do that, because as a rule I think it sucks when I see other women do that, but I was still smarting over CuteNerdBoy (didn't help that the last time I was at CitiWalk was with him a few weeks ago - okay, time to stop talking about him - well, soon) and well, the guy was an arrogant asshole. There were pegs he had to be knocked down. So I flirted, I challenged, I somehow got out of it a veggie burger, a drink and a little bit of a shoulder massage - which I admit I demanded - and then provided no follow up. By the end of the night I felt a little sorry for the guy, but by that time BabySis was feeling the effects of way too much alcohol (strangers were buying her drinks to congratulate her), so we had to leave anyway. So sorry, bye bye.

Okay, not my brightest, shiniest moment there but I'm not perfect. And I also learned that, much as I enjoy flirting, I actually don't enjoy flirting with men I have no intention of spending any time with. The doorman - that was different. He expects that sort of thing and we both knew nothing was going any further there. But AssholeGuy - not really all that fun. And not something I'll be doing again.

Who knew bachlorette parties could be so educational?

GrüvLoungeGoth has a page on his personal site where you can create your own Darkly Gothic Poem. I did one many years ago, which I no longer have.

Well, he has a new category on the page, which means you have five types of poems you can generate, Mad-Libs-like. I recommend that y'all give it a shot - it's fun.

Wait, I take that back. It's absolutely miserable. No fun at all.

Here's my most recent effort:

stolen emotion

what have you wrought?
a miasma of misery as affections writhe.
once we savored bliss,
wide-eyed and open,
but your desire soured.
a deadened morass of agony -
tears follow pain, follow bitterness,
love ground to dust.
in a torrent of sorrow,
i still love you.

Yeesh. That-- I--

Wow, that's bad. And yeah, it's been kind of a shitty week and all, but I'm pretty sure it's not been that shitty. Well, all the poems are guaranteed to be depressing and depressingly bad, so have at it!

So I've been on personals sites for a while.  I've used them now and again for nearly eight years.  And the profiles that I posted last year are still up and visible.  I haven't really used them in the last few months, what with the whole "pining for CuteNerdBoy" thing I've got goin' on, so I haven't gotten many e-mails from them as a result.  Which is fine.  But having been around them for awhile, I know what works for me and I know what comes off as creepy. 
 
Which is why I wonder why some men think something like this recent e-mail is an appropriate icebreaker: 

Subject:  yes yes yes come to daddy

hey I am a vegetarian thinking about going macrobiotic etc.
hey I am creative and like books and humor and all kinds of madness
hey you are looking awfully sexy in those pictures but I want to see one with your arms not covering your body up. lets see if you are really a buxom gal!
hey I live in Hollywood thats not too far
hey I love animals especially cats.
I love music and I like the outdoors but I am not a fanatic. I am 33 but you don't seem to mind that.
so COME ON AND RESPOND !!!

Let's start with the subject, shall we?
 
"come to daddy"?  Leaving aside the fact that, at 33, he's too young to be the daddy to a 38 year old woman - I never, ever want to be with someone who thinks calling himself my "daddy" would be appealing.  Even before my current father issues, I didn't like that crap.
 
The punctuation is appalling, as is starting every line with "hey" and the lack of capitals at the beginning of the sentences.  Call me a writing snob, but if English is your native language and your profile shows incidences of you using at least some of the rules of grammar correctly, but you can't be bothered to make a decent impression in your first contact to me, I'm just not going to be all that interested.  And yes, I've been known to bend and break grammar rules on occasion.  I'm not perfect.  But please, for the love of Pete (and Mike and Harry), make the damned sentences readable!
  
(Addendum: I am friends with people that use very few capital letters in e-mails, which, admittedly, bugs me a little.  But otherwise their missives are well written.  And these people are consistent.  That gets a pass from me.)

The actual content of most of the lines are fine, though they seem to only address certain points in my profile without revealing anything about the writer.  Rather boring, actually.  But a demand to see if I'm really buxom?  Ending with a command to write back?  Since commanding me to do something is the surest way to receive a stony glare and a cold shoulder-- Uh, no.  *sound of e-mail hitting the trash can*
 
What does the next recent e-mail have in store for me?  Hmmm:

Subject: 
Hi

I really like your profile...if you like mine I'd love to hear from you.

Not exciting, could use a little more personality, but still okay.

 I'm looking for a relationship with a woman who is bisexual...are you really open to any experience?

And you lost me.
 
I'm not a prude.  I think we're pretty clear on that.  I've made it abundantly plain on this 'blog that I think Sex Is A Very Good Thing.  But bringing it up in the very first e-mail on a personals site that is not geared to racking up sex partners?  When my profile clearly stated I was looking for a relationship?  Not so good.  Especially since he wasn't even creative about it.
 
Annoying E-mail, don't let the trash can lid hit ya on the way in.
 
I won't even go into the story about the guy from the MetroRail this morning who sat too close to me, stared at my bare legs, and when I glared at him and moved across the train, proceeded to move himself so that he wasn't close but could continue to stare at my legs.  And was impossibly freaking obvious about it the whole time.  Dude.  I know I have great legs, but fer Chrissake, a little subtlety here.
 
Maybe I'm too picky.  That is most definitely a possibility.  But if a man comes across as clever and sincere and possessing of a social skill set, I'm gonna take a second look.  And probably a third.  Or more.
 
These guys?
 
*shudder*
 
*plink*

Words.

It's all words.

Words on a screen, words over the phone, words exchanged with nothing more than the air - and an exercise machine - between you.

You're both reasonable. You have your points of view, both of which are equally valid. As are the emotions informing those points of view. Even when there's no rhyme or reason to the emotions, there's no denying their validity and you both recognize that.

Yes, the two of you are so g-ddamned reasonable, rational. Why couldn't he be a fucking asshole? Why can't you be a raving bitch? It seems like it would make everything so much easier.

But that's not the way either of you operate. If he were an asshole you wouldn't love him the way you do. If you were a bitch he wouldn't care about you so much. Because in the end, under all the conflicting emotions - the love you feel that he doesn't reciprocate, the pain he feels for being the cause of your current unhappiness - there is a deep abiding bond of friendship and trust and, yes, love (the love of very dear friends) between you that has sprung up over the last year.

A year? Has it only been a year? Somehow it feels as if he's been an integral part of your life forever, and not just because you knew each other a little bit as teenagers.

Finally you make a decision. As you type out that decision your fingers tremble because you can't believe you're actually writing the words you've thought about - off and on - since the previous October.

He responds. He understands. He agrees and says you should set the pace. As you read his words a strange feeling comes over you - a little bit like hyperventilation, even though you swear you're not breathing at all.   And you're glad you're sitting down, because you're not sure your legs would be able to support you.

Let's take a breather, you proposed. A couple of months apart so that you can sort out your head and your heart without the distraction of him. You say that the occasional e-mail is fine, so that you each know that the other is doing okay, and you say that you'll continue to throw computer work his way, because the way things are shaping up at your new job, it looks like he's become the go-to person for local computer consulting. Other than that, no hanging out. That way, no scrambling of brains for you. And then, after two or three months away, when you feel you're ready, the two of you get together again, with a hopefully stronger and more even-keeled friendship.

Of course he agrees. He's reasonable. Like you. But reading that hurts because, for some inexplicable reason, you suddenly feel as if you and he are breaking up. Which is patently silly because you're not in a romantic relationship. And you're going to see each other again in a few months, right? He's promised to cheer you on during your half-marathon in October and you fully intend on making him keep that promise.

But it still hurts. Because the thought of purposefully staying away from him feels like a knife in the gut, even though the both of you know it's for the best. Especially if you want to continue this friendship until the two of you are old and decrepit and chasing after each other with snapping false teeth in hand as fast as your elderly spindly legs will carry you. After all, you're never too old to act twelve.

And you're never too young to do the mature thing, the right thing to keep the friendship going. Even if it hurts at first.

Especially if it hurts. Because past the hurting is the healing. And the power of hurting and healing lie behind simple...

...words. 
 

...this time from the pages of Christopher:

The Ethical Philosophy Selector. Apparently, like Chris, I am Jean-Paul Sartre (matching at 100%).

* When we choose something, we affirm the value of our choice because we have chosen it above other choices

* When we choose something for ourselves, we should choose it for all people.

* We must be consistent in our interpretations of moral situations regardless of whom the agent is.

* Logic cannot help us specific situations

* Making conscious moral choices is more significant than consistently following moral guidelines

* The conflict between the interests of two people is in the end, irresolvable

(Though I can't say I always believe that last one. It is certainly the case in more than a few cases, but it is not an absolute.)

Considering my knowledge of philosophy is rather shaky (aside from a love The Philosopher's Song), it's an interesting result.

BTW, though I disagree with the percentages (St. Augustine above Aristotle? Ockham even being there? With no Simone de Beauvoir is sight?) here's how my answers matched the other philosophers:

1. Jean-Paul Sartre (100%)
2. Spinoza (94%)
3. Kant (68%)
4. Aquinas (67%)
5. Nietzsche (65%)
6. Jeremy Bentham (61%)
7. St. Augustine (60%)
8. Aristotle (58%)
9. Ockham (57%)
10. Stoics (57%)
11. Nel Noddings (55%)
12. Prescriptivism (52%)
13. David Hume (44%)
14. Epicureans (44%)
15. John Stuart Mill (42%)
16. Ayn Rand (35%)
17. Plato (30%)
18. Cynics (16%)
19. Thomas Hobbes (16%)

* Thank freakin' G-d. Though, as Mike Reed pointed out (see 08:19am 14 Jul 2004), the gay marriage ban didn't have much of a chance. Still, it's nice to see that the issue has been shelved. Though I'm sure it'll rear its ugly head again.

* John Scalzi is, once again, rockin' in the free world with his take on the presidential candidates. Now, I happen to like a lot of what Nader is about, and I've voted for him in the past to try to help the Green Party become a viable third party (though not in the last election - the thought of Bush in the White House scared the shit out of me too much - nice to know I had reason to be scared). But I honestly don't think he'll ever be president and I don't really think he should be. He's too inflexible and has no idea how to play well with others, which is needed to be a successful leader. And he can be more than a little extreme. (What a shock, I know)

* Sing it, Sister Sarah. My G-d, if I hear one more person talk about bad carbs and high protein and Atkins and all that crap, I'm gonna turn on 'em and smack 'em into next year. Because that shit? Is annoying as hell. Geez frickin' Louise, people, lighten up and live a little. Look into a little thing called a balanced diet. And this new fangled dealie-bob called exercise. 'Cause guess what'll happen? Your body will do what it's meant to do. Radical concept, I know.

I'm better now. At least a little bit. Crying and sleeping and immersing myself in work has helped. I'm a little numb and my brain won't shut up, but I've calmed down a little.

I haven't decided yet what to write about, or if I'm going to go into any kind of detail, but suffice it to say that, despite knowing certain facts, a conversation last night cemented those facts for me - gently pounded those facts through this ever-so-thick skull of mine - and I wasn't exactly ecstatic about the result of the conversation. (That's putting it mildly.) That one a.m. post was the result of the anger (which I was feeling a bit during the talk) kicking in fast and furious.

And yes, the conversation was with CuteNerdBoy. We're still friends, we're still working on this constantly evolving friendship, and it's pretty likely we'll remain friends until we're old and decrepit and have lost all of our teeth and most of our hair (though I will, of course, wear stunning wigs - one auburn and one brunette), but it doesn't make it easier right now. And I want it to be easier now.

Just call me Veruca.

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

BTW, Happy Bastille Day! (My last name is French - what do y'all expect? *sticks tongue out*)

...because there isn't enough room in the comments (stupid 1000 character limit):

Longtime Reader, you do offer words for thought. Yes, I am struggling against my apparent need for "someone else". Unlike some people, who seem to be more and more okay with being alone as the years go by, I find myself less and less okay with it, which, I admit, concerns me. And it's only been in the last few years - and in times of perceived crisis - that I've felt that need most keenly. Granted, I've always really wanted to have another person to share my life with, but to the point where it cuts like a knife? That's fairly recent. And not a development I'm all that happy about.

So in the middle of the night, when I'm angry and hurt and my cats try to comfort me by rallying around me when it all hits me, I write about that need. And I post that writing. And in the cold light of day I re-read it and wonder when I'm going to learn to restrain myself a little, to write about it but not throw it up in public bits and bytes. Because I can see the desperation and neediness in those words, feelings that are there and are real at that moment, but are not as constant as they may seem.

But I decide to leave up those insecure, angry, hurt entries because, though there are actually things I do not share with the class, to take down something that I've already posted and that has been read seems disingenuous.

The Road Less Traveled, huh? Something to consider...

As for the other - I know it's all comes down to the personal tastes of the individuals involved, but it's hard to remember that sometimes. And that knowledge isn't often comforting. As I usually say, I'll be okay eventually. I don't think I have much of a choice in the matter, if I want to have any quality of life.

Oh, and Jon Stewart? Ooh baby yeah...

...because right now I'm tired of being so fucking reasonable, but I really don't feel like going into detail and I may never feel like it and I'm angry and I don't give a shit if I seem to be wallowing:

If I'm so great and wonderful, with this big full heart, why not me?

Maybe this big full heart is nothing but a liability. Lord knows it hasn't brought me any kind of lasting happiness in the last few years.

Gawd, how living alone really sucks, because there's no one here to hold me when I collapse and cry.

I'm ready for life to stop throwing me these curveballs and change-ups. Because they keep hitting me in the head and the heart and I don't know how much more I can take.

** Just because I leave the ball in someone's court doesn't mean they'll do anything with it. They may not even remember that they have the ball because maybe it rolled in a dark corner of the court. If I want them to do something with the ball I need to bring it up, even if I think I really shouldn't.

** I mustn't expect people to mention or remember the ball. Their focus (focii?) is not mine and what seems like a medicine ball to me may look like a softball to them.

** I musn't get so emotional about someone overlooking the ball in the corner. Mind you, there's nothing wrong with getting emotional and it's perfectly alright to let someone know that, Hey, ball in the corner, remember? But in the end I'm just tearing myself apart because I can't control the other person's response, nor should I try.

** Despite talking about balls in courts and corners, it's not a game. And, though serious, it's not deadly serious. No one is going to die from disappointment. And sometimes people mean exactly what they say. I may think there's something unsaid, something hidden, but that is not often the case.

I have to remember these things...

On Saturday, before Sarriah stopped by to do me a huge favor by driving me to David’s Bridals to buy the shoes for BabySis’ wedding and have them look at the zipper on my bridesmaid dress (turns out a simple $10 strap alteration will actually fix most of my issues with the dress – who’da thunk?), I was watching a little TV. The show was VH1’s All Access: Celebrity Weddings 2004. I had been flipping through the channels, saw Melissa Etheridge, and stopped for a while, because I had always liked her.

Now, we all know I’ve become a soft touch in my approaching middle-age. As the years pass I become more and more like my mother in that regard. But when Melissa’s commitment ceremony to Tammy Lynn Michaels in Malibu was shown, and they said, "I do,"with so much love and emotion, tears started flowing because it really was very beautiful. I’m tearing up just writing about it.

And I have to ask myself again, "How does their commitment to one another endanger all heterosexual marriages? And what the fuck is wrong with people?"

My fab friend, GrüvLoungeGoth, has some excellent points regarding stunts our current administration could pull.

Color me not even close to surprised, especially considering a recent determination by the Senate Intelligence Committee that the CIA (if not those in close to the UnPresident, or the Shrub himself) were just plain wrong about the given reasons the US invaded Iraq. I think the chances are pretty good that all involved flat out lied through their collective teeth, but I do like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Even narrow-minded, power-hungry, don't-give-a-shit-about-anything-except-their-positions-and-coffers-and-personal-agendas people currently running our country.

Not that I'm cynical or anything...

Just got back from a day trip to San Francisco.

I know, who the hell takes a day trip to San Francisco from L.A.? Apparently Sarriah and SarriahBrother (who actually had a family gathering in a nearby town) along with MidWestRoommate and myself (the two of us took the train from NearbyTown to SF - she had never been there before and wanted to check it out). Right now I feel like my entire body is swollen, due to the heat and the exertion of the day.

(And oh, what a pretty mental image that must present. Then again, as caught glimpses of my reflection in various mirrors and windows throughout the day, I realized that I was not exactly having a pretty day. I'm suprised animals and small children did not flee at the sight of me.

*cue 80s song - Don't You Want Me, Baby?*)

Why I was the only person in the car unable to doze off for a good part of the ride home, I'll never know. Every time I would get comfortable enough, something would happen where I'd have to shift from a relatively comfortable position to a not-so-comfortable one, then spend another five minutes or so trying to get comfy again. And I realized something: I may only be 5'6", but a lot of that height in in my legs. My poor cramped legs...

You know, it's been over 7 years since I've last been in lovely San Francisco. I loved it then and I certainly enjoyed the few hours we were there today. But as we walked from the Civic Center BART station up to Golden Gate Park, taking Haight for most of the walk - which I'm convinced was five miles, if not more - one question kept traipsing through my head:

I'm supposed to jog through these incredibly hilly streets in October?

Oy.

1) Whoever came up up with the bright idea of moving vigorously - getting other people to move vigorously - at 7am on a Saturday should be shot.

2) When I told family and friends that I agreed to do such a thing, why did none of them check for a pointy gill on the back of my neck or antennae under my hair? Because I've obviously been possessed by an alien.

...amongst them artistic types: You never know when inspiration will strike.

A corollary to that might be: You never know where that inspiration will take you.

Some weeks ago, while attending a reading by Joe Frank at the Armand Hammer, I had a mental image - apropos of nothing I was seeing or hearing - of a little boy thrusting his hand into dark rich dirt. And I saw it from the boy's point of view. So I wrote it up in a short short story, with the outcome pretty consistent with why a little boy might do such a thing. A good story, if I and my writing group do say so (and we do).

But in our writing exercise that week - which can be completely different week to week - the host, NewYorkWriter, threw out the word "Nebraska" and the phrase "fresh writing". I had already sent out my weekly e-mail, with "renege" being that week's prompt word (there's one every week). We can use any of the suggestions put forth, or all of them, or none of them. We're a pretty free-form group.

I stared at my paper, trying to think of something, listening to the joking going on around me. And an odd string of words that someone uttered prompted me to write the following first sentence:

"Nebraska reneged on his promise to submit fresh writing."

In the allotted ten minutes a character emerged. A very distinct character. I was sad when the ten minutes were up because I really wanted to know more about big, friendly Nebraska, the former college football player who took up writing when sidelined with a knee injury. And so did the group.

The next week I had meant to revise and print the story about the frustrating, yet very fun Sunday CuteNerdBoy and I had the previous week (because, let's face it, that's a Sunday that you just can't make up) but time got away from me and I forgot to do so. Instead, while waiting for NewYorkWriter to pick me up on a Santa Monica street corner not far from the Third Street Promenade, I pulled out my notebook and started writing about good ol' Nebraska, incorporating my word o' the week: finesse.

I didn't get very far, but there was no doubt that Nebraska was taking on a life of his own. Now I'm thinking he might just become my writing group character, with a new installment during the exercise each and every week. I don't know where the lovable lug came from, and I know I still have to get back to work on Stale Steele, but there's something about this guy that is itching to be known.

Personally, I'd like to know him better.

(I think I'm going to have to research football, though...)

...is there a recent movie or TV show that prominently featured Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien? For the last couple of weeks I have been getting a fair amount of traffic via searches for an English translation of that song, which has pointed them to my Musical Interlude from January 3rd.

It is a puzzlement...

I've got mixed feelings. I admit it. On one hand I think it could be good. On the other hand it could be disastrous. And on the gripping hand, my gut just roils at the thought.

Kobe Bryant becoming a Clipper. That just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

I'm not incredibly sports minded, but I've had a soft spot in my heart for the Clippers ever since I lived in San Diego. I was a kid - around twelve or so - and was becoming aware of the world outside of my family, friends and school (and my beloved movies, books and TV). It was about this time I began to notice things like politics and world events and sports. The Clippers had just moved to San Diego and I thought it was pretty cool that we finally had a basketball team. And it was actually a pretty good team in the late 70s, one that had potential. I used to watch the games, though I didn't know much about basketball, and I found it exciting. I was particularly impressed with the performance of Lloyd Free. This was before he changed his name to World B. Free and was traded to the Warriors, leaving behind an on-the-way-out Bill Walton - don't get me started on the stupidity of that move. After Free left and Walton proved to be an albatross around the Clippers' neck, I decided I didn't want to follow any sports team ever again. It was too heart-breaking.

Despite this, I'm always a little happy when I hear that the Clippers have won a game. It's so rare and I still have such fond memories. So to think that Kobe might help up the team's record brings a smile to my face.

But.

It's Kobe Bryant.

Leaving aside his current legal problems (I have no opinion on the matter, as I haven't been following the case, I have no idea what the truth is and there are, in my opinion, enough apparent facts to support either side's case - though I could definitely be wrong there - as I've said, not caring about the case that much), he's just such a showboating player. From what I've seen and heard, he tends to forget that he even has teammates, which is not what the Clippers need.

And, well, it's Kobe Bryant. Much like Barry Bonds, his arrogance and self-aggrandizing leave a very bitter taste in my mouth. Yes, he's a talented ball player, but I despise people who seem to think that they are owed the world. And I don't want my beloved Clippers to be tainted by close association with Bryant. In my not-so-humble-opinion, the man is just bad news.

But it would be so cool for them to win...

This has got to be one of my favorite photos of me.

There is someone else in the picture, and I've certainly got photos I love of other people, but I'm always leery about posting pictures of people in my life, unless they've okay'd it. I don't mind opening up my life for scrutiny, but I don't feel comfortable doing the same for others.

I'm very critical about my photos, and rarely wear my glasses in them, and heaven knows there are things there I'd usually pick apart, but I look like I'm having so much fun there (which I was) that I just like to look at it sometimes. It makes me happy.

BTW, it was taken by CuteNerdBoy at RockerChick's Disneyland birthday party last December. And he says his pictures are only so-so. Pshaw! 

We’ve all done it.

We had something that was good and whole and pure in our hands – a relationship which cannot be improved upon. We know this. We recognize this. But, for some unfathomable reason, we decide that said relationship costs us too much. So we throw it aside and search for something just as good, but with less cost to us. We try out new, different relationships. All have their good points, but none are as perfect for us as that first one we so recklessly cast aside. And we realize there is no choice for us to crawl back, because we know that, for life to be worth living again, we must have that which is good and whole and pure with us once again.

I promise you this: I will never leave you again, my beloved Lawry’s Garlic Salt. I am yours forever.

...I'm going to learn that writing something for public consumption in the wee hours of the morning is probably not a good idea.

See, there's the real reason I need to have an understanding roommate or live-in boyfriend or husband or someone besides my non-English-speaking cats. If I have someone nearby to talk with at 3am when I get in one of my moods, I won't subect my poor innocent readers to my self-doubts. 'Cause let's face it - the early morning hours are when my self-doubts like to launch a sneak attack and if I don't get them out in some fashion, I'll end up curled in a fetal ball under the dining room table or in the bathtub. And since that's damned uncomfortable, y'all get the brunt of it.

So if you don't want to read anymore of my early morning ramblings, y'all better keep an eye out for a live-in companion for me. After all, it's for your own good...

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

Apropos of nothing above, I'm listening to New Year's Prayer by the late Jeff Buckley. The opening measures are the theme song to The Dead Zone (a show I really like) and I just fell in love with it.

Damn, that's some good music. I know I'm late to the party as usual, but I'm going to have to become better acquainted with the Jeff Buckley ouevre.

I'm still awake.

Why? I haven't the foggiest. It's 3:45am, I have to be at work in less than five hours, and I'm still awake.

I'm tired because my kitties decided to wake me up at 8:30am today - er, I mean, yesterday - after I'd only slept for five hours. And I had been looking forward to sleeping in.

I'm tired but I'm not sleepy and I can't get myself to bed. It's been a total do-nothing day (except for a three mile walk), so it's not as if I were out and about until the wee hours of the morning, which is usually the case when I stay up way too late. I'm not someone who can go to bed right after getting home. I need at least an hour to wind down.

*sigh* I think it's because my brain won't shut up. I've got a strange feeling it's going to be an odd week - though not necessarily a bad one - and I'm just wondering in what ways the week will present its oddness. It's making me a little nervous, to be honest. Then again, I can be a nervous person on occasion, so that's not entirely surprising.

So I sit up and futz around on the computer. I obsessively check my e-mail and a few other sites and fume at the new wonkiness of my Internet Explorer. I design my next mix CD cover. I play with music. I write. I listen to the infomercials on TV. I try to stop my brain from running around in the same worn out grooves it’s been running in for the last five days or so, with pretty much no success. I curse the fact that my usual emotionalism that accompanies my PMS has moved to the actual Time-of-the-Month part of the cycle, because, as a rule, I’m generally okay once my period starts (and I think my readers are way too acquainted with my girly stuff, for which I apologize). I hate how the same stupid thought - which is too personal for even me to disclose - makes me feel nervous each and every time it crosses my mind. I wonder about my wisdom in taking certain actions. I wonder why it sometimes seems as if I'm repeating mistakes I made when I was much, much younger because I should be a hell of a lot smarter and grown-up by now.

I ponder the fact that I know three people (two of them are actually a couple) that went to different weddings on July 4th, which seems such an odd day to have a wedding. Then I think, the happy brides and grooms probably got good deals on the locations because of the day. And I remember YoungerBro was married on Tax Day, which to my mind is even stranger.

Then I start thinking about the three weddings I’m going to this year, as well as weddings in general, which causes my brain to jump to all sorts of new thoughts, but I also start panicking a bit because BabySis’ wedding is in less than three weeks and I still have things to do to get ready for it and I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to afford what I still need to get.

In case you're interested, it was a good holiday weekend. And a quiet one. I discovered that BSSon thinks his Auntie Carol makes a swell flotation device. Or a very nice sea-horse. I'm not sure which I was. And that it's nice to just chat with BabySis, which we do far too little. And hanging out with Mom is fun too, though sometimes she can be a little trying. But that's okay because 1) that's what moms are for and 2) I'm probably a little trying sometimes too. And that, yes, it'll be sad when BS-In-Laws move permanently to Florida (they already bought a house there and are trying to selling their current house), but I'm also going to miss their pool and jacuzzi.

Oh yeah, and I really hate the town in which they, and Mom and BabySis, all currently live. I hated it when I lived there for ten years - from 1983 to 1993 - and I still hate it. Not just because it's rather conservative. But also because the town has only four bus routes, two of them follow almost identical routes and none of those routes drop me off anywhere close to anywhere I'd ever need to go, which means that I had to walk easily a couple of miles. Which wouldn't have been a problem if I hadn't been carrying a heavy overnight bag.

Stupid Thinks-It's-A-Small-Town-But-It-Really-Isn't town bus routes.

Lastly I think I'd better try to get a couple of hours of sleep. Especially since this is probably the most boring entry I've ever written, if not the most boring entry in the history of all personal online writing.

Hey, I think I nearly put myself to sleep reading it over! I guess it served a purpose after all.

A decision I've been tossing about, churning and whirling in my all-too-analytical head. I overthink things. I'm always trying to see everything from every possible angle, trying to predict outcomes I have no way of actually predicting. I know this about myself. Many times I wonder if such over-analysis is such a good thing, if it's ridiculously crazy making, but I really don't know any other way to be.

Even so, overwrought-thought me is occasionally capable of coming to an actual decision. It's one that I know will displease some people, but in the end it's a decision that I think is right for me at this moment in time.

I'm letting my hair stay rather long, at least for the time being. And it's going back to it's natural dark brown color.

To those of you wishing I would remain a redhead, I'm sorry.

See, I wash my hair every other day, which is good for the natural oils. Unfortunately, even with trying to pamper my hair - keeping it from extensive heat (I blow dry my hair only once every few months), slathering conditioner (though not quite as often as I should, I admit, due to time constraints), using only gel and silicate smoothers as hair products - my hair has started to take on a certain cotton-candy consistency common to over processed hair due to its naturally coarse nature. My pride and joy, which was once soft and smooth on a regular basis, has taken on a definite frizziness and dryness, which, as you can imagine, makes me a little sad.

So I’ve decided that it’s time to let my natural color (which is a lovely color - dark brown shot through with red and more than a few grey hairs, I'll wager) shine through again, to let it once again be healthy hair. True, I’ll have two-toned locks for awhile, but after my accidental three toned hair of my mid-20s (long story – let’s just say it involved experimentation with Sun-In and henna and be glad those days are over), it won’t be too bad. And my hair grows pretty fast, so it’ll probably be only for a year at the most.

As for the long hair, well, I think it was at a bit of an awkward stage a couple of months ago, with some of my former layers growing out none-too-well. Which is why I wanted to cut it. But most of that stage seems to be over and, for the most part, I’m enjoying the feel of my hair swinging across my shoulder and down my back. It’s not super long – nor do I want it super long again - but it’s definitely at a good length and fullness and I’d like to keep it like this a little while longer.

Of course, in six months I could decide to cut it all off and dye it cobalt blue. That’s always been a good color for me…

You go to my head
And you linger like a haunting refrain
And I find you spinning round in my brain
Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne.

You go to my head
Like a sip of sparkling burgundy brew
And I find the very mention of you
Like the kicker in a julep or two.

The thrill of the thought
That you might give a thought
To my plea casts a spell over me
Still I say to myself: get a hold of yourself
Can't you see that it can never be?

You go to my head
With smile that makes my temperature rise
Like a summer with a thousand Julys
You intoxicate my soul with your eyes
Tho I'm certain that this heart of mine
Hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance,
You go to my head.

You Go To My Head by Haven Gillespie & J. Fred Coots, as sung by Diana Krall.

No notes here. Simply an exquisite rendition of a beautiful song, one that found its way on Mix CD #5.

Labels: musical interlude

Looking for Part 1 and Part 2? Just click on those links!

Back in the van we went. We drove back to civilization, i.e. Glendale, and decided to get something to eat in the many restaurants that line Brand Blvd. We passed a restaurant that I had been to once before, over ten years ago, but at which I had never actually eaten (it’s a jazz supper club). I suggested that one, we parked and into the restaurant we went. We proceeded to do the usual restaurant stuff (menu-perusing, drink-food ordering, free-bread-table-hockey – what, doesn’t everyone do that? Never mind…), ate our appetizer as we talked and laughed. Our main courses were brought and we dug into them. No long after I was intent on my spaghettini twirling when I heard an odd plop and CuteNerdBoy scream like – well, he didn’t really scream like a little girl. I’d say it was closer to a loud yell, with perhaps a helping of bellow and the teeniest pinch of high-pitched scream mixed in. Whatever it was, it was laden with displeased surprise. I looked up and, clear as day and nearly big as a chihuahua, was a roach.

Believe me, I’m still shuddering. I daresay CuteNerdBoy is too.

Thing is, this roach was completely unfazed by its fall and my friend’s yell. It just hung out on his bread plate, enjoying the cushy softeness of the French bread it was resting on. It seemed to be checking out its victim, taunting him, thinking, “Hey, how ya doing? Nice bread ya got here. Mind if I sit a spell?”

As a matter of fact CuteNerdBoy did mind and tried to flag down a waiter, but no one seemed to notice his yell or frantically waving arms. The roach, noticing that the guy who was previously using its new summer home was more than a tad put out, realized that maybe hanging out wasn’t such a good thing after all, so it started to scurry. CuteNerdBoy quickly grabbed a napkin and went after the not-so-little bugger. Frustrated that no restaurant employees seemed to notice our obviously disturbed personages, I saw one at the end of the row and headed for him quickly yet resolutely. He was turned away from me, so I touched his arm and said, firmly but politely, “Excuse me, but a roach just dropped in my friend’s food.” It was our waiter and he followed me back to our table. I noticed the diners at a nearby table heard me, the older ladies looking as grossed out as I felt.

By this time CuteNerdBoy had caught the roach and had the now dead critter in a napkin, which he showed to our waiter, who looked both grossed out and disturbed. Turns out this was the third time in a few months that this had happened, that construction had begun in another business upstairs and was most likely disturbing the previously unknown roach population. He apologized profusely and got his manager, who also apologized profusely and let us off the hook bill-wise. Which, had he not, I would have been more than a little upset because – Hey! Roach! In food!

And yet again we made our way back to his van, creeped out and freaked out and desperately trying to keep the food that we did eat from making a return appearance. We started driving in the direction of my place again, wondering what to do next and almost afraid to do it, what with the aborted hike and aborted dinner. But I was not ready to go home yet and I said as much, whereupon CuteNerdBoy suggested a movie. We brainstormed and, again, it was his suggestion of the theaters at the Universal Citiwalk that we followed. The Citiwalk was on the way and wasn’t far from my home, so a perfect idea.

Again with the parking – though this time it included paying $8, which I think is pretty steep for parking – and with the walking to our destination. Once at the theaters CuteNerdBoy expressed a preference for Fahrenheit 9/11 and since I also wanted to see it, I agreed. Thing was, we had just missed the beginning of the last showing and the next one wasn’t for nearly three hours. *sob* Not an aborted movie too! And all of the other movies up on the board? CuteNerdBoy had already seen. Except White Chicks, which neither of us felt was a movie we needed to see.

Instead we decided to walk around, do a little window shopping, and see what time it was when we were done, at which time we’d decide our next move. We did so, lamenting the change of The Upstart Crow from a café/bookstore to a café/gift shop with only a few books gracing the shelves. We went into two sci-fi/comic book type stores and nearly drooled at all we saw (oh, how I wanted to take home the little bust of Grand Moff Tarkin [I really think they need a Count Dooku bust – Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing fan that I am, this would be one of the few times I buy memorabilia of any kind, let alone Star Wars memorabilia]). At one point we decided our stomachs and constitutions had recovered enough from the roach incident to get some dessert and coffee, so we trolled the Citiwalk to find something. After walking the length of the upstairs food court he spied with his little eye something as my attention was elsewhere.

“Cinnabon,” he uttered.

I looked up. “Ooh!” I then proceeded to grab his arm and pull/push him in the direction of the place he had seen, anticpating the sweet gooey goodness that only Cinnabon seems to be capable of imparting to its yummy cinnamon rolls. I should disclose that by this time I was experiencing my hummingbird on speed mode. Unfortunately, by the time I warned CuteNerdBoy, I was already well into it. Hey, if nothing else, I’m sure he found it more than a little amusing. And sometimes that's enough for a girl. Even if she is becoming increasingly flirtatious. Oh, yeah, that flirt was definitely making an appearance.

So yeah. Cinnibon (original, of course - neither of us are all that sure about the all the new-fangled rolls they're now selling) and Starbucks drinks and soon after that we were ready for the movie. So into Fahrenheit 9/11 we went. And as I’ve written before, by the end of the movie we were both quietly furious. My peppy mood from before the movie was completely gone. I think I even scared my friend a little when, as we left the parking structure, I declared that I was in the mood to pound on something, despite the fact that whenever I throw or hit something out of anger (which is rare), I never feel better for expending the energy. If fact, I usually feel worse because what I’m feeling – and what I felt at that point – is impotent rage and neither throwing keys nor kicking a metal post begins to express my feelings.

On the way home CuteNerdBoy tried to distract me a bit with a song he had mentioned earlier (Aimee Mann’s cover of a James Bond song – I think it was Nobody Does It Better), which helped a little, but not much. And we parted with the usual friendly hugs and kisses.

So, you see why I didn’t write up the whole thing after I got home. There’s a lot to write up for one day, let alone the whole weekend.

(Imagine if I had tried this with the weekend in Big Sur – that would have been a daily serial lasting at least a month.)

I’ve got more stories to tell about this past week – for instance, talking about how it finally looks like I’m going to be a permanent employee at the CommercialFurnitureCompany. Or a very recent admission about something via e-mail to someone recently, something pretty major. We haven’t had the chance to actually talk about it yet, but this person has promised me that we will and, though I know it’ll be okay because of the people involved, I’m still more than a little freaked out. I may or may not write about it here. I haven’t decided yet.

But those are tales for another time. I’ve got to be off to take a drug test for my new permanent job. (And yes, I studied for it. I made sure I took a bunch of drugs so that I know what the effects of each are. Dude, I am soooo prepared for this test! Rock on! Whoo!!!! Oh man, I feel like shit.) And later in the day, such as early evening, I’ll be going to visit with my mom, where I will spend the night and hang with family tomorrow for Fourth of July, at which time I will be driven home. It’s going to be a fun weekend, I’m sure, even if my brain never gets out of the freaked loop it’s currently running around in. And I have Monday off, with nothing planned for it, so that’s pretty cool!

A fabulous weekend to all of you, whether it’s a holiday weekend for you or not (well, I do have Canadian and Irish readers, ya know). Please stay safe. And for my American readers, please remember that, even if you disagree with (or passionately hate) the current administration, we still have a great country and it’s okay to love it. I do. I consider myself to be far more patriotic than the fuckheads currently running the country. And don’t ever forget, Dissent is the American Way. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

(I’d link some great articles in the LA Weekly, but my IE is acting really badly with certain websites and that seems to be one of them. So just go there and click and read all the articles about Independence Day. Definitely some food for thought there.)

Part 1 is right here

Sunday rolled around far too early, especially after an early morning on Saturday and getting home so late. After six hours of sleep I did pretty much what I did the morning before: shopping, laundry, a little apartment cleaning. I discovered that cat litter and cat food seriously weigh down the back saddle baskets of my poor old wonderfully geeky deep blue Huffy Good Vibrations bike. And that in old unflattering khaki jeans, a tightish black t-shirt, plastic sandals and a blue bicycle helmet, I could win a gold medal in the Dweeb Olympics.

After my bustling morning I slowed down long enough to shower, shave and don my First Shorts of the Year – with low-cut tank top and *gasp* bare arms! - thereby blinding all and sundry with the stunning whiteness of my limbs. Why? Because it was hiking time! Whee! Originally meant to be a group hike, the only participants were going to be Boychik, CuteNerdBoy and myself. Until Boychik backed out due to a weekend forum that came up that he really wanted to take.

So then it was down to CuteNerdBoy and myself. Which, hey, a-okay with me! He came over after a family brunch and we headed off to the wilds of Altadena. When we arrived at the Switzer Falls picnic area, we noticed a couple of things that were not mentioned on the website from which I got the hike information: 1) An Adventure Pass purchase was required and 2) the gates to the road which led to the trailhead closed at 6pm. It was 4:30 when we arrived and the hike was a 4.5 mile hike, which was estimated by the site to take approximately two and a half hours.

Out of luck, I'd like you to meet shit.

But wait! Maybe not so much! CuteNerdBoy suggested – and I heartily concurred – that perhaps we’d find a trail that had neither of those problems. And not far down the road we saw a parking lot which appeared to have a trailhead that met our requirements. And we were right! So we parked, I briskly yet lovingly slathered sunscreen on my lily white skin while my hiking companion outfitted himself in sturdy hiking backpack, hiking stick, fancy satellite pedometer, and wide brimmed hat. In his equipment, shorts and sturdy shoes, he looked to be quite the rugged mountain man, lacking only the full beard that I’d discovered he’d worn in college (and which looked surprisingly good on him, as least in his student ID). Okay, maybe the Hawaiian shirt was a bit out of place, too.

So he released a book at the trailhead sign and we set off. The trail was much more narrow than I’d been used to up 'til then, and quite a bit more rugged, but I really liked it. We walked single file with me in the front (he noted that the recent spate of running and walking seemed to give my calves definition – I thanked him, but my preposterously girly-girl mind shouted, “Hey, he’s checking out your legs!” – yeah, my mind is freaking incorrigible sometimes) and chatted a bit.

I had turned back to glance at CuteNerdBoy, talking and laughing about something or other, when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I whipped my head around and froze, spying a snake slither to the side of the narrow trail about six feet or so ahead of me. I had barely registered the presence of the snake and the odd noise it was making when CuteNerdBoy – stock-still and close behind me – said, “A rattler!” I looked at him with my eyes no doubt as big as saucers. That odd noise that my brain had been trying to identify in less than a split second was the snake warning us, rather vigorously, that he was there and we’d better halt our progress. Though we looked at each other for a minute or so, outwardly calm:

Carol: Think we –

CuteNerdBoy: --should go back?

Carol: Yeah.

CuteNerdBoy: I think that would be a good idea.

Carol: Me too. Damn, I can’t believe it. I’ve never seen a rattlesnake in real life before.

CuteNerdBoy: I have, but I’ve never heard one rattle like that. He was pretty adamant about it.

Carol: Yep. Oh, man, I’m freaked out.

CuteNerdBoy: Well, it’s pretty freaky.

We decided that the snake’s idea was the best one and returned from whence we came. When we got back to the trailhead CuteNerdBoy checked his fancy satellite pedometer. Though we had lost the signal for a short while, the contraption said we had hiked less than a mile. *sigh*

To be continued...