Breaking up is hard to do.

I am loyal to two people: my stylist and my dentist. Both have seen me through various debacles, crises and compromising positions (bed head, front teeth filed into points prior to veneer caps, etc.).

This morning I bid farewell to my dentist. He was genuinely sad that I wouldn't be coming back, barring any dental emergencies while visiting the Bay Area in the future. I was genuinely sad too. I've been going to him for probably 8 years, and he always remembered the details of my life (where I was going on vacation, when my marathon was, when I changed jobs) despite the 6-month lag in visits. He even noticed when my hair was longer/shorter/redder/darker. Best yet, he was incredibly patient and explained every single step of whatever he was doing and always checked to make sure I was OK.

This is starting to get a little creepy so suffice to say, I will miss my dentist and I will happily refer anyone to him for their dental needs.

Next month: the stylist.

Maybe I should join the Army.

I have been up since 6am. So far today, I have done laundry, spent 5 hours helping a friend with his kitchen flooring, spent 2 hours at the local animal volunteer gig, made what looks to be KILLER cornbread and ran a few errands. And my day is only half done.

Isn't it odd that the older we get, the more rest we need, but the less we are able to sleep in? I can't remember the last time I slept past 6am. Except for yesterday, of course, when I woke up at 6am, laid in bed for a little while, and woke with a start at 8:15am... and my class was starting at 9am. Natch.

On an unrelated note, but not really because I was awfully jealous of the kittens and cats who were soundly sleeping while I was doing my volunteer thing, today I learned that black and black/white kittens and cats are least likely to be adopted. Other than my first cat who I had no say in choosing (Tiger, aptly named due to his orange and white stripes), all my cats have been black or black/white. Is it just the stigma of black cats bringing bad luck? Why's everybody hating on these particular kittens/cats? Can't we all just get along?

OK, off to do more stuff.

"When I was talking to the King last week..."

I have met a lot of interesting people in the classes I've been taking. Actually, I've met both interesting and "interesting" people.

By interesting, I mean the guy who is always able to relate his military experience to our subject matter without making me cringe, and the woman who has my dream job, and the guy who is working lots of small grassroots miracles in his home country through his ingenuity and his powerful connections (see subject line). I might actually have a little crush on that guy, he's very interesting, incredibly smart and cares a great deal about his country. And he has a cool accent.

By "interesting," I mean the woman who repeats the last word of every sentence the teacher says after s/he says it, and the group of Chatty Cathys who sit in the back and mumble to each other while noisily flipping through the pages of the handouts repeatedly, over and over again, with no regard to their surroundings, and the guy who says "SURE!" really, really loud whenever the teacher would ask if something made sense or if we understood the concept s/he was explaining.

On a related note, I smelled a lot of interesting and "interesting" things on the two mile walk back to BART (I parked there and took the train this morning... since it wasn't raining this afternoon and I was stiff from sitting all day, I opted to walk back to my car).

By interesting, I mean the scent of wonderful African spices wafting out of the shops, the perfumes and colognes of the people I passed, and the smell of the sky ready to drop another gallon of rain on us at any second.

By "interesting," I mean that smell coming out of the KFC.

Which brings me to Patton Oswalt (a.k.a. my future husband if all goes well*). How fitting that the voice of a prestigious (rat) chef would review the "failure pile in a sadness bowl" he has mocked on many an occasion - and (basically) live to tell the tale.

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* By "if all goes well," I mean if I ever actually hang out in the same bar as him after one of his shows, gawk from afar for several minutes, work up the courage to offer to buy him a drink, laugh at his jokes for a while, get him into a political discussion for an hour, move the conversation into music/art/film for another four hours, stay up all night talking about our lives/hopes/dreams/baggage/crazy families, and finally convince him that I am the woman of his dreams at which point we fly off to Vegas immediately to seal the deal.

Hey. It could happen.

As an aside, it's really interesting to me that I've done a complete 180 from being attracted to the skinny punk skater beautiful (completely out of my reach) boys, to the boys who I think I would genuinely enjoy being around for several decades. Gasp and swoon, am I finally growing up?

WOOHOO! I mean... I hope he's okay and all, but...

Happiness is: having a hectic few days at work, leaving your office at 5:30pm to drive .15 miles down the street to park near the facility where your (second in a row) evening class (with an unrelated evening meeting the night before last night - all of which means I AM TIRED) begins at 6pm, getting stuck for 25 minutes on Webster Street between 12th and 8th (PEOPLE! 25 minutes to go .15 miles! THIS IS NOT NORMAL!), finally getting over to Franklin Street and parking, rushing to the building, sitting down and having a staff person come in and announce, "Your teacher is actually in the hospital, so there is no class tonight, please sign in and take your booklet for Saturday's class - he's sure he will be here for Saturday's class."

It sounds like he was held on a technicality but was otherwise fine. Which makes me feel better about not being the only one who sighed a big sigh of relief that there was no 3 hour class tonight... after which we all muttered "wow I hope he's OK."

Oh, and a warm gun is also happiness. So I hear. My warm guns kinda freaked me out a few years ago, so I can't confirm that one.

"The years have been short but the days go slowly by."

It's strange to be affected by the death of a person you didn't know at all, especially since I'm not really affected at all by the deaths all around me every single day of people I don't know at all who have just as much promise and future achievements ahead of them as the people I'm about to mention... (I'm actually having significant trouble coming to terms with this part of the story.)

But when I caught a headline of Heath Ledger's death Tuesday afternoon on my way to check email it really gave me pause. He was 28. I hope he enjoyed those years. I am sorry for the years he will not see, and for the years that his child and family will not have with him. Same goes for Brad Renfro (who as only 25).

Wish there was something optimistic I could end this with, but... Enjoy it while you're here. If you're not enjoying it, try to fix that. Do whatever it takes to fix that.

That's all I got.

You're older than you've ever been. And now you're even older.

I am not posting this in order to get "happy birthday" emails or comments, but if that is a consequence, I'm okay with it. I have already received many emails - and two voice mails where people sang "happy birthday" and neither were from my mom, so that was kinda cool. (Although I think those two folks now owe Warner/Chappell $10,000.)

Today is my 33rd birthday. This means that I now share the same age as Alyson Hannigan, Hilary Swank, Joaquin Phoenix, Leo DiCaprio, Ryan Seacrest, Posh Spice and Penelope Cruz... but that I am younger by a few months than Drew Barrymore, David Beckham, Angelina Jolie, Tobey Macguire, Kate Winslet, Tiger Woods... and Tara Reid.

Thank goodness there is someone on that list who I can look at and say, "My life is so much better than theirs."

And now you're older still.

Seacrest out. (Oh, did you think I meant Tara Reid?)

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(I did. Actually... it was quite a toss up.)

Three thumbs: "Eh."

One: The Savages. I thought they all did a very good job, particularly Philip Bosco who played the father, and it made me fear the day I will have to take care of my invalid parents, but the fact that the kids were both nearly-or-over 40 years old and didn't have a clue was disheartening. Which is not to say that I will stop listening to Michael Stipe songs, because while he also doesn't have a clue it costs me 3-4 minutes of my life versus 2 hours.

Two: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? After two attempts of watching this and falling asleep despite all the yelling, I looked it up online and discovered (SPOILER ALERT!) that their "son" is a joke they play on people. Have I mentioned lately that I am so tired of effed up middle class people bitching and moaning? If not, let this be the post. Liz was great and all, but still - BORING.

Finally, Hot Fuzz. I laughed a few times but I did not see what all the "fuzz" was about. Rent "Shaun of the Dead" again, you will have a better time.

And that is all for today. I can't wait for more episodes of The Wire, which I now love. (Have I mentioned lately that I need a life?)

"Wish you were here!"

I am putting together a relief package for someone I know who is going to Burma on a reconstruction trip. The package consists of vitamins for mom & baby, a comb, a mirror, infant nail clippers... all normal stuff, right? But I'm also supposed to include a baby toy, a postcard and a picture of myself.

On the photo - no thanks, too weird. On the postcard - what would I possibly say? I fear it will turn into a soliloquy like the ones scribed by Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt. ("And I know you are very poor, but listen to me whine about my fairly privileged life for just a moment, if you will.") And do I really want to send a picture of bright shiny San Francisco or the lush green hills of Oaktown? I don't think so.

On the baby toy - this one really stumped me. The drugstore and baby store have tons of learning toys featuring the English language, obviously out. I am guessing a Burmese baby wouldn't need a toy stuffed cell phone. The stuffed lobster with crinkly hands and "pull me" feet seemed inappropriate given the skirmish with the government a few years ago (see? I learned something in this endeavor). I settled on a Lamaze bug, which seemed neutral enough. I assume they have bugs in Burma?

This goodwill to others crap is hard. But not as hard as living in Burma these days, I suppose.

Periodic crazy cat lady post.

Cutest. Thing. EVER!! Makes me want to get another one. Well... Almost.

This one seems like a role Her Maj could easily play.

But otherwise, these are just mean. Unlike this, of course, which is just hilarious.

Question o' the day.

Why am I okay handing over $5 in cash to someone selling tickets to this, but not okay handing over any cash to the little boy with the laminated flier raising money for his basketball team? (Maybe because we're #4?)

On another topic, I had a very humbling conversation this afternoon with someone who moved here from a war zone in [an anonymous foreign country currently at war]. There, he got a great education, worked for his government and made lots of money. Here, he makes next to nothing while trying to support a family. How true this must be for so many immigrants. How frustrating it must be to learn after they get here that they could have a wealthier life in their home country. If America really is the promised land, perhaps we should change our promise... (Insert snarky cynical new U.S. motto here.*)

And then I went to Cost Plus and bought a bunch of things I don't really need, and all was well in my head. Yay, capitalism!

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* I can't remember if I already mentioned this... The boneheads on a local morning radio show recently had people call in their ideas for mottos for the Bay Area. My favorite? "The Bay Area - better than you since 1969." Haha.

Not really a Friday five.

Five questions you don't see too often on those "fill this out and send it to everyone you know including the person who sent it to you!" questionnaires, that I saw today, in no particular order:

• Ever been to Alaska? Yes.
• Ever been on a ship? Yes, on a cruise around Alaska, actually. I guess ferries don't count but I've been on many of those as well, some even in different countries. I do not recommend the ferry from England to Ireland - blech.
  
• How many times did you fail your driver's license test? Zero when I was 17, once when I was 23 (when I finally updated my MD license to a CA license - damn all those bike laws that us east coast suburbanites have to study for! How humiliating that was.)
• What do you do when you are bored? This, obviously. And also watch Buffy/Top Chef/Top Model/Food Network marathons.
  
• What do you want to do before you die? Wow... a lot: Visit Antarctica. Go on an African safari. Enjoy my job. Swim with dolphins, sea turtles, and great white sharks (not all at the same time). Drive across Canada. Learn how to surf. Write a book... about something. Fly in first class. Touch a grizzly bear. Visit the castles along the river in Germany. Be a food/movie/TV critic. See people actually care about their impact on the environment and make a conscientious effort to change their ways. Milk a cow.
  

It's a deep question but it's really fun to ponder. What's listed above are just the things I probably won't ever do in my lifetime but would love to do - it doesn't include things like "visit New Zealand" or "go to vet school" or "buy a house and have a garden where I grow my own tomatoes" which I totally plan to do before I die.

Think about it. What do you want to do before YOU die?

Animal rescue.

I am currently in training to volunteer at a local animal shelter-type place which shall remain nameless so that I don't get dooced from my volunteer job before I start it. The training is pretty intense, and it always includes a tour of all the rooms where animals are held... Probably because the place is a maze and they want to get us familiar with the layout so we don't end up in a corner, lost for days, like that stupid home improvement store commerical.

Each time I think, I am not sure I can do this. The kittens are adorable, the young cats are precious and the older cats are such divas ("yeah whatever I'll glance your way now and then, adopt me if you absolutely must") that I can't stand it. I WANT TO TAKE THEM ALL HOME IMMEDIATELY. Even the dogs are cute, and how often do you hear me say that?

But then we get to the room that holds the cats who are pending pickup because someone thought they were the cutest, the smartest, the most adoptable... and it all makes sense. And I realize I can do this and it will be doing a lot of good for good animals and good people. And I will get to help them find each other.

It actually puts a lot of things about my job into perspective, and I've been able to appreciate the happy moments long after they occur, and let the bad moments go, or just laugh them off. That's pretty huge.

It doesn't surpress the urge to want to take them all home immediately, of course. That's why I'm a card carrying member of the


Not really. But are you scared that such a thing exists? You should be.

Except that I can't get that damn pie song out of my head.

Waitress is just as good as they all say it is. With any other casting it just wouldn't have worked. Good job, Sunday Boling and Meg Morman.

And the same can be said for The Dead Girl, other than the part about it being just as good as they all say it is because I haven't heard much (if anything) about this movie. But as a general rule, I'll see anything with Toni Collette, and when you put her with Giovanni Ribisi, Piper Laurie, Marcia Gay Harding and the newly brilliant Josh Brolin, well... you find yourself overlooking the fact that you also have to watch Brittany Murphy - but even she was really good. Anyway, it's four vignettes about seven people affected by the same person's death, put together really well. Good job, people associated with this movie.

"Gonna make a pie..." AAAARGH.

This just in, brah...

100% pure adrenaline brings restored faith in humanity.

Of late I've become a believer that there is one thing out there for everyone, just one thing in the world that would cause them to agree to split the prize money equally just to be doing that thing they love with people who share their love of that thing.

I can't wait to find out what my thing is... I'm sure that like the dream house, or the timeless song, or the perfect wave, I'll know it as soon as I see it.

Coincidentally, or serendipitously, or whatever - I watched the Sundance Iconoclast session with Ed Vedder and Laird Hamilton this morning. And now I really want to learn how to surf. Maybe I should become AN F... B... I AGENT!

The objects of my affection.

Idea #37 from the magic book: if my apartment building was on fire, and Her Maj was safely caged and outside, what would I run back for?

Practically speaking:

• My iPod and charger. (Yes, this IS practical. Now shut up.)
  
• My wallet, social security card and passport.
• A Clif bar to tide me over while the chaos dies down.
  

Sentimentally speaking:

• My fifteen year old collection of concert ticket stubs.
• Riley's ashes.
• My marathon medals (one from the AIDS marathon gang, one from the actual marathon and a very cute silver "26" on a chain that some friends gave me after the run).

I'm not much on stuff, or sentimentality. Being frugal and moving four times in ten years has really helped to curb the "stuff" tendency (although I have more stuff now than I ever had before, and I'm dreading this impending move - my next apartment will be HALF this size so that I don't collect more stuff). And not wanting to remember much of the past has really helped the sentimentality bug. I have two shoeboxes of photos and another shoebox of negatives/CDs of photos, but in general all the photos I'd want to recreate are now safely online or at my parents' house. (Well, almost all - but I'm about to fix that.)

This reminds me... I've GOT to get those earthquake kits together. I stumbled across the cans of beans I put in the bottom drawer in the kitchen (a.k.a. my only lame attempt, ever, at an earthquake kit) and noticed the 1999 "best by" date. The flashlight in the drawer next to my bed has dead batteries. I have no radio that does not require electricity. And I ate the last Luna bar I had stashed in my car this weekend while I was running errands.

Mother Nature, take pity on a slacker and wait just one more week, okay? I'll recycle extra hard this week, I promise. Thaaaaaaaanks.

Circa 1978.

Monument with tree, #87.

(This is my favorite photo that I took while I was home.)

Proof that anyone can name a plant.

Taken at the United States Botanic Garden in Washington, D.C. It was actually pretty cool, especially the orchid room. And the "National Mall in miniature" exhibit (all the monuments handcrafted from natural plant materials) gave me hope that creative government jobs really do exist.

Dominic Monaghan better have another trilogy in the works...

... because there are no other reasons why they would've killed him off. All he had to do was close the door from the *other* side and get the diving gear, and he wouldn't have had to drown. Bah.

And in other Disgruntled Lost Viewer News, what is all the fuss about Jack? He's whiny, he's annoying and he seems to be ALWAYS WRONG, yet they still follow him like sheep. Ohhhh... it just hit me, he's Jack Shephard. Clever, boys, clever.

Finally, Kate - pick a man and stick with him already.

All this is not to say that I can't wait for January 31. Maybe I will actually watch it on television this season!

Gasp and swoon, an actual Friday five.

Five things I want my next job to have, in no particular order:

• No direct client, customer, or other 1-1 personal interaction service.
• Hot water in the bathroom.
• Projects that end within 6 months of their start date.
• Two or fewer staff that I manage.
• More than 10 days vacation per year.

Stay tuned for more unfoldings on this front... Happy weekend.

That's entertainment.

Several things I have enjoyed immensely over the past week:

The Last Season: If you had any interest in Into the Wild, read this book. Thanks, friend who loaned it to me - not only did it keep me sane and serve as an escape route with my parents, but it was a fascinating read. And boy do I want to live in the middle of nowhere now.

Speaking of, the soundtrack to Into the Wild: I. Just. Love. Ed. He can do no wrong.

Juno: Brilliant, except for the part about the 16-year olds falling in love (AS IF.). I bought into everything else wholeheartedly and overall I loved the movie. So did the audience I saw it with - they clapped at the end. (Have I mentioned that I {heart} Jason Bateman? I do.)

And also the soundtrack to Juno. Now that my indie music freak who used to spend hours upon hours of his time hunting down cool new music, which he would then share with me, is married with new house and soon-to-be child, I have to rely on indie flicks for my cool new music. I'm OK with that, as long as they keep putting out indie flicks like this.

Sweeney Todd: Also known as, but not to be confused with, There Will Be Blood. There are really only a few movies I've seen in the theater where I've laughed out loud and wanted to clap at the end. Grindhouse and Sin City were among those movies. This one also ranked as an "almost." I had never seen the theater show so I had no idea what to expect, and for anyone who thought that Helena and Johnny did a poor job singing, well - they lived up to my expectations (they're frakkin' actors, not singers already, sheesh) and the film made me smile at the end. (Fans of Buffy will appreciate my almost-gasp-out-loud exclamation of "GILES!" and ginormous grin somewhere near the middle of the first half.)

I Am America: And So Can You: People were looking at me funny when I was laughing out loud at 6am in the morning waiting for the plane to board. It's genius so far and I'm sure the last half won't disappoint. The scariest thing? When I opened it, my brother said, "Oh I love that guy, I agree with everything he says."

Lost: Seven episodes of season 3 watched on the plane ride home (it's a looooooooooooong frakkin' flight, especially when you're sitting on the ground for two hours for no apparent reason), three more watched NYE, today I needed the fix and couldn't wait 4 days for Netflix so I went in search of disc 4 but could only find disc 5, which I consented to rent under the rationale that I could watch disc 4 and then watch disc 5 again after disc 4. It's not even as interesting as the previous seasons, but still... Tie elastic band around arm, insert needle, push plunger, lather rinse repeat. Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, sweet relief.

The trouble with moving to Portland...

... is that I really, really like where I live now. It really struck me yesterday as I was walking around my neighborhood doing a little shopping. Surely they have similar neighborhoods up there. But apparently while there are good places to live, there are also "plenty to ignore. Further south and east are unreformed redneck territory, sufficiently north is ghetto, dog racing, and swamp, southwest is rich people, universities, and river trolls, anything past the west hills is suburban sprawl." So says a friend who lived there once upon a time.

And to paraphrase another friend, wherever I go, there I am. Moving to Portland or Seattle or Chicago or Boston won't change the fact that I'm not happy with where my life is right now. It won't change my attitudes toward working and relationships, neither of which I am remotely interested in - yet this lack of interest seems to cause me grief. I don't understand how not wanting something makes me feel bad about not wanting it. (These things in particular, that is. I don't want an iPhone and I don't feel bad about that.) Maybe it follows the "grass is always greener" theory that caused me to consider moving in the first place?

But it's a new year. I'm turning 33 this month, which for some reason feels more significant to me than 30 was or than 35 will be. I've lived in the same square mile radius for 10 years. With aging parents (and other relatives) and dear oldest friends embarking on parenthood, chances are high that I'll be moving back east in the next 5 years or so, at least temporarily. Now seems to be the time to explore more of the left coast.

It's not like I get out that much anyway... As long as I'm within walking distance of an independent movie theater and a Peet's, and a bus ride away from the equivalent of the Great American Music Hall, I think I could be happy.

Here's to a year of exciting new adventures for everyone!