Is it just me...

... or does Harriet Miers look WAY too much like Tammy Faye Bakker?

Clinton Portis.

I swear, if this particular email subject hadn't been from my brother, I would've thought it was more spam spam spam spam.

I got a very amusing report from him today about his encounter with former-Miami-Hurricane-current-Washington-Redskin-player Clinton last Thursday, where he got some things signed and informed Mr. Portis that he would score 2 touchdowns that weekend.

He did ("and then some" - quotes added because, well, I don't watch football so I would have no idea).

Fuck the Magic 8 ball. I'm asking my brother any yes/no questions from here on out. And I am soooooo archiving this email for future humorous reference.

Do not give money to your wife. Do not give money to your wife. Do not give money to your wife.

This has Darwin Awards written alllllllll over it.

She stood up by sitting down.

Thanks for all that you did. Rest in peace.

"Dirt and migrating and more dirt."

This, courtesy of the yeti, is currently making me laugh. Especially this, about The Great Gatsby, because in a sense I am a FOP*:

"It grieves me deeply that we Americans should take as our classic a book that is no more than a lengthy description of the doings of fops."

__________________
* Though not in the sense that this comment intends. At least, not usually.

F'ING FOX!!!

Read this. You'll understand.

OK, really now, I promise this is the last I will say about the matter on any web site, anywhere.

"Competition is a sin."

I agree with some other things that John Rockefeller said, but not really this one. Mainly because I am one of the most competitive people I know. It usually comes out when I am up against guys, or doing something that is typically a "guy" thing.

Like tonight, I went bowling with some folks, and I beat all the guys - by actively trying to beat all the guys - even though most of us hadn't bowled for many years. Same is true when I play poker and guys are at the table - I just want to win.

I blame this on two things: my brother, who used to take pictures of the final scoresheet when we played Scrabble and he would win with a score triple that of my own... Pictures, for God's sake... And an ex-long-term-boyfriend, who couldn't stand to lose, and unfortunately transferred that behavior to me.

But I don't really think competition is a sin. For many reasons, so few things cause me to challenge myself these days. If I have to rely on friendly competition - and it's always friendly, at least I try to make sure that it's always friendly - to keep me on my poker or bowling or interviewing or exercising toes, then so be it.

The cows have come home.

I saw the sweetest cat at the mobile adoption center outside the pet food store. She was about 3 years old, pure white, docile and loving, and she had a stuffed elephant that had to go with her should she be adopted.

And then I saw the cutest damned stuffed cow at the drugstore and HAD TO HAVE IT. I'm not a stuffed animal freak, or a cow freak, but put the two together and I'm in trouble. I don't have a secret stash though - my only other stuffed cow to date, Clarence, sat on the dashboard during every road trip I took between 1994 and 1997 and is a little worse for the wear because of it, but still damned cute.

Anyway, I wondered if Luna might like a stuffed animal like the cat up for adoption today. She likes things she can knead.


I don't think she likes Clarence Jr. too much. Shame... he's so soft and squishy.

"Life sucks, and then you die. And then it still sucks."

I'm not sure why it took so long for me to discover Dead Like Me... and I'm REALLY not sure why it got cancelled. I'm sure I'm not the first to say that it's so nice to see Jasmine Guy in a bitchy role.

I am SO not kidding...

I just got a Match "wink" from the guy this song was written about. YARG.

And speaking of the nice view from my office...

Yep, that's the Golden Gate Bridge. It's a rare, clear day that I can see the Golden Gate Bridge from my office. Usually it's just a lot of fog and maybe the Bay Bridge.

I don't know why people want to live in San Francisco. Look out your window, and you see Oakland. Live in Oakland, look out your window and you see this.

Belated Friday five.

Five things I like about my job, in no particular order:

• I can wake up at 8:10am and be sitting at my desk at 9:01am.
• They feed me lunch sometimes.
• I have a nice view from my office.
• It only takes about ten minutes to walk to Unpaid Job for a lunchtime meeting.
  
• Every day brings a new and interesting challenge.

The fact that I didn't use one swear word in that last bullet indicates to me that my funk is finally lifting.

How can one little checkbox cause so much pain?

For the past few months, off and on, I have been trying to figure out what the hell I could have done to my home version of Firefox that resulted in me not being able to see images on some web sites (like this one - I couldn't see the dots or images) but not all web sites. I uninstalled and reinstalled, that didn't help. I checked all the settings 867 times. I knew it was just me because I could see everything fine on Firefox at work.

Today I was determined to fix this thing so I went through each setting again, checking or unchecking boxes one by one until I found the culprit (oh, so I don't want to load images from the originating web site only).

Of course, now it makes perfect sense and I feel like a bit of a tool. At least I can also see all the navigation and images in Netflix, and I can remove the IE icon from my toolbar - both of which make me very happy.

THIS is why I'm not a programmer. You always want to know why, well - take it in.

Laughing to keep from crying.

Me and You and Everyone We Know will probably not like this movie very much. Unless you liked this movie a lot, in which case you will probably like it quite a bit.

And speaking of Tom Solondz, I didn't care for the film itself but I liked what he did with Palindromes - switching out the main character with multiple different actresses throughout the film made it seem like this situation could apply to anyone, anywhere. It also upped the "depressing" factor by about 12 because of that, though.

"You lie there and be ironical."

If I'd only gotten to episode five in the series, I would've been SO VERY hooked before the movie was even a concept in Joss's geeky brain. I got the emotion, the characters, the everything he was trying to convey. And yeah, now I'm SO VERY hooked.

________________
And um, can you believe this is a Wikipedia entry? I'm not sure if I should be appalled, or amused... or indifferent...

Funk not only moves, it can re-move, dig?

I am so very tired of this funk I've been in for the past two weeks. I don't even know the cause of it - usual suspects of Paid Job and Unpaid Job and Lack Of Overall Life are no more prevalent than usual. Although it has been an odd few weeks at Paid Job. And Unpaid Job, now that I think about it. Not unbearable, just odd.

Lately all I've wanted to do is come home, watch TV, hang out with Her Majesty, eat crappy food, not go to the gym and feel guilty about not going to the gym. And it's getting old.

So I beg of you. If I must have the funk, make my funk the P. Funk. It's got a much better beat than the funk I'm in now.

Thought o' the day.

It's far less depressing to get an email saying "we've decided to fill this position with an internal candidate" than it is to get an email saying "you suck."

I'm not crazy, I'm a scientologist.

Oh dear GOD. If I ever push a 5 to 9 pound tiny squirming person out of my body you had better believe there will be mass amounts of drugs and screaming, and probably an iPod playing at full blast, involved.

At least Tom doesn't have to worry about Tony calling him. (Check out comment #3. My sentiments exactly.)

Where is that damn t-shirt, anyway??

But... they give me free tickets.

Leave it to Moby to spoil a good thing. At least he redeemed himself with this other post.

"In other news... *the dead walk the earth*!"

What's that? Well, of course I loved Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. What a silly question.

"Gun control means using both hands."

A while back, a friend sent me a link to this site. I've been thinking about it off and on since hoping to have an intelligent response... Haven't gotten very far with that, other than to say that the "eye for an eye" theory doesn't resound with me, I wish guns didn't exist, I don't see the fun in hunting animals just so you can stuff them and display them proudly in your den, I'm so very tired of our country being reactive to problems instead of proactive... but I don't think it's realistic to make guns illegal in our current (figurative and literal) state.

In my efforts to come up with an intelligent response, I ran across a site where stats come alive! I don't know about you, but being 8th on this list doesn't make me too happy. Nor does being 9th on this list. Other fun stats:

• I wonder what Liechtenstein's secret is?
• Hey, look, we're not #1!
  
• If I lived in Yemen, I'd be having my mid-life crisis right about now.
• Forget Canada. I'm heading to Denmark...
  

90 degrees to the rest of the world.

Today this song and this song are particularly relevant. I am hoping it's just a phase.

"I’ve been making shows of trading blows...

just hoping no one knows... that I've been going through the motions ... walking through the part ... nothing seems to penetrate my heart ...."

Today I learned (is this getting old yet?) that there is a local theater group performing Once More With Feeling. I'm really not sure how I feel about that. But I have inquired about tickets.

I also discovered that it's pretty easy to give constructive feedback when you are emotionally detached from a situation. And finally, it's next to impossible to have a thoughtful reaction to something when you are presented with the fact that two entities are moving in polar opposite directions and both directions directly impact you.

Less vague, more Buffy: "Where’s there’s life, there’s hope. Everyday’s a gift. Wishes can come true. Whistle while you work. So hard. All day. To be like other girls. To fit in in this glittering world. Don’t give me songs... Give me something to sing about. I need something to sing about."

Extraordinary machine... ?

Today I learned that I do not like Fiona Apple's new album.

Kudos to the Sally O'Malleys of the world.

Not that she reads this blog, or that she knows about this blog, or that she NEEDS to know about this blog... but today is my mom's 65th birthday. Happy birthday, Mom.

I talked with her today. As usual the conversation went all over the place*, but she did spend some time telling me about her navy blue shoe shopping success and how she wants to get a similar pair of black ones to wear when she's dead. Apparently, they're quite comfy.

(Mom has always been rather aware of, and rather blatant about, her mortality. Ever since I can remember she's reminded us that she wants to be cremated and her ashes sprinkled over her parents' grave sites, despite the fact that my father wants her to be buried next to him and it's illegal to sprinkle ashes... Hey - maybe that could be my felony!)

I called upon those hours upon hours of watching Six Feet Under and reminded her that you can't see shoes in a coffin. She stated (again) that she wants to be cremated. I said, "then what the hell do you need 'dying' shoes for?" And she laughed. And I laughed.

This type of conversation with one's own parental unit probably sounds awful. Morbid. Disrespectful. But really, it's just honest. Recently I have been blatantly aware of how little time I have left with my parents. I want to know about all their medical situations. I want to advise them on how to make the best of their situation with their crappy doctor. I want to honor their requests around ceremonies and services and burials, and have therefore had to ask a lot of weird questions, and use a lot of weird humor while doing so. And them sending a copy of their wills was just eerie.

I have seen my friends go through parental losses and have tried to be a better daughter as a result. I have realized how much I care about them and how much they have sacrificed for me. I have also been painfully aware of the fact that I'm 3000 miles away and don't talk to them nearly enough.

But not enough to move BACK THERE. They are more than welcome to move out here, but I am not going BACK THERE.

Dammit.

I'm not.

________________
* She's not on the verge of Alzheimers or anything... she's just old. And retired. And has a lot to say about it. And a lot of free time with which to do so.

"We must develop knowledge optimization initiatives to leverage our key learnings."

Today I learned several things:

• the remake of "Masters of War" by Pearl Jam is a surprisingly good workout song
• Beverages & More is doing it's periodic "buy one the second one is $0.05" sale (woohoo!)
  
• clarifying the "die!" that you scream at the asshole who keeps cutting you off on the road with "...someday!" really lessens the guilt that follows
• Fiona Apple has a new album
• I can do the elliptical for 40 minutes, burn 350 calories, and still walk afterward
  

By sharing, am I leveraging? Scott Adams wants to know.

Happy days indeed.

Arrested Development is back. Scott Baio is now a character. If they bring Joanie Cunningham in as a guest love interest I might have to protest, but for now... Happy happy joy joy.

Snot rockets.

Yeah, it's that kind of post.

I've been doing this thing lately where I reflect upon what I learned during the day. So, for example, yesterday I learned that weddings can be fun.

Today I learned (saw it firsthand, in fact) that there really are people who shoot snot out of their noses instead of using tissues. This particular guy was in a friend's car at the time, and nicely opened the car door before shooting his snot rocket, but missed the ground and hit the car door instead. So he wiped it with his hand and wiped his hand on his jeans. It seemed to defeat the whole purpose of the activity.

... I'm starting to rethink this whole "learn something new every day" concept.

"Violence is going to ensue!"

Surely I am not the only one amongst us Joss fans (well, that wasn't with me tonight) who has seen Serenity. Surely I'm not.

Oh. My. God.

I haven't been this into a movie since the first installment of Lord of the Rings. Not that it remotely reached that caliber or anything, but man, was I into it. It started out kind of slow, then picked up and didn't slow down. Not once. It had its holes* and flaws** but overall just exemplified the vision of someone*** who's watched The Empire Strikes Back, the Matrix and Cowboy Bebop one too many times... but not in a bad way... and then finally gets ample funding to have a really good time making a really good movie.

This is all in my humble opinion. Of course. Oh, and Nathan Fillion? HOT. Have I mentioned that lately?

________________
* The most pointed, to me, being that if River is really psychic she should've been able to see all the bad stuff (not just the Reaver sitches) before it happened and prevent it. I'm hoping that the DVD series, which I am just delving into, explains the limitations around her psychic abilities.

** Is Mal's wardrobe any suggestion of how the boys will be dressing in 500 years? Yeesh. And um, Inara, where did all your clothing changes come from? Did you really bring them with you when you fled? Or were those the "sundries" you left behind on the ship?

*** I really have to wonder. Is the strong female character so common across his work a direct result of his mom dying when he was younger? I'm sure there are web sites and geek conferences and water cooler conversations devoted to this topic.

Spam spam spam spam.

Latest favorite spam subject: "cattle, will it work out?"

I don't know about you, but I think that's a perfectly reasonable question.

File under: recently viewed.

Saw: one of the best thrillers I have seen in a long time. Kind of a mix of Silence of the Lambs plus Scream plus... um... Vulgar. I don't know - I made all that up - but it held my attention and caught me off guard at the end. Attentive viewers will get it right away.

And movies I wish I hadn't bothered with, because I only made it through about 30 minutes before I gave up:

• L.I.E.
• Cry Happy Funny
• The Tao of Steve
• National Treasure
• Mystery Science Theater 3000: Mitchell
  

Value add.

Over the past few days I have really begun to question the value I am bringing to my job. Jobs. Paid and unpaid.

If I left, would I be missed? Would they replace me, or would they restructure the work I was doing to better fit into the overall strategy (as well as the line-towing mentality) and hire accordingly? Would they remember the questions I raised and see them as valid issues to address going forward?

These are all rhetorical questions. I think I partly know the answers though. And I think I partly agree with the answers... which really bugs me... but it's a direct result of having a bloody forehead from all the headbanging.

So for now I'll fantasize re-enacting the scene from that commercial where the guy walks into a meeting and says "Sorry I'm late - had a job interview. NAILED IT!"

And I'll keep raising the questions.

Those crazy Amish.

Watched Devil's Playground recently, a documentary on Amish teens going though rumspringa (apparently the equivalent of MTV's spring break for college students). This documentary stated that despite what, to the English eye, might seem to be downsides to the Amish way of life (patriarchal societies, horses and buggies, no health care) 90% of kids who go off on rumspringa return to the Amish way of life.

I'm all for shunning technology, working in the fields and/or with your hands - all that jazz. But, aside from the overall sadness I felt for the kids with 8th grade educations who thought that Wal-Mart and alcohol were "the real world"... I couldn't get over the fact that those damn bonnets would just drive me batty.

Dilly-dallying, carrots... oh, and assless chaps.

Catching up on the past few days' activities...

I talked with a few people about a job last Friday.

Wait, let me preface this to say that I am not one to dilly-dally about things. When my truck died, I bought the first car I test drove. After the third street riot outside my last apartment, I signed a lease for the first potential apartment I walked through. I was running errands one day last year, had a random thought about buying an iPod, and did that same day. Some might substitute "think at all about" for "dilly-dally about" in that first sentence, but these things have all worked out well for me.

So back to our regularly scheduled blog. I talked with a few people about a job last Friday. I wasn't really interested in the job walking into the interview (which might be why the discussion went so well? hard to know). They seemed very interested in my abilities, they seemed very intelligent and nice, and the project seemed challenging enough and a good match with my skills. Walking out of the interview, I was pretty sure I would sign up. Fortunately, I thought about it quite a bit this weekend and decided that it had enough drawbacks that it would be a "frying pan into fire" kind of situation, which I most certainly do not need. And so for once I chose to dilly-dally and put a concentrated effort into figuring out what I really wanted to do, rather than jumping on the first opportunity that would get me out of my current sitch. Pro-gress.

Next. Had a very productive conversation with some people today and left the meeting feeling like THEY GOT IT. I realize that it's just the dangling carrot of possibility moving closer to my reach (but still just out of reach!) than it has been in the past, but I haven't been this optimistic in... well, years, probably. Almost curious enough to stick it out a little longer. Almost, but not quite.

Finally. Next time someone invites me to a San Francisco street fair, I am doing my research first.

Next to godliness.

Cleaning the oven always seems like such a great idea while I'm spraying the Easy Off... Eight hours later, not such a great idea. Bah.

Bag lady.

Recently I have tried to be very good about reusing bags - remembering to take the canvas bags in my trunk when I go to the grocery store, only asking for a bag at the drugstore when I really need one.

The only bags I had when I made the smelly cheese purchase this morning were a bag with a stuffed monkey for my friend's new baby, and my purse. I didn't want to risk the monkey smelling like cheese so I put the cheese in my purse instead, just temporarily.

Ha. Seven hours and one smelly purse later, I developed a new rule: when buying smelly cheese, always get a bag.

Belated Friday five.

Top five "it's all about the little things" from this week:

• iced oatmeal raisin Luna bars - mmmmm.... carbs be damned
  
• finally catching up with my oldest friend back east who just had a baby
  
• buying a tiny "future Oakland Raider" shirt for said friend's new baby (finally, someone had a boy!)
  
• making it to the gym three days in a row and no resulting eye incidents
  
• seeing Roseann Barr at Cobb's last night
  

(I randomly found out about her show Thursday and was kinda surprised to get a ticket. Earlier yesterday my friend had me worried that she was all into scientology and tee-totalling these days and therefore the show would suck. All fears ceased when she started talking about how drugged up we all are, and how the only one who really needs drugs is Tom Cruise. It was all gravy from there.)

________________
Addendum: today I saw someone wearing a t-shirt, "I'm not crazy - I'm a scientologist." Must. Find. This.

I feel the earth move under my feet...

I am becoming increasingly convinced that there is a God and s/he is suddenly very pissed at our country.

Wonder what the final straw was...

Spam spam spam spam.

Recent spam email subjects:

• Is need on chutney postulant? (I know chutney is good. And occasionally I need it. But postulant?)
• To understand a abysmal rejoin. (Sooooo relevant to work right now.)
• As read as gooseflesh hidden. (See below.)

Last week while procrastinating for the big interview* I happened upon Supernatural. OK, I mostly kept the channel there after Gilmore Girls because that one guy is hot, but then the plot actually captured my interest. I need to see how it goes tonight** but based on last week's episode, this show could be a distant cousin to the X Files. Although no gooseflesh was involved, there was a lot of hiding under the blanket and saying "NO DON'T DO THAT DON'T GO THERE ARE YOU CRAZY?!!"

________________
* I am 99.9% certain I did not impress them, possibly - probably - because I spent two hours watching TV and procrastinating answering really, really hard questions the night before. Damn you, WB.

** I must watch My Name Is Earl (I do love Jason Lee) during the first half of tonight's Supernatural, but if the X Files is any indication I will easily be able to catch up at 9:30.

Restored faith in humanity.

South Park's parody of the Terry Schiavo case actually won an Emmy.

God bless America.

"Your greatest creation is the life you lead."

That's the tagline for Tarnation.

Really don't know what to say about this film, other than "holy hell" and "next time I complain about my life, remind me about this movie." I highly recommend it if you're into this kind of thing.

A, O, let's go.

The best part about the rafting trip on Friday was that the only one of us who fell in, was our guide. OK, that wasn't the best part - but it was quite a relief - and pretty darned funny.

We on the boat stopped laughing at him after he tortured us with "surfing" (also known as holding us in a rapid and tipping the raft until we were all getting blasted with icy cold water, then turning the raft and drenching the other side) for about ten minutes. But the other guides aren't going to let him live that down for a loooooooooong, looooooooong time. "Dude, we just saw a leg fly up and 'bloop'!"

Bleeeaaaaggghhh.

So... why can't potential employers just call your references and ask them to describe how perfect you would be for a job? Why do they sometimes preface the conversation with "well we really want someone with more experience but let's talk to you anyway" (hooray for self-fulfilling prophecy!)? Why do they always want to know your life goals and career plan when all you want is a steady job that you can leave at work at the end of the day? Why is the only area I feel comfortable talking about, the area of creativity?

Bleeeaaaaggghhh...

It's not a tumor.

And to round out this post-o-mania of a day, I must relate a story from this weekend. It was Saturday night around 3am and I'd just woken up with a killer migraine (which I only get every 6 months or so). I laid down for a while in the dark with an ice pack on my head. After a while I got bored and turned on the TV, but switched the contrast to dark, just so that I had something to listen to.

Sometime in the middle of a replay of a classic SNL episode, which they apparently do on Saturday nights at 3am, there was some kind of brief infomercial about lupus. The man talked about how lupus affects women more often than men, younger rather than older, and how it includes symptoms like fatigue, arthritis, weight loss, vasculitis and... migraines.

Please don't misunderstand. I don't mean to downplay the seriousness of this disease. I'm just trying to verbalize how impressionable one can be at 3am when one has an ice pack on their head. The evils of television, if you will.

My thought process at that time: "Hmm. I have been really tired for no reason lately. And I've had arthritis in my knees since I was ten. And those pants fit again. And that eye thing was just weird. And now I have a migraine."

The next day I got on the old WWW and looked up info on lupus. I'm monumentally optimistic that I don't have it. But I made an appointment next week... just to be sure.

"Two fer one, dude!!"

Although to my short-lived dismay they didn't do "July, July," last night's Decemberists show at the Fillmore was really incredibly good. So good, in fact, that I actually found myself nodding along to the guy walking out behind us after the show who kept repeating this saying to everyone who came within two feet of him:

"It was like, two fer one, dude! I expected something amazing, which was, like, one, and then they, like, totally EXCEEDED it, which was like, two fer one!"

Why I will always love Michael Stipe, exhibits X&Y.

Can I be the first to say that I am not a big fan of Coldplay's latest endeavor? I gave it the college try at the gym tonight, really listening to each song as I tried not to die on the jogmaster.* Made it through about 30 seconds of each song and had to skip to the next one.

This happened with Live too - after four amazing records filled with angst and pain and suffering and politics, their fifth album stunk. Just like Chris, Ed found love and had a baby, and could only make happy cheery lovey "life is wonderful" songs as a result.

Thank God some things will never change.

____________
* I don't know what it's really called. I do know that it hurts.

Damn you, James Lipton.

Why? Why did you have to do an Inside the Actor's Studio with Johnny Depp? Every time it comes on, no matter what I am doing at the time, or where I need to be, or how exhausted I am (like last night at 1am), I am physically incapable of turning the channel or turning off the TV.

I have the entire interview memorized. I know when he's going to hide behind his hair or when he's going to sweep it out of his face, I know that he called his dad "Pop" and his mom's name is Betty Sue, I know when he's going to be humble in his response and when he's going to be confident with his answers. I know that his favorite curse word is "shit." I know that Hunter Thompson shaved Johnny's head for the Fear & Loathing role. I know...

Well, you get the idea. I really don't need to see this particular episode ever again. And yet I watch. Again, and again, and again.

Damn you to hell, James Lipton.

Premium reaction.

Yesterday I filled up my tank - 8 gallons - and paid $30. I only bought "plus" grade but my reaction was more of the "premium" variety.

A coworker friend wisely suggested we start saying "premium!" in place of other expletives at work. I'm down with that.

Thumbs go down.

When my brother was here a while back, he kept raving about Tommy Boy. He couldn't believe I had never seen it, he couldn't believe it only got one star, and when he got back home he kept sending me TV Guide listings of when it would next air.

On general principle, if something airs regularly on TNT, there's a low chance that I will like it. If something has a lot of slapstick humor, there's a low chance that I will like it. If something has Dan Ackroyd, there's a low chance that I will like it. But sometimes my brother and I enjoy the same stupid things, so I put it in my Netflix queue and recently sat through it.

It seemed like David Spade and Chris Farley had fun making it. That's about the only nice thing I can say about that movie.

And, probably just because of all the controversy (oh and because Vincent Gallo is HOT - crazy psycho narcissist - but HOT) I watched The Brown Bunny last night. One of the first opening credits was "written directed produced edited by Vincent Gallo"* so I had a good sense of what I was in for... I beg to differ with Roger Ebert, though. I found Elephant more self-indulgent and offensive than Gallo's effort (which just bored me, frankly).

________________
* IMDB also credits him with cinematography, casting, production design, art direction, set decoration, costume design, makeup, art, camera operator...

Warning: exercise is hazardous to your eyes.

Or, the TMI Post. Or, Why Getting Older Is For The Birds.

After I started going to the gym early this year, I woke up one morning with a red dot in my eye. It was all I could see whenever I looked in the mirror - I felt like I had the world's biggest zit on the tip of my nose. (Of course no one else really noticed.) A coworker advised me that it was a broken capillary and that it would go away soon. It did.

I've been lifting the same amount of weight ever since, under the guise "I'm not lazy I'm just trying to tone rather than build muscle yeah uhhuh that's it." Yesterday at the gym I upped the weight on a few of the machines, just for fun. I could feel myself straining a little but it was a "good" strain... Yunno, like a "good" hurt. When I got home I noticed a dark bump under my eye, about the size of a jellybean, that wasn't there before I left for the gym. It didn't hurt, it was just obvious. Once again, it was all I could see when I looked in the mirror - which I did frequently last night hoping it would go away. This morning the bump was gone but the darkness wasn't and no amount of concealer could make it go away. I could only presume that I broke a blood vessel. A different coworker advised me that it would go away soon. It's starting to fade.

But I have to wonder - broken capillaries, broken blood vessels... What on earth (or in my eye, I should say) will break next?

Just call me Jeb Bush.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time at work today ballot-stuffing votes for the theme to a fun new program I signed up to lead. (And also recruiting others to help me ballot-stuff.)

I mean, people, please. I KNOW what to do with a pirate theme. Beach theme? Ehhhhh, maybe. Sports theme? Anyone who caught my baseball-themed presentation on "the project from hell," where I basically threw in baseball terminology incorrectly and frequently, only because the World Series was upon us at the time and I wanted people to pay attention to the topic, knows that I don't do sports. But pirates? Shiver me timbers, I am SO there.

Here we go again.

And then every thought I've had today seems meaningless and stupid in light of what's going on in our own country. Thanks, Anne, for this link. And thanks to others who've reminded me today, and who continue to remind me...

All I need to know, I learned from What Not to Wear.

I have this rule that I can't buy more clothes than I have hangers for. In with the new, out with the "something I barely wear anymore." This ensures closet-user-friendliness and, in theory, a tax writeoff when I donate all the "barely worn" stuff twice a year, but I always forget to get a receipt.

Anyway. The glitch in that concept was that last year I'd gained a little weight so half my clothes didn't fit, and new clothes were kind of a necessity. So about a year ago I put a bunch of summer clothes, and clothes that didn't fit at the moment, into boxes at the bottom of my closet and went shopping. TLC fans will know that Peter would not have approved of this move, but hey. One self-help program at a time.

Having lost a little weight recently, and having spent a good portion of the last year watching episodes of TLC's What Not to Wear, I decided to attack my closet today with a vengeance. I went through every boxed item with a critical eye: A) did it now fit? B) regardless of how cute it was, did it make me look short/fat/overly-pear-shaped/like I didn't have a waist? C) was it a color other than black, brown, green or white? D) really now, would I ever wear it again knowing what I know now?

I ended up with a large donation pile, including several skirts I've been hanging onto that are so adorable but just don't fit me well. And a nice pile of "hey wow this fits again!" which pleases me greatly because I SO HATE TO SHOP. Although I also have a nice pile of "crap I need to iron this stuff" which does not please me so greatly because I SO HATE TO IRON.

And I do still have a small pile of "ten more pounds and these will fit again," but I have promised myself that if I don't lose ten by Christmas they are all goners. It helps that I do most of my shopping at Ross - wear it once, you've pretty much gotten your money's worth. Anything after that is gravy.

Today's stupid human tricks.

Contestant #1: the guy at Home Depot who kept cursing (literally and frequently) at the sales guy because they never had anything he needed. Uhhh, why do you keep coming here, then?

Contestant #2: the lady in the "10 items or less" lane at Longs who thought her 465 individual embroidery thread items counted as one item. Uhhh, in what alternate universe do you live in and can you please go back there now?

Contestant #3: the checkout lady at Safeway who berated me for not telling her I didn't want a bag for my one item until she'd already bagged it, because apparently there are people who don't want their items placed into a crumpled bag, and she then threw the crumpled bag in the trash can. Uhhh, it's A BAG, get over it already.

Contestant #4: me, who spent a full minute wishing malfortune on the jackass who rammed their cart into my car thereby scraping paint off my front bumper. Uhhh, wait, that's a car alarm sticker - I don't have a car alarm - D'OH that's not even my car.

Not the sharpest tool in the shed.

I have lived in my apartment for two years. Ever since I moved in, I've been wondering about the sliding door to the kitchen. The kitchen itself has one of those counter-divider-dealies that opens into the dining/living room area, so it's not like closing the sliding door would give anyone privacy in their culinary endeavors. And believe you me, it doesn't help in shielding the smoke detector from an endeavor gone horribly wrong.

Of late, I have discovered a heavenly use for that door. When I go into the kitchen, and I'm planning to be in there for more than thirty seconds, and Luna has not yet had her squishy food for the day, I CLOSE THE DOOR. Instead of following me about and entangling herself with my feet while meowing like a banshee, she sits outside the closed door with her back to it - clearly pissed, but quiet as a mouse.

She often gets up onto the counter-divider-dealie so she must know, in some area of her wee little brain, that she could access the kitchen that way when the door is closed.

Perhaps she opts for silent protest of my clearly inhumane act of shutting the door. Or - and this is the more likely scenario - she's really just not that bright.

Mother Nature saying hello.

As a general rule, I don't read the news. Well, the real news - the Dish doesn't count as news. More specifically, ever since 9/11/2001 I have avoided media coverage about disasters. This is because after 9/11, I found myself glued to CNN for days at a time watching clip after clip of airplanes flying into buildings and firefighters cleaning up rubble and people running and screaming and bleeding. And wondering why I was even going to work and trying to be a normal person when all this was going on 3000 miles from here - it all seemed meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Not the most constructive use of my time, for sure. Occasionally I lapse and regret it, but otherwise, avoidance is the key.

It's not that I'm insensitive to others' pain and suffering - don't get me wrong, I gave today, and will probably give again (if not again and again). But other than knowing that Ellen Degeneres's aunt lost everything, I truly have no conception of the magnitude of what has happened. And I'm choosing to keep it that way. So this week when people have mentioned the south in meetings, or when my parents told me to be thankful for what I have, it has thrown me.

I am certain that there's a balance between becoming emotionally wrecked and/or philosophically jolted over disasters like this and being able to look at them sympathetically but objectively. I'm not there yet, and I don't imagine I will be anytime soon. So Mother Nature, give us a break already, will you?

"I'm a stalker in a Taurus."

The last line of this review made me decide to see Broken Flowers. Normally I am not a big fan of Bill Murray (or Jim Jarmusch, if we're being totally honest) so I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed this movie.

Not really because the plot - which was a bit too reminiscent of when my ex called me out of the blue last summer - but for the acting and the use of silence. (The "pregnant pause," my class instructor called it last week.) There was a point where I was actually squirming in my seat along with the actors who were sitting in prolonged uncomfortable silences on the screen.

And unlike with Lost in Translation or The Life Aquatic..., this time Murray actually convinced me that he was a sad older man wondering where his life had gone. I truly empathized (and sympathized at times) with his character - something I have never said about Caddyshack Man before.

In summary... thumbs up.

Attention, charities who send me mail asking for money:

Spell my name wrong (first or last) and your envelope automatically goes in the trash. So if you really have the cure for cancer and just need a few more benjamins, kindly do your research.

Sadly, this can help. And starting September 1, you can even add comments to my ZabaBlog saying what a cheapskate bad samaritan I am!

Jesus H Christ.

Know thyself.

According to many of the oh-so-helpful web resources on prepping to enter the interview world, one of the things you are supposed to be able to describe at the drop of a hat, are three scenarios where you felt highly motivated to "finish something." I presume they mean something work-related... Which is really unfortunate, because all I can really think of being highly motivated to do are:

• getting through the first disc of season four of Six Feet Under so I can start on the second disc
  
• getting Riley to the crematorium so that I don't have to touch his poor little dead body ever again
  
• getting through the damn interview so that the torture will end

Oy vey. I am in trouble.

A funny way to insult someone.

From ThinkGeek's local fortune file, which has stolen about 15 minutes of my life tonight:

Charles: "You know that hole, the one you put pie in?"
Gabe: "You mean my pie-hole. Yeah."
Charles: "Shut it!"

Constructive feedback.

Day two of my class featured BILL AT MY TABLE! Joy of joys. Thankfully he left early, but not before monopolizing the group activities and also giving me a hug goodbye.

Anyway. The class also included a section on the ever-hokey topic of how to "develop the constructive feedback message." The instructor warned us against trying this at home before mastering it at work (due to the emotional ties that come with home attempts), but because it's so hokey to me that I can't do it without heavy sarcasm, I've been practicing on Luna:

"When you meow incessantly for no apparent reason, I feel frustrated, because I don't know what's wrong and you don't accept any attention I try to give you to try to soothe your angst."

"When you meow incessantly when I go into the kitchen, I feel annoyed, because me visiting the kitchen does not automatically mean that you get your daily dose of squishy food."

"When you meow incessantly [are you sensing a theme here?] while glaring at me while I sit on the couch, I feel perplexed, because you can see a lap prime for the taking but instead you sit there and glare."

See? Hokey. Even more so in the business world...

I am not a crook.

Today I went to Nordstrom to see if I could find some things. All I ended up finding were some quality "hosiery" that I would never spend that much money on if I didn't have (approximately) 86 $10 gift certificates. The total came to $23.something, so I handed the Nordstrom lady two $10 gift certificates and a $10 bill. The only bill in my wallet, which I knew for a fact because this morning I'd had $16 and spent $6 of it at the car wash.

She gave me back $1.something in change. I stood there waiting and finally she asked if something was wrong. I nicely explained that I'd given her a $10 - the only bill I had in my wallet - but she'd only given me change for a $5. She glared at me very suspiciously and finally handed over another $5.

While she was glaring it was all I could do to keep myself from saying, "Come on, lady. Surely your uber snotty sophisticated eye can see that I am dressed entirely in clothes from Ross - do you really think I don't know how much money is in my wallet at any moment during the day?"

I want to live in a van down by the river.

We recently got a survey at work requesting our input about an offsite later this year. One of the questions had to do with motivational speakers - as in, "if we got a motivational speaker, who would you like to hear from?"

It is absolutely killing me not to reply with "Matt Foley." Out of respect for the dearly departed, I shall refrain, but how funny would that be...

The almost-Friday five.

Top five things that negatively impacted my "I'm going to have a good day" attitude today, in no particular order:

• Waking up at 7:08am and realizing I need to be in San Francisco by 8am for a class.*
• Bill, in the class, who insisted on sharing a personal story or commentary in response to EVERY SINGLE scenario or example the instructor discussed during the class.**
• Being denied a store credit card after making a very large clothing purchase at one of Union Square's chain stores and therefore not saving $40 with their "10% off this purchase" deal.***
• Seeing a really cool shirt at the Gap, on what appeared to be a sale rack, which is the only reason I decided to buy it, and then finding out at the register that it actually wasn't on sale.****
• Giving money to the clearly-strung-out-heroin-addict-playing-a-rare-Beck-song-on-his-guitar rather than the guy-with-the-dog-who-asked-politely-for-change on the street.*****

And so to make up for my bad day, I went to this store and spent lots of money on these, and suddenly everything was allllllll good. The "Waving not Drowning" one sounds pretty good right about now.

________________
* In an unprecedented series of events, including me leaving the apartment at 7:23am and even remembering to feed Her Majesty before leaving (a new personal record for me), I was only 15 minutes late.

** And ANOTHER fun day of Bill tomorrow! Yay!!

*** The only time I ever apply for those things is when I am spending a ridiculous amount of money. And then once it's paid off I cancel it. And WHY THE HELL did they deny me anyway?? My credit is perfect. I'm banking on the fact that it's because I have zero debt and therefore they knew they wouldn't make any money off me. Bastards.

**** I bought it anyway. What the hell, I never go shopping.

***** Thus perpetuating my internal conflict of giving money to homeless/begging people. If I'm in a good mood and see someone outside of the grocery store, I offer to buy them food. Or if I'm in a good mood and pass someone on the street that I'm going to pass again shortly, I keep a dollar handy for when I go back their way. But if I'm in a bad mood there's no point in them even asking. Unless they happen to know a rare Beck song, in which case all bets are (apparently) off.

Bored now, part two.

Luna is SO not amused with my new digital camera.

You can practically hear her saying "oh jesus christ, wtf already??"

Tales of the heart.

I recently, finally, saw House of Flying Daggers. No one told me it was a love story. Despite that, it was well worth my time. I need to watch more kung fu movies. Suggestions accepted.

And then last night I watched The Laramie Project. And I had to wonder: is the fact that I hate people who hate other people, just as bad as them hating other people?

Why?

Why does Microsoft need to send an error report when Firefox dies? Who are they sending it to?

Not that I ever send those stupid error reports anyway. I'm sure THE MAN is behind the scenes looking at where the error occurred. Lord knows, with all the porn sites I frequent, I'm already due for a visit from the Patriot Act folks at some point.

Exercises in cause and effect.

For the past three weeks, it seems that my going to the gym is directly related to how much cheese I eat the night before. A sprinkle on some pasta doesn't warrant getting up at 6am, but you can bet that a quarter of a package sure does.* I was doing really well for about six months but then work got crazy and I was traveling every week and... Well, maybe the ultimate reason is that I needed a break before beginning my next ten-pounds-down endeavor.

Whatever the rationale - I will be resuming my routine of going to the gym regularly starting again on Monday. I WILL. You can't stop me. Go ahead, try. I dare you.

________________
* For more exercises in cause and effect, go here.

Only so much brain space for the Y chromosome.

Re: car situation. I was very sad (well, ultimately happy, but momentarily sad) to learn that the multiple clicking sound the other day was, in fact due to a dead battery rather than a starter/alternator issue. Those must be single-click issues.

I used to know that. I guess all my "car maintenance" brain space has been superceded of late by "power tool" brain space.

I would gladly give up my "where to buy cheap cute shoes" brain space to get that "car maintenance" brain space back...

Yay me.

I've been reading through old performance evaluations and some recent comments on my resume from people I've worked with over the years. Even though I don't always feel like I'm doing a good job, I think I am, in the grand scheme of things. And gosh darn it, it seems that people like me.

Except for maybe the guy I yelled at (again) on Friday.

But otherwise... Let's just hope the job-poster-people think so too.

If they take my stapler then I'll set the building on fire...

To put a perfect cap on a day that reeked of pointy haired bosses (or is it pin headed bosses? I can never remember), spending 3 hours doing someone else's job, and feeling utterly incompetent because documentation I'm responsible for has been wrong for some time, is now and will always be wrong, world without end... My car is dead.

SIGH.

Dead in the "this requires AAA to come and haul your car to the dealer" dead, not dead in the "wait for someone to come into the garage to give you a jump" dead. Dead in the "radio still works fine but there's a weird clicking noise when you turn the ignition" dead - which implies alternator or starter, if I recall correctly.

SIGH.

However! Today a boss of the non-PHB variety randomly gave me a beautiful new red Swingline stapler. And a friend is driving me to run some errands tonight even though I blatantly said "I need to use you" rather than "I need some help" (though to be fair I did say I'd buy her dinner*). And I got out of an evening meeting I wasn't really looking forward to.

So... I don't know what all that means. Except that I will probably be spending my weekend at the dealer. As a friend uttered (about something unrelated) today - "worse things have happened - but that doesn't mean I can't spend a few hours complaining about it."

________________
* Which, you are damn certain, will involve a margarita. And if I ask for no salt, NO salt on the margarita, and it has salt on it, big grains of salt, floating in the glass... That'll be okay with me.

For the sake of momentum.

A recent Aimee Mann* concert provoked me to buy a copy of Magnolia, which I saw in the theater in 2000, absolutely loved, and haven't seen again since. I'm having trouble getting up the nerve to watch it again (kinda like with American Beauty). Yesterday I sat through about an hour of the "diary/making of" and it was enough to remind me why the film was so brilliant in its first viewing, and how seeing it again might ruin it completely.

So instead I watched The Princess Bride (also purchased on DVD yesterday) for the 9,856 time... Anybody want a peanut?

________________
* Some of you might recall her performance in season seven of Buffy... the Sleeper episode, to be exact, the one where they cliffhang Giles dying, where she's playing "Pavlov's Bells" at the Bronze and all hell breaks loose between Spike and his newest recruit, and Aimee walks out of the club saying, "Man, I hate playing vampire towns." Very reminiscent of Grandpa's quote from The Lost Boys: "One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach, all the damn vampires."

Bored now.

To those who have inquired recently - thanks, and Her Majesty the Cat is doing much better after a week of 'roids. So well, in fact, it appears that she doesn't know what to do with all the time she was spending scratching and grooming. Really, she sits there and looks at me like, "what do I do now?" It's quite amusing.

Either that or the 'roids have a stoning effect.

It's probably a little of both.

I'm okay with that...

If it ain't broke...

My method of buying expensive technological gadgets has usually been not to - I wait until my gadget-loving friend upgrades and gives me her leftover gadget, or I just convince myself that I don't need the gadget. Usually the latter works exceptionally well... There are so many options out there and I have no patience or time to research all the variations and accessories and bonus features. But recently I've been coveting peoples' digital cameras, especially since the sand that got into my Elph during the Belize vacation finally did it in.

When I do buy expensive technological gadgets, I ask a different gadget-loving friend who has coincidentally (without my prior knowledge) bought the gadget recently. Such was the case with my printer (something like this - but an older model), which I am quite happy with. And I think such will also be the case with the digital camera I just bought, based mostly on his recommendation.

And then if it turns out to be a piece of crap, I know where he lives. We'll know in about a week.

Testing, testing.

Blogger allows images now. Gosh, wish my Firefox would allow images.* Anyway, this is the double arch rainbow I saw in Estes Park. (Essssssstes not Esteeeeeeeees.) It's not as clear in the picture but man, was it amazing.

________________
* One day it worked, the next day it didn't. I didn't change anything relevant, that I can think of. Suggestions accepted.

To lose no overage hairbrush.

Is the subject of this post:

a) the subject of a recent spam email I received?
b) my new goal in life?
c) all of the above?

"Bleach smells like bleach."

That was my favorite quote from Million Dollar Baby. My entire family (all three of them) raved about this film, and with the Oscar wins and all, I figured I should check it out.

I liked it. I did. Other than wondering why the hell Clint was still attempting to act (AGAIN with the still wondering) and why Morgan always gets the narrator roles, I was enthralled for the whole two hours. Yet that ("bleach smells like bleach") was my favorite quote. Says something about the story, I suppose.

So that's my review.

She is here to PUMP. YOU UP.

My cat is now on steroids.*

It all started about a year ago when I got a couch from Ikea, which she immediately developed a reaction to (and a bald spot on her tummy as well). One vet trip and multiple couch cover washings later, all was fine. Then last April she apparently developed "seasonal allergies." Another vet trip and a bottle of liquid-omega-acid-vitamin-something-or-other later, all was okay for a while, then not quite okay. When I took her to the vet again today she'd lost yet another pound (a year ago she was 12 lbs, in April she was 10lbs, now she's 9lbs)... Hence the 'roids.

If all goes well, she's going to be pretty fucking buff in about three weeks. I can't wait to see it.**

________________
* Alternate post titles:

• "She was a juicer. Using steroids. Diabonol, then Wisterol - they use that on horses, for Christsakes."
• "Just call her Rafael Palmeiro."
• "My cat can beat up your cat."
  

** OK, if all goes well she will not be scratching constantly and will have gained a pound or two. But wouldn't it be funny if she ended up that way instead?

SERIOUSLY??

The Dukes of Hazzard movie topped the box office this weekend. WTF IS WRONG WITH AMERICANS??? I'm soooo with Cooter on this one.

And unrelated but also sad... Man. He was the only one of the lot I could actually stand.

On dogs and penguins.

Yesterday I wasted 1.5 hours of my life watching Must Love Dogs. Rationalize it however you like - I had a free pass, it was at the theater 2 feet from my house, I didn't feel so hot but wanted to get out of the house, how bad could any movie with John be, I wanted to see a successful online dating story since my recent endeavors had been fruitless... All of these were true yesterday. But it just sucked. One hundred percent sucked. The two main characters didn't even have dogs. I've not been so bored during a movie since... well, I guess since The Woodsman less than a month ago.

So today I saw March of the Penguins to make up for yesterday's disappointment. I {heart} penguins. Those little beasts in Antarctica trek back and forth 70+ miles several times during the year just to survive. Next time I complain about my life, remind me of that fact, will ya?

Attention foodies...

Some news you might be interested in. Some other news. And finally, a quiz. (I'm a "debonair diner" - thanks in large part to some of the people I associate myself with... Otherwise how would I know what foie gras or a NY Strip was?!)

Hmm...

So it's NOT just me! Cool.

Death of a toaster oven.

Last night my beloved toaster oven died. Yeah, that's right, I said beloved. Yeah, that's right, about a toaster oven. See, a girl like myself who lives alone doesn't have a lot of use for a big oven most of the time, especially when said girl barely cooks a real meal more than once a week. So seven years ago I bought a toaster oven, and it's proven invaluable ever since. Well, until last night.

Now, do I replace the toaster oven, or do I swap that space out for a new microwave instead? I don't have room or electrical outlets for both right now... I've never really found the need for a microwave at home (I just take leftovers to work instead), but I'm starting to wonder if that's because they've always been so big and expensive rather than not needing one. These days you can get a .7 cubic foot dealie for just $50. (You can even get microwaves with built in toasters and microwave/toaster oven combos. Something about that just seems wrong to me.)

Hmm. Easily defrosted frozen veggies vs toasted bread. Popcorn in 2.5 minutes vs heating fake meat without turning the apartment into a dry sauna. Decisions, decisions.

Delayed reaction.

Two days ago, I missed the bus by literally 30 seconds, twice... Both going to work and going home from work. I also came 10 seconds from being hit by a car twice that same day. I was paying attention to where I was going - the drivers of the cars apparently weren't, though.

I'm not sure what it means, but surely it means something.

End of random bolded text for emphasis. It was just kind of weird.

And the award goes to...

Most clever cat name given by a 2.5 year old: "Sidewalk."

I'm wide awake it's morning.

And I would be so much happier sitting at home on my couch, with Bright Eyes blaring from my headphones, than doing anything I need to do today.

Oy vey.

From a recent Dish:

Hilary Duff is banning confetti use from all of her future concerts, after learning it's bad for the environment during one of her online classes.

During her environmental science class on Harvard online the singer learned that the use of excess paper has a negative impact on nature -- and she's already changing her ways.

She tells MTV News, "It's so weird now how much I conserve. I turn the lights out, and no more confetti, because that's not recyclable. I did the math for the amount we used, multiplied by 36 shows? We don't need it."

While the teen star is struggling to juggle her busy schedule and read 50 pages of work three times a week, Duff -- who has also learned about the ozone layer and waste management -- enthuses, "It's so fun!"

"Because all hippies are Jewish."

Many amusing anecdotes were shared amongst friends before, during and after tonight's viewing of the uber-classic anti-Vietnam based-on-a-Broadway-musical film, Hair...

But for some reason that one is the only one I remember.

And not for the reason you're thinking.

"Two monologues do not make a dialogue."

According to many web sites, this guy said that. And after attempt #2 at this online dating thing today, I'd have to agree with him. If it ends up working out with today's coffee date please remind me to delete this post immediately... However, given that we struggled to keep up conversation for 45 minutes, and there really wasn't any spark there, I'm not too optimistic.

So I will use my last 50 days of my match.com subscription, which they "kindly" renewed for me without my knowledge (yeah I've already bitched about it, so what) to try one last time. After that, three strikes, you're out... Or so the saying goes.

Got ink?

{Digression #1: This is the most self-indulgent, and also probably the longest, post I have crafted to date. You've been warned. End of digression #1.}

There's this new show coming out on A&E that I'm really excited about. It's called Inked, and apparently during parts of it, people explain the meaning behind their tattoos.

I should probably first disclose that I can be somewhat... I'll say nosy rather than of a voyeur. I'm always looking into peoples' houses when I drive by them on the street, just to see how they've arranged their living room or what they're watching on TV. I don't know why this fascinates me so (other than discovering new ways to decorate), but it does. And ever since I got my first tattoo, I've wondered what the stories were behind others' ink. Kinda timely, since I'm on the verge of going under the needle for the fourth* time, I'll share my stories for anyone who's ever wondered.

Max was my first. I was eighteen, just done with freshman year of college where I'd undergone a remarkable transformation from mediator-doormat to free-thinking-confident-self-sufficient-new-me. I'd also been exposed to quite a bit of new music I'd avoided in the past because of the stereotypes that came along with it... Some band called the Grateful Dead, this cool new grunge deal named Pearl Jam, and the Doors, featuring vocals by a guy named Jim Morrison.

It didn't take long, in my new shell, to become absolutely obsessed with Jim. I listened to CDs, I watched concert videos, I read books, I bought t-shirts. I loved his fuck-it-all attitude, his words, his moves, everything. And when a few of us at the dorm started bantering about getting tattoos before we went home for the summer, only one image came to mind: the lizard at the bottom of his (ohsofineshirtless) An American Poet poster.

I felt like a dork walking into the tattoo studio with a rolled up poster of a semi-naked dead guy under my arm, but the guy was really cool about it, and said it would have to be about five times the size of the one on the poster to come out well... Which was much larger than I planned... And I freaked out... And then I said okay. And Max was born.** (I dunno where Max came from. Had to call him something.)

The daisies around my ankle came about during my first cross-country road trip. I was with Crazy Psycho Boyfriend (CPB), who was really into the Dead and Dylan and all that hippie shit. We had been driving for about two weeks, and were on our way to San Francisco to see what Haight/Ashbury was all about. Turned out that we had crossed the Golden Gate Bridge the same day Jerry Garcia died, and the whole city appeared to be in a weird funk.

{Digression #2: That was my first exposure to Dave Morey on KFOG, who was usually the morning DJ but who came on that night to play songs and let listeners call in with their stories. Sometime over the next 24 hours I knew I needed to live here. End of digression #2.}

So CPB and I hung out in The City for a few days and then headed down to Ventura Beach, where we both went under the needle and I got my "flower power" tattoo in memory of Jerry Garcia. I'd never been to a Dead show but I loved the music, and I loved what he did for so many people (well, okay him and the drugs, but he played a big part there), and I loved the happiness he brought me just from the music that I never got to hear live in concert.

My upcoming adventure is still in the development stage, but will involve some sort of water symbol placed in a location where it will either not be visible to most, ever, or will nicely offset the balance of the other two. (Not sure where that would be exactly, but that's the plan.) Why water? Well, the obvious reason is due to my zodiac sign, but the deciding factor was that I can't imagine not living near the water in my life, and according to my "past lives" psychic I have never not lived near the water in my other lives either. So it seems fitting.

Any cool water symbols out there for consideration?

________________
* I only have two at the moment, but have done this three times so far. On his tenth birthday I got Max's color re-done, and added some eyes and red spots just to give him a little more personality. Or something.

** I will save my father's reactions to both tattoos for a later time. Suffice to say, they weren't pretty.

I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent record.

For some reason, and I really, really don't know why, I keep getting into conversations about who has or hasn't committed a felony amongst the people I know. I tried to find a list of California felonies tonight to see if I had committed one without knowing it. If this list is correct, then I am happy to report that I have not...

Unless following a cute boy around campus incessantly during my freshman year of college counts as "stalking"... Or "assault and battery" also applies to the Bush-occhio Fire Me doll I still have in my backseat... Or lying about my weight at the Blood Bank counts as "fraud." If so, I guess I'm in the "in crowd"!

File under: There Oughta Be

There oughta be a real-time web cam of the security line at Oakland Airport, so I know how much time to leave for that completely random time-suckage step of travel.

There oughta be a product that can completely wipe out any trace of cigarette smoke in a hotel room which, at one time, was a smoking room.

There oughta be a law against sending me to Southern California for three and a half days.

"I'm eatable. But that, my children, is called cannibalism...

... and it is frowned upon in most societies." And thus begins my review of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, 2005 stylie.

I haven't read the book so I have no idea what was true to it and what wasn't - other than what I've read in the reviews. I will say that I laughed a lot more during this one. The Oompa Loompah songs got on my nerves, not for their variety (which was amusing) but mostly because I couldn't understand a word they (well, he) sang. The characters were all very well cast. I think I prefer this version - it explains Willy's history, and it's clearer that he and Charlie have a bond from the start.

Overall, thumbs up. Line that I need to incorporate into everyday life, whenever someone says something I don't want to hear: "You really shouldn't mumble, because I can't understand a word you're saying..."

Just call me Tim the Toolman Taylor.

As a thank-you for helping my friend frame (and soon lay) his deck, he bought me a tool belt. For a few minutes one work day I was lamenting about how I didn't have a tool belt, not under the guise of "you should buy me a tool belt for giving up three weekend days to help you" - I was doing this for my own pleasure, I'm in full "live vicariously through others with houses" mode these days - just under the guise of "I can't believe I don't have a friggin' tool belt given my extracurricular activities." And now I have a tool belt! Totally unnecessary but totally cool.

I also used the deck-building-days as an excuse to buy a framing hammer, which I've been coveting for some time now. It's 19 ounces of pure heaven, let me tell you. Even after 5 hours of hammering my arm and wrist weren't sore at all.

And! I got to cut 45 degree angles with a skill saw. Not something I'm anxious to do again -it's kind of hard for lightweight wrists - but it's something to check off my "things to do in my construction lifetime" list. Woohoo!

To think that normal women get this excited about shoes.

Elimination nation.

Lately most of my television viewing has been limited to movies and Six Feet Under on DVD - I typically don't watch much regular TV, aside from the occasional Saturday 5-hour Food Network/Animal Cops marathon or South Park (or the aforementioned once-in-a-while guilty pleasures). But since I spent the last few days not feeling well, laying on the couch without the benefit of any recent Netflix deliveries, I got quite cozy with my cable TV.*

Hell's Kitchen. America's Top Model. Dancing with the Stars. Rock Star: INXS. Last Comic Standing. The Next Food Network Star. Designer's Challenge. The ever-intriguing Fire Me Please! And of course, Survivor and American Idol and Fear Factor and Amazing Race and The Apprentice and The Bachelor and The Bachelorette.

The utter lack of creativity on television today is astounding. What is the fascination with watching people get picked off, week by week, while some not-really-deserving moron gets a huge check and a fat record/restaurant/designer/modeling/marriage deal?

Yet, still I watch. And watch. And watch. Better to waste my time on reality elimination shows, I guess, than Hogan Knows Best...?

Please let me feel better tomorrow.

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* Not all shows mentioned are currently airing - I learned about them through this scary web site. Perhaps, with all this fancy internet news information available, I should follow Grandpa's advice : If you read the T.V. Guide, you don't need a T.V.

Freedom is the only way, yeah!

Oh. My. God. I finally watched Team America: World Police last night.

The premise. The songs. The dialogue. The puppets. THE PUPPETS.

Run, do not walk, to your local video store to rent this flick. Fuck yeah!

And in an unprecedented turn of events...

Just yesterday I was balancing my checkbook and discovered that match.com had renewed my trial membership without asking me. BASTARDS!! I immediately wrote them a nasty email demanding that my account be credited and my profile canceled. And tomorrow I'm gonna call them and give them hell.

Today, for the first time in two months, I got an email via match.com from a seemingly very nice guy. Outdoorsy, looking for a dance partner (swing, salsa, things I've been curious about for a while now), goofy, has a cat... Granted, he doesn't watch much TV and he doesn't drink, but there was no indication that his date couldn't do those things.

The moral of this story is clear: I should cancel my match.com membership more often.

How's that working out for you... being clever?

While in Denver I went for drinks with some coworkers. Coors Light. For old times' sake. Mmmmm... Just kidding.

I had to leave a little early to take care of non-work stuff, so I handed them a $5 and started to walk away. They insisted on refusing my money, which I thought was really, really silly, so I ended up tossing it on the table and leaving.

The next morning one of them said he'd put my $5 in the Focus on the Family jar at the bar. I believed him, and continued to believe him (and be very annoyed with them) and be comforted in the fact that at least FF didn't have my name, until I got back to the office Monday. There, on my chair, was a mocked-up contribution letter thanking me for my donation and asking me to consider a monthly sponsorship commitment, which could fund:

• pickets for those camped outside abortion doctors' homes
• engraving two commandments, part of a larger drive to erect 47 additional granite monuments across State Supreme Courts in 2006
• eradication of gays - last year $100/month supported the eradication of 12 gays, but recent mounting legal defense funds has increased the need for sponsorship of this effort*

So, I'd say being clever is working out pretty well for these guys. I wish I were that clever. Being gullible? Not working out so great for me. The only bonus seems to be that I get funny stories like this to share...

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* For those offended by any of this - who are you and why the hell are you reading THIS blog? GO AWAY.

What a world.

How is it legal, that the street adjacent to a major recreational area downtown, has parking restrictions on Saturday afternoons? From 1PM TO 7PM??? That's just so wrong.

I am starting to think that my parking tickets alone subsidize the city of Oakland's budget. Or at least Jerry Brown's salary. Or that I should give up running. :)

File under: Dear God Why.

I randomly caught a few minutes of Being Bobby Brown tonight. It was a bit like Britney and Kevin: Chaotic ... except on crack. Oh wait, can I say that? Crack is whack. And, um, I've never watched Britney and Kevin anyway. I swear. I haven't. Really.

But seriously - what the fuck happened to cute little Bobby Brown?

Unrelated, file under "bored now": The Woodsman. To be fair, I didn't really pay attention... but to be fair, I really didn't need to. Sorry, Kev.