In our home, we use none of the usual euphemisms for those infamous tummy troubles. Rather, we say we have "angered the Poop Gods." Sometimes I imagine what the Poop Gods are saying:

"Mortal worm! Last night you feasted on a fine meal of a bagel slathered with cream cheese and topped with teriyaki smoked oysters. It was nutritious, and aye, it did please the palate. You were full thereupon. But lo, were you satisfied? Alas, no! You were tempted by the noisesome Apple Jacks lurking in the cupboard. And even though your belly was leaden, you crept to the kitchen and ate upon the Apple Jacks, evenso with milk, though they are unseemly in Our eyes! For this, and in consideration of Our general crotchitiness, We therefore layeth down the smack upon your frail and evanescent form, beeyotch!"

When we are so afflicted, we also have a little song we sing to honor the Poop Gods. To the tune of the Amour Hot Dog song:

Poop Gods, angry Poop Gods
What kinds of foods call angry Poop Gods?

Bland foods, spicy foods,
Foods you serve on rice
Soft foods, crunchy foods,
All the foods you think are nice call Poop Gods

Angry Poop Gods
The gods that make you shit!

If you would like to sing this delightful song with your little ones, feel free to change that final vulgarity to a redundant "poop", or perhaps "cry", or maybe "curse the sweet, dark cradle of your mother's womb, as all that came afterward was suffering."

From the Department of Science Fiction Seeping Into My Real Life:

At one time, I had a great many Star Trek novels. I lined them up like a paperback baseboard, winding them around my room. One in particular had a great deal to do with Romulans. No, I don't remember the title. What I do remember is a quirk of their fictional culture: Romulans fastidiously separate the types of food on their plate. Mixing it together because "it's all going to the same place anyway" is a dead giveaway that you are a despicable human/klingon/vulcan spy in disguise! My point, and I don't really have one, is that I also prefer my food to be separated (much to the puzzlement of my mac-&-cheese-stirred-in-with-spinach husband), and I think of this as "eating like a Romulan".

Incidentally, I haven't called a zit anything but "gorch" for years. After all, even the tiniest blemish feels huge and Klingon.

From the Department of Shut Your Piehole, You Defeatist Whiner:

Do you ever hear the Republicans say they're going to lose? Of course not--rallying the faithful is something they're good at. It's stupid--yes, I mean it--to demoralize your own side.

Imagine you're playing soccer, and things are just about even with both teams doing their best. Now imagine you've got this one teammate who whines: "OH NO! WE'RE GONNA LOOOOOSE!" every time the slightest thing goes wrong. Wouldn't you just want to kick the crap out of him?

The polls are running even, and many of them only consider likely voters--those who have voted before. The drives to register new voters (especially Dems) have been great this year. John Kerry is a decent, intelligent man, and he'll make a damned good president.

From the Department of Site Changes:

You'll notice a lot more links over on the right. Spousal Unit and I were talking about links, and how you can be judged by what you read. I admit, the first thing I do when I see a new site is check out the links. If I see a bunch of hard-core geekery, the site probably isn't my thing. If I see a list of the usual, popular sites, I shrug and move on. So why not open myself to the same scrutiny? So now my entire Bloglines collection is there, all one-hundred-and-mumble of them.

From the Department of HOLY SHIT I'M GONNA BE FORTY!

The first time I remember giving serious thought to realistic goals was at about age 22. Most of those goals have changed and matured, or been accomplished, or gone the way of shifting interests, but there's one I've kept. When I was 22, the most admirable creature in my estimation was a woman of 40. I knew several women of that age and older, and they had an unimaginable-to-pipsqueak-me sense of themselves. They knew what they wanted, and had a lot of it. There was this glow of peace about them. So I decided I wanted to be 40.

So now that I'm 15 days from the brass ring, do I have all that I so admired? Yeah, and, wow.

While I'm horrible at remembering my friends' birthdays (I think I missed them all last year) and hardly expect anything, I nonetheless thought I would be a crass little pup and link my Amazon wishlist. To those who have gone the wishlist route before, only to find I'd bought the damned thing myself (happened too many times, oh me): I swear I cleaned it up. Just now.

I have been exhorted to update. Here are some random things:

The library of Alexandria has been found.

Via Lilly, a baby tiger cam, which sent me on a hunt to find more kitties, leading to this wonderful place, where I have purchased a membership. Do not miss this short video of a 10-day-old Amur leopard cub. So cute!

I have become interested in bento boxes.

The baby starlings in our soffit have grown and left the nest. Their parents will remain until they migrate, and next spring we expect them back to raise another brood. Hearing baby birds in the morning has been a tremendous joy. While the parents are away this winter, I may scheme a webcam.

1977: Rob Drimmie is born. Happy birthday Rob!

2000: frytopia is born. FOUR! MORE! YEARS!

2002: I met my husband. The only day better was our wedding a few months later.

In celebration, I propose we all ignore the news, eat something delicious, and fall in love.

Happy birthday to Kelly
You're not at all smelly
I think you are swell-ee
Happy birthday to Kelly!

Yeah, I intend to use the same entry every year. I'm fond of it. And of Kelly!

What follows is a somewhat angry rant, containing some personal information of absolutely no interest to anyone. Though I don't normally talk about being sick, I just have to spew about this somewhere.

I've been sick.

As a young child, I was alternately skipped grades for being smart, or kept back for missing weeks at a time. This worsened in my teen years, as I spent probably a third of my days in bed. I have been near death enough times to have an unhealthy (ha) sense of my own mortality.

Finally, in my early twenties, things started getting a little better. Not really good enough to hold down a permanent job, though. I spent a lot of time temping. And I fought with it. All the damnable bugbears were rooted out one by one, exposed, and done for as much as possible.

Always I felt betrayed by my body. I like to think of myself as a strong person, but here was my stupid body, getting sick again, showing me up for the weakling I am. A delicate flower from a Victorian novel, destined for the fainting couch.

Approaching forty, I've held a job I love for some time, though I'm always at the edge of my sick leave. I know it frustrates my co-workers (and it frustrates me more than they can ever know!), but I work damned hard to make up for my shortcomings, and I believe I get the job done. What they don't understand is that missing a day or two a month is a miracle to me. They also don't understand that I'm still fighting--still setting my goals higher as I get older. Studying, being more careful, making better choices. Most of my sick time now is not from random illnesses (I actually catch something about once a year), but from permanent problems with which I still wrestle. But I've even beaten the largest of those into submission.

So I'm sickly. It happens. Maybe my mom made some mistakes when she was carrying me. Maybe it's some kind of birth defect. Who the hell knows. But the fact remains, however weak and unhealthy I appear, that I'm winning.

I know I haven't written a lot about this here, but I wanted all our friends to know that the green card interview went very well, and Bill should have his card as soon as the security check is done. This was our last worrisome hurdle, and we're very happy and relieved.

My compliments and thanks to the BCIS staff in Portland. They have been, well, fantastic. They give bureaucrats a good name.

For Valentine's Day, we took a trip to the Oregon Zoo, where we saw snuggling polar bears. I can't think of much more romantic than that. On the way home, we treated ourselves to a box of Godiva truffles. Mmmm.

Happy Valentine's Day to all the people I love. An especially happy day to the newlyweds.

Hutch, meet world.

I was going to go on about minimalism, furniture, and growing up, but it turned out to not be very interesting. Let me just say that it's from Zhejiang, it's about 120 years old, and the cats are suspicious of it.

I was taking a quick look at my Thought archives. Most of them are unremarkable, but there are a few favorites:

March 6, 2002: I have jellybeans in my pocket.

March 9, 2002: Why am I watching dawn through a webcam??

March 12, 2002: Robert sez: "Never let a stripper cut your hair."

August 7, 2002: "An actor is someone who pretends to be somebody else. A movie star is somebody who pretends that somebody else is them."--Nicholas Meyer, Director

March 22, 2003:

March 31, 2003: The fact that you will never make the world perfect is not a convincing argument against trying to make it better. -- Greg Yoder

April 15, 2003:

April 19, 2003:

September 22, 2003: Rules exist because people are shits.

December 5, 2003: "The architectural profession gave the public 50 years of modern architecture and the public’s response has been 10 years of the greatest wave of historical preservation in the history of man." -- George E Hartman

create your own visited states map or write about it on the open travel guide

Egad. My world map wasn't even worth posting. This, of course, makes me want to travel more.

I took a few pics on the walk home. I had to discard a bunch as it was getting dark, and they were too fuzzy. A shame, you could have seen yet another picture of my cats.

I've decided that I'm Class II Cranky today:

Class III: Gosh, things are kinda ick. It will pass.
Class II: It would be awfully nice if someone I hate caught on fire.
Class I: FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU ALL! I HOPE YOU DIIIIEEEEE!

So as long as I can steer clear of Class I, I'm cool. But I sure wish Rush Limbaugh or Neil Goldschmidt would catch on fire.

Oh--on Neil--that slimy goon! He campaigned hard against the PUD, and today Enron announced they're selling PGE to a Texas firm--and Goldschmidt is on the board! (Bix! has a good summary) So he had a financial interest all along.

I once saw him in a Burger King. I should have set him on fire then.

Last night I had the best dream of my entire life. I'm not exaggerating--I woke up in a joyous mood, just remembering it.

I died.

Okay, there's more to it than that. In fact, it was a highly detailed dream that went on for some time. I wish it were true. The highlights:

After you die, you attend a small meeting in a house in the suburbs, where a volunteer fills you in. At first, you'll be completely insubstantial as you get used to being dead. Once you're ready to move on to other things, you become able to feel things in the living world, and influence them to some extent.

I moved to stage two almost immediately, as Bill was already there, and waiting for me in the back room. There's another stage, but the dead don't know much about it, only that it comes after a long time. Kind of like death is to the living. The dead don't worry about it, as the dead are pretty mellow.

We were offered another wedding ceremony, as the one we'd had before was only until "death do us part," and we would now be together forever. We gleefully got married again.

The dead seem to get along doing whatever they like. There are movies, and stars, and even models. The models are a little ticked off because dead hair is hard to manage.

When you're dead, you look like your inner self. This can be a little embarrassing. We saw one forty-something die, and his dead self came out as a 20-something, wearing a leather jacket. Most people look like they did when they were alive, more or less. Michael Douglas seemed to have acquired George Hamilton's skin. You never know.

Sometimes people are surprised to die, and they snap out to someplace familiar, then hide in a living person's body. The person's stomach will pooch out a bit, and they'll look confused. That's only for a few minutes though, because the dead know when their loved ones die, and rush right over to get them. Time is slightly non-linear, because I went over to a place I used to live to get my confused and newly-dead mom.

You would think that, since the dead are all around, they would be able to communicate. The problem is that they are living a very different existence, and when they try to talk to us, it comes out cryptic and confusing. Bill and I founded a Yahoo! Group called TheDead. We managed, in our cryptic way, to lure living people to a little house, which we would then haunt, scaring the piss out of the poor livings. I laughed my dead ass off. Good times, good times.

Think about that the next time someone online sounds a little "weird".

No, I mean really weird. Shut up.

Seven towering policemen filed into the elevator behind me.

First policeman: You've got to stop dating my wife. I've got you in this elevator, there's nowhere you can run!

Second policeman: That was your wife? Yow.

Third policeman: You can keep seeing my wife. I don't mind.

For most of my life, I had shitty birthdays. I'm not saying I didn't get what I wanted, or that other people were bad to me (well, okay--except that one time when my dad forgot. Bastard.). Quite the opposite. For some reason, I would get all depressed--yet try to go out anyway--resulting in some social disaster that left me wishing I never had the original birthday to begin with.

Bill knew this when he married me. He enacted a Make A Fuss of Kitty act, in an attempt to get me through my birthdays unharmed. So far, it's worked. I've had the best birthdays the for the last two years (the current day being still in progress), and I wanted to post a public thanks to the man responsible:

Bill, I love you. Thanks.

And happy birfday to me!

I'm having one of those "feeling like a failure" cycles. Yes, life is wonderful, and I get a lot accomplished, but it never seems like enough. What I'm feeling guilty about at the moment:

• Not keeping in contact with good friends
  
• Never sending a Greenshoes mix to Walrus. For the past many whiles, I've been working on making him copies of everything to make up for it.
  
• Not getting Blogathon reminders out on time.
  
• Getting a month behind on my email.
  
• Falling behind on web projects like the Mefifaq and KISS Living.
  
• Not writing my favorite Aunt.

I'm sure there's more I'm forgetting, but that's the big stuff. Looking at the list, it seems I have few problems. I bet most people wish they could have my worries instead of theirs--mortgages, car payments, teenagers, etc.

There, I feel better.

Sort of.

Here's a question for all you adults out there: how long has it been since you had chocolate milk?

I had chocolate syrup for sundaes made many moons ago, and I had the milk, but for some reason, I hadn't put them together. Heck, I hadn't had a glass of the merry mix for years. Then, a few days ago, I decided nothing could be better with my peanut butter bagel than a glass of chocolate milk. I was right. I now contend that everyone should drink a glass once in a while. It's good for you.

In other miscellaneous news, go here and sign up. If we get critical mass, it could be a great tool for keeping up with what's going on in your neighborhood--something I'm notoriously bad at.

My father-in-law (hi Barry!) called Saturday. His first words after hello: "Why haven't you updated your website, ya lazy bugger?" It made me laugh and stammer, and realize I haven't been around here much lately.

The biggest reason was that we moved, and the office was discombobulated and unpleasant to work in. This weekend I fixed that problem, so here I am. Here are a few things that have happened...

Went to annual training in Bend, Oregon. Believe it or not, I had a great time, and even learned a few things. Bill and I had some nice adventures, and as soon as we dig out the camera cables, I'll have some pics.

We finished moving, and have slowly been digging out of boxes and organizing things. I never new I wanted a view until I had one. Suddenly, we're not so keen to buy a house--a little more space made all the difference.

After much lawyer firing and handwringing, we submitted Bill's immigration packet to the BCIS on Friday. He should finally have a work permit in 6-8 weeks. We are gleeful.

I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but I'll worry about that later. To finish up, here are a few things I've been reading lately:

Beyond Brilliance, Beyond Stupidity: the good and bad of urban planning, transportation, and design.

SCOTUSblog: all about my bosses.

And something I've been playing obsessively: Differences.

To all my fervent admirers:

We're moving this weekend, and it looks like Comcast hit the switch a few days early. Therefore, if you write me, it's very likely I will not answer until next week. It doesn't mean I don't love you.

Bill slept peacefully against my shoulder as I fidgeted (mentally) in the waiting area. When the nurse came out to gather my paperwork, she chuckled and said: "Let me guess who the patient is!" I grinned and said she'd be wrong, because it was me.

When the time came, we were led back to a conference room, five sleepy people and a perky nurse practitioner, to watch a 17-minute video and listen to people talk about Sleep Apnea. By the end of the video, the woman next to me was out cold.

Apnea is when you stop breathing when you are asleep--just for a few seconds, but many times a night. By morning, you're not exactly awake and refreshed. I was there to get a little education before being scheduled for a sleep study, where I will be wired up and watched for a night of ~peaceful~ slumber.

Before being introduced to the intimidating (but really quite benign) CPAP machine, we were told delightful tales of surgical horror. Let's see...there's one where they move your entire jaw forward, the TRACHEOTOMY (*shudder*), and finally the one where they cut out your uvula and lots of other stuff! By the time Nurse Nancy was done, I was thinking the CPAP looked quite fashionable. We got to try one, and it's extremely quiet, fairly comfy, and really no big deal.

So in about two weeks, I'm off to show my jammies to strangers. Fear my jammies, you sleep technicians!

Me: *yawn*

Jack: Jeeze, stop that! Now that Bill's back, you stay up all night, BLOGGING. Having people over BLOGGING until all hours of the morning...

Patrick: Those damned kids and their blogging!

Robert: It's not the loud music I can't stand, it's the constant clicking...

Jack: All night long with the pizza delivery. All we hear is "Slide it under the door! Slide it under the door!"

Me: I'm so blogging this.

Most mornings at my bus stop, there is a conservatively dressed man with a shaved head. Slim, mid-forties, he seems on appearance to be the type of person who would make an interesting dinner companion. Just your basic good vibe.

Today, I noticed those same clothes out of the corner of my eye, and almost didn't look up. I got a surprise when I did. Handsome, shaved head, same clothes, same build, same vibe--and about twenty years old. Moreover, the young man had a subtle look of wonderment on his face for the whole busride. Then he got off at the same stop as his older doppleganger.

Okay, it's probably father and son. But the first thing I thought, with my wiggy brain, was that the older man had found a way to rejuvenate himself, or some magical being gave him back the body of his youth, or maybe he switched brains with his son.

The world in my head has so many more possibilities.

Every year this happens. I want to send something to my brother, and I have no idea where he is.

For a couple years, he's protested that he's in the same place he was last year--but when the guy has moved around nearly every year I've been alive, well, you just don't trust your address book.

I know that he stops by here from time to time. It's my hope that, today being his birthday, he'll be thinking of his family and will come say hello.

So, to that end, here's a note to my dear, wonderful brother:

IF YOU SEND ME YOUR MAILING ADDRESS, I WILL SEND YOU BIRTHDAY GIFTS!

Also, happy birthday. You're in my thoughts.

Okay, I didn't want to whine about it, but it's driving me nuts so I may as well vent a little.

I miss my husband.

He's in Oz, doing the final visa thing so he can legally live and work here. The consulate, which I'm sure is very busy, has been less than communicative. I mean, we're sure everything will be fine, it's just taking a lot of time apart.

I swore when he left that I was going to work hard on taking care of myself--cook good meals, keep the house clean, take walks everyday, keep a positive attitude. That lasted about a week.

Before I met Bill, I was fine alone. I was doing pretty well. The difference between that and what we have together is like the difference between prison and freedom. I bet most of you have been in love, and you know what I mean.

So I'm back behind bars for a little while. I'm coping okay. Not spectacularly, but okay. And I think tomorrow will be a little better, and the day after that, even better, until finally he's home, and I'm free again.

The heat just kills me.

I admit it, I was built for northern climes, with snow in the winter and summers that reach, oh a balmy 75°. I got close. There's rarely snow, but Portland has a pretty mild climate. There's just a few weeks during the summer that fill me with malaise and lethargy. So much so that I can barely think how to make it stop.

For example, it's 9:00pm on the fourth day of a heat wave, and I just now thought about soaking a singlet and wearing it. Such sweet relief, and it has the added bonus of being sexy (wet t-shirt? hubby says). I gotta make notes about what to do on hot days, like I do about flu and other illnesses, so when I can't think, I have a handy list. I'll keep it with the sunscreen.

Tom of Kaibutsu came through town today, on his way to studentship in Eugene. Accompanied by his intrepid friend Corey, they met us for food at the Greek Cusina. Us being myself, Bill, and JD of foldedspace.

The food was great, and the company fun. I kinda wish I hadn't had the waitress take our picture though, because she insisted on getting the restaurant sign in there, and I didn't care about that--I wanted the people! Ah well, here we are, a bit small and blurry (with the dang sign cropped out). L-R: Corey, Tom, JD, Bill, and me in front.

Hooboy, am I ever glad to be back at work. It so BORING sitting at home, no energy to do anything.

My get well celebration has led to a ~teensy~ trip to Borders:

• Afrocelts - Seed
  
• The Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
  
• Hooverphonic - A New Stereophonic Sound Spectacular
  
• Star Trek IV - The Voyage Home (Special Edition)

Okay, maybe I overdid it a little. But I'm so very happy.

I have a goal. Something that I bet most of you think is trivial. I want to be well--no illnesses, no injuries--for six months running. I'm 38 years old and this has never happened. I loved my mom, but she wasn't so bright when she was carrying me. I'm pretty fortunate all I got from the deal was an immune system on the far edge of a normal range. It's like being constantly betrayed by my body, and it's infuriating.

There has been, through great effort, some improvement. In my 20s, I couldn't hold down better than a temp job, because I needed the freedom to be sick a lot. I'm not sick nearly every week like I was as a kid. I haven't had weeks or months out.

But still, I'm out about once a month, maybe twice. And I just seethe about it.

Since Bill came into my life, we've been making some positive transitions. I'd like to add some routines to that, and see if I can make my six-month goal. A daily multivitamin on top of my already good diet. Daily walks are no big deal, but I have to take it very easy, as I always (since I was a teenager) seem to throw out a hip or a knee, or pull a tendon. If I ride the bus, I have to wash my hands before I touch my face. The biggest hotbed of infection is work. I'm particularly vulnerable, because I have to sit at other peoples' keyboards many times a day. I'm purchasing packets of alcohol wipes, and those keyboards are getting a rubdown before I touch them. This is the only one that is going to make me feel weird--but I think it would be better for the whole office.

If these measures don't work, I'll give it some thought and add more. An herbal supplement is a possibility. I'd prefer not to go all Michael Jackson though. People think I'm weird enough.

But I am damned sick of being sick.

If I should lose you
The stars would fall from the skies
If I should lose you
The leaves would wither and die

The birds in Maytime
Would sing a lonely refrain
And I would wander around
Hating the sound of rain

With you beside me
No wind in winter would blow
With you beside me
A rose would bloom in the snow

I gave you my love
But I was living a dream
And living would seem in vain
If I lost you

Nina Simone
1933 - 2003

(in no particular order)

1. A nap on the couch with a cat on my belly
   
2. Taking off my bra at the end of a long day
   
3. Hummingbirds
   
4. Star Trek
   
5. Successful cooking experiments
   
6. The sound of a skateboard thumpthumping down the sidewalk
   
7. Old photographs of strangers
   
8. Sorry!
   
9. Elevator smooches
   
10. A finished project

Ah, finally my husband is back from a two week, involuntary sojourn in Oz. We gots to do what the INS says. Wah.

Just an hour after he came back, it was time to head out again to join the march. Thank goodness he slept on the plane. I don't know how long the route was, but by the end of it I was good and tired. Bill had brought some bubbles that didn't pop so easily as most, and I had a great time blowing them into the crowd and watching them stick to signs and people. My favorite sign: "Make crepes, not war." Bill's fave: "Fuck your freedom fries!"

Tonight we attended a candlelight vigil in Pioneer Square. Okay, a flashlight vigil--candles aren't allowed. About 2-300 people showed up at this event, but there were other vigils all over the city. Check out pics from the vigils around the world.

We were here this weekend:

Gorgeous Victoria, BC. The lit building in the shot is Parliament, as Victoria is the capital of BC.

We went with our friends Kelly and John, driving up to Port Angeles and taking the Coho to Victoria. The weather was perfect. Okay, cold, but perfect. We walked quickly. We had a great time wandering the Crystal Garden (where I fell in love with the pygmy marmosets); Miniature World (this place is cooler than you're thinking. I promise.); Royal London Wax Museum (they got the six wives of Henry VIII totally wrong!); and the Royal BC Museum (fantastic collection).

We got a mean INS lady on the way back, but I'm trying not to think about that. No worries, Bill is fine. He'll just have to visit Aus one more time than we'd hoped would be necessary. Ah well, it's a good excuse to see the olds.

In 1986, I was working for Circle Seal controls in California. They had many military contracts, among them one for seals for the space shuttle program. I was their international Telex operator when Challenger went down. January 28 was a day of little work, stunned news watching, deep guilt (though it turned out it wasn't our seal), and condolences in broken English from all over the world.

When I got up today I thought someone was doing a report on that tragedy. When I realized what had happened, I felt that horrified sadness again.

I know there are greater losses of life in the world, greater tragedies. But when a shuttle goes up, it's the loss of a dream.

If you don't mind rain, may I make a suggestion? Go to the zoo.

Bill and I went to The Oregon Zoo on Saturday, and had the place practically to ourselves. Oh boy, did we ever have fun.

I can't think of a lot of things more beautiful than a pair of tigers pacing their territory. I hadn't been to the zoo (except for zoolights) in quite a few years, so I got to do a lot of oohing and ahhing. The enclosures for the marine life are especially impressive. I was literally inches from a massive, graceful Stellar sea lion, as well as a fierce looking croc.

But better than being inches away, is being not away at all! There's now a lorikeet enclosure where you are in among the birds. You can buy nectar at the door to feed the greedy little critters. At one time I had five perched on me in one spot or another. One fella was particularly fond of sitting on my left shoulder and squawking directly into my ear. I loved it. Next time, I'm getting two cups of nectar.

After three hours of wandering about, we still missed major chunks of the park. The place is critter Disneyland. I've always loved the attitude of the Oregon Zoo--they are all about conservation, and they've always strived to make the animals more and more comfortable. The enclosures are large, and made to resemble the animal's native habitat as much as possible. Lots of room to roam. The only miserable animals there were miserable because of, well, the rain. Poor things.

So what's been happening while I've been gone? In a word: nesting. I'll finish up the Australia stuff later. Right now, it's Kittybabble.

My whole life is changing. And not only for the reasons you're probably assuming. Bottom line: I've been well. Those who know me know that I've long suffered from depression. I still do; my particular diagnosis isn't something that goes away. I've been very stable for several years, but recently had a breakthrough that made me not just stable, but well. Energetic, happy, yadda. If you wanna know more about that, ask me in the comments. I may write about it later.

Anyway...

So I've had all this energy, and I find I'm returning to a state that's very natural and wonderful: a State of Martha. I'm enjoying getting more organized, and doing things for my home. I'm even cooking (tonight: chili-roasted cod drizzled with lime-cumin sauce, and a side of orange sweet potatoes).

How bad is it? Friday night I was walking home with a few dollars in my pocket, thinking of treating myself to a DVD. Then I thought...hmm...it would be a much better treat to walk down to Cameron's and get a stack of used Martha Stewart Magazines. And that's what I did. And yes, I'm enjoying them.

I'm not about to turn into a materialistic buybot who wants the matched set of heart-shaped cookie cutters; but, matte a picture with ribbon? You bet.

I resisted the temptation to name this entry "Crikey!"

Tuesday, my birthday, Bill took me to the Australia Zoo. Yep, that's Steve Irwin's place--the Crocodile Hunter himself. Thank goodness he wasn't actually there.

He may be annoying, but his zoo is a blast. The first critters we met were American alligators. All the animals are named, and often a bit of their personality is included in the description. Mary is sweet-natured and loves her food. Barney is a naughty boy. Then there's Daisy, Fang, Fang 2, and...well I'm sure I'm forgetting a couple of those toothsome darlings. The zoo is home to over 100 crocs of different types. All through the day, visitors get the chance to see the amazing and frightening sight of a croc charging for a meal. And I don't mean on VISA.

Next we met Coconut, a Giant Aldabran Land Tortoise (pictured above), and her neighbor Harriet, from Galapagos. Harriet's handler showed us a trick that I'm sure would work on many of us. She rubbed a front and back leg of the old (165 years!) girl, and Harriet rose up on her legs, stretched her neck way out, and went into a little trance of pleasure. Can I be next?

We wandered away from the tortoises toward the main building to find--yay!--we could have our picture taken with a gorgeous Burmese Python! Bazzle, to be precise. Bill and I are both very fond of snakies, and the Zoo has an excellent collection of well-tended reptiles. Unsurprisingly, the most poisonous are the most beautiful. There was an iridescent orange taipan that kept me mesmerized for ages. Her scales were perfect jewels that matched her eyes.

Bill wisely led me to the petting zoo, where I bullied small children out of the way to feed and pet baby goats and sheep and the most adorable piglets ever. Afterwards my hands were a mass of leftover feed and pig snot.

Quick stop to take care of that, and off we went to Kangaroo Heaven. Imagine you love to pet critters. Now imagine acres of open area full of tame kangaroos and wallabies. More like Kitty Heaven.

I noticed that most visitors, and certainly the children, do little more than give a tentative pat to an animal. Don't they know how to scritch properly? I, of course, took my time to give the critters a thorough scritch between the ears and some nice strokes down their soft, soft backs.

Yeah, I had to wash my hands again.

Naturally, we also saw koalas (I got to pat, but not hold one here). They don't wake up until about 2:30pm, so what we mostly saw were sleeping koalas, happily perched in crooks of branches. Eventually they awoke to stretch and munch leaves.

Checking the map, we made sure not to miss the birds of prey, monitors and dragons, deadly-mean cassowaries, and Dozer and Minibus, the resident wombats. Dozer and Minibus get along about as well as my cats. As in, not. The Tasmanian Devil was hiding from us, but everyone else was out and having fun. Especially the otters, whom Bill and I decided are the very definition of "cute". I mean, sheesh, two little furry animals, playing, watching us, snuggling, it was an awwww moment.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

(Thank you, Sweetie!)

Hoy, I'm so jetlagged today I can barely move. Gah.

On to more important things...

The second day we all piled into the car and took a drive toward a little tourist walk. On the way we made a stop at the surreal Bli Bli Castle.

Bli Bli is a Norman-style castle between the coastal towns of Maroochydore and Noosa in Queensland. Built by a pharmacist, the castle opened to the public in 1973. The castle includes a historical display in the Great Hall, a dungeon with what looks like a rack, and a number of armaments and suits of armor. The pharmacist (of unknown name, sadly) lived there until his death.

The next owner added the doll museum. Throughout the castle are dioramas depicting scenes from fairy tales. The extensive work betrays a kind of quirky passion. Cheaply but creatively done, one gets the feeling someone had a lot of fun putting all of this together. Obsessive fun.

In addition, some of the dioramas are animated, treating the visitor to hallways filled with "dancing" dolls, most clothed in national costumes of the world.

Adding to the surreal nature of the place, the same piped-in tune repeats over and over again as you explore the passageways. A chirpy cross between a country song and a polka, it has at last (thankfully) left my head.

The 24-metre tower provides a gorgeous view, as long as you don't look straight down into the shoddy surrounding neighborhood.

In summary: A Norman castle in Australia contains armor, torture devices, dancing dolls, and weird music. Obviously a must-see experience.

I had the most fantastic time.

Bill's parents (hi Judith and Barry!) are wonderful, and we hit it off famously. I'm officially hooked on Judith's Anzac cookies. I love my new family.

I landed, grubby but excited, on Sunday, 29 September. Bill met me at the airport (YAY! How I'd missed him!) and we went to his flat to get me cleaned up. Sadly, there were no snakes in evidence. We then headed off to Maroochydore (which I mispronounced "Moocherydore") and the beaches of Queensland, to meet the 'rents.

The weather was perfect almost the whole time I was there--it's like Australia was being nice to the hot weather wimp.

I'll be going over the cool stuff we did in later entries. To start, a few general things about Queensland:

1. Toilets are plastic, not porcelain. They usually have two flush buttons (yes, buttons), one for a half flush and one for a full. The half flush is monstrous. The full flush must reduce sea levels.

2. Queenslanders (in general) are white, impolite, and not bright. They drive so badly (consistent tailgating, pulling in front of other drivers) that I was constantly on edge in the car. But hey, Queensland isn't Sydney, so I knew what to expect. Let's just say I understand completely why Bill is happy to come to the States.

3. The other kind of Queenslander is neat. Built for staying cool, the Queensland house is built on stilts, and often the lower story is walled with wood panels in a crosshatch or vertical pattern. Wrap-around verandahs are the norm, and a favorite railing is of intricate iron filigree, painted white. Finally, the front door will align with the back door for catching a cross breeze.

4. Australian money is pretty.

My distant husband returned to his flat after work to discover he had a housemate:

He didn't really want to name a wild animal, but when nudged, he did admit he'd considered calling her Priscilla Python. Basically harmless and sweet natured, Pris let him get up close:

Bill kindly took the cap off the fan over the stove and propped a broom up so his new friend would have a way to the attic, where she could chase all the mice she liked. She apparently took advantage of the offer, and he hasn't seen her since.

Too bad, as he obviously needs a little help with the dishes.

This morning I received the following email:

Dear PayPal Customer,

This e-mail is to inform you of a recent update we have made to our systems.
To avoid service interruption we require that you confirm your account as soon as possible. Please click here and take a moment to confirm your account.

Please follow the following steps:

1.) Click here to confirm your account.
2.) Your account will be updated in our system and you may continue using PayPal services without any interruptions.

Please note: If you fail to update your account, it will be 'flagged' with restricted status.

Thank you,
The Paypal Staff

***********************************************************************************
Do not reply to this e-mail. For assistance, contact the customer service team.

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

The problem? The address that received the spam is not the address I use with PayPal. I logged into my account and there were no notices of any sort. Also, check out the @ussr.to in the url.

I forwarded my spam to PayPal. Don't fall for this one.

My first exposure to the idea of death came not from a human, but from the anonymous carcass of a cat. When I was about eleven, I walked to and from the bus stop every day through a field near the apartment building where I lived. In late summer, early fall, the field was populated with scrubby waist-high grass, broken bottles, discarded clothing. On this particular day, just to the west side of the path, lay a cat. Her eyes were closed, and she lay very still. I drew closer, reaching out to touch her, but she was not asleep. My fingers pressed the unresponsive, tepid body. It jiggled a little, revealing a host of worms I hadn't seen initially. I gasped and stepped back, tears leaking out in my surprise. The difference between live cat and dead cat was so clear, so stark and unambiguous--there was no question that this was not only just a body, but that it held nothing of the cat who previously inhabited it. This was a thing. I had no choice but to continue walking through the field that season as the carcass slowly melted into fur and bones, then nothing. I marked the spot well in my memory, and walked far over to the other side of the path. But each day, I peeked. I couldn't help myself. I suppose I spent some time wondering where the animate part of the creature had gone, leaving only a dessicating corpse to frighten children. All I truly learned was that it left no trace, and that our human coffins held only bones.

I just spent about an hour on the phone with the delightful Marcia Gossard of Newsweek. It was about blogging in general--she was interviewing a couple bloggers as research for her article. If it runs, it will hit newsstands next week.

I'm an idea person. If I followed through on half the things that pop into my head, I'd have to quit work. There are a couple of ideas I'm glad I implemented.

A few years ago I finally rented the movie Strictly Ballroom. I thought the lead, Paul Mercurio, needed a spot in my Crush section, so I looked around on the web for some info. I found very, very little. What I did find was intriguing. So I kept digging. While I'd occasionally stumble on to something substantial in an archive, there was no comprehensive fansite for him. I thought everyone had a fansite. I decided this interesting career needed a spot on the web. Thus was born Paul Mercurio Online. In the process of creating the site, I contacted people who happened to know Paul. Naturally, when I informed them that the site was live, they passed the news along. Paul was in contact the day after launch. Since then we've become web friends, and he even has his own blog on the site. I'm glad I took a chance at putting PMO together, as it turns out Paul is a truly nice person. It was great to have a hand in giving him a voice on the web.

The next story I'm guessing everyone knows: On July 29, 2000, I decided to blog for 24 hours straight. I did it, posting every 15 minutes for the whole time. I still get a kick out of reading the entries from that day. When July 2001 came around, I wanted to do it again--but not alone, and not for nothing. I asked around to see if anyone would join me in blogging for charity. Go for 24 hours, collect sponsors, have them donate to the charity at the end. As a result of some unexpected publicity the 'thon took off like a shot, attracting over 100 bloggers and raising over $20,000 for charities worldwide. With success like that, it had to become an annual event. Blogathon 2002 just ended, with double the number of bloggers and a total of over $58k raised. We're already planning for next year.

Also this year I did a very fun project called Random Valentine. Bill says he doesn't mind if I do it again next year. He's not the jealous type.

What will the next big thing be? This one is a group project I'm doing with the Portland Bloggers, and it will be unveiled in the next few weeks. I'm very excited to do something for my hometown.

Stay tuned.

I do not remember precisely how I stumbled on to blogs. I used to read Wired avidly, so I suspect I may have seen an article there, or in another magazine. I do remember (after giving it some thought) the first blog I ever read. I also read Andrea at Girlhero, though she seems to be gone.

It was a revelation.

I'd been poking around at making my own site for a while, but this was it. This was the format I'd been wanting. In May 2000, I signed on with Blogger got going. This is what it looked like. Years later, one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me about my site was: "when I think of frykitty, I think of Chuck Taylors." I still have those shoes. I'm wearing them to my wedding.

Next: up to the present.

Poking around in '99, I had a couple of hangouts. Places where I probably got far too involved.

Soon after its launch, I jumped on board at Fragx, an interactive, collaborative, experimental writing site. The 200 word limit was a creative springboard. I wrote quite a bit, but as the site became more popular, the usual happened. Problem children. Back then, I just wasn't of a mind to deal with it. I tried to bail, but curiousity about how my work was faring kept me returning. In order to concentrate on other projects, I finally had to pull most of my work and walk away. It was sad.

In researching this, I decided to see how the old site was. I found it missing! I went through my old addresses and found John Casler, the founder, with whom I had become friends while I was fragging. I wrote him a quick hello, and he responded with an odd coincidence: he just happened to be bringing the site back. Joy! It was good to talk to Cas again, and it feels like a second chance. I think I'll have another go.

Coming on the heels of Fragx was the deeply involving puzzle game, The Stone. We "stoners" spent hours on end hacking at complex and difficult puzzles, and forming a tight community. For a while, I organized something of an underground group looking for the underlying meaning to the puzzles. Then all heck broke loose. The people with the initial idea had a falling out with the people doing the writing. The idea people won, but much of the intrinsic mystery was lost, gone with their brilliant craftsman, J. I might have stayed still, but the politics became more than a mouthful. Yes, the secret site is still up somewhere. No, I'm not telling you where.

Next: The birth of blog

After my sis moved out, I was computerless for almost a year. The horror! Finally, through the generosity of my dead grandmother, I was able to buy a brand new Aptiva. At the time it was cool. I still have it. It is no longer cool, but it does its duty.

After getting back on, I tried to re-familiarize myself with my old haunts. I came to understand web time. Nothing was familiar, and no one was around anymore.

It was at this time that Yahoo! became the center of my world. My home page is still at My Yahoo! Despite their failings, they still have the best goodies. In August of 1998, Yahoo! Clubs was opened to the public. I jumped in the first day, opening a club named Portland Oregon. It's still around, though the switch to Groups more or less killed it.

Additionally, I opened a club for chubby folks to support each other toward healthier lifestyles. I was, and still am, extremely anti-diet, and I don't have much patience for people who are willing to eat beets for a month to lose 10 pounds. This was my downfall, though not at first. The club was named "Support Stories Plans Pride". I have no idea what I was thinking, so don't ask. I'm all about being cooperative, so when other clubs came on with similar goals, I suggested a coalition. We soon formed Cousin Club Central, which had about five clubs before the end. I met a few folks through these clubs that are still my friends--we have our little corner of the web where we gossip like old hens.

The clubs were very active, and I think I was a good Founder. Regular chats, lots of updates, even an associated website (behold! Another one of my awful early designs!). The problem was this: the club naturally attracted desperate (mostly) women. I saw anorexia, exercise addiction, fad diets, and massive insecurity. Doing ugly things for all the wrong reasons. It drove me batshit. One day I couldn't take it anymore, and I closed it all down with a post that ended: "Get off the fucking treadmill and go plant a tree." I'd intended to leave that up for a day and then delete the club, but one of my co-founders got to it first and killed the whole thing.

Yeah, it was mean, but to this day the only thing I regret is that more people didn't get a chance to see that final message. Hmm. Maybe this is my second chance. This is for anyone who spends massive amounts of time and energy making sure they conform to society's idea of beauty: GET OFF THE FUCKING TREADMILL AND GO PLANT A TREE!

Heh. That felt good.

Next: Rediscovering old friends.

I thought I'd start out the theme thang by firing up the wayback machine and talking about the things I've done on the web, starting with the earliest and most embarrassing, natch.

I'd been working on helpdesks for years, using email, etc., but I couldn't afford my own computer at home. This left the web out of my reach until late. In about 1995 my sister and nephews moved in. One of the nephews had an old beater of a pc. Now, how to get on the web for free...oh, you know how. I think it was 100 hours of AOL. It was magical! I immediately dove in, got addicted to and tired of chat rooms, surfed around a bit, made connections. With the whole family piling on this new gizmo, the hours went fast. We didn't bother getting another deal--we ponied up for a connection.

Within about a week I was in irc, learning the ropes. It's there that "frykitty" was born. I decided at that time that I wanted to be as consistent as possible, and I've stuck by it. If you see a frykitty anywhere, it's probably me. I've only run into one other--a teenager from Singapore. I wrote her, but she didn't write back. Snif.

It didn't take long before I was bored with chattery drivel and decided to try my hand at making my own page at Geocities. Oh, how I wish I still had the original page. It's even more ghastly than the one that's still there. I think the design had something to do with crop circles, and I couldn't figure out why my pictures were always so smooshed (bad height and width properties anyone?). I had sections for atheism, crop circles (hey, I like the things--they're pretty!), and a place called "overheard" which was for conversations I heard during my daily commute. It was an original idea at the time. I think I also had a spot for discussing what it would take to make the world a utopia--yep, that's where "frytopia" comes from.

Next: Diets suck!

Paul asks: "what are your three things for living?" Those few cardinal rules you measure your days by. Mine are malleable, of course, but at the moment:

1. Protect and nurture your happiness.
   
2. Say yes.
   
3. Wait until tomorrow to flip out.

I'm not so good with that last one.

I know, I know--it's too early for Christmas. Here's the thing.

I just bought The Others on DVD. It's become one of my favorite ghost stories. I thought of the Winter holidays because that's when my sweetie will finally be here for good. I thought I'd show him a couple of my favorite spooky movies as a substitute for the traditional ghost stories. His response to my idea: "I've never heard of that tradition; maybe it's a cold-country thing?"

That got me thinking. Scary stories for Christmas is just something I know culturally, but where does the tradition really come from? Turns out it's old--from at least the 1600s--and it's English.

Some sources connect the stories to the yule log, which has its own macabre superstitions:

"Are you aware that it is unlucky to buy a Yule log? It has to be a very special log, as its mission is to keep the house safe from fire and lightning during the year. A lucky log must be brought in from your own land or that of a neighbor and put into the hearth on Christmas Eve. It better be a dry one, as it must catch fire on the first attempt or misfortune is sure to befall you during the next year. No touching with dirty hands. That would show disrespect for the log and no telling what the consequences could be. While the log burns for the requisite twelve hours, it is traditional to sip cider and tell ghost stories while shadows flicker on the wall. Woe unto you if you cast a headless shadow. You aren't likely to be around for the lighting of the next Yule log."

I've no fireplace for a Yule log, but I'd be happy to tell ghost stories or watch scary movies for a good twelve hours! I can never get enough of a good scare. Some of my favorites:

• Haunted
  
• The Frighteners
  
• Poltergeist (Bill didn't like it so much)
  
• Back of Beyond
  
• Stir of Echoes (though it could have been better)
  
• The Sixth Sense
  
• The Others
  
• Stigmata

Mmm...poor Bill. I'm going to scare the daylights out of him!

...and came back for more.

Last year after the Blogathon concluded, I shut down my site for a month. It was a good thing, but very, very hard. I wasn't sure I ever wanted to see a computer again.

This year: totally different experience. Thanks to the fantastic people who helped me, I was able to avoid burnout and have a good time. I don't think my blog has ever been more fun than it was last night.

Zowie. Thank you all.

I have two keys for my apartment, a regular door key I keep in my right front pocket, and a card key I keep in my wallet.

Every morning as I walk out the building door, I do a quick slap on front and back pockets to make sure I have everything. Each time I do this I chuckle to myself--how silly is it to make sure you have something that you've never forgotten?

Well, here's to paranoid habits. This morning I did the back pocket tap and discovered I was about to be locked out of my building. No wallet. My ring clanked against the door frame as I caught it, saving myself. What a goob I am. But at least I'm a cautious goob.

I wanted to do a post on breaking bad habits, so I went surfing around the web. What I found was a lot of stupid advice. "Write down all your bad habits in one column..." "get a partner to help you..." a lot of complicated claptrap that is just the opposite of what I personally must do to have any success. So instead of pointing to help from the experts, I'm going to pontificate a bit.

First, let me say up front that I don't think things like smoking and overeating are mere habits. Habits are small things, not major addictions. Maybe you can hack at bits of addictions with habit-breaking techniques, but generally it's more complex.

I've managed to break a couple of habits over the last while. I had a 20-year addiction to Mountain Dew that I replaced with Diet Coke. Yes, that is an improvement. I stopped tearing at my hands and nails, which I had done all my life.

My big wish: that it were as easy to create a good habit as it is to stop a bad one. I still don't have that down, and if you have advice, I'm all ears.

That said, here are Kitty's Tips For Breaking Bad Habits:

1. Choose only one thing at a time.
   
2. Keep it small and specific. "I won't overeat" is too far-reaching and you will set yourself up for failure. "I'll drink Diet Coke instead of Mountain Dew" is much, much easier. Success builds on itself.
   
3. Don't write it down or talk about it until you've been successful for about a month. Sharing your plans takes the wind out of your sails.
   
4. If you have to, replace your habit with something less destructive.
   
5. Don't try to break another habit until you've been successful at one for about a month.

That's it. No special exercises, no mantra. To use a phrase I wish Nike hadn't ruined: Just do it.

I'm not so good with the follow-through, but I'll try to post updates with my successes. I'd tell you what I'm working on now, but that would break rule #2.

Gave my first interview ever last night, for Triple J radio in Australia. Zoie asked me questions about the Blogathon, and about blogging in general.

She wanted to know why blogging was suddenly so popular, and I was a little stumped. For some reason I'm not connecting with the sudden upsurge in the popularity of blogging. I've been here, but I feel like I missed something. I still feel just as insulated as I did before. People in the office give me the same puzzled looks when I talk about my site as they did last year.

She asked what makes blogging important, and I assumed she meant important to the rest of the world, but I think I gave her a bad answer. I said it was made important by the attention focused on it by outside media. In part, I do think this is true, but blogging is also important as a tool for self expression. Ah well, I think I got that across somewhere else.

Zoie asked some insightful questions. Me, I think I stammered and repeated myself too much. Thank goodness it's a tape, so she can edit the thing.

One thing I hope doesn't get edited: I mentioned Jerwin, Paul, Lilly, and JR as good examples of blogs. I think there's great variety and interest in there. Also, they are my friends.

I feel a little guilty for not mentioning this Paul, but ah well. Next time.

I got to say "action!"

The first day of film class was as much of a blast as one might expect. Our first assignment is due in about 10 days. Just three minutes of experimenting with shots.

We talked about film stock, played with cameras, went out and shot a couple scenes, watch a bit of Leni Riefenstahl. I believe I'm the second-oldest in the class, but luckily I don't look it. I can blend with the 20-somethings. It is definitely a group of film students. Lots of piercings, tatts, the usual. Well, I do live in Portland, ya know.

This is going to be fun.

NOTE: If you haven't done the visualisation below, don't read this entry, or it will be spoiled.

Once you know what the symbol represents, interpretation is pretty straightforward, so I won't go deeply into that.

Here's the skinny:

The meadow is just to get you relaxed. On to the forest path...

THE PATH is the course of your life. Is it winding or straight? The less it winds, the further ahead you feel you can see. Is it paved? Rocky? How hard is your life right now? Mine is paved, and curves gently. Yeah, I have it e-z.

THE FOREST represents your friends. Are there a lot of them, packed tightly? Is the forest deep and mysterious, or light and airy? How sturdy are the trees--in other words--how much can/do you depend upon your friends? My forest is shaded but not dark. The trees are tall, and widely spaced.

THE KEY is your father. What you do with it is your relationship. My key is old and rusted, but I put it in my pocket in case it's good for something someday.

THE POND is your mother. Again, what you do with the pond is your relationship. My pond is a little cool, but inviting. I swim a little before continuing.

THE HOUSE is yourself. The amount of interior you can see is how open you are with others. Its sturdiness is a measure of security. A house is also a common dream symbol for the self, and I have watched my house change tremendously over the years. When I first did this meditation, I had a little brick house with tiny windows. I'll talk more about the house thing tomorrow.

THE WALL is death. How the wall looks and what you do at it describes your attitude about death. Mine is a bit tall, and made of painted white stone. I'm still convinced I can climb over.

The meditation is a lot of fun to walk a friend through face to face. Some things may be off, but I found enough of it to be bang-on to make it interesting.

I used to have a friend named Cathy who was instinctively good with symbols. She knew how to use and interpret them as naturally as some have an aptitude for math.

She taught me a symbolic visualisation that she said would tell her all about me. Because you can't peek at the end first, I'll put up the interpretive part tomorrow. Write down your answers to the bolded text as you go:

You are walking through a meadow toward a forest on the other side. The sky is clear, and it's a perfect day. You are neither too cold nor too hot, and the meadow is quiet except for the sounds of birds and insects. A tiny breeze stirs the grass as you walk.

You come to the edge of the forest and you notice a path leading inside. You step on to the path and start into the forest. Describe the path, and how you feel. How are you travelling the path?

You are now deep inside the forest. Smell the air, feel the temperature of the woods on your skin. Describe the forest. Are there many trees or a few? How tall are they? How far apart are they?

As you are walking in the forest, you see a small object on the ground up ahead. Walk to it, pick it up. It is a key. Describe the key. Is it new? Old? Heavy or light? What do you do with the key?

Continuing through the forest, you see a tiny sparkle of water through the trees. You follow it to discover a pond. Describe the pond. Large or small? How deep is the pond? Is it murky or clear? What do you do at the pond?

You leave the pond and continue on the path through the woods. The path leads you out of the woods and into another meadow on the other side. There is a small hill. Up at the top of the hill, there is a house. Walk up to the house. Describe the house. Are there lots of windows? Can you see inside? Does it look sturdy? New or old? What color is it? What do you do at the house?

You leave the house and continue on the path, which leads to the bottom of the hill and goes on for some time. At last, you come to a wall crossing the path. You cannot get around it. Describe the wall. What do you do at the wall?

That's the end of the visualisation. Tomorrow I'll tell you what all those symbols mean. At least according to Cathy.

I even have a wonderful vacation entry planned. I'm just mighty busy. Give me a few days and there will be pretty pictures, travels, and tales of romance.

No, really.

Taken with the new NexiCam here at work:

No, I'm not depressed or (still) sick or anything. I'm busy. As in:

Learning VB;
Designing the Blogathon site;
Doing lots of other Blogathon stuff;
Painting the livingroom;
Dealing with the discombobulation of painting the livingroom;
Reading interesting books;
Watching interesting movies;
Maybe a few other things.

Zoom!

Someone got to frytopia by Googling my address. Curious, I followed the link back, and discovered my neighbor Larry G. Johnson. Don't let the "suite" 310 fool you. This guy is a floor up from me. Maybe he gets to say suite because it's a bigger apartment. Very possible, since he's a lawyer. Be sure to follow his lawyer joke link. They aren't all good, but I loved the one about the tight ties.

Oh, and Larry? I'm sure you're a nice guy. I'd love to meet you. But hire a web designer.

Sometimes statistics can be terribly interesting. Paul has had about 50 hits from Finland in the last few hours. No referrer, so they're typing the address into the browser. Lots of different Finlanders. And inexplicably, they're going to the Links page and that's it.

What a baffling little mystery. My guess: some Finnish web-design teacher is using me as a bad example.

Q: Will I ever have sex again?
A: Yes.

Q: Will it involve live gerbils?
A: Without a doubt.

Q: Will the gerbils survive the experience?
A: Yes - definitely.

Q: Will I survive the experience?
A: My reply is no.

In the wee hours of the morning, I was dreaming about being peacefully asleep with a tall man in the room, when some sound awoke me. I opened my eyes to find that there was indeed a tall man silhouetted in my bedroom doorway.

Strangely calm, I blinked and asked him what the heck he was doing in my room. He said: "It's me, Cat." I sort of recognized the voice (why he didn't tell me his name I don't know), but I was a little pissed and told him he was leaving. I marched him out to the livingroom and to the front door, but it was still too dark to see him.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked. He leaned his face in close to mine, making an annoyed sound. Still no good, so I dragged him to the kitchen and turned on the light. It was my nephew, Clifford. "How did you get in here?"

"I know where Mom's key is," he said. Still pissed, I made him leave and went back to sleep.

Fully awake a few minutes later, I wondered at my own behavior. Obviously he was there because he had no place to stay. What was I thinking? I got up and looked outside, noticing on the way to the window that the cat had barfed on the rug enormously. Oh, goody. Clifford wasn't in the courtyard below. Avoiding my cat's present, I logged on to Trillian and found my sis online. I was glad to find her despite the hour, and I asked her about Cliff...

And now that I'm really awake, I'm realizing that I hate, hate, hate non-lucid dreaming. I was mighty surprised to discover it was only 8:45pm. Coming out to the livingroom to write this bizarre entry, I was fully freaked. If there had been cat barf on the rug--*shiver*.

Now I wonder if I'm really writing this entry.

To combat recent ookiness without the age-old tactic of whining, I decided to make a short list of things that give me that little glow. You know, that warm feeling of joy, small or large. Here, numbered only for fun as they are in no particular order, is today's joy list:

1. Peanut-butter toast
   
2. Paint
   
3. Sappy movies
   
4. Cats
   
5. Mutual crushes
   
6. Interesting arguments
   
7. Friends
   
8. Portland
   
9. Hail storms
   
10. Goofy knick-knacks
    
11. Possibilities
    
12. Cold milk

What's on your joy list today?

Happy birthday to Kelly
You're not at all smelly
I think you are swell-ee
Happy birthday to Kelly!

Ever have one of those days where you're needy and want attention? I have them every once in a while, and try to resist getting all clingy and stupid.

Not today.

I'm going to cling to each and every one of you, and beg you for validation. I am the Demon of Codependence, and I will ruin you.

I went to see Gandhi's widow the night of her performance. She was a statuesque woman with long black hair and caramel skin. She had the face of the seer in The Matrix. She was heartbreakingly beautiful.

She knew I had questions about her husband's work. She gave me a skeptical smile and handed me a paper with a press photo from one of her numbers. In the picture, the stage was filled with women costumed in gold, looking vaguely egyptian. "There is a puzzle here," she said, "and you must solve it."

The performance was in a cafe, the stage a cleared corner. She began with her ensemble a combination of dance, voice, and music that sounded like Philip Glass. It was so much more than I was expecting. So meaningful, yet so clear, and even entertaining. I was entranced.

Midway through the show, the number in the puzzle began. I hadn't realized she intended to perform it--I thought the answer was in the picture alone, and was having trouble solving it. When the performance was over, I knew.

"Did you solve the puzzle?" she asked.

"Everyone is afraid of death." I answered. "Everyone, at first."

"Are you afraid?"

"I'm having trouble conquering my fears because of the atheism, but I'm working on it."

She smiled. "There's a further secret," she said. Then I knew more.

When I went home, I knew where to look. There, entered in a file on my computer, were the details of my life and death. Everyone's life and death. I discovered that I will marry, though there are surprises. I will have no children, as I'd planned. I will die at the age of 69 of respiratory problems. There are two other options, but the details were blank. My husband will die ten years later.

At first, looking at the bald numbers, I was terrified. But I knew that the terror would pass, and with this information I could finally find peace. I will die. This is how. I have some years left. There are other possibilities. I'm not afraid.

I was walking home tonight happily humming Police tunes, a little late because I sat in the office chatting with a friend on the phone. Yes, on the phone. A pleasant surprise for me, I've rediscovered the joy of conversation.

I won't name names, but many years ago I knew someone. We were close; we'd call one another every single day. And talk about nothing. As I grew away from her, the phonecalls became more and more uncomfortable, until finally they were fucking excruciating. That, and a helpdesk job, put me off phones for a long time. It was an accident I found out I like them again.

Remember about two years ago there was a blog fad where people signed up for a free 800 number, and you could call and leave them message? Ureach was the place that did it. I signed up for the number, and stayed for the superior webmail long after the free 800s were gone. Ureach continued to offer the number for a fee, but I'd never used it much anyway (did anyone?), so I dropped it.

A few days ago, I logged in to my email account to find--gasp!--advertisements. I'd been looking for an excuse to change to one of their paid plans for a while. I like the company, they just didn't offer anything I wanted. Phone service? Bah. But the ads got me moving. Desperate, I signed up for their premium (still pretty cheap) plan. Suddenly, I had a toll-free number again, and a crapload of free minutes. But this time it was different. Not just a message phone, the new toll-free numbers forward to wherever you are--you receive an actual phonecall. You talk to humans.

I did what anyone would do. I told my friends. I used the outgoing service to call some, too. It was...fun. Next thing I knew, 120 free minutes became 17.

My only regret about the new number is that it doesn't work from overseas. There are people I want to talk to on other continents, dammit! But at least it covers Canada. And no, I'm not posting it on the page like the old days. This sucker rings my home, and that is sacrosanct. Those that are going to get it already have it.

So Cat has gone phone-friendly. Anybody got a coat the Devil can borrow?

A typical conversation at the Connor residence:

Me: Could you fix me breakfast?
Either cat: [blank stare]
Me: It's your day to fix breakfast.
Either cat: [blank stare]
Me: And don't get cat fur in it this time.
Either cat: [rubs against leg]
Me: Why do I feed you?
Either cat: Mew!

I received a card from my Aunt Diana today. Diana is the only member of my extended family (and it's a very large one) with whom I'm still in contact, so she keeps me up to date on weddings, deaths, etc.

On February 22nd, my uncle Kenny died. His memorial service was yesterday, or I might have gone. Memories of Kenny are full of conflict for me.

Though he was my mother's brother, Kenny was my father's drinking buddy, so I knew him better than the other uncles. He was my favorite uncle by default, I suppose. His sons were infrequent playmates.

When my father left when I was a teenager (no, he wasn't missed), he made absolutely no contact--we assumed he was dead. My mom and Kenny dropped contact, for reasons I didn't understand at the time. I didn't realise he'd been a better friend to Dad than to his own sister. When my mother died a few years later, it was Kenny who called my dad and had him get in touch with me. Enough time had passed that this was a welcome contact--his call just a day after Mom's wake helped me cope with her death.

When my father died, I was briefly--and uncomfortably--in touch with Kenny. I promised him I'd have a wake, but the truth was that I didn't want the old drunkard in my house. I avoided the subject, and never had the wake.

So tonight, when tentative sobs touch the back of my throat, I wonder why. While I haven't loved him since I was a child, I did love him then. So many pieces of the past sit static, unnoticed, until they fall away with a brittle snap. Someday, I will be someone's snapped-off past.

Kenny Meyer: Rest in peace.

Whenever I have a weird dream, I find myself putting it to the tune of "Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream." Doesn't everyone?

Last night I had the strangest dream
I've ever dreamed before
I dreamed Ev Williams owned a Starbucks
And worked down on the first floor

Each day I bought a latte there
Each day I threw it out
I hate coffee but went to bask
In the heat of Ev's flirty pout

He looked quite hot in his full beard
He always wore a tie
He was Barista Maximus
With a sparkle in his eye

Ev knew I hated java beans
My love for coffee was fake
One day he pleased me mightily
With a tall raspberry shake

Last night I had the strangest dream
I've ever dreamed before
I dreamed Ev Williams owned a Starbucks
And worked down on the first floor

DISCLAIMER: I do not now, nor have I ever had, a crush on Ev Williams. I'm sure he's a nice person, don't get me wrong. But no crush. Also, I don't like full beards, though I don't think he has one in real life. Who knows--I have weird premonitory powers about facial hair. It's a curse.

Remember the dulcimer fiasco? Well I'm happy to report that I was finally able to return the instrument, and the very same day the merchant sent the refund to my paypal account. I was very impressed with her integrity. It's little things like this that restore my faith in my fellow humanoids.

I'm very, very busy. To amuse you in my absence:

In my dreams, she's alive. We're moving back into the apartment where I spent my teenage years. Sometimes, even the dog is there. If I'm lucid enough to realize the dream is impossible, the dream finds a way. She got better. She came back--don't they all come back eventually?

Most of the time, it's just normal. I'm me, she's her, and we're happily setting up furniture, working around our schedules, remarking on how little the neighborhood has changed.

I awake sad, raked-over. Sometimes I wish she would stay dead. Other times, I'm glad to have her for a little while, as I sleep.

A co-worker stopped me in the hall today to tell me she'd had a dream about me. In the dream, I had decided to leave. She was, as she described it, beside herself, and trying to convince me to stay--asking if I couldn't just take a sabbatical or something, anything so I wouldn't leave.

It's nice to be needed.

For the record: I am a feminist. The only caveat I might make is that I'm more of a humanist, because I get ticked when either gender is maligned. But that's not what this spew is about. I just wanted this here as a disclaimer.

In the spirit of being honest with myself, I'm going to make a stunning admission: I have a fantasy about being a homemaker. Several years ago I had what I call my "Martha year" and planted a garden and did all sorts of homey things. I malign it publicly, but the truth is: it was fun. I just didn't have the energy for all of that when holding down a full-time job and doing a dozen web projects. I had to trim my priorities, and out went Suzy Homemaker.

Still, the fantasy persists. Becoming independently wealthy or even marrying into a big, ancient house that needs someone. I love taking care of things. I don't do it enough, but I actually enjoy cleaning house and making things nice. There just isn't time.

So there--my secret is out. I'm a closet housewife. I am not ashamed.

My project for today was to take a self-portrait for 2002 where I: a) Am not wearing a tee-shirt; b) look like a girl; c) am not making a silly face. The first wasn't too bad, the second was irritating, and the third was harder than I thought. This is the one with which I am happiest:

In 2002, I resolve to never again say:

"It's not that dirty."
"Where did I put my cat?"
"Nah, I don't mind the sheep."
"Your Feng Shui is whack."
"Details, please."
"Yes, but it will cost you an extra $20."

For the new year, I resolve to ask telemarketers dirty questions about what they are wearing.

Okay, maybe not.

Usually my only resolution is to not make any resolutions. This year, I do have one. More of a goal than a resolution:

In 2002, I will do my utmost to make my outer life match my inner life.

How's that for deep? Note to goal-makers: this is a bad goal because it is vague. Privately, I have the breakdown. I could give everyone the specifics, but it's not everyone's business.

Love to all for the coming new year. May we have peace, find joy, and get laid repeatedly.

After nearly ten years of dedicated service, Eightie the Eight Ball will be retiring. "I've enjoyed all your questions over the years," Eightie said tearfully, "but this is a young ball's job." Eightie's spokesman cites low fluid levels as the reason for this sudden departure.

Chosen to replace Eightie after an intense scouting process is Ballisch. While inexperienced, Ballisch's youthful vigour will bring new life to the office's fortune-telling duties. When asked for an interview, Ballisch said he was anxious to get right to work--so we asked him some questions for the new year:

• Ballisch, will I get me some sweet, sweet lovin' in 2002?
  Yes, definitely
  
• Woo! Okay, Ballisch, will I manage to paint my apartment in 2002?
  Outlook not so good
  
• Hmm. Last question: Ballisch, in 2002 will civilization crumble leaving humankind to eke out an existence in a post-apocalyptic, Mad-Max world?
  It is decidedly so

Anybody got a cave I can rent?

I was digging through my archives to see if I was this depressed last holiday season (I wasn't, I had a project to work on), when I found a good quote by a favorite person. I think it's worth posting again:

"People spend too much time finding other people to blame, too much energy finding excuses for not being what they are capable of being, and not enough energy putting themselves on the line, growing out of the past, and getting on with their lives."

--J. Michael Straczynski

Congratulations to Anna, who pulled

STRAIGHT A'S!!!

Yeah!

Alas, today is not Monkee Day. It is just a day. How anti-climactic.

Having decided I'm not skipping the holiday entirely (just mostly), today is shopping day. My list is exceedingly short, but it includes the most delightful humans in my life. It will make me happy to find things for them.

And yes Anna, if you're reading this, you're getting the septum piercing.

Inconsiderate: lighting up a cigarette in a mostly-enclosed bus shelter when it's pouring rain outside.

Complete asshole: lighting up a joint in a mostly-enclosed bus shelter when it's pouring rain outside.

I'm a mess of anxiety, waiting to hear from the woman who sold me the dulcimer. I know that I have to return it. There is no getting around a pin that moved through wood like it was putty. I will never be able to tune that machine.

I went over and over it in my head. Was I over tightening? I can't arrive at a yes. I was tuning the string exactly where it should have been tuned, and the pulling began immediately. My first thought was that this was my fault somehow, but it just isn't.

I feel rudderless. I had big plans--even if they were only spending time with the instrument. Especially over the next two long weekends (long weekends are challenging for me). Now this huge hole has been punched in my immediate future.

Grump.

I'm fucked. The dulcimer's wood is too soft--the tuning pegs are pulling! I think whomever made it didn't know what they were doing. Shit, shit, shit. Well, I've learned a lesson. I only hope I can return it.

10. Hey! Now there's a gift!
9. Well, well, well...
8. Boy, if I had not recently shrunk 2" that would've fit.
7. This is perfect for wearing around the basement.
6. Gosh, I hope this never catches fire! It is fire season though. There are lots of unexplained fires.
5. If the dog buries it, I'll be furious!
4. I love it - but I fear the jealousy it will inspire.
3. Sadly, tomorrow I enter the Federal Witness Protection Program and must leave all my beloved belongings behind.
2. To think - I got this the very year I vowed to give all my gifts to charity.

   and the number one thing to say about a Christmas gift you don't like...
   

1. I really don't deserve this.
   

I was communing with the gods recently when the subject of childhood toys came up. I was jettisoned back to many smiles enjoyed with:

Hippity Hop
Gnip Gnop
Rockem Sockem Robots
Trouble!
Big Wheel

And finally: my brother's train set. I would get in trouble a lot for sneaking into his room and playing with it.

Of course the best toys were the ones we didn't buy. The mountain of mud at the construction site in the field next door. The twin beds right next to each other--we'd strap on pillows and play Belly Busters--points for knocking your opponent on to the bed behind him.

Hmm. I need to go find a mudpuddle...

This brightened my cynical day.

What a smashing evening I've had.

Met Anna after work, pasta at the usual place, then off to the piercer's. Anna was to get her labret shortened. I hadn't planned on anything as I was a little low on funds, but by the time we got there, I decided plastic would do. It had been a good week, and I felt like getting more metal in my head. One ring in the left ear (that's all I'll get there), and two in the right, all matching the gauge of my nose. The two on the right are the beginning of a line that will go up...until I run out of ear or decide to stop.

We bussed back downtown to see a movie, singing Jane's Addiction songs and discussing junkies. Amelie was still at the Fox, and when I found out she hadn't seen it, that was that. We came out of the theatre with what I call the "Amelie Effect": stupid grins and a feeling that all is right with the world. I noticed more the second time, and didn't enjoy it any less. What an amazing, amazing flick. We picked up promo cards in the lobby on the way out.

Giggling for 30 minutes while we waited for her bus, we said goodbye with promises to go see LOTR.

My route home along the waterfront is lined with drug dealers--I usually see four or five. They used to completely ignore me. Since I got the ring back in my nose, they approach me, making eye contact. One even tried to strike up a conversation today.

I find this fucking hilarious.

I'm having an anxious, insecure day. There are tears lurking for no reason (no, it isn't that time of the month, so just quit thinking it, butthead). It will probably pass in an hour or so. Strangely, I'm not in a bad mood--it's just a funny feeling.

Came in to work today to a CLEAN desk! I spent a lot of time organizing yesterday, and it is so worth it. I get three times the work done when I'm well organized. The cliche that you don't have time not to organize is true, true, true. I wish I were better about keeping up with it.

Boss is out today. I would be too if I were him. That's how I react to a chewing--I put on a brave face for the day then take the next day off. He'll bounce back.

I swear I'm here, really. Just got a lot of stuff going on. Work is really, really busy and I'm left exhausted at the end of the day and only want to sit and watch movies. Incidentally, I tried to watch The Golden Bowl last night. I kept looking at the timer on the DVD player to see how much more I had to endure. I gave up after an hour. I may try again tonight--I keep thinking something might happen.

One comment: Jeremy Northam + beard = No.

Dawn wanted me to help her set up one of those mood thingies that I had on my page many moons ago. It took me a while to find it because I couldn't remember the service, but I finally got to the good old imood page, and got her set up. While there I signed in to see if I still have an account. I do. I've been since June, 2000.

Anyone who knows me knows that I've been opposed to having children almost all of my life. Here is my short list of reasons why:

1. There are too many humans on the planet.
   
2. I'd be a bad mother.
   
3. I have crappy genes.
   
4. My experience of motherhood is that it ruins women's lives.
   
5. Children are loud (yeah, that's a reason for me).
   
6. I value my privacy too much.
   

First off, I'm betting a lot of people think my attitude towards children comes from complete ignorance. It doesn't. As a teen, I was very, very involved with raising my three oldest nephews; often to the tune of twelve hours a day. I watched, I nursed, I taught, I played mother in every way. In all my time with those boys, I only blew up once; I felt horrible and, when he was old enough to understand, I sincerely apologized to my nephew.

But it got me thinking. I was a teenager, and I blew up once. Once. The rest of the time, I did pretty well. This was at an age when patience was a foreign country.

One memory in particular: my oldest nephew, Mike, often had trouble sleeping when he was about a year old. I can't count the nights I took him out of his crib and paced the livingroom until my arms ached, waiting for him to calm down and fall asleep. My father would watch me with one of his few loving looks and remark what a wonderful mother I was going to make someday.

I think I might have hated that remark, but like the time he told me I looked better in short hair (I immediately grew it out), he was right. I can't look at anything in my history that indicates I'd be a bad mother. Considering I've developed a huge amount of patience in my old age, I imagine quite the opposite is true.

So one of my reasons is gone.

No, I'm not running out and getting pregnant, but it's important I tell the truth to myself; and that was certainly a lie worth letting go.

While I'm at it, I've learned that #5 & #6 no longer apply either. Yes, children are still loud, but I've grown to the point where it's not an issue. As for privacy, another thing I've learned is that there are ways to work things out. There really are--it isn't black and white.

#4 is a personal issue that I have to face. Not because I'm planning on a family (don't you love all my caveats?), but because I know intellectually that this false, and I think it's a damaging attitude.

I suspect I'll be ruminating more on this later.

Today's list of good things:

1. Friends who'll go to a movie with you when you're down.
   
2. A fun job.
   
3. Cookies with everything in them.
   
4. Someone on the phone asking what you're listening to because they like it.
   
5. A high river.
   
6. A neighbor having loud sex (okay, that's not always good, but I'm happy for her).
   
7. Candles.

A funny thing happened on the way to the forum.

Yesterday I was having one of my infamous (and festive!) pity parties, ruminating on the terrible conflagration that is My Life, when a Walter Cronkite voice in the back of my head said: "Yes...how tragic." I blew out a couple of laughs--the thought came so suddenly it cracked me up. Since then, Walter has been back there with his quip, helping me keep perspective.

When he stops working, I think I'll try Jar-Jar Binks. "Yes! How twagic!"

You know that one person in your life that you call every day? The one you share all the little stuff with? And the big stuff, for that matter. Not only that, but you're there for them as well--it isn't one way.

I don't have that. Haven't for years. No, I'm not looking for sympathy. This entry is officially Writing for Myself. I just need to work some things out in my head. I haven't had a human touchstone for years. When I say years, I mean a lot of them. I think after a while it makes you a little insane.

I've tried to build friendships. I think I probably get too needy. I don't want to be needy--I also want to be needed. But when I tell my friends my troubles, I'm dumping. I know it, and I find it intolerable. Yeah, yeah, now I'm gonna get a bunch of calls/emails from people saying: "you can talk to me any time!" Okay, but can you talk to me? That's what a touchstone is.

And right now I should specify that I do, in fact, have this relationship with a couple people via email. You know who you are, and I love you very much. I'm glad and grateful for you.

But you aren't here.

Fatal admission: I'm really fucking lonely right now. I suspect I'm going to regret this entry tomorrow. I wish I were drunk, so I would have a good excuse. Wow, the things I would write if I drank! Now that would make for an entertaining blog.

Not entertaining tonight. Just depressing. Sorry everyone. I'll bounce back. Ya know I always do.

• I want to put my hands in the air and wave them like I care deeply.
• David Bridie's voice makes me hott.
• I'm considering a rant on consumerism, as I've been having a wonderful debate with some friends.
• I still need to reply to Mark. Mark Mark Mark. Rrr. I have guilt.
• I'm trying to arrange lunch with my sister. We haven't spent more than five minutes in one another's company since 1996.

Several weeks ago one of my co-workers was backing out of her office while talking to someone. As I passed by, she said "Yuuuuck!" in response to whatever was being said. Of course it sounded like she was responding to me. I got a laugh out of it, and replied: "Eeeewwww!"

Since then, every time we see one another it's: Yuck! Eeeeww!

I know it's normal for guys to call each other nasty names in an endearing fashion, but women don't generally do this, so it tickles me. Next time I get together with my chick friends, I should try calling them names like "old crack whore" and "bitch on a tricycle" and see how it goes over.

Or maybe not.

I spend too much time double-checking my sent items to make sure I didn't send an email to the wrong person.

Maybe I should stop saying things I don't want to get caught saying.

I know, I should update my blog. Thoughts passing through my mind:

• I really need to answer Mark's rant. I will, and I'll move it up when I do. Yeesh, the guy wrote an essay.
  
• Berets are goofy.
  
• I'm allergic to vanity.

Had an absolutely great time over at Kelly and John's place today. Went over early and cooked with Kel. In between dishes, we watched Beautiful Girls, which I had never seen. What sparkling writing. Natalie Portman was a giggle.

We had ham, which I smothered with cranberry sauce--something I've only recently learned to like. I'm alone in that. I now have the leftover sauce, and this makes me happy. Later, we played Scrabble, Scattergories, and laughed a lot.

And on a completely unrelated note: write in Wil Wheaton.

On the river there is a type of duck that dives for fish. I know not what it's called--I'm not good with my ducks. He glides, half underwater, his neck sticking up like a tiny seamonster, then he dives, and stays down so long an observer might think he'd grown tired of his little ducky life. Minutes later, he'll emerge, often an impossible distance from his submersion point.

This morning as I walked, I saw one of these uber-cool duckies. He'd just come from a successful dive, and had a silvery fish wiggling in his beak. A seagull thought this looked like easy pickings; he coasted down from a pylon heading for the duck. But our Ducky was clever. He took another dive, and by the time he came back up, he was gobbling down the last of his breakfast, foiling the thieving gull.

The seagull returned to his pylon, disappointed and looking a little annoyed. I was grinning about that duck for blocks.

No really, I mean it.

Friday: New ring in the nose and a fantastic, giggly evening with Anna.

Saturday: Midnight Oil with Scott. The more the concert sinks in, the more I love that band.

Sunday: First phonecall from a new long-distance friend. I'm a notorious phone hater, but it was a really nice conversation with a deeply interesting person. Made my day. Also made me wish I could meet him at some little cafe and hang out. Such is always the way. Note to scientists: hurry up with the transporter technology already.

Monday: Invited to Thanksgiving at Kelly's house. I thought all my friends would be out of town, but Kel just wants to do a friend thang. This is exceedingly cool, and I'm jazzed. Also, I got a ZERO BALANCE bill from the Evil Phone Company; month two of such. It's commupance for screwing me so severely, and it's making me grin.

I've had a very good run lately. Yeah.

Speaking of head holes, I have a new one. Unlike most piercings which are relatively painless, this hurt like a fucking bitch. As it should have, since I wanted a 14 gauge hoop and it went through scar tissue. I knew better than to expect the happy little sting. The piercer is very good though. I do wish I had noticed the circumference of the ring. It's small for my taste, and I'll have to trade up once this heals. Otherwise, I'm terribly, terribly pleased with my new metal.

'Sokay, I'm good with pain, and it only hurts once. Until you get in a bar fight and someone rips it out.

On a humorous note, on the way out of the shop there were a bunch of folks in front who of course asked Anna and I what we had done. Anna is 18, but she looks about 13. They asked if we were mother and daughter. No, Anna explained, I was a friend, and I paid for her piercing! Walking away I mumbled: "Thanks, now they think I'm your lesbian sugar mamma."

It was a fun evening and we giggled ourselves hoarse.

Today is Anna's 18th birthday. Tomorrow, we will head over to Black Hole Body Piercing and I will get her a labret. This is also a great excuse for me to get a ring in my nose again. Just the left or right nostril--I'm not going for the bull look.

I used to have a stud, but it caught on a towel and came out when I had a cold. If you've ever had a piercing of this sort, you know the wire is all twisty inside so it stays in place. Unfortunately, if it does come out it's hard to get back in. With a cold--impossible! So I've waited for it to heal real good-like before getting it replaced.

I will be happy to have a hole in my face again, and Anna will look lovely with her labret.

Feeling a tad melancholy tonight. I've made goals for myself that I have been missing, and this is frustrating. Self-loathing creeps in.

On the other hand, I have a very different attitude than I have in the past. Once, I would have given up in a tearful lump. Now I just sigh deeply and get back in the saddle. I have a deep confidence in myself that surprises me when I look at it. I'm sure it wasn't there before. I hope it sticks around.

It's raining this morning. Walking through the park blocks I saw that the trees had shed much of their yellow leaves, making a gorgeous ground covering.

I struggled a bit with my wallet, but finally got it out and ran my card key through the reader. Inside, I flashed my ID to...an empty chair. WTF? Where the hell was security? I walked into the building, and noticed the cafeteria was closed. Oh no, I thought. I've finally done it. There was one lone after-hours guard at the front door. I asked him the question.

Yes, it's a federal holiday.

It took me five years, but I knew eventually I would space one of these obscure suckers and come in anyway. I'm still not sure what holiday it is. Veteran's day? Oy.

So here I am at my desk, using the color printer for something wonderful, which I will talk more about later. I may do some work.

Hee, I crack me up. I'm going home.

I asked the Eerily Accurate Magic Eight Ball (what sits on my desk, at work) if I would get laid at SXSW. The answer: WITHOUT A DOUBT. Finally. EAMEB has been very negative on this subject for a long time, so I have great confidence that it's telling the unvarnished truth.

Will you be at SXSW? Maybe we'll get lucky together! At the very least I'll be attending the Interactive Festival, and there's a high possibility I'll stay for the Film Conference as well. It depends on schedule and budget. Work is picking up the interactive portion, which I thought ran concurrently with everything else. It actually ends earlier, so it complicates things.

If you are attending, leave a comment (yeah, there's still an error. Do it anyway) or write me. We can meet up for a seminar, grab lunch, or just have sex*.

*Note: I play favorites; I am not first-come-first-served. Any rivalries I cannot resolve myself will be decided by kung-fu death match.

I'm dying to go do something tonight, but all my friends have plans or are out of town or something. WAIL!

I'm in an angry way. But it's a good angry way. I want to put on loud music and change the world. I want to pile friends into a rented car, drive in a random direction, and laugh 'til we're sick. I want to punch something many, many times.

I neglected to mention that our new Chief US Marshall looks like Lou Rawls. A lot like Lou Rawls.

I just returned from a building briefing on bioterrorism. It was not as excruciating as I anticipated. He started out boring as hell, but then he was talking about the terror created by the infection of less than seven people; "Er, that's a nice way of saying six." We laughed. He loosened up after that. Interesting facts:

In 1998, there were about 30 anthrax hoaxes nationwide.
In 1999, there were about 5 per week.
In the last two weeks, there have been 3300 hoaxes.

He said he saw Tom Brokaw on the news asking: "Have we over-reported this?" Duh.

He (by the way, I don't remember the speaker's name. Sue me.) talked about the list you go over when you receive a threatening phonecall. It contains tons and tons of questions, because often the caller wants to talk about the whys and wherefores, so you get a lot of information. At the end of the form you ask (seriously) for the caller's address. He said: "Maybe by the time you've gone through this whole thing you've built such a wonderful rapport that he'll give you his email address and meet you for coffee at Starbuck's."

Anthrax is heavy and dark (though cutting agents can be anything). You have to do something stupid like slam a door or shake the envelope to get it in the air real good-like.

If we must be decontaminated, it will not be like Indiana where they sent everyone out on the sidewalk, stripped them, and hosed them down. To this, my boss shouted: "Are there any pictures?" I then struck my boss with an empty water bottle.

I just went to pick up an Avon order (cheap shampoo!) from a lady in the office. Her Windows wallpaper is a picture of Mount Hood that I gave her. It was taken by a roommate that I haven't seen in five years. It makes me feel weird because: 1. It's a little like seeing a ghost, even though he isn't dead; 2. Why on earth would anyone keep the same wallpaper for five years?

This is the meme that never ends

It just goes on and on my friend...

It's a common psychological foible to consider one's feelings unique. Since I learned this, I often err in the other direction.

Way back in the dark ages, when I was in counseling (ACK! TMI! Don't worry, I won't share much more), I shared something puzzling with my counselor. I was sure she would tell me that it happened to everyone, reassuring me that I was still a part of the human race. Instead, she said: "Wow, really? I've never heard of that, and I've been practicing a long time."

Suddenly, I felt weird.

Despite my contention that few feelings/stances/actions are unique, I've been in the weird spot a number of times.

Once upon a time when I got comfortable with a group of people, I would share a little of myself, should it be appropriate to the conversation. I don't do that much any more. I have "designated revelations" for different groups that are intimate enough to convince people I'm sharing, and even weird enough to put me in the spot again--but once I've shared them I don't have to share much more. "C'mon, I told you my mom was gay--what more do you want?"

What I do instead is let others talk. I'll listen to them share and encourage them, while revealing little of myself. It's a neat trick.

Someday I'm sure I'll meet someone who doesn't mind that I'm an atheist who hates coffee and doesn't watch television, though truly, I only expect to meet someone who thinks it's okay--not someone like me. That's a little sad.

Don't worry, I'm not sad today. Just ruminating.

Please don't hate me.

I just got AIM blarged. I signed on to talk to one person, and as soon as I responded to them, AIM logs me in so everyone can say hello! The sad thing is, I really do like all the people who IM me. I just hate IM. I'm that way on the phone too. No matter how much I love you, if you call me, I will be squirming to get off the phone in a matter of minutes. Email is my modus operandi, or however you say it. Email I like. I also like meeting in person. Additionally, I have a fondness for b-boards. In any of those venues, I will be a sweet conversationalist. On IM I'm a little rudie. Forgive.

Woot! I can post for a few minutes! That makes me wanna post and post and post. Pity I have nothing to say, and a lot of work to do. Piffle.

My favorite holiday is coming up. I've always had a fascination with all things spooky. As I've gotten older, other holidays have fallen off my list with a yawn, but not Hallowe'en! To make the most of boo-day, here's the ultimate guide to Hallowe'en, via MeFi Projects.

Josh! Your email is bouncing, dammit!

My current wallpapers:

Home


Work

Kitty's To-Do List:

• Finish cleaning apt (it looks pretty good already)
  
• Burn and send a bunch of greenshoes
  
• Update the greenshoes catalog, which is sorely outdated, and people are probably mad at me because of it
  
• Finish 20-things type art project for friends
  
• Finish painting the kitchen so my friends at the party will ooh and ahh at my artistic prowess
  
• Relax, watch movies, and burn CDs with far more people than my livingroom can hold
  
• Watch loaned copy of Shall We Dance?
  
• Sign a new lease because I've been at the apt for a whole year now!
  

I'm glad it's a three-day weekend.

My co-worker from across the hall took the same bus as I on the way home. "You had a better day than I did," she said, "I heard you giggling over there in your room." She's right. I had an okay day. Work is fun. Don't tell the boss, but I also had a bit of a giggle with some pixelpals too. Got home to find a ton of wonderful stuff in my mail. Apparently USPS is finally catching up. Three movies, a disk from Paul, a mag with tons of good pics of the other Paul, and some Tara stuff from a fan. Motherlode! Right now I'm ordering Chinese food and I'm going to clean house and watch a movie. See? Things get better. It's just Kitty's little roller coaster.

Usually when I'm really down (like I am today, because it's my birthfuckingday), going out with my friends turns things around. I had a bad feeling tonight might be different, but I had high hopes. Dashed, dashed. I ended up feeling horrible, being a complete ass and hurting a dear friend's feelings, and just generally twisting the knife. I was out with five people I love, and I found I really only wanted to be with one of them. No fault of the other four, it was just too much for me. So now I'm even worse. I shouldn't even be writing about it, because drawing attention to it makes it that much more unbearable. But I know I'll want to look back on this next year, so here it is. I think I'm going to erase my birthday. It's never been a great time for me, so why bother.

Them: Cat, you can't have a hangover. You don't drink.

Me: Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. And quit that damned racket or I'll rip your lungs out.

I was in bed, mind wandering on my way to sleep, when I realized that I'll be 37 in a few days. I found myself choking back tears. I've never before been afraid to get older--in fact I've been pretty oblivious to the aging process, but over the last year I've become aware of my mortality. Aware to the point that I've been readying funeral arrangements and other details so my passing won't be a burden on those left behind. The problem: I don't want to die. There is no comforting afterlife dwelling in my psyche; it isn't part of my mythology. A further problem: I'm not sharing this life as fully as I want to. I want more people in my life. Friends are the mirrors that continue to carry our reflection after we're gone.

I shall now proceed to hug a cat and cry myself to sleep.

The rainy season has begun.

As a child, I remember being antagonistic towards rain, but I loved puddles and thunderstorms. Years and years (and years) in Portland have brought me around. I love this season, when the air is washed and the streets are slick. If you've ever seen this city in the rain, you know there's something about the color scheme that looks most beautiful when it's gray outside. I'm in an awfully good mood. The temperature is more suited to my northern mix of heritage, and I'm feeling perky and productive. The only drawback: I could really use a snuggle-mate. Ah well. Here, kitty kitty kitty...

The goal of Sundays: to stay pajama-clad as long as possible. This plan is usually thwarted some time in the afternoon by either the need to take the garbage out, or a call from a friend to go have fun. Either is worthy, provided it is after 2pm. I love Sundays.

By the end of the workday, I want a clean desk, and a clear sense of what I need to do around here. I've mentioned the organization thing before, haven't I? Sigh. Well, I'm feeling better, so I think I can do this thang.

On another front related to feeling better, I must reluctantly admit that I had to dump vegetarianism for now. I got sick. I'm just not great about paying attention to what I eat and remembering to take vitamins. I've been doing both, and I'm perkier. I'll try it again in a few months. I knew when I began that there would be a couple false starts before I got it down.

Last on my list of Things I Should Blog This Morning: Kel took me out on his new boat last night! The river was calm and golden. I said "Woohoo!" a lot. Afterwards, we met Scott for dinner. During the drive home we discussed at some length how good looking Scott is. Scott of course has no bloody clue. I'll have to dig up my favorite picture so everyone can marvel at him.

I'm thinking: "Yay! There's so much I want to do tomorrow! I can get up and clean the house then I can update that page..." and then I remember it's not Friday. No big deal, you say? I've been doing this all week. I don't know what hurt my brain in this way, but I want it back. I'm stuck in Fridayland.