I know it sounds completely silly, but my cat truly is the love of my life. If you've never had a pet, you probably don't understand that, but if you have had one, you might know what I'm saying. It doesn't matter that this other being doesn't speak the same language that you do, the two of you form this bond. You stop seeing your pet as a pet and you start seeing him or her as another family member or your best friend. Well, my cat is one of my favorite people (even though he drives me crazy sometimes) and I love him immensely. He's so funny.

My cat, while constantly starved for attention, is NOT a lap cat. It wasn't until just recently that he would sit still in my lap if I put him there, and even now, he'll only stay for five minutes or so. He likes to be where I am, but not necessarily maintain contact with me at all times. Which brings me to our sleeping habits. Last night, very specifically.

Owen likes to start out the night a certain distance from my head. He started settling in by my feet last night while I was doing a crossword puzzle. When I turned out the lights, he moved up to about my waist, but was still about eight inches away from me on the bed. By five o'clock this morning, he was one inch from my face. I don't know if it was a warmth thing or a comfort thing or what, but I thought it was absolutely adorable. His subtleties in begging for affection.

Okay, I know I sound like a complete dip. But seriously, go adopt a pet from your local shelter and you'll see what I mean. You will never cease to be amazed at how smart your pet is, and you will never stop being entertained by the adorable things he or she does. Or even go spend time with your friend's pets. If you put in more than three minutes with their pets, you'll get to see that this animal has a complete personality all its own, which will make it that much more amazing when she decides to come over and lick your face. And there's nothing better than unconditional affection from your pet.

So I didn't log on yesterday to wish a happy birthday to Moby. Sorry about that, Mo. Though as I'm 100% positive he doesn't read this, I guess it's not that big a deal.

But I do wish a very happy birthday to Moby as I still think he is a credit to the human race. I was sending happy vibes to you all day yesterday.

And today...today I'm trying to get my life in order. Which is really difficult when the sweetest, cutest cat decided to take a nap on your leg.

I thought this was interesting.

So my theater company's annual fundraiser was last night. Well, "annual" meaning we'll do it again next year. And it also means that I spent about three and a half hours as my crazy Floss! character, Kuku. I had so much fun! But that's beside the point.

Other company members were there in character, too, and throughout the night, they got tired of being in character, so they would change their clothes or just simply drop the character. For which, I can't blame them. It was a big, fun, social night and not all of their characters are big, fun, social people, or are able to function in the "real" world. Plus, it takes a lot of energy to maintain a character for that length of time. To maintain their posture and vocal tendencies and attitudes and whatnot. But I did my best to stay in character for the whole thing and a couple of people remarked that they were impressed that I was able to maintain her for that long. One guy asked me at the end of the night if I was exhausted and truth be told, I wasn't. I was envigorated. Which has gotten me thinking about my energy level all day.

I think that in my basic state, I am an extremely energetic, boisterous person. I'm walking around today and I feel like bursting into dance like Kuku does. But I know that it is not socially acceptable for me to do so, so I don't. And it actually takes more energy to fight those impulses that it does to let them go. Which may sound strange, but I think it's true. And it is also why I function better when I have eight million things going on at the same time. If I have somewhere to put my energy, if I am allowed to explore it, then it is endless. If I have no outlet for my energy, it all stagnates and I get tired and don't feel like doing anything.

I wonder what my life would be like if I could just follow my whims of energy. You know, if I could be five years old again. Sing when I want to. Dance when the spirit moves me. Color or sew until my fingers are raw. What kind of stuff would I create with all of the time in the world and nothing holding me back? Is that the dream of every artist? And where is all of this energy coming from in the first place? And to give this whole entry a kind of downer finish, how sad is it that so much of it is wasted in an office?

Have you ever woken up while you're still asleep? I mean, really. I know it doesn't really count as waking up unless you were already asleep, but every once in a while, even though you are up and moving, you're still fast asleep. Your body is suddenly sixteen times heavier than you remember it being, most of the new weight existing in your eyelids and rhombencephalon. And your conscious brain knows that it is time to get up and take a shower and that maybe some caffeine would be a good idea today, but your body is still far off in dream land and your floor is suddenly covered in beautiful spring grass and the sun is shining and the air smells like tulips and isn't that your boyfriend over there, who for some reason looks like Paul Schaffer? And you decide to stop watching Letterman before you go to bed and how did you get into the kitchen when you were just in a meadow listening to crazy jazz music that was coming out of the buttercups? And you don't really wake up until you turn on the water in the shower only to discover that the hot water heater hasn't kicked in yet this morning and the harsh reality of the fact that you have to be at work in an hour hits you and makes you want to cry. Or at the very least, go back to bed. You'd even date Paul Schaffer if you could just go back to bed.

Yeah, me neither.

Can I get an A?

A!!!

Can I get two Ls?

L!!! L!!!

Can I get an ERGIES?

ERGIES!!!

What does it spell?

Allergies!

What does it spell?

Allergies!!!

I can't hear you!!!

ALLERGIES!!!

WOOOOOOO!!!

Yeah, if only they were that much fun.

And so begins the busy. The so super crazy busy I probably won't have a day to myself until November. Which is maybe a good thing. If I have too many things going on mentally and no projects in which to immerse myself, I'll sit and think and think and think and think and think and think about all of them at the same time until suddenly it all makes perfect sense that I should throw cakes off my roof while in my pajamas crying out, "But if only we all had pogo sticks, none of this would have happened!" And as fun as that is, it's a terrible waste of cakes. And pajama time. Pajama time should not be spent screaming on roof tops. It should be spent eating oatmeal and snuggling with the cat. But it's okay because I have so many projects right now that I need to focus on that I probably won't have a minute to myself until November, at which point all of this swirling crap in my head will have sorted itself out because most of it will have just become a non-issue. I'll go back to loving the fact that my job takes no brain power because I won't have any to spare. The boys who currently want to date me will have given up by then. We'll have a new President. I'll be used to missing my friend.

So I may be incoherent for a while (because what welcomes an insanely busy spell better than a nice night of insomnia, right?), but at the very least, it should be entertaining for you. And I'm warning you right now, in a couple of days, I'll probably post another "Moby is so wonderful" entry because his birthday is coming up. If I can still remember my own name by then...

And creeping like the nasty little buggers that they are, the germs invade my throat and make speaking and swallowing a chore. Well, speaking is often times a chore for me, but now moreso than on a normal day. I'm drinking echinacea and cold care teas, hoping this doesn't make it impossible for me to play on Friday. Wouldn't that be just my luck? I think they have a new manager type guy at that place now, too, and he's never seen me play, so it would make perfect sense if I show up there to play two hours worth of music and I sound like I did at my first gig back in February. Wow. February. I've played a lot since then. Perhaps not as much as I could have or should have, but I've played a lot. I need to be playing more. Mostly just because I like to play. It's good for my soul.

But back on topic. Mother Nature, how are you? You seem a little...off as of late. We had spring through August here in Chicago, and about two days of summer over Labor Day weekend and now it feels a little fall-like. And all of the hurricanes and typhoons that have been happening lately. Are you okay? Do you need to chat with someone? I'm here if you want to talk.

Or maybe our planet is moving further away from the sun. A very slow process, but one that is bound to happen, right? Wait, is the Universe expanding or contracting right now? I think we're just about to hit the peak of expansion, and then we'll start collapsing back in on ourselves. So an orbit that used to take 365.25 days is now taking closer to 367. And with our antiquated calendars, the leap year dealie every four years just isn't making that time up. We should beef up February on a yearly basis and maybe we'd catch up to where Mother Nature wants to be climate-wise. Because 1.75 days every year builds up after a couple hundred years. And then when the Universe begins to collapse again, they can take those days out of the calendar so we stay on schedule. And a million years from now (or a few thousand at least), maybe they'll be down to 28 day months all across the board. Or, maybe by that point, humans will have figured out that an arbitrary system of keeping time is kind of silly and they will have figured out a better method for it all together.

I have to say...I'm a good actor. I should do that more often.

I freaked out at work. I've been all prepared to do one more year there and then get out of there, but today, I was convinced that I'll have to be gone by then end of the month. That's not a good feeling. It throws off all of my plans by several thousand dollars. Needless to say, I got nothing done and I came home feeling like shit. So I'm having a totally self-indulgent evening. I'm wearing my favorite sarong, I've got my hair in pigtails, I bought a bottle of wine, and I'm watching a movie that I'm in. It's making me feel much better about being me. I'm thinking about the show I get to play next Friday. I'm thinking about the fact that everything will be okay because I'm the kind of person for whom things eventually work out. Yes, they will be tough for a while, but I'm not going to die. I'm not going to go hungry. I will always find ways to make art which is what makes me truly happy and if I have to live in less than favorable conditions for a little while, well, that's fodder for new material.

It could be the wine talking, but things will be okay. I don't know if you heard of a television show wherein a particularly unattractive man is trying to convince a family that he is going to marry their daughter. Well, the particularly obnoxious fellow is in this very same film that I am watching right now. If he can do it, I can do it. I am intelligent, I am reliable, I learn fast. I will be okay, regardless of what happens with my job that I don't care about anyway.

I want to apologize for the sort of sad state of my blog entries as of late. There's been a lot of crap going on recently that I have wanted to talk about but kind of sort of can't. But it comes down to these things:

There is a lot of turmoil in my job right now. Well, not necessarily my job per se, but in my workplace. Reorganization and speculation and whatnot and nobody knows what's going on or when we might know what's going on and it's like I've been working in a ghost town for the last month. It's really weird, and hard to come in here every day. Harder than usual. So I've been thinking about not coming in anymore. As in leaving. And I am trying to figure out ways in which that would be financially viable for me, and at the same time, I'm thinking about all of the things I could/should give up in order to make that financially viable for me. It's not a lot of fun to sit around thinking about leaving a home you love and giving up a car you love and selling your books and clothes and movies you haven't watched in forever so that you can leave a job you hate and become a production assistant whore, working night and day for $200 a week. If that. So I've got that going on.

There are a couple of guys out there who want to date me. I don't want to date them. I keep promising myself that I won't date again until I meet someone who just blows me away. I've met two of those guys, maybe three, in my life, so I know I'll meet another one someday. And I know really quickly if a guy is one who blows me away or not. I just do. Call me picky, but I know. So why do I keep disappointing myself and letting myself be wooed by these guys who I'm not really interested in? I feel like a sell out and it makes me miserable. I honestly am happier by myself than I am in a relationship that I don't really care about. Not to say that these guys who want to date me aren't great guys. They are wonderful human beings. I know they're not mine. That's it. And it is hard for me to motivate myself to go out of my way to include them in my life when I know it is just temporary and going to end in heartache on both sides anyway. So I've got that going on.

I'm in limbo on two of the three shows I'm supposed to be working on and I'm largely in the dark on third. There is some stuff I can do on the third show right now, so that's a good thing. But the other two...one starts rehearsals on Tuesday, so that's a good thing. But it's irritating to have these projects dangling in front of me that I know will take a lot of time, effort, and energy and to be completely unable to do anything about them. I can't even start. So I've got that going on.

And then there's the political bullshit. Which is exactly what it is. Bullshit. Our current president is making me so angry I can't even watch him speak. I know that politicians are not known for their honesty, but this guy is ridiculous. He's trying to take credit for doing things right which he has very obviously done wrong. Like running this country. And what infuriates me even more than the fact that he is allowed to leave his house in the morning is the fact that there are millions of people out there who still think he is doing a good job and who plan on voting for him in November. People who are otherwise intelligent, productive citizens would rather vote for a lying hypocrite than stand up for themselves and say, "No, you've done a bad job so you don't get another chance." People who I am related to. I can't tell you how sad that makes me. So I've got that going on.

And add on top of that the old journal entries I wrote that I reread a couple of nights ago. They were really good. And now my blogs are just filled with drivel. I feel like I don't have that creative spark anymore. Which I know isn't true -- look at the body of musical work I have produced. Look at the play I am writing. Look at the characters I create on stage. But I find myself disappointed in the decidely journal-like appearance of this blog, as opposed to the writing experiments appearance of my old journals. I need to start writing fiction again. So I've got that going on.

So I apologize for the sad state of my blogs as of late. I have a lot going on that is difficult to talk about. It will all come to a resolution very soon (I hope). Or maybe I'll just move to Holland and worry about all of it there.

If you put it like this, it all makes perfect sense.

I'd like to toot my own horn for a minute, if that's okay. Actually, it's more of an "I need to toot my own horn for a minute" thing. We all have bouts of self-doubt. Goes with being human. I've been finding little tidbits to pull me out of those bouts recently, and I want to share them so that a year from now, when I come back and read this, I can say, "Oh, yeah. I am pretty cool." So here goes.

I pulled out one of my old journals over the weekend because I wanted to write in the back of it. I'm working on a children's play. But anyway, I, of course, went back and read some of the stuff that was in there and damn, I'm a good writer. I have a great imagination and a wonderful command of the English language. I am a good storyteller.

Which brings me to the children's play. The more people I tell about it, the more excited I am to write it. And the more excited I am to direct it next fall. I think I am going to put on a good children's show.

The more music I listen to by little indie bands or solo artists, the more I realize that yes, I am one of the good ones. I have a nice voice. I can carry a tune. I'm on pitch and on or behind the beat as necessary. I write interesting songs.

I am a good actor. I can create a character from virtually nothing who has her own mind and opinions to the point where I, as Kitty, am often unaware of what's going on until someone tells me about it later. Okay, maybe that's a sign that I'm schitzophrenic, but it makes me a fun performer.

I am an intellient person. I know a lot of things, and I'm always learning more. I am good at expressing my ideas verbally and in writing and I can carry on an interesting conversation with just about anyone I meet.

I am an attractive person. If dating comes in feat and famine cycles, I am in the middle of a feast. Truth be told, I don't want to be as none of the guys really WOW me and I don't really have the time to date anyone right now, but rest assured, dear Kitty, you are attractive and people do like you.

So I have a lot of things going for me. No matter what happens in my life, I know I'll be okay. And I know that very soon, I will get to do only the things that make me happy and I won't have to spend so much time being miserable.

A very dear friend of mine is moving away soon. There is a difference between my friends who are just switching apartments now and this friend who is moving away. It will take five hours in the car to go visit this friend. It doesn't seem like a lot, but that's really far away. And it makes me sad that he's leaving.

I understand completely why he's going. Hell, I wrote a song about it. And I wish him luck in his adventures. It just...makes me sad that he's leaving. We talk semi-sporadically as it is, and I only seem him a couple of times a month, if that. It's just different when your really good friend lives in another state. I know we'll still be friends. I'm not worried about that. And I know that when I do see him, we'll get along just as well as we do now -- like no time has passed. Ours is one of those relationships. It'll just be weird to not have him here.

Good luck to you, my dear friend. I know I'll talk to you soon. I'll miss you terribly when you're gone.

I'd like to believe that there is some sort of karmic balance to the universe. That for every great heartache, there is a great rebound. For every great loss, a great gain. I'd like to believe that every time the Cubs are pounded 15 to 6, they will come back and pound someone else by the same margin. I'd like to believe that for every great love lost, there is a greater love out there to be found.

My friends tell me I'm a lonely person, but only if you get to know me. Maybe that's true. And as near as I can tell, there are two ways to deal with loneliness -- either just deal with it or find someone to make you not lonely anymore. I choose the former. Yes, it is a conscious choice. Yes, I am aware of the ramifications of my choice. But I loved very deeply once and it didn't work out and I hurt very badly for a very long time. So I am waiting for my even greater love to come along. I've seen glimmers of it here and there, but I haven't found it yet. And knowing how wonderful it is to truly love someone, I'm happy to wait for that opportunity to come along again as opposed to finding someone to simply fill the void. I'll fill the void with music. I'll fill the void with dance. I'll fill the void with performance and writing. But I'm not going to subject another human being to being the thing to keep me occupied because I'm afraid of being alone. That's not fair to that other person.

Mine is a hopeful loneliness, not a sad one.

I wore one of my sarongs to work today, as a skirt, because I woke up thinking, "I want to be comfortable today." And truth be told, it does look pretty nice. Not necessarily something I would wear if I had a big meeting today or anything, but I don't look slovenly. And this woman who works upstairs commented that it is a very pretty skirt. She said, "I used to wear stuff like that when I was young." And I thought to myself, "Dear God, please don't let me turn out like that when I get old." She's a nice woman, but she's always walking around in such a hurry. Her shoes make more noise than anybody else's because she walks so hard. And she has this kind of stern demeanor about her. She looks to be the sort who was born wearing horn-rimmed glasses with a very practical haircut, you know? And my question is, what happened? What happens to people when they get older that they forget how to live? They forget the joy of comfortable clothing? They forget the pleasure of walking? Not everyone, mind you, but this woman just admitted to me that she used to wear the kind of clothing I just proclaimed five days ago as solidifying my hippie status, and now she wears suits every day and loud, pointy shoes. What happened to her?

I hope I always wear comfortable shoes. I hope I never forget to stop and smell the flowers. I hope I can always allow myself a solitary movie/pizza night once in a while. Bruce Almighty is actually pretty good, by the way. Much better than I was expecting, anyway. Anyway. I think even more than I would be disappointed in myself for changing my musical style or starring in some bit of tripe like Dude, Where's My Car? I would be disappointed in myself if I turned completely into a corporate schill who wears suits and pointy shoes and scares the crap out of everybody when I walk into the room because they know I mean business, even though the business that I mean is very dull and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. If I ever turn into that person, you are all welcome to call me a sell out.

If there was one baseball game you should have been at, it was last night's Cubs game against the Brewers. Three-run homer for the Cubs in the first inning. Grand slam by Derrik Lee in the second. Solo home run by Aramis Ramirez in the third. Two-run shot by Derrick again in the fourth. They hit for the home run cycle. The only thing missing was an in-the-park home run. It was great. We trounced the Brewers and got to do a lot of yelling.

And I heard probably the best random comment I've ever heard at a ball park. After Aramis' home run in the third, a gentleman sitting a couple of rows behind me and off to the right said, "Cue the fat lady." I got a nice chuckle out of that.

So yeah, yeah Cubbies. I've had so much fun rediscovering baseball over the last year and a half. I've always been a fan, but I kind of fell out of it for a while there. I'm so glad I'm back. Wrigley Field is magical. Baseball is satisfying. The Cubs are the greatest team in baseball, even in years when they can't win to save their lives. Thanks, guys, for bringing so much joy back into my life.

I think this job is making me sick. I never feel good when I'm here.

Eh, motivation to get off my ass and do something creative. Like write a children's show to go up next fall. It's something to think about anyway...

It's official.

Grades have been posted.

I completed the Lawyer's Assistant Program.

With straight H's.

H for "honors."

It's like getting straight A's, but in a non-credit program.

So I got no credit hours for my eight classes, just eight H's.

And I can wear my H's like a badge of honor.

Because H is for honor.

I know that for some people, getting married is still the thing to do. It sounds like a good idea at the time, so they go for it. Fine. Groovy. Best of luck to them. But how does one pull one's friend aside and say, "Dude, you're marrying the wrong person?" The answer is, one doesn't. One just hangs one's head and makes that "tsk, tsk" noise with one's tongue and hopes that five years from now, the divorce isn't too terrible.

The thing about being vegan for me is that I don't view it as a limiting diet. I know that sounds completely insane, but I don't see it that way. Yes, there are a lot of things that I don't eat. But for every thing I gave up, I have found three things to eat that I otherwise would not have and I really like those things. I've gotten much more creative in my diet since I became vegan. No, they aren't monstrous, earth-shattering changes, but they are enough to keep me happy. For instance, I own tumeric. I put grapes in my salad. I cooked teriyaki tofu steaks. I would not have done these things if I did not have cause to and I am so glad I have tried all of these things. They're tasty. And sure, there have been occasions where I have not gone out to eat with a group of people because I knew there wouldn't be anything at the restaurant for me, but the percentage of the time that it is an issue is so minor, it's no worse than when I would just not go because I wasn't feeling social.

So I guess what I'm saying is that veganism is not necessarily about limiting your options. It is about exploring different options. I think that if organizations that want more people to go veggie would present it in that light instead of showing the horrors of slaughterhouses and whatnot, a lot more people would be inclined to try it.

I picked up a couple of sarongs yesterday, because I needed one for Floss! and I have to say I am hooked. They are so comfortable and they are actually flattering on me. The only thing is that I feel like my transformation to complete hippie has taken another major step. I slept late this morning, got up, and put on my sarong and I'm walking around barefoot and eating salad. How much more evidence does one need that I am a hippie? Ah well. Hi, my name is Kitty and I'm a hippie.

So I have this little blog thingy. I've been writing in here for about two and a half years. And over that period of time, the wonderful people at Blogger.com have made updates and revisions to their software to make blogging cleaner, faster, prettier, and more user friendly. However, they have recently done something that is not very pretty. They have added this little search bar at the top of my blog. I'm not diggin' the search bar.

Now, I'm sure that for people with newer templates, the little search bar fits in nicely and doesn't destroy the whole aesthetic of the blog. And in theory, it's a neat idea because you could just type in "Moby" and find all of the entries I've written singing Moby's praises. But I have an older template. One no longer available to new bloggers. And the little search bar does not fit in at all with the aesthetic of my template. In fact, it blocks part of it out. I tried making modifications to my template to allow for the search bar, but they didn't seem to work. I even tried making the search bar silver so it would at least be in the same color family as the rest of my blog. That didn't take.

So my dear, beloved readers, I am aware of the problem. I am trying to remedy it. Of course, if any of the wonderful people at Blogger.com knows how I can simply remove the search bar, or move it to a different location in my blog (as part of the side bar, perhaps?), I would be happy to make those changes as well. But please bear with me in the meantime as my blog looks a little crappy.

And I promise I'll stop saying "blog" soon. It's not a very fun word.

When does one cross over from "good friend" territory into "savior" territory? And how does one know when one has crossed? And how does one prevent oneself from crossing?

I ask because I want to be a good friend to my friends, but I don't want to be responsible for saving anybody. If my friends need to talk to someone, I want to be there to listen to them. If my friends need help getting out of a jam, I want them to know they can turn to me and I'll do what I can. My friends are very important to me and I want them to know that I will always do whatever I can for them. But I know that there are people out there with whom I associate who would very gladly take advantage of that and would use me and abuse me and throw me away, if you know what I'm saying, and I know that I have to steel myself against that happening. I have to know when it is okay to say, "No, I can't directly help you in this case, but here is somewhere else you can turn." That kind of thing. And how does one say that without coming off as a collossal bitch?

I guess what I'm saying is that there is very little I won't do for my friends, but I do need to find some time in there to look out for me, too. I hope you all understand.

I have absolutely nothing to say, so let's see how long I can ramble.

I studied regular Dutch verbs today and how to conjugate them. It is actually kind of interesting. Well, very interesting to me as I really do want to learn how to speak Dutch. I keep watching the Olympics and cheering just as much for the Dutch and the Aussies as I am cheering for the Americans. The men's 200m freestyle was hard on me, as the gold, silver, and bronze went to Australia, Holland, and America, respectively. I kinda wish the Dutch guy had taken the gold, but he took silver so I'm happy. But I really do like the Dutch language. And I think I'm decent at conjugating regular verbs. If only I had someone to practice my conjugations on and someone to help me with my pronunciation. And then there's just the matter of vocabulary. The site I have been using (which is very helpful, by the way) doesn't have a vocabulary section, just grammar rules. It will translate things for you, but I'd still like just a list of vocabulary words that I could practice with. It was kind of nice that in some of the exercises, I recognized a word or two. Ik zal leren.

And it never ceases to amaze me, first of all, that people enjoy listening to my music, but secondly, with how many have heard it and enjoyed it, I still couldn't fill even the smaller concert venues in Chicago. I have a lot of work ahead of me if I want to actually be able to do this for a living. And a lot to do if I want to act for a living. It is all stuff that I can do, there's just a lot of it and it gets daunting sometimes. Which is why I almost wish I was on a t-contract -- so it would kick my ass into gear.

And summer is almost over. Even though it never really got here. I need those two weeks of weather so stinking hot you can't move to offset the Chicago winters. Without my scorching heat, this winter is going to be tough. But I have a lot to look forward to. I'm going back into Floss! as Fluflexakuku Tootrini and so far, I like her very much. Imagine Charlie Chaplin as a flightless bird. Yeah, that's her. She's fun.

Anyway, I have a meeting to get to so I think I'm going to see if I can sneak out a couple of minutes early. Because, as we can all tell, I've been very useful here today at work. Uh huh. And I've got a herd of camels who can do backflips just dying to join your circus if you are interested in purchasing them.

Is "herd of camels" the proper term?

It's just a job, right?

You know how you get to a certain point in your life, relatively often if you're lucky, wherein you have to take stock of what you have and get rid of the junk that you don't need or that is weighing you down? You may do it by cleaning out your closets, or you may examine all of the friendships in your life or whatever. You take stock of what you have and you jettison the junk.

I was talking to my mom about my job last week because I had just been talking to the people at work about my job. I'm not happy here. I've not been happy here for four years. I was content for a while, but now I'm just flat out miserable. I hate having to come here every day and pretend like I have things to do when I get here. It's a waste of my time and a waste of their money. And my mom thought of an option that I had not yet considered -- ask them to fire me. I'm an academic employee, which means I work here on a contractual basis and my contract is renewed yearly. When you fire an academic employee, you put them on a t-contract, which is good for one more year but is non-renewable. So my mom asked what would happen if I asked them to put me on a t-contract. I'd have one more year of steady income, and one year to get my ass in gear and look for the kind of work I actually want to be doing. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal, huh? But it scares the living daylights out of me. I have no savings right now. Granted, by the time my year is up, I should have a little bit stashed away. And my monthly expenses will have gone down significantly at that point, too. But the thought of leaving a job with a steady income and great benefits is frightening. Especially with the job market being what it is right now. On the up side, a lot more films and television are being produced in Chicago right now. I could just go bust my ass as a PA for a while. And I'd also have a year to figure all of that stuff out. Because the thought of coming in here everyday for an indefinite amount of time is frightening, too. Ik haat mijn baan.

It's just a job, right?

Good movies always make me think about something. That's why I know they are good movies. If I walk out of the theater wondering what I'm going to have for dinner or if my car got towed, it couldn't have been that good of a movie. If I walk out wanting to cry or reminiscing about a love that never was, I know it was a good movie.

Garden State is a good movie.

I know this because I'm thinking about a love that never was, but at the same time won't die. To the point that I've started to think about someone fifty years from now working on my biography, finding out about this love that never was and writing a stirring, emotional chapter in my biography about how I knew this pure love, but never saw it realized and thus remained single my entire life. And how hundreds of men loved me along the road and did everything they could to make me happy, but none of them could live up to that first love, and isn't that just so romantic? And I'm thinking that relationships are not as easy as they look in the movies. They never work that way. Nobody falls in love in a day and actually acts on it. We're all so fucking paranoid when it comes to relationships that even more frightening than the phrase "You're going to die today" is the phrase "I love you." And how messed up is that? And I'm thinking that if I ever meet Zach Braff, I will have to not only compliment him on his film, but also on his musical tastes -- there's a Colin Hay tune in the movie.

And more than anything, I'm thinking that I want to be an actor when I grow up. And I want to grow up tomorrow.

I have a friend who is currently in Athens a tthe Olympics. Not competing -- he's part of the press that is over there. And I can't even begin to tell you how jealous I am. I think what I love about eh Olympics is that it is a healthy form of competition. It's not about who has the biggest guns or the most money or whatever. The country that sends one athlete is just as much in the games and is just as celebrated as the country that sends 500 athletes. It was really nice to see the American athletes get a nice, warm welcome. And it was equally heartwarming to see the warm welcome for the Iraqi delegation. I would like to see Iraqis and Americans competing in various events, and have them both win alternating events, or have them both loose all of those events. Show everyone that we're all just people, you know? Everyone there is there to play hard and do the best they can. Everyone wants to win. Everyone is playing by the same rules. It's too bad we can't resolve all of our conflicts like that.

Someday, I'd like to see some Olympic games. I'd like to be there for the Opening Ceremonies, to see the glory and the spectacle of all of it. But especially in times like these, I'd like to be in a great big room where everyone is accepting of everyone else, all in the spirit of healthy, athletic competition. I dunno. Maybe I'm nuts, but I have to think that it would be nice to be in a room that electric.

...and done.

Unless something goes horribly wrong, I graduated from paralegal school with honors. Straight honors, as in, honors in all of my classes. It's like graduating with a 4.0. That is, unless something goes horribly wrong. But on the final I took last night and the one I just finished taking online today, I am fairly confident that I got the grades I needed to graduate with all honors.

So now what? Now I'm going to go play my guitar in a coffee shop for tips.

More upcoming gigs! Yay!

Same venue, but still. First of all, it means they liked me enough the first time to bring me back. Good thing. And second, it's a chance to just kind of go and get my feet wet with the whole "gigging" thing. The more you do it, the easier it gets. And this is a pretty low pressure venue, so I don't have to be freaking out about being judged too harshly or anything.

So yay. I'm excited that I get to play out some more. I can really do this, you know? Yay me.

*ring, ring*

"Hello?"

"Hi. Yes, I'm trying to reach Mr. John Doe."

"Well, you're obviously not trying hard enough."

*click*

Tee hee.

I've been meaning to write about this all day and I'm just now getting to it. I know, I suck. Please forgive me.

I went to an open mic last night and had so much fun, I can't even tell you. I was flying. And in case you haven't been keeping up with your Kitty Reading, I've not been flying about much of anything recently, so it felt really good. I went with the intention of playing "Regardless," just to try playing it out, you know? But the place I went usually lets you do three songs. So I walk in the door with my mind pretty much made up that I'll cover a Rachel Yamagata song, too, but that I'll just do the two. That's all I really wanted to do. And when I get there, the guys running it both come over and say hi and ask if I'm going to play and I sign up and whatnot. And while they are playing at the start of the night, they said something along the lines of, "We're going to play one more and then Kitty is going to come up and do a couple. She's a very talented Chicago singer/songwriter, and she's played here and at Uncommon Ground at at the coffee house down the street, Red Eyes?" at which point I nodded, "and we're very lucky to have here here tonight. So she'll be coming up in a minute, and a few other people have signed up so it should be a good night." Or something to that effect. The important bit being: I was plugged! They made a special point of mentioning that I was going to play. These guys only know me from playing out. They only know me as a musician. I only know them as musicians. And without asking for it or saying anything, bam! They gave me a nod in their set. I was floored and tickled pink all at the same time. I started thinking, "Wow. I could really do this. I could really be a musician, running around playing gigs. And people other than my family (though I love you very much) would show up to see it." I felt great.

So I got up to play a little later (turns out another guy signed up to play before me, but it was all good) and by that time I was all kinds of nervous. They had built me up to the audience. What if I sucked? So I said, "Hi. I'm Kitty. Originally, I just wanted to play one song tonight, but it's kind of a downer and I started thinking that might not be the best impression to give a room full of people who've never heard me play before, so I'll play two." At which point, people cheered. "Yeah, so I'll play this one first. It's not mine, but it is by another lovely and talented Chicago singer/songwriter, Rachel Yamagata." More cheers. I start thinking, "Oh, crap, they know the song and they're going to be pissed that I'm slaughtering it." But I said, "It's called 'Worn Me Down.'" And I played it. And damn, I sounded good. I got a little bit of the great throaty thing going near the end of the song when I belted it, too, and the crowd went nuts. As soon as I finished the song, they started yelling, "Do three! Do three!" I told them to get back to me after "Regardless." I've played "Regardless" better at home, but the first time a song appears in front of people is never the best. You have to get used to playing it in front of people. Especially when it's so personal. But when I finished, they all yelled for me to do one more. I didn't know what to play, so I closed with "Hamburg." In retrospect, I should have played "Astoria Park" or "That's What You Get" to really seal the night, but they seemed to enjoy all three songs anyway, so it's all good. And I got a lot of nice comments from people afterwards, too.

I know my entries are boring when I'm just telling a story. But I felt so good last night. So good. The fact that they mentioned me in their set, as a kind of "stick around to see this chick, because she's good" thing felt like...it's like I've been recognized by my peers as a legitimate musician. I think more than being booked at a certain venue, that made me feel like I've made it. I'm not just a paralegal who writes songs in her spare time. I'm not a girl who kind of knows how to play the guitar and has a thing for lyrics. It's not just a hobby. I'm a musician. That feels really good to say that. And somehow even better to have someone else say it. Someone who I also respect as a musician, you know?

I'm sure I just offended somebody by saying that. That wasn't my intent. I love hearing from family and friends and many of you are musicians as well. It was just different somehow. Like the difference between your mom telling you your show was good and getting a good review in the newspaper. If that makes any sense.

I'll stop gloating now. I just wanted to make sure I can come back and remember my first official nod as a Chicago musician. It might not seem like much, but it meant the world to me.

Today's topic: Strip clubs.

Yes, I've been to a few. Truth be told, they're no big deal. I always go with a group of guys and aside from maybe one of them who hasn't gotten any in a long time, they all seem pretty nonplussed about the whole experience, too. Let's examine why.

You have a mainstage upon which a girl will come out in some skimpy dress. She "dances" for a little while, which usually amounts to her walking back and forth between a couple of poles, trying not to fall over in her eighteen-inch platform shoes. She's moving in slow motion, because apparently, that's sexy, even though the music being played is thumping techno or bass-heavy R&B. And by the time the second song starts, that's the time for her to take off the skimpy dress, so now she's walking back and forth in slow motion just wearing a thong, because apparently, that's sexy. And occasionally, she'll lower herself to the floor in some seductive way to let someone shove a dollar bill into her garter belt or shoe. And when her second song is over, she puts her dress back on and walks around the club, offering lap dances to the patrons. If someone purchases one of these lap dances, said girl will gyrate (still in slow motion) in front of said patron for a little while, wearing the skimpy dress, which she will then seductively remove and continue to gyrate in front of said patron for a little while. When said gyrating is done, she puts her dress back on and walks around the club some more.

Now, first of all, the girls aren't really dancing. Sure, it's probably tricky in those shoes, but come on. If you want dollars, work for them. You have to do something other than just being naked. I've talked to enough guys who are of the same opinion to know that this isn't just me. You will get the occasional girl who can do some pretty cool things with a pole, and those girls deserve tips. But a lot of them just look bored and uninterested. That, to me, is decidedly not sexy.

And secondly, why put the dress back on? We've already seen everything you have to offer. Not that the dress leaves much to the imagination, but we've just seen you "dancing" naked on stage. Do you really think we're sitting here thinking, "Gee, I wonder what she looks like without that dress? Maybe if I buy a lap dance from her, I'll get to find out." No. We already know what you look like without a dress. So unless you are going to be uber sexy in how you take the dress off (which most of them aren't because let's face it, it's hard to step out of a knit dress gracefully when you're wearing eighteen-inch spiked heels), just leave it off. All this dressing and undressing just gets tedious.

And finally, the drinks in these places. I would think that it would be in the club's best interest to serve strong drinks. Patrons will get drunker faster and spend more money on more drinks and more dances. The drinks in these places are notoriously weak. Which, I guess one could argue makes patrons buy more drinks in an attempt to get drunk, but after about the second drink, when you still have not noticed a trace of alcohol, you start to feel that you are wasting your time and money and maybe you should just go home. Again, I've heard men voice this same opinion, so I know it's not just me.

So all in all, I find strip clubs to be throughly unimpressive. Or at least the ones I've been to. And I've been to a few. Maybe I'm expecting too much as a fellow woman with different ideas of what is sexy and what is not, but I find strip clubs to be decidely not sexy. They do, in a weird way, make me feel better about myself, though. I know I dance better than that.

I'm kind of in love with my new song. I guess that's normal. I think every artist falls in love with his or her work when it is new and the emotions that fueled the creation are still fresh. I sometimes feel like I'm being egotistical when I walk around with my own song stuck in my head. And I know I must drive my neighbors crazy, playing the same song over and over and over again. But I like this one. And Owen likes this one. And that's really all that matters, isn't it?

And please cross your fingers for me. I e-mailed a record label today to see if I could send them my disc. I'm not banking too much on it, but hey, it's a step, right?

I've been in such a foul mood as of late, I decided to have a hermit night last night. I ordered a pizza, watched some TV, and didn't answer my phone. I apologize to my friend who kept calling -- I did get your message, but I really didn't want to talk to anyone or have to explain why I didn't want to talk to anyone. It's nothing personal.

I did write a new song, though. It's kind of haunting and heart-wrenching. I know, big change for me. But it's kind of spooky. And it's one of those songs that is really about one thing, but sounds like it could be about something else. I'm guessing most people will think it is about the something else, and that's fine. I hope that one day the person I wrote it for gets to hear it and I wonder if that person will think it is about the something else. I still need to tweak the ending a little bit. I'm not totally happy with some of the lyrics. But all in all, I like it. It's been running through my head all morning. Maybe because I woke up early enough that I got to play it before I came in to work. But yeah, I think I'll call it "Regardless." That's a good name.

And now I have to go sleep through a meeting. I mean, take minutes at a meeting.

I got into an argument with one of my classmates last night about the nature of the American legal system. She argues that it is great because pretty much anyone can sue pretty much anyone else for pretty much anything. I think it is terrible for exactly that reason. And it got me to thinking and I have realized exactly why it is that I don't want to be a lawyer or a paralegal.

I'm not vindictive enough.

The guy who hit me with his car. Sure, I could sue him, but what good would that do? I wasn't really hurt. I should sue him to recover my ten dollar copay from my doctor's visit? I should sue him so that he'll learn his lesson? I'm not going to sue somebody over ten dollars and truth be told, any good lawyer would laugh in my face. And as far as teaching him a lesson -- maybe I'm being naive, but I'd like to think that he's sitting at home thinking he's just as lucky as I was. I'm lucky I wasn't killed. He's lucky he didn't kill me. Next time, he could kill somebody. So maybe he'll pay a little more attention so next time won't happen.

Am I crazy for thinking that way? Am I, cynic to rival the best cynics, putting too much faith in human nature by believing that a person's pocketbook does not have to be completely emptied before they will learn something?

I'm not saying that all lawsuits are frivolous. Yes, the people who are injured so badly they can't work for the rest of their lives should be able to recover damages from the careless idiot whose fault it was. Yes, criminals who break the law should be prosecuted. But there are also a lot of lawsuits filed that don't need to be. If one person would just step up and say, "Look. You fucked up. I know you didn't mean to, but you did. Don't let it happen again," and walk away from it, how much more efficient would our court system be? Maybe this is why so many cases settle out of court -- those are the suits that shouldn't have even been filed in the first place and the one side knows it, so they settle just to avoid the hassle. Why couldn't both sides realize that sooner and not file in the first place?

I dunno. I don't understand that vindictive mentality. I don't understand the need to make somebody pay for every bad thing that happens in life. Should I sue all of the kids who teased me at school for mental anguish? No. I'm a stronger, more confident person because I had to learn to deal with that and how to love myself even with all of those flaws that they were so anxious to point out. Should I sue my parents for getting divorced and making me miserable at the time? No. Again, I'm a stronger person because of that experience. Should I sue the guy who ran me over? No. I wasn't injured. Should I sue the guy who stole laundry detergent out of the trunk of my car? No. It's fuckin' laundry detergent.

I guess I'm just saying that people should toughen up and take responsibility. No, I was not responsible for getting hit. But I was responsible for realizing that dragging that man to court would be a waste of my time and energy, his time and energy, our lawyer's time and energy, the court's time and energy, and the time and energy of all of our combined families and friends. And I will happily own that realization.

I'm not saying people who have been truly wronged shouldn't seek retrobution. I'm not trying to deny anyone's right to do so. I'm just saying that just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

Does that make me nuts?

I saw a little bit of the segement with Bill Clinton on Dave Letterman last night and I have to say, I forgot what it was like to have the leader of the free world be literate.

Let me say this right quick: I know very little about Bill Clinton's presidency. I am not saying he was perfect and Shrub sucks because he's not like Clinton. Shrub does plenty of sucking on his own -- no comparisons are necessary. I'm just saying it was nice to hear someone talk about politics who has been there and knows what he's talking about.

That being said, he's a very intelligent man. He wasn't bad-mouthing the current administration, but he did find certain areas that gave him pause and he commented on them. Like the fact that we have so few troops in Afghanistan, which is where the real threat lies. He said something about how it's good that Hussein is no longer in power because nobody likes Hussein, but bin Laden is the real threat and perhaps had we pursued that, this information we are just now decoding that is three years old might have been found a year ago. That kind of thing. I kind of got the impression that he was saying that while some of Shrub's decisions have resulted in sort of good things happening, if he had made other decisions, even more better things could have happened. It was kind of nice to hear that perspective. And from someone who can speak extemperaneously without sounding like a total boob.

I think I'm going to have to do another of my almost-patented "I'm not going to drink for a while" things again. I didn't drink last night and it felt good, but I have noticed that the amount of alcohol I consume each time I go out is rising. It's not just one drink, it's three. And while that's okay every once in a while, I don't need to be doing that all of the time. That's too much. So yeah, maybe until the end of the month or something, no more booze for me.

There is very little stranger than riding an elevator that does not play muzak (or music) and suddenly hearing, very loudly and distinctly, a man's voice saying, "Shut up, George."

I hadn't had anything really strange happen to me in a few days, so that kind of made me happy. Thanks, guy who's pissed at George.

So I played a little show in a coffee shop yesterday and made twelve dollars in tips. Not too shabby for such a little place with such bad sound. The microphone only worked intermittantly, and when the guitar was not plugged into an amp, so I had to ditch a couple of my quieter songs, but I think people had a good time anyway. In retrospect, I didn't play one request, but it was a quiet one, so I don't know how well it would have worked out if I tried it. And people say I sounded good. As in, I was belting stuff out like they've never heard me belt stuff out before. That felt good. I feel like I'm ready to go out and play a million venues and open for whoever. It's almost too bad that I'm going to be so insanely busy until...November.

But thank you to everyone who came out yesterday to see me play. And thank you to those of you who threw a couple bucks in the tip jar. Made me feel like an actual musician. Someday...

I'm a cynic. I think we all know that. But I'm a cynic who still has some blind faith in things around her. And as much as I hate to admit it, Senator Kerry's speech got me last night. Hook, line and sinker. He talked about hope. He talked about help. I only saw the last half of it, but I found it a refreshing change to not be scared stupid by the man talking on the television as I am when Bush makes a speech. If I wasn't already going to vote for Mr. Kerry, I most certainly will now. Even though I know a lot of it is empty campaign promises, at least he is promisng the right things.

My dad gave me a book to read the other day about why the Democrats must be crushed and how to go about doing that. It makes me really sad that such a book exists. But I decided I would read it anyway, just to see what the other side has to say. I've only read the introduction and the first chapter because I was physically ill by the time I had gotten that far into it. How can one align oneself with a party so full of hatred and negativity? This hit me again last night during Kerry's speech -- he didn't spend the whole time Bush bashing. He called upon our current commander in chief to work together with Republicans and Democrats to bring about a brighter future, a unified United States. If for no other reason, I'm drawn to the Democratic party simply because they are not mired in negativity. They are trying to make the world better, not simply pointing out the faults of others. And it makes me sad how many people are not of this viewpoint. People who I love and respect. Why spend your lives hating and cutting down when you could spend them loving and building up? I don't get it.

Time for another list of good things in my life right now. I need a reminder.

I'm playing a show on Sunday. In public.

Waking up with my cat. It has to be my favorite part of the day. We're both still a little bleary and he just lets me pet him for a couple of minutes before we go into the kitchen to get him some breakfast. It really is sweet.

My mom. She rocks.

I got a job as a costume designer on an indie film. It's going to be a lot of work and frustration for very little money, but at least it is time spent doing something creative/something that I love to do.

I got called back for another film, though in all honesty, I'm not holding my breath because most of the characters are in their teens.

I rekindled an old friendship.

I'm part of a theater company. An honest to goodness, recognized by the public and the press theater company.

Stanley's Produce. I just can't sing their praises enough. They keep me in fresh fruits and veggies all for a very reasonable price.

Yeah, that's about all I can think of for right now. I'm about to get insanely busy, so if my posting is a little less frequent for a while, that's why. But it's good, fun stuff that I'm doing and I'm very happy that I get to be doing it. I'm just missing one very important pat on the back right now that is kind of making me feel like crap. Very much making me feel like crap. It's one that has been missing for a long time, or it's been feeling more like a slap on the cheek than a supportive pat on the back, and it's one that I think it is time to do something about, I'm just not sure that I'm strong enough to do it in the best possible manner right now. If I focus on the positive things in my life, I'll feel stronger and more able to confront this little problem, right? So focus on the positives. I have a lot of creative things coming up that I am looking forward to. I have a lot of wonderful people in my life. I am well fed (seriously, I made terriyaki tofu steaks over the weekend with whole wheat couscous and carrots and they were really yummy. Plus the whole cheap organic veggies thing). I have a beautiful, beautiful cat who brings me immense amounts of joy. I have a lot of good in my life. Hopefully the missing piece will start to see that soon, too.

There is one thing I don't understand about rockstardom, and that is the phenomenon of people wanting to have sex with rock stars because of the music they write. Lemme 'splain.

Take a good, long, hard look at Steven Tyler (lead singer of Aerosmith). While I'm sure he is a great person, he is not at all physically attractive to me. Not one bit. He's kind of odd looking. Take a good, long, hard look at a lot of the big rock stars out there, and you'll see that a lot of them are kind of average looking, if not rather dorky. (The exception to this rule is the boy band star or the teen girl idol, but in their cases, people lust after them purely for their looks, not so much for their musical talent as they seldom have enough to fill a shot glass. Anyway.) Regardless, there are still millions of people out there who want to sleep with these average/dorky looking rock stars. I don't get it. Is it the fact that this person has a lot of money? Because if you're just a one night stand with this rock star, you aren't going to see a penny of that (unless you're a hooker/giggolo). Is it because this person is famous? Because again, if you're a (pardon my French) fuckable groupie, you're not going to get in on the fame action. Is is so you can brag to your friends later? Guess what. They aren't going to believe you.

It would seem, then, that the most logical reason why a person would want to sleep with a rock star is because of the music he/she writes. Which is also, in and of itself, kind of fucked up. If you listen to 90% of the music out there, regardless of genre, it is about failed relationships and heartache. Do you really want to sleep with someone with that much baggage that he/she has been able to turn it into a career? Because trust me, you aren't going to be able to save that person, but even if you could, you would then probably have to deal with being the reason why said rock star no longer writes music worth the paper is it written on. For example, Yoko Ono. Blamed to this day for breaking up the Beatles and the music she and John made together...well, it's considered crap by most of the ear-possessing world.

I don't get it. Call me crazy, but I don't. I've been to the websites of various rock stars and there is always a contingent of "I want to have your baby!" or "I want you to have my baby!" type posts. People, we don't know these people. We don't know rock stars in the way you should know someone you are sleeping with. Wouldn't you rather be totally fulfilled than have a wild romp with some guy who won't remember your name or your face the next day, just because he plays a mean guitar? Chances are, by the time you get to him, he's so drunk it won't be any fun for you anyway.

And now we're going to get really weird and egotistical (and I mean that as the royal "we"). Is there anyone out there who has heard my music and wants to sleep with me because of it? Eep. I don't know if that is something I even want to think about. I know artists are attractive, but...I dunno. I'm not always 100% me in my songs. Sometimes I exaggerate. Sometimes, I play a different character. So to have someone take that character that I play and fantasize about it to the point where he/she wants to sleep with me because of it...it's almost as bad as being lusted after purely for looks.

I dunno. I'm rambling now. Blame it on the super crazy dreams I had last night, which I blame on the fact that I finished reading my first Harry Potter book (the fourth in the series -- doing things in order is overrated anyway) right before I went to bed last night. Just tell me to shut up and get back to my mah jongg.

So the universe is still looking out for me. Thanks.

And crap. It's going to be a crazy month.

No more crushes for me.

It occurred to me last night after I finished singing an improptu duet at karoke (I picked the song, but the fact that it became a duet was the impromptu bit) with a really good looking man (we're talking get your drool bucket, ladies) (and gay gents) after I had spent the entire rest of the evening half-watching this other really good looking man who wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to me. How dare he not watch a complete stranger interact with her friends. I know, sad. Anyway, yeah. It occurred to me that these little crushes that I get kind of force me to limit my own options. As I'm crushing on one guy, I miss another who may be even better suited to me. And I put a lot of time and energy into having crushes on cute boys. Seeing as the cute boys never have crushes on me at the same time, it's really a waste of all of that time and energy.

So no more. No more showing up places hoping the object of my crush might be there. No more not looking at cute boys because the object of my crush might be watching. No more acting like a stupid girl when the object of my crush is in the room. I will continue to appreciate the male form in all of it's glory, don't get me wrong. But no more sitting around, waiting, wishing, wanting something to happen with a particular guy. I've always had this weird faith that I will meet the guy I'm supposed to meet someday, and when I do meet him, we'll both know it. These boys who I have crushes on are obviously not on the same page as me. So why waste my time when I could just ignore them (if they are total strangers) or be my usual silly, charming, friendly, anti-social self around them (if they are my friends/aquaintances already) and probably get to know them better in the process?

So if I've told any of you about a crush I'm having, consider it gone (except for the Moby crush. That one ain't goin' anywhere). And if I tell any of you about a cute boy in the future, I'm merely informing you of his aesthetic value. There's no need for the follow up, "So did you give him your number?" question because the answer will be no. I'm just pointing out an attractive man.

I'm going ask one more time: can anyone name for me one really, honestly, truly good-for-America thing that George W. has done in office? Really. I want to know.

People are quick to say that Kerry and Edwards lack experience. They are quick to judge Kerry for his voting record (not saying that they shouldn't, but they are). They are quick to judge Edwards for being a lawyer. I ask you, though, to look at the alternative. Would you honestly rather have another four years of that? Four more years of budget cuts for everyone except the miltary? Four more years of the rest of the world hating us? Four more years of your friends losing jobs and not being able to find new ones? Four more years of a president with a military agenda, a love for big oil companies, and very little else?

And let's look at what kind of experience George W. had prior to taking office. Sure, he was the Governor of Texas for a while. He plunged that state into debt. Polluted it worse than anyone else. Did terrible things for the state education system. Did terrible things for senior citizens living in Texas. But hey, he has more experience in office, so let's give it to him, right?

I hate being this invested in an election. I hate that I care about this shit. Because really, that's all it is -- shit. One guy calling the other names; the second reacting in a similar manner. But I'm floored by people who would rather endure another four years under our current administration than take a chance on a man who evaluates each situation as it comes, and is willing to reevaluate if the circumstances change. I can't wait to hear Kerry's speech next week. And more than that, I can't wait for Mr. Kerry to be inaugurated in January so we can put an end to all of this shit and I can very happily go back to living in a hole.

And my fingers smell like barbecue potato chips.

The idea of birthday presents has always been kind of an odd one to me. Or at least, the idea of parents giving their children birthday presents. Parents provide everything for their kids -- food, shelter, clothing, education, affection, etc -- it just seems a little excessive to give them birthday presents, too. If anything, the kids should give the parents presents on the kid's birthday to say thank you for bringing me into this world.

But then it occurred to me that the child is a treasure to the parent. The parent is grateful that the child is in his/her life. Hence the gifts. And it applies to other relationships, too. I'm going to celebrate the day you came into the world because you are my friend and I love you and I'm glad you are a part of the world in general, and my world in particular. Here. Have some socks.

I don't know what got me thinking about this today. My mom sent me the story of the day I was born this year on/around my birthday and it's a good one. I was not a long, drawn out, painful labor. Poof! I was there. Mom was tired. The nurses asked if they could show me off. Of course, my mom tells the story much better than I do. Maybe I'll post her version up here some day. Either way, thanks, Mom and Dad, for bringing me into this world. I'm glad to be here.

Does anyone else have the sneaking suspicion that Ralph Nader is a Republican* or is it just me? Think about it: his platform is exactly the opposite of what Republicans want, right? So how easy would it be for a Republican to come up with that? And he's spent the last four years being kind of blamed for Shrub getting into office -- if Nader hadn't run, then the left would not have been split and the gap between Gore and Bush would have been wide enough that no matter how many of Shrub's daddy's friends are sitting on the Supreme Court, Shrub still could not have been installed into office. And yet this year, he's running again.

Mr. Nader, if indeed you are so liberal as to truly, truly believe in the aims of the Green Party, I applaud you. You stand for a lot of the things I believe in and I thank you for that. However, the political climate of this country is not one that at this time can sustain a three party system and frankly, there is too much important stuff going on right now to try to make a change of that magnitude. Perhaps if America was not hated by so much of the rest of the world. Perhaps if our nation's finances were in a better state. Perhaps then we could try to institute change in this country that would allow for a three party system. But right now, we need everyone who is even slightly left of center to band together to get our current administrator out of office. And frankly, while I applaud your aims, you're not going to get the entire "left of center" contingent to vote for you. You might get 3% of them. While the other "left of center" candidate could get forty- or fifty-some-odd percent of them. If we gave him your 3%, it just might be enough to remove the Shrub.

We can guarantee that none of your goals will be met with Shrub in office for four more years. We can't guarantee that all of them will be met with Kerry in office, but they will at least be heard and addressed, and maybe some of them will be met. So for the good of the majority, would you please step down from the race? I like what you have to say, but more than that, I'd like to have a man in office who didn't fill me with fear and dread every time he opens his mouth and the only way to remove him is to work together.

Thanks.

*I have no basis for this claim; I'm just thinking out loud. Please don't sue me for defamation or anything as I am making no real claims or assertions.

So as near as I can tell, camping is about getting together and enjoying nature by blowing things up and drinking. It is the epitome of guys being guys. And it is a hell of a lot of fun. Or would be, if there were actual bathrooms. Yes, I have now peed in the woods. It was a big step for me, but I've done it. I'd be happy to not do it again. But all in all, I had a great time camping with my honorary brother and company, so thanks, guys, for inviting me. I had a blast.

And, I have a gig on August 1! Yay! Planning, preparation, promotion between now and August 1. Wish me luck!

I got a line on another gig. And I played an entirely different character in Floss! tonight, which was silly crazy fun. And I'm going camping tomorrow. I haven't camped since I was probably nine and truth be told, I'm nervous. But all in all, I think it will be fun, as long as I can get over the whole bathroom thing. Wish me luck!

Somehow this one didn't actually post. And sadly, I don't remember what I wrote. Sorry.

Hi, my name is Kitty and I'm a dork.

I'm kind of sort of addicted to online mah jongg solitaire. It appeals to my anal-retentive nature. Cleaning up matching pairs of tiles. Listening to the little "ding" as the tiles vanish. It is very satisfying somehow.

So if I don't post for a little while, it's because I'm playing mah jongg. I'll finish knitting my afghan later.

On the down side, I let my doctor weigh me yesterday. I haven't stepped on a scale in over a year, I don't think. And I came away from it with mixed feelings.

Good news: I have not gained any weight in the past two years.

Bad news: I have not lost any weight in the past two years.

Amazingly, it didn't depress me. I didn't freak out and get really down on myself or anything. I still went home and had dinner. And while I have the thought in my head that it wouldn't kill me to lose a little, I'm not obsessing about it.

And, if I could, I'd like to throw this out there. First of all, you all know that I love you, right? Okay. Now. Whenever I write about my weight or my self-image, I get this barage of e-mails from everyone offering me diet tips. I thank you for your concern. I'd rather not get your tips. I eat very healthy. I know the basic principles behind just about every kind of diet there is out there. I will admit that I snack more than I should. So if it really starts to bug me, I'll cut back on the snacking and bump up the walking (yes, I'll still go out walking the city streets at night). I'm only mentioning this whole incident at all as a sort of record for myself, not as a cry for help. So I love you, but please don't respond to this entry. It honestly only makes me feel worse about myself.

Thanks.

The doctor has pronounced me A-OKAY. Well, she acknowledges that I am kind of sore, mostly on my right side since that is the side that absorbed most of the impact, and she said I'll probably get increasingly sore for the next couple of days, but she's not really worried about it. She told me to stretch and take Advil if it gets really bad.

So that's it. My "getting hit by a car" story comes to an end. I was hit by a car and I got away with some muscle soreness.

One of my friends sent me a note, though, saying that he knows of several people who obtained super powers after being hit by cars. I'm hoping mine will be something really groovy, like the ability to understand men, or maybe just that extra inch of flexibility I need to be able to put my leg over my head. Because how am I ever going to get onto Stupid Human Tricks if I can't even put my leg over my head?

I think I might have to break down and go get checked out. My lower back hurts in a spot that it has never hurt before. A muscle I didn't know I had. And there is still general soreness throughout my right leg. I'm hoping it's nothing major. I know it's nothing major, but I think maybe I should go get checked out just in case. I'm one of the lucky ones who has health insurance, so I might as well use it, right?

And on a completely unrelated note, I played not one, but two open mics last night. One that I used to play a long time ago and one that I've known about for a long time, just never gone to. The first one was okay. I played "Beautiful World" by Colin Hay because more people need to hear that song and I thought it oddly fitting to play that the day after I was hit by a car. Not for the lovey-isn't-the-world-grand reasons -- for the sarcastic ones. And it went alright. Then I went over to this other open mic which is ridiculously close to my house and where they actually know how to set up sound well. Or at least the guy running it last night did. And over there, you get to play three songs. So I played three of mine. And the crowd loved them. I had two or three people who I've never met before make a point of getting up, walking across the room, and telling me how much they enjoyed my set. If you can call it a set. So that felt good. Get back on the wagon, so to speak.

And things are kind of in motion to get me a gig in September. I'll know more tomorrow.

Be well! And don't get hit by any cars.

My right leg is a little bit sore. And there is a baby bruise with a few broken blood vessels under my right knee. And about a square millimeter of skin was scraped off of my left knee. But that's it. To be honest, I feel a little gypped. I got hit by a car. I should have something to show for it beyond a couple broken blood vessels. I was hit by a car, for pete's sake, and I don't really have any marks on me that will get me pity points from the people around me.

Because also, in all honesty, it's a lot scarier today than it was last night. I didn't sleep last night and I don't know if it was the salsa or the fact that I couldn't get the image of the car coming at me and not slowing down out of my head. Which is silly, I know, because it already did hit me and I'm fine. But it is a pretty terrifying image. Mostly because it is a real one. That really happened to me. I got hit by a car while I was out walking.

I was paranoid crossing the street this morning. And I feel like I'm being uber careful around other pedestrians. I'm not sure which frightens me more -- the fact that I could get hit again and it would actually cause damage this time, or that I could hit someone, no matter how careful I try to be. I hit a dog once and that was very traumatic. He jumped into the road right in front of my car and even though I tried to stop or swerve, it was a highway and I was going too fast to stop in time. I can't imagine how horrible I would feel if I hit a person. And part of me hopes that the guy who hit me last night couldn't sleep, either.

I guess it is better to get hit by a car than say, a bus or a Mack truck. At least with the sports car, I was able to sort of sit on the hood and thereby absorb a lot of the shock of being hit, and I didn't have that far to fall once I slid off. With a bus or a truck, that's a flat front vehicle. No give. No shock absorbtion. I guess all I could have hoped to do was hang on and not get pulled under the vehicle. Here's hoping I never have to do that.

But by the same token, part of me wants to go to stunt school now and become a stunt person. Fuck, I got hit by a car and walked three miles home afterwards. Is it because he really wasn't going that fast, or is it because I know how to take a hit and how to fall? Who knows. I could make a lot of money doing stunt work. But I don't think I'd ever sleep again. Is insominia a reasonable price to pay to become a millionaire? Probably not.

You ready for this? Ready? You're going to think I'm lying, but I have to promise you that I'm not. This is 100% true. You ready? Really ready? Okay, here goes. I got hit by a car tonight. For real. I got hit by a car.

So I had to return a cake pan to a friend of mine who had baked me this really yummy vegan chocolate cake for my birthday and she lives about three miles from me, so I decide I'll walk it back to her house for the sake of getting exercise. I should have worn my other socks. I now have an almost blister on my left foot. Oh well. You'd think I'd know better after the Avon Walk. Anyway, I decide I'll walk the cake pan back to my friend for the sake of getting some exercise and I decide I'll do it not in the middle of the day so I'm not battling heat, sun, and humidity. That was probably my mistake. Anyway, I get to my friend's house, return the pan, chat for a little while, drink some water, and head back out to go home at about 9:25pm. I realize at this point I will not be home in time to see "Coupling," but that's okay. I'd rather be out walking anyway.

I walk out the door and it's raining. Not uber hard, but hard enough that I'm getting wet. But as we all know, I've been in a rather foul mood as of late, so I'm actually enjoying walking in the rain. There's something cleansing about it. I walked past this wine store that had no customers in it, but a really cute guy behind the desk who kind of smiled at me as I walked past. In retrospect, I should have followed my instinct and gone in and said, "I don't even have my wallet with me, so I'm not going to buy anything, but you look really bored. Tell me a story," or something like that. But I didn't. But needless to say, I was starting to feel a little better as I was walking along. And as I'm going, I'm sort of playing the lights, by which I mean I'll cross a street and change my direction if the traffic lights are such that doing that will allow me to keep moving. This is only important when I get to the intersection of Broadway and Addison.

I'm walking north on Broadway, approaching Addison and I see that the light is just about to change, so I decide at the intersection, I'll turn and cross Broadway and start down Addison in a general westerly direction. Brightly lit intersection. I'm in the crosswalk. I not only have the green light, but the little white illuminated man telling me it is okay to cross the street. Yes, it is raining, but not that hard. So I'm almost through the intersection and I see a guy in a red sports car making a left turn who doesn't seem to notice that there is a pedestrian in his way. I yell, "Hey!" and take another step or two. At this point, I realize he is not slowing down. At this point, I realize he is going to hit me. I wasn't scared. I wasn't thinking, "Oh my god, I'm going to die right now and I've never tasted prickly pear!" I was thinking, "This jackass isn't paying attention and he's going to hit me. Crap." At this point, I also decided that me running for the other side of the street was probably a bad idea. Wet pavement means I'd have no footing. Plus, if my timing was just a smidge off, he could have hit just my ankle or something and caused some serious damage. So I braced myself. You know how you get to that point when you're about to fall over where you realize that the damage will be much less if you just let yourself fall? That if you put your hands out to brace yourself, you'll only make it worse? Yeah, it was kind of like that. I realized the best thing I could do was brace myself to be hit and try not to get hurt too badly. I don't know if I jumped a little when he actually hit me or not, but I went up on the hood of his car, kind of on my side (his bumper hit my right leg), I smacked the hood of his car, he slammed on the breaks, I slid off the hood of his car and onto the pavement. The heel of my hand felt a little bit of that "I just whacked into asphalt," but that was about it. My pant leg was soaked and I was suddenly glad that I wear long pants at all times or I would have had a nasty road burn on my thigh. And more than anything else, I was incredulous that this guy hit me. Not angry, not out for revenge, just stunned by his stupidity. So I stood up and he pulled over. The passenger opened his door and asked if I was okay. I asked if they look at where they are driving at all. The driver got out and came over to talk to me and asked if I was okay. I told him that he was very lucky that I was and asked him if he looks at where he's going when he's driving. He tried to blame it on the lights or something. I told him to pay attention when he drives from now on. He apologized in that "You should feel bad for making me feel guilty" kind of a way and I walked away. Another random woman in a random car rolled down her window to ask if I was okay. I replied that I was and took off on home.

I got about a block before I started laughing. I just got hit by a car. Was this my gentle reminder that even though I think things are really crappy right now that they could be a lot worse? Okay, message received. I just got hit by a car. And several things occurred to me in retrospect, probably the most interesting of which is that this accident happened right in front of a police station and narry a cop came out to see what happened. There was some honking involved. Plus the very loud whack of a car hitting a human being, followed by screeching tires. And not a single cop came out to investigate. But then again, what would a cop have done? I wasn't hurt. Can you give a driver a ticket for being a dumbass? Would I have had to press charges in order for the cop to issue a ticket? What would I press charges for? Being a dumbass? Because, like I said, I wasn't hurt. I walked almost three miles home from there. I didn't even have a bruised ego. You know how normally you feel stupid when you fall down? Not when you fall down after being hit by a car. I felt a little dumb when I was run over by a bull, but I think getting hit by a car is a perfectly acceptable reason to fall down. And seeing as it was entirely his fault, I don't even have injured pride. I actually got a really strange sense of invincibility out of the deal. I got hit by a car and walked three miles home afterwards. I even made a little girl laugh on my way home. After getting hit by a car. Am I crazy in thinking that that's not quite normal?

I also started replaying the incident in my head as a Monty Python skit, akin to the dead parrot sketch:

"You just hit me with your car."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes you did. You just hit me with your car."
"No, I didn't. You were lying in the street when I got there."
"I was lying in the street because you hit me with your car."
"It was a love tap."
"You hit me with your car!"

And so on and so forth.

So yes, I got hit by a car. It's one of those life experiences that I have now had and don't have to have again. I was hit by a car and walked three miles home afterwards. I got hit by a car and stood up, brushed myself off, went home, and took a shower. I think, though I could be wrong, that this entitles me to chips and salsa before bedtime. I think. And all those of you who have been wishing me ill for a long time can sleep well tonight with the image in your head of me being hit by a red sports car on a dark and rainy night. But in your version, I won't get up and walk three miles home. And you can stop wishing me ill for a little while, okay? Thanks.

Have a lovely day.

I think I figured out what it is that has been kind of bugging me as of late. As in, the past two months or so. And I'm wondering if it is just me or a cosmic shift or something because I have another friend going through something very similar. But anyway.

I'm kind of between friends right now. Groups of friends, anyway. See, it takes me a long time to get to know people and to feel comfortable in a large groups of people. I always feel the need to figure out my role in any group of people, so I have to sit back and watch everybody else and figure out what is missing and whether or not I can fill that need. Or, if the group is just particularly cool, I'll decide that my mere presence is enough, but that takes me a long time to admit, too. So, for example, with the theater kids in college, I was the smart one. With the swing crowd, I was the token actor. That kind of thing. I knew where I fit and how people perceived me and I was okay with that.

But usually right about the time I find myself getting comfortable with one group of people, the dynamic of that particular group begins to change. The thing that held us all together begins to take a backseat to other interests, be they activities or persons or what have you, and we start to drift and change and, I hate to say it, come apart as a group. If our entire friendship is based on a love of making fudge and then somebody goes on the Atkins diet and no longer eats fudge, well, then, our excuse for getting together is gone and it requires a lot more effort to maintain that friendship. And when we sit back and think about it, maybe there wasn't a whole lot more than fudge to that relationship, anyway. Or, the poultry fascination has taken over and it's something we just can't share, you know?

I think it is a good thing that people grow and change. I think life would be very dull if we didn't. But it makes me sad that a lot of the people I love so intensely just aren't really around anymore. Just as much my fault as theirs -- we just don't have things to talk about anymore.

So right now, I'm kind of between groups. I know my old group is kind of tired of me and it's probably because I also distanced myself from them as I went back to school and decided I really wanted to pursue acting and music. Those are interests most of them don't share. Which is fine. But it makes it hard to connect still. So now I'm hanging out with actors and musicians and I don't know where I fit in. I have yet to figure out why they invite me to parties. And I know this sounds to all of you like I'm being down on myself, but think about how long it took each and every one of you to get to know me. What did you think of me when you first met me? I'm not bouncy and boisterous. I'm not always vying for the spotlight. I sit on the outside, do my own thing, and watch everybody else do theirs. After a while, I might start to talk to someone who seems interesting. Eventually, the word might get around the group that I am not, in fact, a snob and that I am actually really funny and sweet, so people might come up and talk to me then. But it is a long process and a tiring one that involves many many evenings of me feeling completely out of place. Because I don't know my place yet. I will, I just don't right now.

So yeah, I've got the job frustrations, the career frustrations, the lack-of-a-love-life frustrations, and these social frustrations. No wonder I'm feeling out of sorts. No wonder I've been spending so much time with my cat. We've known each other for three years now and he still loves me. And wherever I go, he goes with me. Literally -- he follows me into the bathroom, the kitchen, all over the house. It's really quite endearing.

But please pardon me if I seem a little odd while out in large groups. And please pardon me if I stare. I'm just trying to figure out how to talk to you.

And poof! Just like that, it's all better. Thanks, Blogger guy!

Something with my cute little site here is messed up -- it doesn't want to publish anymore for me. Which makes me sad because I know you all love my drivel so much. And I could tell you that I got to audition last night for a famous Canadian and I could say that once again, I love Moby because he went to a baseball game (granted it was a Yankees game, but at least the Yankees lost and Moby sat there examining the sociological aspects of the game and the ballpark, kind of like I do) and I could say that it is Thursday today which makes me happy because tomorrow is then Friday and I get to see Colin Hay again and I could tell you that I feel like I'm about seven because half of my nail polish has worn off, but I've been too lazy as of yet to pull out the nail polish remover and be done with it and I could tell you all of my thoughts on visiting my aunt's farm where she raises all kinds of interesting birds, but if my cute little site here won't update, I can't tell you any of that. I can just ramble on and on in run on sentences to myself and I'll be the only one who ever knows about it. How sad is that?

Here's hoping my cute little site here is fixed soon.

I've been remiss in my postings as of late. They've been brief and scattered and for that, I apologize. But for a while there, it was showing three of the same post. I've tried to fix that and I've done everything I can about it from my end, so we'll just all have to put our collective faith in the wonderful people at Blogger.com that all will be remedied soon. Or, we could just say that I really, really, really wanted y'all to have a safe Fourth of July.

It makes me happy to go up to Minnesota and see windmills. Big, functional windmills pumping clean, inexpensive power into the power grid. My brother had a good question, though. Sometimes the windmills aren't turning and it is because the demand for power has gone down. He wants to know why, at those times, they don't keep all of the windmills going and burn less coal or something somewhere else. But I guess with our current administration and the amount of jobs involved with other sources of power versus the amount of jobs involved with maintaining wind power, it kind of makes sense.

I think that when I have enough money that I can start really donating large chunks of it to worthy causes, I would like to donate a nice chunk to the development of wind power. Be it for more windmills or more surveys to find the best places to put windmills, or developing even more streamlined, more efficient windmills. Though the ones they have now are pretty sleek. Huge, and sleek. Very futuristic looking. But the nice thing about them is that they are a relatively minor intrusion into the surrounding area. If they are put out in farming fields, you can still farm right up to the base of the thing without worrying about pollution or contamination. They hum, sure, but not in the "We're irradiating you" kind of a way. I wouldn't necessarily advocate putting windmills up in national forests or protected areas or on landmarks or anything, because they do sort of screw up the landscape, but there have to be more places in the country, beyond Lake Benton, Minnesota, that could support wind farms. Or, let's develop smaller, city friendly versions of windmills that you could put on each building that would power that building specifically. Chicago is the windy city after all. How much would it decrease our dependence on polluting fuel sources if every building in Chicago was powered by the wind? These are the questions I hope are answered someday and when I have the money to fund someone who will answer these questions, I will give it gladly.

Because really, can you look a llama straight in the face and not laugh?

Have a safe and happy Fourth of July, everybody. I'll talk to you when I get back.

Marlon Brando has died.

I have not yet seen a lot of his movies, but it still made me very sad to hear that this morning. Sure, he was 80 and in terrible health, but one of the greats has passed on. That's always a sad thing.

My condolences to his family and friends.

Rest easy, big guy.

When I was eight or nine years old, I got the best stuffed animal ever for Christmas.

In my family, everybody was really good about hiding each other's Christmas gifts and not peeking or ransacking the house to find out what we were getting before Christmas morning. Come to think of it, we were like that for birthdays, too. We just liked surprises. So anyway, I believe it was Christmas. Might have been my birthday. Anyway. Even though we were really good about keeping things a surprise, we liked to give each other little hints by way of the tags on our gifts. I might give my mom perfume and sign the tag, "Your little stinker" or something like that. Except I don't think I ever gave my mom perfume. Anyway. It was an occasion of gift giving and my mom placed a package in my lap that said, "To: Kitty From: Frank Oz." I could not place the name. What? I was only eight or nine. I knew I should know who Frank Oz was, but I couldn't place it. I sat there for probably five minutes trying to figure out who Frank Oz was and therefore, what would be inside this package. Finally, I ripped it open, knowing that once I knew the contents, I would recognize the man. And sure enough, I did. Inside was a baby Fozzie doll from the Muppet Babies. Do you remember the Muppet Babies? Saturday morning cartoon wherein all of your favorite Muppets were, like, three, and they lived in a nursery and were watched over by Nanny who wore green and white striped socks and we never saw her face? I loved that show. I love the regular Muppets, too, but this must have been during the time span that the Muppet Show wasn't on TV. So this way, I could get my weekly dose of the Muppets. And lo and behold, now I had my very own baby Fozzie. Fozzie being one of my favorite Muppets, right up there with Gonzo. Because Fozzie is funny and self-conscious and Gonzo...well, what the hell is that? I think Gonzo was my first introduction to an interracial relationship. I didn't quite understand the attraction to Camilla, but I was perfectly willing to accept it. I didn't know how they kissed, just that they were happy together.

But my baby Fozzie went everywhere with me. Every vacation. All around the house. I had a friend with a baby Kermit doll, so I'd take Fozzie over to her house so we could play with them together. This one particular afternoon, we were playing with our baby Muppet dolls and having a snack and we decided, of course, that Fozzie and Kermit had to have a snack, too. So we took our Fritos, placed them in the gaping wide mouths of our beloved dolls, and made them "chew" the Fritos until they were so mashed up, we just threw away the crumbs. Fozzie's mouth smelled like Fritos for years after that.

I just remembered that the other day as I was eating some Fritos. Fozzie lives in my closet now. I love him too much to let my cat get at him.

Yay July!

Why yay July?

I have no idea. I just felt like saying that. It's time for me to get happy gosh darn it. I'm tired of being in this funk. Though I'm pretty sure it will last through the weekend. But next week is a four day work week. I'm done with both of my midterms (meaning I am only five weeks away from being a certificated paralegal). I'm winning the war against my cat regarding what time is a decent time to wake up in the morning. Oh, he still tries to wake me up at 4. Sometimes, he succeeds. But I don't cave. I go back to sleep. Eventually, he does, too, and then we get to have some really lovely waking up moments. And I get to kiss him every time I snooze my alarm. Beep! Beep! Beep! Slap. Kiss. Zonk. It's a kind of satisfying routine. And my contacts came in the mail yesterday, so I no longer have to be frumpy glasses girl. Now I can be just plain old frumpy girl. Who can see. You never notice how much you miss being able to see until you can't anymore.

But yeah, happy July everybody. Enjoy the summer. Enjoy the nice weather. Get out and watch a baseball game, even if it is just little league at the park down the street.

Oh, and no word yet about a gig at the one place. But I did compile a list of coffee shops in Chicago that sometimes have live music so I can go pester them, too. Anyone want to do some coffee shop scouting with me?