So I Googled my own name a little while back and I found a reference to myself in the blog of an old college classmate. What? Don't even try to pretent you haven't Googled your own name. We all do it. We all want to see how many hits we get. And frankly, I get a lot. For someone who was completely computer illiterate for so long to have that many hits on the internet...no, the irony is not wasted on me. But anyway, I went back and read this old college classmate's blog wherein he had apparently Googled me (he was going through a list of old friends, trying to see what people were up to -- don't mock. You've done it, too. I know you have) and found this blog and wrote a little something about it. He said he remembered me as being fearless. Which is funny because in college, I was afraid of everything. At least I was going in to college. I got a little better as time went on and I learned that if I didn't speak up for myself or challenge myself or go for the things I wanted, I'd get nowhere because nobody else was going to do it for me. I dunno. I just like to think about his blog entry from time to time when I feel like I need an extra little push.

Like today. Today is audition day. I have to go in there and completely rock their worlds. No self-consciousness. No second-guessing myself. It's improv -- whatever comes to mind, I have to go with it, stick it, and sell the shit out of it. I have to remember to play "yes, and" and to be characters. I have to be positive and upbeat and most of all, I have to just have fun. Whatever happens with this audition, I have to go in there and give it my best. Because this is something I want and nobody is going to just hand it to me. If I give it my everything and they cast someone else, at least it's not my fault, you know?

Wish me luck!

I love the way my hair feels when it is wet.

Where's global warming when you need it? Honestly, this isn't fair. We have a totally mild summer and now an absolutely frigid winter? I thought we were going to get hot, not go into another ice age. If ice age is where we are heading, screw that. I'll off myself. I hate being cold. Hate it. Granted, I probably could dress warmer. But when I'm sitting in my office wearing a shirt and two sweaters, a skirt, pantyhose and socks, with my heat cranked up as high as it will go and still I'm still cold...that's getting ridiculous.

I am so ready for summer.

I'm tired. My eyes are sore and dry from crying for three days. But for the most part, I feel good. I feel like things are changing, mostly for the better. I think the ailing relationships in my life are mending. The strained ones are fading away, leaving room for more productive, and healthy things. Not that those relationships are bad or over or anything like that; they're just being reexamined. And I don't think I'm the only one going through this stuff -- it seems like 2005 is the year of getting healthy for a lot of people. I'm proud of all of my friends who are getting healthy. I'm proud of me for doing it, too.

Good bye, Grandma. I love you.

Moby is shooting a music video on Thursday. Which makes me SO HAPPY I CAN'T EVEN TELL YOU. Because first of all, it means that the single will be released soon. And secondly, because it means there will be more yummy Moby footage out there to watch. And third, it could be taken to imply that a DVD will be released for this album at some point and as we all know, I loved the "Play" and "18" DVDs. Funny stuff, that. The only sad thing is that I will not be in New York on Thursday, so I can't participate in the shoot. If I was in New York, I would take the day off to do it, but I am not, so I can't. Oh well. Some other day.

But yay! More happy yummy Moby goodness on the horizon!

I'm such a dork.

Happy birthday to my Virginia friend, with whom I have been exchanging music for, what, close to a year now, I would think. It has been wonderful getting to know you and I look forward to hearing more of your tunes in the future.

Happy, happy!

I'm watching the film version of Angels in America that they did for HBO last year. It is so weird. I was in this play in college and it was a big deal. It was probably the most controversial play they had done up to that point at my college and it was a big deal. It was a "happening." Everybody was abuzz about it. It was a big deal. And I got to be a part of it. I was part of somthing that rocked the community and made people think. I knew every word of the play, I knew everyone's speech patterns, I knew every sound cue and every light cue. I loved that play. I loved being in that play. I loved going to the theater every night and doing that play. I loved it. And now I'm watching other people say the lines I said. Acting out the scenes my friends worked so hard on. I know every line as it is being said, even after all of these years. I still know every line. I don't even have to pay attention; I know what's coming next. It's so bizarre. It's like my life on the screen, but it's not my life.

It's my favorite scene now. I was thinking the other day about how I would have shot this as a film. They're doing it right, but the acting is a bit off in one particular case.

It's so weird. So weird. I know it doesn't make sense. Just trust me. It's weird.

Okay, I promise that not every blog entry from here on out will be about my hair or lack thereof, but I have to post this one.

I went to do karoke last night because one of my friends was hoping to win the $500 prize. Seeing as it is a contest judged on applause and there were only the two of us there rooting for each other, we didn't really stand a chance, but it was cool. Actually, no, it wasn't. It was a crappy bar full of the kind of people I try to avoid. I hate sounding elitist or prissy or bitchy, but I don't like frat bars. And what's worse than frat bars are the bars where the frat boys hang out after they have graduated from college. If you don't know the kind of bar I'm talking about, consider yourself lucky. It's just not fun to hang out in a place where everyone looks the same and acts the same and thinks the same. Gimmie a little variety, please. Granted, there was one guy there who is in a rock band who looked a little cooler, but the rampant stupidity in the place kind of outshone even him. Anyway. After the first round, both my friend and I were eliminated from the competition, which was fine with me. Meant we could go home. But I had put in a request to sing two songs and they needed a couple of people to fill some time, so I went up to the DJ to ask if I could sing my second song just for shits and grins. He was talking to someone else at the time and while I waited for him, this other random woman who was up there turned and started talking to me. I talked back a little. Just enough to be courteous. And then she pulls out the, "And just for the record, I think you're really beautiful with your hair that short." Just for the record? Where did that come from? And what record? Have your friends been sitting over there all night ripping on the bald girl? Do I look like I'm terribly concerned with that? She went on to say that she'd do it if she had the guts. I had to pull out my, "Yeah, I did it for the play I'm currently in" line. I had to do it. I had to play the, "Hey, check me out. I'm an actual actor and an actual musician, not a karoke wannabe." It was low. It was petty. But she was so fucking condescending. Maybe she thought I was a cancer patient, or a holocaust survivor, or whatever, but what the hell kind of a thing is that to say, even to a cancer patient? I know she meant it as a compliment, but it was so condescending and pitiful. Had I been through chemo, the last thing I would want to hear from some girl with the perfect hair and sixteen tons of lipstick, but liner that has smudged off on one side of her mouth, is that she thinks I'm beautiful, no matter what her friends say. You know what? I think I'm beautiful. No matter what anyone else says, I think I look good. No, I will probably not keep this hair style forever. But I can more than pull it off. I can own this hair style. I don't need permission to do so from a sorority chick.

I'm sorry. I know this was a really ugly post, and very harsh on my part. Not really in line with my "I'm going to try to be a nicer person" thing. Sorry about that. But now that it is out of my system, I can go back to being a nicer person. Cookie, anyone?

So the resounding opinion is that I look good with no hair. Apparently, I have a nicely shaped head. I like it. Though my mental image of myself still includes hair, which is kind of weird. It takes me a second when I look in a mirror to remember that, oh yeah, I don't have hair. But I really do like it. It feels good. It looks good. And I actually do feel more feminine, believe it or not. I dunno. I'm going to stop rambling about it. But suffice it to say, I look good with blonde hair, red hair, brown hair, black hair, and no hair. There is nothing I can't pull off.

Except tooting my own horn. That's just distasteful.

Tee hee.

So, I have joined the ranks of the hairless. And I have to say, I think it's sexy.

Can a person make a conscious decision to die? Assuming said person is in really bad shape and said person's body is just about ready to give out anyway?

More word from my grandmother's neck of the woods -- she's ready to go. Her kids are having a hard time seeing her like this. For a family that will do anything to keep their loved ones going for one more day to admit that watching someone die of a heart attack is easier and better than watching them wither away like my grandmother is...it has to be really awful. Really awful. She says she's ready to go. The doctors say everything will probably just shut down, except for her heart because she has a pacemaker, and she'll just kind of go into a coma. So my question is, could my grandmother just decide to go? She is ready to go. Her quality of life right now is dreadful, she misses her husband, she's just barely hanging on as it is. Could she just decide, "Today is the day" and stop living? Stop holding on? Can one person have that kind of control over his or her own involuntary body functions?

I don't want to lose my grandmother. Nobody wants to see a loved one die. But she doesn't want to be alive anymore and I have to respect that. I think we all have to.

I love you, Grandma, whatever your choice is, however you want to handle this. I love you.

I cleaned the hell out of my bathroom today. Note the usage of the word "hell," as opposed to "shit" or "fuck," neither of which sounds appropriate when used in reference to cleaning a bathroom. But anyway, I cleaned the hell out of it and even though my house now smells strongly of bleach, I feel very good about it. We're talking cleaning away mold and mildew and getting a new shower curtain and washing the walls and everything. I cleaned my living room a bit, too, and I feel good. I always have to be in the right mindset to really clean and I always feel better afterwards. Like I'm not only cleaning my house, but I'm cleaning my life, too. I'm getting healthy and it feels great.

It's just hair. It will grow back. My grows particularly fast and particularly well. So why am I so freaked out about shaving it all off?

I know at least one of you out there reading this is saying, "If you're so worried about it, don't do it." Thank you. I know that is an option. I don't have to shave my head for this show. The director and writer are not opposed to me keeping my hair, though they would both like it if I got rid of it. The writer, especially. I know I could always go to them and say, "Look, guys, I'm more marketable with hair, so let's just put me in a turban, yes?" and they'd probably be agreeable to that. I know this. But you all should know by now that I am not the sort to back away from things that scare me. I seek them out and conquer them to prove that I'm alive. To prove that I'm strong. To prove that there is nothing I can't do. A life lived in fear is a life half-lived, right? Right. So just because this scares me doesn't mean I'm not going to do it. You learn nothing if you don't make mistakes or take chances.

Disclaimer aside, why am I so freaked out about shaving my head? I've been thinking about this a lot and have come up with several reasons. And I'm going to talk about them because my other choice is to tackle the enormous pile of stuff that needs to be filed that is sitting on the table in my office and that's just not fun. I can file later.

First of all, I have really gorgeous hair. It is a beautiful color and a beautiful texture. I have a lot of hair and it's really soft. It seems a shame to get rid of it. I looked into donating it to one of those organizations that makes wigs for cancer patients and whatnot and I don't think it is long enough to donate, which makes me a little sad because it really is beautiful. I think I have one gray hair in the front, too, and even that is beautiful. When the women in my family go gray, they go silver. Imagine my hair, with it's beautiful texture, in a shimmery silver color. I am going to be one foxy grandma, lemme tell you. So I have this really beautiful hair and it makes me sad to part with it. I know it will grow back. But my whole life, I have loved my hair. When I thought I was the ugliest thing on the planet, I took comfort in the fact that I have beautiful hair and pretty hands. So what is going to happen to my self-image when I no longer have one of the things I find most beautiful about my appearance?

Secondly, what if I just look funny with no hair? I think it would probably look better if I was waifish, and maybe this will inspire me to become waifish, but right now, I am not waifish. I can't even pass for a chemo patient. What if I just look silly? Some people can pull off bald and some can't. Same is true for men and women. Granted, I do have several friends who think I'll be able to pull it off. My lawyer friend said I can do it because I have striking eyes. It made me happy that that was her instant reaction, so I thank her for that. But for every friend I have who thinks it will be sexy, there is another who gives me those sad puppy dog eyes, like I'll be mutilating my appearance beyond the point of recognizability or salvagability. Who is right? We won't know until I do it.

And thirdly, there is the femininity aspect of it. I've heard of some women who just in cutting their hair short felt significantly less feminine than they did with longer hair. I don't know if it is because of the short cuts I have had, but I have to admit that I have felt that in the past. But as I'm reading this book right now, it is making it abundantly clear to me that hair has nothing to do with femininity or what makes me a woman. I will still have my breasts. I will still have my reproductive organs. I will still have my personality. I will still have my artistic abilities. I will still have my hands. I will still have my curves. The chapter I read on the train this morning was about breasts and it just kept reiterating how much humans are attracted to curviness and it made me really happy that I have breasts and hips that make me curvy. I have a nice figure and that's not going away with my haircut. I guess it's possible that having no hair might inspire me to dress more girly and I'll rediscover my femininity that way. And continuing to read this book and exploring my female roots from an internal/spiritual perspective will help. Nevertheless, I asked a couple of my guy friends yesterday if they will still love me if I have no hair. Both responded that yes, they will. Thanks, guys. Though you'd be pretty crappy friends if you said no.

On a side note, I think I may have to change a nickname. I think fucknut may have to become sparky or spike because he's really cleaning up his act. For real. After years and years and years of talking about it, he's finally taking action and I am so proud of him for that. He'll call me for no real reason now, or to prevent himself from having a cigarette (he's trying to quit). I'm so glad that he's decided to take care of himself, and I'm thrilled that he knows he can turn to me for help if he needs it. So yeah, fucknut may no longer be the best name for him. I kinda like spike. But he is one of the ones who has promised he'll still be my friend when I'm bald. And for the first time in a long time, I believe him.

But anyway, back to the hair. If you look back a little ways, you'll see that I am very attached to it. If it's not right, I don't feel right. Yes, I can always wear a wig. Probably my orange one. And yes, my hair will grow back. And yes, I have sworn off dating all together and maybe this will help me stick to that. That's a whole other blog, though, so don't worry about that one right now. And who knows? I could love being bald so much that I decide not to grow my hair back out. It is a big middle finger to the societal perceptions of what is beautiful. Spike has said that he'll photograph me once it is shaved and I'm hoping to get at least one, nice, artistic, beautiful, simple picture out of it so I have some visual image of myself as an object of beauty, even when I have been stripped of the things I have used to define myself as beautiful for years. It's like when I was a model for a figure drawing class (clothed, thank you). It did me a lot of good to see my body transformed into art. Something beautiful, despite it's flaws. Or perhaps because of them.

Part of me is really excited. Part of me thinks it will add a delicacy and vulnerability to my appearance and personae. Part of me thinks it will make me invincible. Part of me is looking forward to shedding the shackles of my hair and freeing whatever lies beneath this societally imposed appearance of mine. And part of me is terrified of losing what is familiar. But if we only hold onto things that are familiar, we miss out on a lot of new, exciting experiences and learning opportunities.

It is only hair. It will grow back.

The Chicago subway is significantly quieter than the New York subway. I'm not talking about the trains themselves, but the people on them. In New York, it seems like everyone is traveling in groups and they all talk to each other -- on the platform, in the tunnels, on the trains. In Chicago, everyone seems to be traveling individually so nobody talks to anyone else. In the Washington Street tunnel between the red and blue line trains, the only sound to be hear is the sound of footfalls and the occasional russle of a plastic bag. On the platform, when friends meet accidentally and greet one another, it is in hushed tones. It is rare to find people talking at full volume on the trains, or if they are, they're talking on a cell phone and all of the other passengers secretly hate them for having friends.

I was reading more of that book my mom gave me on the train this morning, about female anatomy. I think that will be my goal for this year -- to embrace my feminity and all of the wonderful and terrible things that come with it. It's about time I did that.

I think the key to writing anything is to just do it. The things to keep in mind are that if you censor yourself, it will suck. If you try to be funny, you won't be. You will have to write about 37 things before you'll write one that you like, but you have to write those 37 crappy ones first before the good one will come out. I think if you can remember those things and not get frustrated by them, you'll be fine.

I say this mostly to myself because if I am called back for Boom Chicago, they will want a writing sample. Just a short scene between two people. So I've kind of made a deal with myself that I have to write a scene a day between now and then so I have a bunch to choose from and maybe one of them will actually be funny. Those of you in my close geographical proximity may be called upon to judge some of these scenes and let me know which ones are funny to people other than me and which ones are just plain crap. But I have to remember: don't censor myself. Don't limit myself. Don't try to be funny. Don't worry if I write crap. Something good will come of it.

Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Well duh.

Three days into the new year and I'm already bored stupid at work. I really should clean up my office. I really should clean up my house. I really should just go shave my head and get it over with. Get a fresh, clean start to the new year, you know? I'm actually really excited to be losing all of my hair. I think it will be liberating. You know how I'm always going on and on about how bald men are sexy because they are giving a big middle finger to society and what society thinks they should look like. Well, I'll get to be that person. But moreso, because I think the pressure on a woman to have beautiful hair is greater than it is on a man. I will get to walk around confidently with nothing to hide behind. No hair, no excess fat, no nothing. Just me out in the world. I'm kind of looking forward to it.

Sorry, that was really rambly. I'm in kind of a weird mood because I watched the documentary on John Kerry last night and I'm really wishing the election had gone differently. And I'm really wishing I had come into work with something more to do than clean the spam out of my inbox. And I'm really wishing my office was somewhere else because new people have started moving into offices vacated by my former co-workers who are now gone because of the reorganization going on here. Meaning keep your fingers crossed for me that I just so happen to be exactly what Boom Chicago is looking for. It's time for me to get out of here.

I deleted your emails today. Time to get healthy.

Warning: My dork flag is flying pretty high as I post this.

Probably the second best Christmas gift I got this year was a tea kettle. It whistles like a harmonica. And it means I can have tea anytime I want it. Anytime. I can have a cup of chamomile tea before bed. I can have green tea on a Saturday morning for breakfast. I can have tea anytime I want and it makes me so happy I can't even tell you. So thank you to my actual brother for the wonderful, wonderful tea kettle. I love it.

I just signed up to audition for Boom Chicago. I will not be cast. They are only casting one person at this point in time. But the audition sounds like a LOT of fun. So worst case scenario, I'll go and have a blast. Maybe they'll like the bald chick. Either way, keep your fingers crossed for me. How awesome would it be to go live in Amsterdam?

Happy New Year, kids.

So I've been thinking about people and relationships and stuff. I know a lot of people, myself included, who think that they are so messed up in one way or another that nobody will ever love them, or that if they let someone get close enough to really know them, that other person will run screaming in fear. But if you actually talk to those people and find out exactly what it is that they think is so horrific as to label them unlovable, you find that every single thing on that list is either 1) something that can very easily be handled, or 2) something that is on the same list as thirty thousand other people. Honestly. My friends have the same issues that I do. They have the same problems as each other. They have the same problems as the people they want to hook up with. So why is hooking up so difficult? Is it because we don't forgive these things in ourselves, so we can't forgive them in others? Or are we so afraid that someone else might find out what's wrong with us that as soon as the issue is broached (when the other person admits his/her fault) that we freak out and run away? I don't know that I'm making any sense, but this is one thing I've been thinking about recently. The things I am so afraid of people finding out about me are thing that are completely forgivable or understandable. Depression. Bad skin. A penchant for crossword puzzles. Maybe we all just need to walk outside and say, "Hey. My name is Kitty (or whatever your name happens to be). I've battled depression before, which makes me kind of moody," and then we can all get on with our lives and our hooking ups and all that rot. I dunno. Just a thought. And of course, much much much easier said than done.

Hey, kids.

Please promise me that whatever your plans are for the evening, that you will be safe. A safe new year is a happy new year. Or something like that.

I'll reminisce about the past year more later, but for now I'm just going to say that I very much enjoy being in New York, I like the people here, and I am, by choice, 800 miles away from at least some of the people I would most like to spend New Year's Eve with. Don't get me wrong -- I'm with a whole bunch of people I love hanging out with and I'm glad I'm here for New Year's Eve. But I can think of at least one person, 800 miles away who I really wish was here. Oh well.

Have a safe and happy new year!

No matter where you are, no matter what you are doing, there is always a lot more to the world around you than what you see immediately in front of your face.

And the little counter on my blog thingy will still say I have 1,157 entries.

So I'm reading this book about female anatomy and it is completely...entertaining. It's not overly clinical or overly glibb. It's really well written and entertaining. But it is, of course, making me think about my own female body. I wrote a really cheesy song yesterday that includes some bits about my body. I'm growing to love it more and more, but I still have a long way to go. I think the first step in it might be retiring my green corduroy pants. Not because I don't love them anymore -- I do, very much. But because they have so many holes in them it is rather indecent to wear them in public anymore. And as much as I would like to be able to replace them, I'd kind of like to replace them with pants that fit and make me look like a girl. Like the ones I'm wearing today. They are still big on me, thanks to the recent weight loss, but more flattering. More shapely. More...girlish.

I guess what I'm getting at is that I'm working really hard on not resenting being a girl anymore. I don't think that's a good way to go through life. And I'm actually starting to see a little progress in that arena, too. Possibly nothing permanent, but it's a start.

And now I'm off to have lunch at Moby's restaurant with my lawyer friend. Yay!

I love New York. Once again, when I got here, I got this feeling like I was home. It just feels good to be here.

I went to an open mic tonight with my lovely hostess. There were some mic problems because I forgot to bring my pick up, so I did a kind of crappy version of "Allowed." But then, since we each got to do two songs, I played my little acapella pseudo-soul tune and it went over like gangbusters. People really liked it. Including this cute bald guy whose music I really enjoyed. As I was leaving, I went to tell him that I loved his songs, but he beat me to the punch, saying he really enjoyed my second song. I'm glad it was dark or I would have been blushing.

So yeah, I love New York.

But I keep forgetting to tell you about my "I'm a dumbass" moment that I had earlier this week. I've lived in my apartment for four and a half years. For that whole time, the window above my back door has been open. I have tried repeatedly to close it, usually when the infamous Chicago winter sets in. It has never closed for me. I always thought it was because they painted it open -- it's one of those windows that has a long bar on the one side that you push up to close the window, or pull down to open it. I thought it had been painted over so many times in the open position that it was just permanently painted open. Until this past week. I tried once again to push up on the bar to no avail. Until I pinched together these two little metal tabbies, at which point, the window shut as easily as a knife goes through Jell-o. So yeah, I'm a dumbass, but maybe my apartment will stay a little warmer this winter.

Merry Christmas.

By which, I do not mean to offend anyone who does not celebrate Christmas. I mean simply to share a piece of my life with all of you. Whatever holiday you choose to celebrate, I hope it is a happy one for you. I celebrate Christmas, so I am going to wish all of you a merry Christmas.

It was a long day and a half for me. A lot happened, but I don't really want to get into all of it right now. I have to finish my laundry and clean up my house and get ready to go to New York tomorrow, but The Sound of Music is on television right now, so the temptation to just sit and watch it is almost overwhelming. I have about a quarter of a cheesecake to eat, too, so it doesn't sit and rot in my fridge while I'm gone. But probably the most exciting bit is that one of my debts is paid off. I can't tell you the weight lifted from my shoulders. It hasn't fully sunken in yet, and probably won't until I get my next paycheck and have that much more of it to do with as I please, but it still feels pretty darn good.

So I hope you all had a lovely Christmas, whether you celebrate it or not. I gotta go put stuff in the dryer. Merry Christmas.

Two main points to make today, though neither one is of any specific interest.

1) I make DAMN good cookies. Yes, I follow other people's recipes, but they turn out so well. I like baking.

2) I had kind of forgotten how much I love and admire and respect Tim Curry until I saw a picture of him in the Reader last night. He is not, in any way, an attractive looking man. Sorry, hon, but you're not. But this picture was smoking. So sexy. And to know what kind of talent lies beneath...I'm kind of bummed that I have rehearsal the same night that I am going to see him in Spamalot because it means I won't be able to camp outside the theater afterwards and try to meet him. I'd just like to shake his hand and tell him I think he was wonderful in Clue and Kinsey. No, I would not mention Rocky Horror to him because I know he is sick of that. But I'd like to shake his hand and tell him that he is amazing nonetheless. Go pick up a copy of the December 17th Reader (if you can still find one) and take a look at the picture. It's electric.

That's it. I told you it wasn't anything exciting. I'm gearing up for Christmas and my trip to New York. I burned myself four CDs full of music that I am enjoying right now so I can hate all of it by the time I get back. I baked a lot last night and have one more batch of cookies to go. I'm getting nervous about shaving my head and almost think I should just do it now and get it over with. Why is it that people keep saying, "I hope it grows back the same way?" Why wouldn't it? I'm not getting gene therapy; I'm getting a haircut. Anyway. And is there a certain length that hair has to be in order to donate it to the place that makes wigs for cancer patients? Because I do have really beautiful hair...

I'm just rambling now. Happy Thursday, everyone. Be good to each other.

So I'm in full-on panic mode today, about Christmas and about my trip to New York.

What if I didn't get enough presents for people?
What if someone got me a present and I didn't get them one?
What if I don't bring enough warm clothing with me and I spend a week freezing my ass off?
What if I forget to bring something?

I know that these are all, in their own way, minor problems. The gifts that I have for my family are things that I believe they will enjoy and things that I want them to have. If someone got me something and I didn't get them anything...it's not really that big of a deal. It's happened before. And I've given gifts to people with nothing to give me, so it's really not a "thing." Most of the people I know are broke anyway, so we go out and spend time together instead and call it a day. And if I find myself freezing my ass off the whole time I'm in New York...well, I'm pretty sure they have stores there where I could buy another sweater, if need be. And if I forget to bring something...once again, they have stores in New York. I'll get by. I guess I'm most concerned about forgetting to bring enough music or food with me for the drive. But I'll be okay, even if I do forget those things. One thing I have learned from my life is that I will always be okay. I will always get by.

Doesn't mean I won't panic from time to time. I have a lot of baking to do between now and Friday...

In less than a week, I'll be in New York.

One week from tomorrow, I have a lunch date with a friend of mine at Teany.

In just over two weeks, a whole new year will begin.

I'm enjoying watching the sun come up in the morning, although I'm not enjoying waking up in the dark.

I'm enjoying watching the sun set as I drive home.

I've noticed that I have become a very bitter person with a tendency to snap at people and I don't like that. As much as I don't like New Year's resolutions, I think my resolution this year will to be a nicer person. A calmer person. The sort who just kind of lets things bounce off. The sort who doesn't lose her temper because nothing causes her temper to rise. The sort who deals with stress much better.

I'm glad that I have a couple weeks off of Floss! because it means I can paint my nails.

I'm excited to get my new shoes. I hope they get here before I leave for New York.

Fucknut is still alive and doing well. And I should be getting my tattoo designs soon.

My fingers hurt and are all caloused and ugly from playing the guitar so much, but I love to play.

It's only hair. It grows back.

Within the year 2005, I will eliminate one of my debts.

Things are looking up for me. I guess sometimes it takes a little breakdown to be able to see that. Let all of the negative out so there is room for more positive. And I am surrounded by positive.

I can't wait to go to New York next week.

Okay, see that little link over on the side that says "wonderful online vegan store?" Yeah. Go click on that. Buy stuff from them. Even if you're not vegan, buy stuff from them. They are truly a wonderful business. I love the people who work there.

I told you I ordered some shoes from them a while back that were on backorder. Well, it seems that they have finally come in. But since the time I ordered the shoes and now, the credit card I had put them on expired. So I got a very friendly little e-mail asking me to please call them, and it was signed by an actual person. So I called and got to speak to an actual person who was probably the most pleasant person I've ever gotten to deal with in any customer service department anywhere. She was courteous and sweet and knew what she was doing and within minutes, my card was updated, the order processed, and theoretically, my shoes will be sent to me today. Meaning it is entirely possible I will have them in time for my New York trip.

I had a dream last night about my shoes. I was so happy walking around in them.

So hooray for the wonderful online vegan store. I will continue to send them business for years to come, just because I think they know how to actually run a business. I think we should all support places like that.

And I know it's distasteful to boast, but I now have four songs in the top 25 acoustic numbers on 15 Megs of Fame. And "Allowed" moved up 10 places to #55 in the top 100 songs on the whole site.

That site is simultaneously going to be amazing for and completely detrimental to my ego.

I feel like I should talk about the Christmas season and how much it irritates me, but instead, I think I'll talk about the super uber freezing cold weather we're having and how much that irritates me. There is very little that I like less than I like being cold. Being cold sucks. Walking outside and losing your breath because the arctic air steals it from you is not pleasant. I'm ready for summer.

I think that once one comes to terms with the fact that that's how things are, one is much happier than one was when one wanted to fight that fact. They key is the actual "coming to terms" part. It's a lot harder than it sounds.

I used to be really resentful of the fact that I am smart because it made me different from everyone else. In a way, I think that's why I went to college where I did and why I studied what I did. IQ wasn't really a factor hanging out with the theater people. We were all on the same page. We were all artists and everyone's opinion was equally valid. Didn't matter that I graduated from high school with honors and some of them just barely eeked through. I got to be "normal" for a little while.

That has kind of carried over into my current life. I don't walk around with a degree pinned to my shoulder, letting everyone know how many A's I've gotten in my life. I don't spout wisdom, hoping people will take note and look up to me as a great intellect. Okay, well, this blog is excluded from that statement. I'd like to think I'm rather unassuming. It's always fun to tell someone who only knows me in a creative capacity that I am a paralegal during the day. I know they were expecting me to say waitress or something. They never know how to take that.

But part of me thinks it is time to stop being resentful of the fact that I am smart. My brain gets me into and out of a lot of really interesting situations. If I'm handed something unfamiliar, I can figure it out fairly quickly and move it along to the next person who needs to touch it. That's a skill. I'm a smart cookie and I should embrace that. Also because I'm getting tired of feeling dumb when I'm surrounded by people talking about malpractice or insurance or whatnot. The only reason I don't know about those things is because nobody ever taught me. I'm sure if I had a crash course in it, I'd be just as good at it as anyone else. Because I am a smart cookie. That's a good thing.

Oh.

My.

God.

I love this new play I'm in!

First of all, I want to apologize for the distasteful ranting nature of this post. There might be a couple of you out there reading this who really wanted to be in the show, too, but were not cast and for that, I apologize. But I am so so so so so so so so so glad I freed up my schedule so that I could do this show. SO glad. And I'm so perfectly cast, too. I can't wait to jump into this character. To live her. Breathe her. Justify her every thought, her every movement. She's great. The rest of the cast is wonderful, too. We had a really great energy at the read through last night, so I'm really looking forward to working with all of those people. And I'm really looking forward to working with this director. I think this one might actually push me.

This is also going to sound distasteful, but I'm going to talk about it for a minute anyway. I don't know how many of you have ever rehearsed a play before, but usually when you get there, the first few rehearsals deal with blocking (where you enter from, when you move and to where, etc.) and then you start just running scenes. The director might stop you in the middle and ask you to do something else, or he/she may save all comments until the end and give them all to everyone in one fell swoop. One swell poop. The majority of the directors I have worked with don't have notes for me at the end of the night. Nothing positive, nothing negative. Most directors will tell you that they don't dole out praise -- if they don't say anything, it means you're doing a good job. And while I probably should take some comfort in the fact that not getting notes means that the director likes what I'm doing, it also means the director doesn't have any new suggestions for me. Doesn't want me to try anything else. Has no new ideas. Or, worst of all, isn't paying attention to what I'm doing. Granted, I'm often a character actor, meaning "not the focal point." But you would think that in at least one rehearsal, the director would watch the characters and make comments or suggestions. This very seldom happens for me. But I'm hoping (perhaps against hope, but maybe not) that this particular director will have comments and suggestions and criticisms and notes for me. It already sounds like he's going to meet perhaps one on one with each actor to do character stuff. Yay! A challenge! An opportunity to grow and play! An opportunity to play something other than a characture of an existing person! Yay!

So I'm really excited for this show. And all of you should come see it. For real. It's funny and entertaining and will only get better as we actually rehearse it. Opens in February, so keep an eye out.

And I worked for it. And I got it. And I couldn't be happier. YAYAYAYAYAY!!!

I know that the election is over and there is nothing we can do about the outcome, but I would still encourage all of you to see the documentary "Bush's Brain." It's kind of frightening.

Holy crap. I now have three songs in the top 20 acoustic songs on 15 Megs of Fame (the "rate me!" link), and one in the top 100 songs on the site. The top 100 includes all genres. "Allowed" is number 65. Not too shabby. It's also #9 in the top 25 acoustic songs. "Mona Lisa" and "The Simple Answer" are numbers 16 and 19, I think. Holy crap.

You know what I was saying the other day about working for everything I have achieved? I was talking to my mom about that the other day and we're kind of curious to see just how far you can take something like that. I'm gonna go for it. I'm going to see how far I can push this music thing. It may take a while, but if I keep at it, who knows what can happen, right? Holy crap. I have three songs in the top 20. I kind of feel like I need to say thank you to my friend who told me to record "Allowed" in the first place, for waking me up to the fact that people like to listen to my music. Thank you. If it wasn't for that conversation, I'd probably just still be playing for my cat in my living room and nothing else. So thank you.

You know, about ninety five percent of the things I have gotten in my life, or the things that have happened to me, I have worked my ass off to achieve. Everything from graduating with the kind of grades I had to every role I have gotten to scoring gigs at random places. I work really hard to make good things happen in my life. And it is exhausting. Honestly. In "Mona Lisa," I ask, "Am I wasting time being persistent?" I think it's a valid question. To work so hard for little baby steps...it's hard. Really hard. But every once in a while, for something that I really want, I stick a hand out and reach for it and it gets a little closer. And I'm reminded that all of it is worth something. If I didn't work so hard, if I didn't try, I'd never achieve any of the things that are so important to me. I'm not sure where I get the strength or confidence to try, but I'm glad I have it. Because it's not worth having if it's not worth fighting for.

All I really want for Christmas is to go to New York and have fun with my friends. I'm guessing I may have to go to Minnesota to say goodbye to my Grandmother. She's not doing well. She hasn't been doing well for years, but even she says she doesn't think she'll make it to Christmas. She is 92 or 93 years old and her body is just giving out. It's had a good run and she says she's tired, so I guess when she's ready to go, it's okay that she goes. Doesn't mean it won't make me sad.

I wish I knew her better. Part of it is because she lived so far away, so I only got to see her about once a year as a child. And part of it is because that side of the family just doesn't talk about those things, you know? Conversation is kept at a surface level. I remember a couple of years ago, I told my Grandma that I was getting into swing dancing and she said she used to do that when she was younger, too. How I would have loved to hear those stories! But in such a group setting, the conversation was quickly turned to someone else's current career move or something like that. I just got these little glimmers of what my Grandma must have been like as a young woman and of who she really was. It's sad that most of that didn't get out until much later in her life. Speak up, people! Let the world know who you are! Don't wait until you're so old that all you can do is sit in a chair and watch birds all day.

I know you don't read this, Grandma, but I want you to know that I love you very much. The little pieces of you that I got to see over the years are very precious to me. You are a wonderful, beautiful, very loving woman and you will be horribly missed. Say hi to Grandpa for me and tell him I love him, too.

I love you, Grandma.

Over on 15 Megs of Fame (the "rate me!" link over on the left there), "Mona Lisa" is in the top 25 acoustic songs! Granted, it's #25, but it's in the top 25 acoustic songs on the site! Sweet!

Go over there and rate my songs more. Let's see if we can't get another one in there, or bump "Mona Lisa" up on the charts. Says Kitty, the Chart Whore.

Man, I'm flying after my show last night. I don't know why. It was a good show. The crowd was mostly my friends. But I just feel good about it. I feel like I played all songs that I wanted to play, not necessarily songs that other people would want me to play that I was just playing to humor them, you know? And yeah, I screwed up a bunch of times, but it was fine. There was much applause and laughter and mirth. And a ten dollar bill in the tip jar, that I have no idea who it came from. None of my friends, as near as I can tell. And the really weird part is that the venue paid me, too. I wasn't expecting that. When the guy booked me, he said they'd put out a tip jar and that was fine with me. But the woman working there last night called her boss to see what she should pay me. Granted, this was all news to the boss, too, so I felt a little weird taking it, but she insisted. I would have been happy to play either way. Honestly. Sure, it would be nice to get paid to make music, but I just want to play. I just want a venue in which to play. I love the feeling of holding a guitar. I love singing really loud. I love banging out the chords until it feels like the guitar is going to break. I love looking out at my audience and seeing them sing along or smile at their favorite part of a song or tap their feet. I just love to play. Getting paid for it is a bonus and it felt a little weird. But yeah, last night was a good night. And my little R&B-ish song...I love singing that one. I think it's a keeper.

So the general consensus seems to be that yes, I can sing an acapella R&B soul-ish song. And man, did it feel good to sing it in public. I wanna do it again.

And apparently, I have a theme song now...

Truth be told, I'm nervous about my show tonight. Maybe because it's a different venue. Maybe because I'm planning on doing a slightly more mellow set than I have in the past. Maybe because, theoretically, there will be people there who have not seen me play before. Maybe because I don't know how many people are coming and I hope there is space for everyone. Or, conversely, I hope I'm not playing to an empty room. I have not yet decided what I'm going to wear. I have not yet finished my set list. And the worst part is it's rainy and icky out today and I had forgotten what a pain in the ass bangs are when it's rainy and icky outside, so no matter what I wear, I'll probably look like crap.

On the up side, someone who just recently purchased a copy of my demo said it should have a warning label on it that says, "CAUTION: MORE ADDICTIVE THAN CRACK COCAINE AND TWICE AS FUN." That kind of made my day. And I have another online site up to host some of my songs and thus far, the response there has been pretty positive, too. I uploaded "Allowed" yesterday and it has already been downloaded 6 times. So it's going to be a bad hair day today, but hopefully a good music day. I just have to remember to relax and have fun. I like to play. That's the important part. If I'm having fun, other people will enjoy the show. Right?

So after about a week of not really eating, partially because I had nothing good in my house to eat and partially because I had no appetite, I did a lot of cooking last night and stocked my house with yummy vegan treats. Which I will tell you more about in a second, after I post this little disclaimer:

The not eating thing. No, I have not suddenly become anorexic. I have been drinking a lot of green tea (because I like it) and I think it has shrunken my stomach. I just can't eat as much as I used to. And, I'm actually listening to my body when it says, "You're full. You can stop eating now," as opposed to plowing through that to finish everything on my plate like I used to. So yeah, I am, in general, eating less. And then for the last week or so, nothing has sounded good. I haven't wanted to eat. Which is a little disturbing from my perspective because I'm always hungry and/or ready, willing, and able to eat. So to not want to eat anything...it's been weird. I don't think my body likes that very much because my stomach was making all kinds of weird noises last night that they could probably hear across the hall, so it's not something I plan on continuing. And even though nothing has sounded good, I have still been eating at least a little something a couple of times a day. I'm not stupid. I'm not starving myself. But I do think I've lost a little weight. Actually, I know I have because I'm wearing my Holland pants today and they're fitting a little looser than they normally do. The pants I wore yesterday were loose, too. But I just want you all to know that this is a temporary thing. I expect my appetite to come back in full force very soon and when it does, I will be completely at it's mercy. It's not an eating disorder. It's a lack of appetite. No real cause for alarm.

Anyway, so I cooked a lot yesterday. I made one of my world famous giant salads that will keep me in fresh veggies for the next week. I cooked a tofurkey, which, as we all know, is one of the greatest food products ever invented. I promised a slice to one of my cast mates and it will be a challenge for me to keep it for him until Wednesday. And I kind of went overboard with the veggies that I cooked with the tofurkey -- a parsnip, half a red pepper, a yellow squash, red onion, a couple of mushrooms, and some fresh ginger -- but they are so yummy. And to top it all off, I baked a vegan chocolate cake with blackberry filling. Because sometimes it's just nice to have cake in the house. So I'm all stocked up and ready to have a feast. Here's hoping I feel like eating some of it in the near future...

I love rediscovering movies that are awesome that I haven't watched in a million years. I'm watching "Reservior Dogs" right now. I love this film. You can say whatever the fuck you want about Quentin Tarantino, he made a quality film when he made this one. He could not have asked for a better cast. He could not have written a better script about this kind of a situation. He could not have asked for a better soundtrack. This film is brilliant and I don't care what you say. Fuck, just watch Steve Buscemi through the whole thing. Just watch Tim Roth. Just watch Harvey Keitel. This is some beautiful film making. And I haven't watched it in years. Shame on me.

Go back through your you movie colletion. Pull out the first film that you ever bought and watch it. You'll remember why you bought it and you will pat yourself on the back for buying it. It's like visitng an old friend. I love it that movies can do that.

I kind of feel like things are back to some sort of status quo. I'm back to my routines and I'm back to my single, isolated life. It sounds really sad when I say it out loud, but it's really not. I have a lot of wonderful things in my life. And my isolation is a conscious choice. If I try to explain it, I'll sound really sad and pathetic and psychologically screwed up and maybe it is, but it's okay and it keeps me content.

I'm looking forward to things. I'm feeling good about me and my physical appearance. I'm feeling good about my talents. I'm still kind of in denial that it is the holiday season, but that happens every year. And at least I'm not getting depressed. I'm still on the right path to where I need to go and I'll get there some day.

And I will bring unto you good news of great joy that will be to all people. And some that that will be only to me. And that news is:

Moby is releasing another album on March 22.

I am going to New York later this month.

These two things are bringing me so much joy right now that I don't care that I feel like crap or only got two hours of sleep last night. More yummy Moby goodness. Time to spend with wonderful friends who I haven't seen in a long time. What more could a girl want?

One of my other cast mates was asking me about my musical background the other night and thinking about it, it's kind of odd. I have formal training on piano, violin and clarinet and I only marginally remember how to play them. I remember how they work and how to play them and stuff, but if you were to put a violin in my hands, I wouldn't remember how to play a single song on it. It takes me quite a bit of futzing to improvise something on my clarinet (though I still sound better than Ferris Bueller). I have no formal training on the guitar, but I play it all the time. I love it. I love holding a guitar, I love playing random "chords," with no idea of what they are, searching for the sound I want. I have taken my guitar all over the world with me so I can always be playing it.

I just think it's funny that after four years of piano lessons, three years of violin lessons, and four years of playing the clarinet, the instrument that stuck is the guitar.

I think my favorite part of this holiday show I'm in is that I get to play my guitar. I get to have it with me at the theater and I play a little bit down in the dressing room before the show. Last night, one of my cast mates harmonized with me on "The Boxer." Another cast mate keeps requesting "Black Market White Baby Dealer." I just love making music. I like playing songs that people like to hear. No, I'm not going to start learning all of the songs that every other cover band in the world knows. I think the charm of my covers is that they are good songs that people like, but have forgotten about, you know? When I started playing "The Boxer," the cast mate who keeps requesting "Black Market White Baby Dealer" just about melted. It was as if he hadn't heard the song in years, but it reminded him of his childhood or something. He couldn't make himself leave the room until the song was over. He tried, but had to come back and keep listening. I love that. I love that music can do that. I love making music.

Though my other favorite part of the holiday show is a song parody that I don't really get to sing. It's so twisted and wrong. I love it. Come see the show and you'll know of what I speak. It's funny.

But yeah, I love getting to play my guitar every night. And I've got a couple of gigs coming up in the near future, too, so I'll get to play even more. I honestly think one of the greastest gifts you can give someone is the ability to make their own music. Be it a guitar and lessons or a triangle or a tin whistle or voice lessons or whatever, it doesn't matter. The ability and means to make music are so precious. When I have kids, I will sing to them and play for them and help them learn whatever instrument they want to learn. I kind of hope I have a tuba player. And maybe an oboe player. I'd like my kids to play interesting instruments, but I'll be just as thrilled if they want to do guitar or piano or percussion. I'll be a little sad if they don't want to make any music at all, but I'll deal with it. Because I can still sing to them and play my guitar.

Rabbit rabbit. Holy crap, it's December.

So I've been in a funk and I've been sad and hurty as of late and I'm getting tired of it. I was thinking for a while there that what would make it all better would be if my shoes showed up. I ordered myself some cute vegan sneakers about two months ago that have been on back order forever and I'd really like them to show up sometime soon. They're really cute -- they look like Converse low tops. Black with white toes. And I've been looking forward to getting them for, well, two months. Alas, they are not here yet and the place I ordered them from isn't sure when they'll be coming in. Even they said they expected them to be in by now and they're not sure what the problem is. I'm okay with waiting for them, but I thought that coming home to a brand new pair of cute sneakers might make me feel better. No such luck.

Instead, I made a very healthy, informed decision to go to New York. Road trip! Yes, it is a long drive, but it will be so worth it. As soon as I decided that I was going, my spirits lifted through the ceiling. I'm so excited to see my friends out there. I'm so excited to eat at Teany. I'm so excited to take a road trip. I've never been to New York in the winter and what a perfect time to do it. Right around the holidays so there's lots to do. I might even bug my hostess (my wonderful, beautiful hostess who I can't wait to see) to go skating with me, even though I haven't ice skated in years. But she has the whole week off, too, so we can just bum around New England and have fun. I'm so excited. The best thing you can do for yourself when you're sad and hurty is treat yourself to something you really love. I really love to travel. I really love New York. I really love my friends out there. So I'm treating myself to a trip. I can't wait!

I'd also like to remind all of you to read Sinfest. It had been kind of meh for a while there, but as of late, it's been really good again. It's linked over on the side there as "Wonderful Online Comic" or something like that, so when this post is pushed off the screen, you still have easy access to Sinfest through my site. But check it out. It is one thing that has been making me smile pretty consistently as of late. And I need that as of late. So thank you, Sinfest. As of late.

So you're driving down the road and there's some random bit of construction going on wherein the lovely construction workers have removed a chunk of asphalt for no discernable reason from the middle of one of the lanes and then gone off to have lunch for two days. As cars approach this man-made-perfectly-rectangular-completely-unavoidable pothole, they slow down so as to not damage their cars as the wheels drop an inch and then have to come back up an inch. I assume you know of what I speak. If not, just pretend. Has anyone else noticed that more often than not, the drivers who most gingerly pass through such a construction dilemma are the drivers of SUVs? You'll get a Jeep Cherokee cruising down the road, going at least 15 miles over the speed limit, who comes to almost a full on stop to gently roll into the hole and back out of it again, before taking off at rocket speed to make up for the lost time. Hey, fuckstick. Your car was designed to handle shit like that! I know you've seen the commercials where they take the SUVs off-roading so they're covered in mud and bouncing up and down and taking some real serious abuse. You think it can't handle a one inch divet in the road? Are you afraid of spilling your coffee? Why the fuck did you buy an SUV if you're not going to drive it like it's an SUV?

Dumbass drivers.

I'm done now.

So on the up side, I'm not thinking about fucknut this time. I'm not wishing that things had worked out between he and I or that they will work out someday and I'm not fantasizing about how wonderful things were or anything like that. I think that's step in a positive direction. That was not an ideal situation and I know that now. Fully.

On the down side, I'm not really sleeping and I haven't been hungry for the past couple of days. My stomach is all in knots and my energy is low. And I'm kicking myself for being such a fucking idiot. I said all along that it would only end with me getting hurt and it has. You gave me up really easily and that hurts, too. I guess it's my bad. I knew I was going to be hurt and I let myself go there anyway. And while it would be really nice to say that I never want to try this with anyone again, I know that's not the case. I know this just wasn't the time to try that. I know you weren't the person to try it with. I knew it before, but I wanted to believe that it was because you were so good at saying exactly what I wanted to hear. Maybe you meant it on some level, I don't know. But as cliche as it sounds, actions do speak louder than words. You didn't mean any of it the way I wanted you to mean it -- your behavior told me that every day. And I can't just sit around and be hurt anymore. I just can't. So I won't sleep for a few days. And I won't feel like eating for a while. And I'll show up and smile and try to pretend that everything is okay because you are the last person I want to know how badly I'm hurting. You don't get that satisfaction.

One step closer to healthy. Never easy, always a good thing.

I intended to get a lot done this week since I wasn't at work and I did almost none of it. But I got a few things sorted out in my head and I guess that makes it all worth it. Because truth be told, I am a good person. A worthwhile person. And I shouldn't sell myself short, especially when I know I'm doing it. Yeah, it hurts, but it's something I have to do to be able to respect myself. Because in the long run, it only really matters what I think of me.

Ugh. I'm exhausted. Let's talk about something stupid. Like the fact that I totally geeked out seeing Tim Curry in Kinsey. Very good film, by the way. I had no idea he was in it and I literally jumped when I saw his name in the credits. And then to see him on film...I can't wait until January 11 when I get to see Spamalot. He has the best smile ever. Not in that "Oh, he's so dreamy" way. More in a "That transforms his whole face and could mean any one of a million things" kind of a way. Best smile ever. Dream job for me: Be in a Tim Burton film opposite Tim Curry. Then I could die.

I'm sorry, but I need to sing the praises of tofurkey for a minute. It's really just so yummy and so satisfying. One of my omnivorous cousins tried a bite of my tofurkey yesterday and she thought it was really good, too. It's got stuffing in the middle and you cook it in vegetable broth and serve it with vegetables...it's a complete balanced meal all wrapped up in a little ball of soy protein. I've heard it's also really good deep fried, but as I don't really have the equipment to deep fry anything, I haven't tried that yet. So yeah, to the people who invented tofurkey, thank you. You've kept my tummy happy for the last year and a half, and will continue to keep my tummy happy for many years to come.

Things that I am thankful for:

My family. Sure, we have our oddballs. Hell, I'm one of them. But this is a group of quality people. When they ask you how you are and what you've been up to, they actually want to know and they will actually take the time to listen to what you say. They're just...great people. It's hard to describe; you'd just have to meet all of them.

My friends. You guys keep me from being alone. Which is, apparently, a good thing.

My cat. He brings me so much joy. I love having him in my life.

My house. I'm comfortable here in just about every way a person can be comfortable. This is literally my little corner of the world and I love it here.

My job. As much as I complain about it, it pays the bills.

My talents. The fact that I can express myself in so many ways keeps me from going ballistic because my day job is so dull.

My brain. It serves me well.

I think those are the main ones. There are a lot of little things I am thankful for, too, like indoor plumbing and heat and my guitar and Trader Joe's and stuff, but those are the main ones. If I had nothing more than family, friends, cat, house, job, talent, I would still consider my life to be very rich. Overly rich. I am blessed and for that I am thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody.

Okay, so I got my hair cut today and it's really cute. As in, I feel really cute. Kind of sexy, kind of mysterious. I feel like I should become the kind of woman who wears skirts all of the time and completely impractical shoes. But I like it. Even though I had to trek through icky rainy snowy windy conditions on my way to and from the salon and then on all of the errands I had to run afterwards, I still like my hair. I can't wait to see how nicely it will hold up in good weather. I'm just so sassy, I can't stand it.

I also don't know whether or not I'll get to post tomorrow, but just in case I don't, have a safe and happy Thanksgiving everyone. Enjoy your turkey or tofurkey and all the trimmings and enjoy the time that you get to spend with your families and friends. We all have differences and we all communicate differently and we all want different things, but I'm sure you can find one thing that you have in common with your family members that you can talk about and connect with them about. And hey, that's better than sitting there feeling uncomfortable all afternoon, isn't it? So happy turkey day. Make it the best you possibly can.

And thanks to all of you for being in my life, in the strange way that you are, being readers of my journal. I love the fact that you are there. So thank you.

I know it's distasteful to brag, but I really like my new song. I want somebody else to hear it, gosh darn it! But the only one who might listen to it outside of an actual show is the person it was inspired by and that would be kind of weird. For me to just stand there and sing this acapella song, knowing that this person is listening to every word, wondering if this is actually how I feel and so on and so forth. I can't wait for the seventh so somebody else can hear this song.

You know, there are a lot of people out there who are a lot more messed up than I am. Spend one day watching talk shows and you'll see that it is true. But really, even I'll admit that. With all of my faults and little foibles and imperfections, there are a lot of people out there who are a lot more messed up than I am. Maybe it's not so strange to think that other people might like to hang out with one of the less messed up ones. Meaning me.

I wrote a new song this morning. It's kind of an R&B or bluesy thing and thus far, it is acapella. It is definitely not a guitar tune. Maybe a slide electric, but not really. It just needs a beat behind it, I think. And I'm really excited about this song because it is completely unlike anything else I have written. Somebody else will probably hear it and tell me I sound like some existing artist who I've never heard of and that's okay. I like this song. I'm excited to "play" it out sometime in the near future. It kind of captures all of the little hurts and contradictions and makes me feel better about them. Because it is the little hurts that will kill you. And they do and you can let them or you can get them out of your system in one way or another. Hopefully in a manner that is not destructive to yourself or anyone else. Me? I write songs. And write in here. Because the little hurts keep coming and there's nothing you can do about them.

Happy Monday, right?

A blank page, a million words, and none of them feel like coming out. Could I be content today? Imagine that.

Imagine, if you will, a very small critter that is mostly hands and feet. It could just be two hands and two feet, but each hand and each foot is at least twice the size of the little critter's body. Now imagine that this critter lives in your lower abdominal region and once a month puts on it's cleats and spiked gloves and goes romping about on your intestines in a fashion reminiscent of the Broadway smash hit "Stomp!" You might now have some incling of what it is like to be a woman with PMS.

I couldn't stand up this morning. At least not upright. I had to stumble out of bed into my bathroom where I took a handfull of over the counter pain medication pills and went back to bed to wait for them to kick in. About a half an hour later, I was close enough to good that I could take a shower and come in to work, but I'm still crampy. It sucks. Yes, I know this means my body is working the way it is supposed to, but come on. As if the pain of child birth wasn't enough, we have to put up with this, too? Yes, men have a particular region which is very sensitive and if mistreated, can cause them to see stars and pass out. However, that is only if that region is mistreated. Women get this every month, whether or not we want it. Granted, it's not this bad for some women. Hell, it didn't used to be this bad for me. But does that make it right? Does that make it fair? I know, I know, life isn't fair and I just have to deal with it. Fine. But I'm buying stock in the over the counter pain medication company because this is ridiculous.

Okay, time for another list of happy things in my life.

The Spongebob Squarepants movie opens tomorrow. I have never in my life seen an episode of Spongebob Squarepants, but somehow, the idea that he has a movie that is opening tomorrow brings me great amounts of mirth. I'm also glad that I just used the word mirth.

Karoke. Specifically live band karoke. You actually feel like a rock star doing it. And seeing as the band doesn't know a whole boatload of songs (they probably know 75 or 100, but compared to the 6,000 I'm used to seeing at karoke bars, it's a rather limited selection), you have to do songs you might not ordinarily do. And it's so much fun. I think if I go next week, I'll do "Head Like a Hole" by Nine Inch Nails. And it's been really good for my ego lately, too, because I get all kinds of comments and remarks from total strangers who like hearing me sing, even if it's something totally ridiculous like "Lose Yourself" by Eminem. Hell, this random woman bought one of my demo CDs at karoke on Tuesday night because she liked my voice. So yeah, karoke is a good thing for me right now.

Owen. Of course. You knew that was coming. But he's turned into a lap cat now. He's so cute in his routines -- when I get home, he needs some attention in my room, be it play fighting or just some ear scritching. Then later on in the evening, after he's had a nap, he likes to crawl into my lap for some very focused mom-time, including more scritching and sometimes some shiatsu massage. That's the one where you pat the person down with cupped hands, right? I do that to Owen and he loves it. He's such a little freak show, but he's my little freak show and I love him.

I'm part of a theater company. Which means the last show I did and the show I am about to do, I didn't have to audition for. Yay! And I think I get to play my guitar in this upcoming show. Yay! And I may get to just sit on stage and laugh for two minutes in this upcoming show. Yay!

It is once again tofurkey season.

My skin is looking really nice lately. I switched products and I have very soft, even, rosy skin on my face now. The paleness is a little more obvious because a lot of the redness from old acne has gone away, but it's not a deathly pale anymore. It's a porcelain pale and I think it's really pretty.

Green and white teas. I'm drinking so much tea these days, it's really funny. And I think it has shrunk my stomach -- I don't have the appetite that I used to. Which is fine with me. Not the ultimate goal, but a kind of nice side effect.

More and more people are hearing and enjoying my music. We're not talking millions, or even thousands, but we are definitely talking about people I've never met. It's somehow easier to believe a compliment from a total stranger than it is to accept one from someone you're close to -- you know the stranger isn't trying to get anything from you. At least in this kind of a scenario, I find that to be true. The people in my immediate circle of friends could very well just be humoring me, you know, because they are my friends and they love me and want to support me. They could be totally sincere, too, and it's my problem that I can't always tell the difference. But some random person who heard a song of mine because one of their friends played it for them and then contacts me, wanting their own copy of my demo disc -- there's something powerful in the statement that makes. Makes me think I could actually be a musician.

I'm not doing that silly film, which frees me up for other projects.

My honorary brother will be in town next week and I will get to see him and hug him.

I have some really amazing friends who I love very much. I hope they know that.

I got to see my mom twice this week. I love her very much and hope she knows that.

I'm taking next week off of work to just have some "me" time.

I still have a job, so I still have a steady income.

I will have one of my two major debts paid off in five months.

I live in not only a blue state, but a blue county within a blue state.

I might work at Wrigley Field this summer. I totally could if I want to, I just have to decide if I can dedicate the time to it. But how fun would that be to work at Wrigley for a summer?

I will get to see my whole family at Thanksgiving dinner next week. Or at least a boatload of them. I like my family. They are really amazing people.

I once again have a little bit of money in my "rainy day" account. Not a lot, but enough that I will be able to participate in Christmas this year. I've even thought of getting a little tree to put on top of my bookshelves. I've thought about putting up lights in my windows, but as Owen likes to chew on all things electrical, I might not. But it could be fun to have a little tree. Maybe the reason I've resented Christmas so much for the past million years is that I've just chosen not to participate at all. If I build my own, simple little traditions, maybe I can actually enjoy the season.

It's been nice and balmy outside this week. I left one window open for Owen today, and I'm sure that made him happy.

Moby posted again today. He hadn't in a while and I was starting to get concerned. From the sound of it, he took the election pretty hard and I was afraid he was going to stop posting little updates because he had lost hope or something. Turns out, he's taking a little vacation and didn't have interweb access. Theoretically, he's putting out two new albums next year, too, so maybe there will be a tour involved. Please oh please oh please let there be a tour involved. I need to see another Moby show.

The song "Such Great Heights" as done by Iron and Wine. I love covering this song. I have decided that I will sing it to my children to put them to sleep, when I have children. It's so sweet and I feel very sweet when I play it.

I'm making a short, silent film for this girl who works in the coffee shop that I frequent and I feel really good about it. Nothing Oscar worthy, but I think it is going to turn out really well.

So yeah, I needed a little pick me up today. My head has been racing around in circles (most of you know why) as of late and I'm getting tired of all the craziness and uncertainty. So I needed to remember that I have a lot of good things in my life. I do have a lot of good things in my life and I deserve to have a lot of good things in my life and I am thankful for all of the good things in my life. And on that note, I think I'm going to go get some more tea. Enjoy your day!

Maybe I really can do this. How cool would that be?

Happy birthday, theater friend!

Happy birthday, Michigan girl!

And on another positive note, I blew a bunch of blood out of my nose this morning, so at least that's not in there anymore. It is a very bizarre feeling to be plugged up, yet completely dehydrated at the same time. But we all know that I'm weird, so I guess it makes sense, yes? Anyway, happy birthday to my friends. In honor of your joining the planet, I'm going to sing karoke tonight.

Vague unclear entry #97.

This may be one of the hardest but most important things I've ever had to do. I think it is exactly what I have to do. It's something I've talked about doing and needed to do for a very very long time, but it deals with issues I have had for I don't even know how many years. I've talked to various people about it along the way and they all agree that it is an issue that it completely in my head. I think now may be the time to tackle it. And this may be the best situation in which I can tackle it. It's safe and all the cards are out on the table and it is, in it's own way, non-threatening. I know I'm not making any sense. I'm trying to rationalize a completely bizarre situation and this is the best way I can do it. It is finally time for me to reconcile what I know to be true about myself with what other people know to be true about me. And I think maybe we're both right. Doesn't mean I'm not going to freak out still, but I'm going to try very hard not to throw this away without learning everything that I can from it. Sounds so sterile. Feels so...wonderful. Wish me luck.

So I'm not doing the film. I feel like an ass for giving other people so much more work to do when I know they are already stressed beyond belief, but I just couldn't do it. And I feel much better not having to worry about it anymore. I will miss the paycheck I was going to get at the end of it, but it's not about the money. I'll be able to save up for a new guitar soon anyway. This one was about my sanity. I've got too many crazy things all going on at once; I need to be in control of something. So I'm not doing the film. My apologies to the rest of the crew -- you guys are really talented and the only reason the movie is happening at all. I hope I get to work with you someday in another capacity, on another film.

And now I can take some time to just get better. I'm tired of being so stuffed up! It was really bizarre the other morning to wake up with a kind of a hangover, so I felt all dehydrated, but completely congested. How can one's completely dehydrated body produce so much phlegm? The world may never know.

I think every car owner in Chicago was out shopping today. All at the same time. Sweet jebus, you never know road rage until you actually have places to be and you are stuck in line behind seventeen people who are just out for a drive. And stores are completely different, too, when you go in for a purpose and when you go in for fun. I love the fabric store on a normal day, when you can go in and browse and find new, interesting things. You leave feeling like your soul has been energized; you have the excitement of a new project hanging over you. When you go in with a purpose and are behind that person in line, there is nothing you want more than to strangle that person.

And I'd love to write more, but the current biggest pain in my ass is getting bigger by the second so I have to go. I should have quit when I had the chance.

Somehow, Sander Kleinenberg always manages to come to town right when I need him to. Coincidence? I think so.

I'm so excited to see him spin on Saturday. I need a good night out.

When an artist does many shows in the same city over the course of several years, does he/she notice particular fans who come back time and time again? Or are they all just a blur between cities?

I look at my cat and I kind of feel for him. His entire life is these four rooms. That's it. The only time he gets a change of scenery is when I take him to the vet. Sure, he gets to have the windows open in the summer time and that's nice, but the view doesn't change all that much in between the glass and the screen. His entire life, so far, has been these four rooms. He's a pretty good sport about it. But he'll never know the joy that is live band karoke. Or a Thai massage. He'll never get drunk at a party and sleep with another cat. He'll never see the world from the top of the Sears Tower or the Empire State Building. He'll never get his heart broken. But he goes on, day to day, napping in his favorite places, eating the food that is set out for him, chewing on anything plastic within mouth range of the floor. It is, in a way, a sad existence. So in the meantime, I play with him as much as I can. And let him know that I love him and will be heartbroken when he leaves me. I hope that whereever I go in my life, he'll come with me. Largely so he can see more than these four rooms. There is so much more to the world than these four rooms. I hope he gets to see it one day.

I have too much to do and very little desire to do a lot of it. Namely, this film dealie. The other stuff, I'm all good with. If this film would just go away, I'd be much much much much much happier.

I know a lot of you out there think I only get my news from reading Moby's website. This is an incorrect statement, but you're going to believe what you want to believe anyway, and I'm sick and don't want to argue with you. I will ask, though, that you please read this. As if I wasn't feeling shitty enough already...

Okay, so I think I discovered a new drug that is even better than acid. I think I'm going to call it malneuroneium. It is perfectly safe and perfectly legal, too*. Here's how it works.

Get some random person to sneeze on you so you get his/her germs.
Let those germs fester and grow in your own sinus cavity.
Once your mucus production has reached Niagara Falls proportions, lie down on your bed.
Send your cat into the other room to eat everything except his food.
Try to fall asleep.
Get up every two hours to yell at your cat.
Hit yourself in the face with a good, solid, hardcover book to try to knock the hurting sensation out of your sinuses.
Do not blow your nose! Let the snot drip down the back of your throat until swallowing becomes more painful than an Adam Sandler movie.
Do not speak to another actual human being for two days.
Now create!

Or at the very least, talk to people. You'll be amazed at how suddenly witty you have become, and how random your metaphors come out. And the best part? You don't crash like you do with artificial substances. And the trip lasts for days. Safe, easy, effective, and you actually remember everything you created when you go on a malnueroneium trip. The non-drug of the future!

*For the record, I am not an advocate of drug usage, legal or not. I know some of you out there are going to do them anyway and I just ask that you be careful when you do so. But in all honesty, the human body is a very finely tuned machine with amazing potential and I think it's really fun to see what your body can do when it isn't artifically altered. But that's just me. So be careful in your experimentation. And someday, maybe a complete detox will be your experiment and you'll see what I'm talking about.

It's irritating because at the same time it is the most flattering, complete and total acceptance of me, exactly as I am and exactly who I am, it is also the ultimate rejection of what I am based on something I have no control over. So do I revel in the acceptance, or withdraw because the rejection hurts? I can't be the only one who gets myself into things like this. Or can I be? We've all decided that a lot of strage things happen to me...

On another note, my burn injury is peeling off and beginning to heal. It feels and looks just like my skin got uber dried out and is peeling off. The skin underneath is soft and pink and beautiful. No permanent scarring. If only everything healed so perfectly.

At what point does one have enough fans that one is forced to "be" a musician? To use that label. To dedicate one's life to making music. To make a real CD and tour with it. Twenty? Fifty thousand?

I'm still floored that people like my music. Honestly, I'm floored. I grew up thinking I had a terrible singing voice and I know my guitar skills are rudimentary at best. My mom taught me a few chords here and there, and I've picked up a few more elsewhere and I just screw around with it until I like what I'm hearing. And then I put some simple little words with it and call it a song. So how is it that I got two more requests for demo CDs from absolute strangers today? What is it about my little tunes that appeals to people? It can't be my voice, right? It can't be my amazing guitar skills. It must be my words. I have always been good at writing.

Sorry. In case you couldn't tell, I'm having kind of a down day today. Not sure why. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed about this upcoming film and very confused about my personal life, such as it is. And I haven't written anything new in a long time, so I'm feeling not quite so musician-y as of late. And then someone asks me for a demo CD because he or she found one of my songs on some music trading website and wants to hear more, or something like that. It is so bizarre. My music is reaching people I would never have touched otherwise and it is touching them. I did that. Something I created is moving other people. I feel so lucky. A fortunate cookie, just like my mom. But it's still going to take me a while to get used to the praise. I'm waiting for someone to tell me I suck, you know? I know not everyone is going to like my stuff. I'm waiting until I hit that critical mass of people that at least one of them has to vehemently dislike what I have to offer. I know those people are out there. I guess I'm looking for a little balance, is all. Too much positive makes Kitty nervous. How wrong is that?

Is it wrong to enter into a situation you know will only hurt you in the end? Is it a sign of weakness to not be able to walk away? Or is it a sign of strength to stick it out and see what you can learn from it? I honestly don't know.

So the film that I thought was never going to happen is going to happen and I have a lot of work to do and I'm kind of freaked out about it but I know I can do it but I don't want to do it today because my throat hurts and I want to just sit around and eat soup. Yeah, that's pretty much all I have to say today. Go eat soup.

I can't talk about politics anymore. I can't think about politics anymore. I'm done with it, at least for now. I want my life of ignorance back. I want to be like all of the people in the red states.

Okay, that was a bit much. But you get the point.

I'm going to talk about tea. I've been drinking a lot of it as of late. Recently, I found this lovely green/white/mint/somethingelseIcan'tspell blend that is really yummy. But the interesting part, I think, is that all of this tea seems to be shrinking my stomach. You've gotten the spam messages from various places saying "Shed pounds the Asian way!" that are advertising weight loss supplements with green tea in them, yes? Well, I guess it is true.

DISCLAIMER: I did not start drinking tea in order to lose weight. I started drinking tea because I wanted a warm beverage during the cold winter months. I am not interested in dieting or diet tips or exercise tips. I love you for wanting to send them to me, but I'm not interested. Thanks anyway.

I'm serious. I can't eat as much as I used to, and I think it has something to do with the tea. And my pants are getting to be a smidge loose on me, which is kind of a nice feeling. Better than them being too tight, which is a bad feeling. I like good feelings.

So anyway, just an observation. I like my teas and all of the happy antioxidants they pump into my body. And look! The sun is shining for the first time all week. I missed the sun. As much as I don't like getting burnt by it, it is nice to have the sun pop out and say hello. Makes things seem less dreary than they have for the past four days. But I'm not talking politics anymore, so I'm going to stop now before that thought takes on a life of it's own. Yay tea!

All those of you depressed about the outcome of the election -- go do live band karoke. There is nothing quite like it. You will feel better, I guarantee it. Music is healing and soothing. Nothing feels better than making music with other people, even if you are tone deaf and have no rhythm. Go make music. You will feel better.

And speaking of music, I've gotten some odd music-related compliments lately that I feel compelled to share.

Someone said I'm like Kurt Cobain, in that my music is interesting and innovative. I'm wondering if it means I have to stop bathing.

Someone said my version of a particular Liz Phair song is better than the original Liz Phair version. I don't know that I agree, but whether or not I do, that is one hefty compliment. He then went on to say he thinks I should get a record deal based on that song alone.

And after singing "Son of a Preacher Man" at live band karoke tonight, the bartender (who is a friend of mine, which is a good thing because if he wasn't, this compliment would be totally inappropriate) told me that his dick moved a little because my voice is so sexy. I got up again later and did "Pride" by U2 and both he and the host of live band karoke agreed that it was the best rendition of that song they have ever heard at live band karoke.

So after feeling like total ass because of the election and like a total ass because of a conversation with a friend earlier in the evening, I feel great. Live band karoke. It's the way to go if you are depressed. Oh! And drink while you are doing it. It so enhances the experience.

If you look at Moby's entries from yesterday, he ends one of them by saying, "If anyone needs us, my friends and I will be drunk for the next four years." That made me cry. I love you, Moby. Hang in there, hon.

The thing is, I don't want to have to leave my country. I love America. I love what America is supposed to stand for -- freedom and democracy and equality. I believe in all of those things and am thankful every day that I live in a country where I can hold a job and live in my own apartment and spew drivel onto the internet that anybody who wants to can read. This is my home. My family is here. My friends are here. My heart is here. I love Chicago. The skyline brings me so much joy. This city has been really good to me. I love my neighborhood. I love my country. But I don't know that I can be here for the next four years and watch my country disintegrate. I can't watch all of our personal freedoms go out the window in the name of "security," which we are sorely lacking. I can't watch as our elderly are left to fend for themselves because their social security blanket was spent on a "very successful military operation" that ended a year and a half ago, yet is still resulting in the deaths of hundreds of people every day. I can't watch as my friends continue to lose their jobs.

I know at least one of you is probably going to send me an e-mail saying that things in America have been much worse in the past. Okay, fine. But they are not good now and I don't see them getting any better and that bothers me. You can chalk it up to me being a woman or me being a hippie or whatever you want to chalk it up to. This is how I feel. And I have just as much right to talk about how I feel as any of the rest of you. I feel like I'm watching the Cubs lose again, except this time it was actually important that they win.

I do take some comfort in the fact that Illinois voted for Kerry. I do take some comfort in Obama's election to the Senate. And I do take some comfort in the fact that it was a very close race and Kerry's concession before 270 electoral votes were achieved on either side kind of means that once again, Bush didn't really "win," but that's just a technicality that will help me not lose all faith in humanity. And I guess there is some strength to be found in the ability to tough out the hard times and stick with your country through thick and thin. I'm ready for some thick, though. Can we just fast forward through the next four years and start cleaning up the mess Bush will leave behind?

Thank you, Mr. Kerry, for not dragging this out. I wish things had turned out differently. Thank you, also, to all of you who were out campaigning for Mr. Kerry. You fought a good fight.

Fuck.

I voted today. Did you?

I'd never voted before, so I didn't know what to expect. I showed up with my voter registration card, my driver's license, my passport, and a little flyer thingy that some guy gave me outside detailing who the Democratic candidates are. I signed my name in a little box, they compared it to the signature they had on file, and handed me my ballot. I waited a couple of minutes for a voting booth to open up; it didn't take long. I was happy to see so many people there first thing in the morning, though. It was by no means swamped, but there were people at every voting booth, people in line to get their ballots, and people in line to turn in their ballots. People in suits, ready to go to work. People in sweats starting their morning errands with a trip to the polls. A guy in a leather jacket and bandana who would probably never be up this early unless he absolutely had to be, but out there to make his voice heard. Little old ladies who probably won't leave the house again until Thursday. It made me happy that we were all there and that we each had an equal opportunity to cast our votes. I've been getting a lot of emails as of late, telling me what to do in case I was denied the right to vote and frankly, they had me a smidge worried. But I was able to vote with no fuss, as was everyone else at my polling place. It was nice to see our electoral process working the way it should be in at least one place, you know?

And I felt empowered afterwards. I don't know how much my vote for President will actually count, as Illinois is typically a Democratic state, but I cast it just the same. Voter apathy is what loses elections. And I'm sure my dad's vote will cancel mine out, but I cast it just the same. For the first time in my life, I felt it was important enough to stand up and let my voice be heard, so I did. Regardless of the outcome of the election, I did my part and I am proud of myself for that.

No matter who you are voting for today, please make sure you get out to the polls and let your voice be heard.

Okay, quick recap of the last four years.

1.5 million jobs lost
Millions of people without healthcare
War started under false pretenses, costing billions of dollars and thousands of lives
Largest budgetary defecit in American history
Educational funding cut
Social Security system on the outs
Some of the worst grammatical errors committed by a public speaker in decades

And so on and so forth. Do you really want four more years of this?

Please go vote tomorrow. I'm not going to tell you how you should vote, because you have every right to vote either for change or for four more years of the same. But I am asking you to please go to the polls tomorrow and let your voice be heard.

Happy Halloween!

I know, I'm a couple of hours late, but that's because I was out doing my last performance of the first non-Floss! show I have done with my theater company. And new people have been inducted into the company since I have become a member, so I'm no longer one of the new kids. I feel like a bona fide member. It's kind of cool. I'm still not sure if it is where I belong, but I know it is somewhere I can place my energy and have it be accepted.

The women in my family had a sort of women's reunion last weekend that I didn't go to because I was focused on my theatrical career. In retrospect, I wish I had gone, for many reasons, but as my mom was telling me about the weekend, I wish I had been there because it was what my family gatherings always are -- a place where you can bring anything and everything that you have to give and you can give it and it will be embraced and accepted and you will get back so much more than you can ever imagine. And the weekend was a celebration of being female. Of being a woman. I need to forgive myself for being a woman. I need to celebrate my feminity, in some way or another. Or maybe I first need to work on not resenting the fact that I am a woman. Because really, it is an incredible thing to be a woman. Now, more than ever, being a woman is a beautiful thing, and there are a lot of us out there who don't know it. Or don't appreciate it as much as we could. I find myself wishing daily that I wasn't a woman, or at the very least that my gender was a non-issue. Life would be so much easier if gender was a non-issue and I wish it wasn't so.


Fuck.

I shouldn't post when I've been drinking, or when I'm listening to Colin Hay, both of which are factors in this post and I apologize for that. I have a lot of things that I want to say, but I would rather say them in person to the persons that they need to be said. I hope I say those things enough. I hope I don't say them to the point of being obnoxious. I hope you know what you mean to me and that I am thankful every day that you are a part of my life. I hope you know how much joy you bring into my life. I hope it is okay that I tell you that. Thank you for putting up with me and for loving me anyway.

That was a lot deeper than I wanted this pseudo-Halloween post to be. I can't help that, but I apologize for it. It's a little overwhelming to be the recipient of a lot of positive energy. I feel like I need to pump a lot of it back into the universe. Thank you. And I love you for being a part of my life. And I'm stopping now because I'm boring when I'm happy. Stupidfey November. Now it's going to get all cold and snowy and I'll be miserable for the next six months bitching about the cold. But I'll be entertaining and non-sappy, so it's not all bad.