It is supposed to snow tonight and in a really weird way, I'm looking forward to that. I know it will make the morning commute a bitch, but snow is so pretty. And I could use some pretty in my life right now. I love going out walking in the snow when everything is quite and covered in white. The world all of a sudden seems okay again when it is covered in snow. Mind you, if I lived in a place that had snow all of the time, I probably wouldn't feel the same way about it. But to go out walking in the snow...I think I could get a lot of stuff figured out to a peaceful resolution. And that's all I'm looking for right now is a peaceful resolution to the little wars in my head. They've been turning me into a bitter, grumpy person as of late and I don't like being bitter and grumpy. Either one by itself, okay, because a funny grump is entertaining, as is a jolly bitter person. But both together -- no thank you. I need to get back to loving people in general and myself in particular -- myself and my current station in life. And for some strange reason, I think some snow would help.

Though please not a blizzard. Just an inch or two, thanks.

So here's a fashion tidbit that I think they need to bring back. (And I am warning you, my sexually charged readers, that yes, I know you are going to snicker when I say this, but no, I don't mean it that way.) They need to bring back the muff. (snicker, snicker) For those of you who only know this particular word as a synonym for a part of the female anatomy, let me fill you in on the other meaning. Also a noun, a muff is a cylindrical piece of fabric, usually fur, usually lined (though I bet you could make a really nice muff out of that polar fleece stuff that is so popular these days -- that would be really nice), and usually insulated/filled with something warm so that you can stick you hands in either end of the cylinder and your hands will stay warm. Sort of a precursor to gloves. And kind of like a Chinese finger trap, but for your whole hand and without the trapping feature. Ladies used to wear muffs back in the seventeen or eighteen hundreds when capes were also all the rage. I think it would be fun to bring back the cape, too, but that's another entry. But really, I think muffs are a great idea. Sure, they make things like driving and opening doors a challenge, but if you are walking a great distance with something cumbersome to carry, you can just hug the item to your chest, slip your hands into the muff, hold your own hands, and you will be nice and toasty warm on your cold winter's journey without dropping your precious cargo. Hell, half the time I'm walking around, I slip one hand into the other arm's sleeve to act as a pseudo muff. And just think about all the fun colors and patterns and bits of embroidery the cheap chain trendy clothing stores could make muffs in. They're sitting on a wintertime fashion land mine and they're not doing anything about it. For shame.

Today is a great day. A truly great day.

Why?

Because I was finally finally finally able to burn Liz Phair's internet only EP "comeandgetit" to a disc so I can now listen to it in my car. I can't even tell you how happy this makes me. I know. I'm a dork. But a happy dork.

Asian food. Asian cuisine. Good stuff, that. I would like to offer you a few tips to make your Asian cuisine experience more enjoyable.*

First of all, Asian cuisine must be eaten out of the little white origami-looking box that it is delivered in. There will be no "plates" or "bowls" or "paper towels thrown across your lap." That's what the little boxes are for -- to eat out of. And while we're on the subject of the little white boxes that Asian cuisine comes in, I would like to put out there that all of these little boxes should be held together with an adhesive of some sort, or the over-crimping of the seams -- NOT with staples. Stapling the boxes means you can't put the box in the microwave to reheat leftovers (see rule number three), thus requiring a "plate" or a "bowl" or a "paper towel to be thrown across your lap," which goes against rule number one of Asian cuisine consumption. Likewise, no matter how full the little box is stuffed, it should not be stapled shut. That's just a pain in the ass.

Secondly, Asian cuisine must be consumed with chopsticks or plastic utensils. None of this "good silverware" crap for Asian cuisine. You either eat it off of wood or plastic. Tastes better that way.

Thirdly, Asian cuisine is actually better once it has been reheated. When enjoying a meal of Asian cuisine, make sure you have enough time to get the food, put it in the refrigerator for a few hours to cool off, then reheat it in your microwave before eating it. The fats and stuff congeal really nicely during refrigeration and the flavors are more condensed. Mmm...condensed...

And finally, Asian cuisine is best consumed with about thirty other people around. They may be sharing in the cuisine or off doing their own thing, but Asian cuisine is not a solitary food. If you are forced to eat Asian cuisine by yourself, please make sure you at least have a television nearby on which to watch a big MGM musical picture from 1934 (or thereabouts).

Thank you. And I wish you many happy evenings of Asian cuisine consumption!

*My apologies to any members of the Asian community who are offended by this post. I was trying to be funny. I should know by now that one can't try to be funny -- one always fails. Kind of like trying to be sexy. Anyway. My apologies. Egg roll?

See, I don't want to be a corporate schill. I sit and listen to all of the things that I will be responsible for once I have my nice little certificate and truth be told, I don't want to be responsible for any of that shit. I want to be responsible for showing up at the set on time, maybe bringing my own costume piece, and knowing my lines and my character so well I can do her in my sleep. Which sounds really wrong, but just bear with me. You know what I'm getting at.

And besides all of the moral reasons why I don't want to be a corporate schill, I don't want to be a corporate schill because PANTYHOSE ARE THE MOST EVIL THINGS EVER INVENTED, FOLLOWED CLOSELY BY HIGH HEEL SHOES. Says the woman now sitting on her couch in ripped flannel pants. My feet are killing me.

Rant over.

Thank you for your time.

Place yourself, if you will, in a John Hughes movie, circa 1982. One starring John Cusack doing what John Cusack got famous for -- being a doofy romantic lead, chasing after a woman he could never have. So anyway, as the movie goes along, a connection forms between Mr. Cusack and the woman, but then she does something to screw it up. So badly that Mr. Cusack has to go for a long walk on a winter's night, searching in vain for some sort of answers. And as he rounds one last corner, there stands the woman, remorse in her eyes. With a simple look, they both know what it is that she has to say and a tear wells up in her eye. And Mr. Cusack says, "If you kissed me right now, I wouldn't feel a thing." She kisses him. He retorts, "No, really. My face is frozen. I can't feel anything." She bursts out in laughter, relieved that he has seen fit to forgive her and they kiss again as the camera floats up and away to let us know that they will spend many, many happy years together and the credits begin to roll.

Good ending, huh? I shoulda been a screenwriter twenty years ago.

And it's really hard to say goodbye to someone who doesn't answer the phone.

So I really like my little video for Hamburg. Granted, it was all shot with my little digital camera, so it actually looks better if you watch it small, but I like it. As soon as I find a place to host it, I'll let you know and we can discuss the theory/theme of the video. It really does make me happy and I'd be interested to see what other people see in it.

So I want to know why dreams in movies are always so topical? Is it because the characters are under such extreme pressure that all their minds can focus on is the situation at hand? Because I, personally, find that my dreams get even more bizarre and random when I am stressed. It takes two or three weeks of repetitive motion to infiltrate my dreams.

I watched a bunch of movies yesterday -- 28 Days Later, A Mighty Wind (finally, I know), and Terminator 3. I know I said yesterday was going to be homework day, but it turned into movie day/Hamburg video day. Yes, I have a rough cut of the video for Hamburg done. I kind of dig it. Or at least I did last night. We'll see if I still like it this morning. But anyway, the guy in 28 Days Later has a dream that he is abandoned again. In Terminator 2, Sarah Conner dreams of nuclear holocaust. In Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, he dreams of horrible things happening to his bicycle. And it's not too hard to figure out what their dreams mean in relation to the events going on in their real lives. Is it because the writers are trying to make a point? Do they think that the audience is so dumb that if Pee-Wee were to, say, dream of getting his legs amputated, that we wouldn't realize that it all symbolizes the way he feels about having his bicycle stolen? In my experience, that is how dreams work. They find the root issue and apply it to the most opposite situation they can find and that is what you dream about.

That being said, I had a really really lovely Moby dream last night. There were five or six of us just hanging out, having some food, chatting. I got to talk to Moby for a little while like he was a good friend of mine -- meaning critiquing the Christmas lights he had hanging up around his ceiling. And when it was time to go, I got a big hug from him and he asked if I'd like to record some stuff with him sometime. I did a very good job of remaining calm and offering him a copy of my demo CD so he could see what stuff I've done in the past, all the while doing cartwheels in my heart. And it felt good to just be with Moby, you know? I needed a dream like that. Thanks, brain/heart.

So I've been feeling like shit recently. Really shitty. Mostly because of the whole fucknut situation. I remember why I started calling him fucknut in the first place. I go back and forth between my eyes welling up with tears and thinking to myself, "Fuck it. You're better than this. It's not worth it." Besides, I'm too tired to deal with it today.

So I'm going to talk about something that makes me really happy. Working.

*gasp*

I know. I did just see all of you gasp in horror at my little declaration that I like working, but it's true. I have had things to do for the last couple of days. Lots of things to do. Important things (i.e. not just photocopying). Interesting things. And I like it. I like being busy. That is what has bothered me about this job all along -- in just about every other aspect of my life, I stay busy. Other people's jaws drop when they hear about all of the things that I do, but I know that I function best when I have too much to do. I get a strange sense of calm and focus when I have a huge "to-do" list. If there is only one thing on my list, it'll never get done. So I've really enjoyed being productive for the last couple of days. I hope this is indicative of things to come in my job. Yes, it will mean less crusing the net, but I do too much of that anyway. I'd rather feel like I'm earning my paycheck.

And in addition to enjoying myself at work, I am going to buy myself a couple of little presents today. SOCKS!!!!! HOORAY FOR NEW SOCKS!!!! How stupid is it that I am excited about getting new socks? But I am. And I am going to get rid of the old ones that used to be white but are now gray and look like they are going to fall apart any second. I'm going to buy TWO PACKAGES OF SOCKS!!! I know. I'm going all out. And you know what else I'm going to get? The icing on the cake? I'm going to get Moby's new DVD. I know it will bring a smile to my face. We could all use more of those.

I was watching people at the various train stations today on my way home from class and something occurred to me. Something that I think it is safe to say crosses gender, age, race, and culture lines. Something that can probably be attributed to every person on the planet. Or at the very least, the vast majority of us. We all want to be loved. We all want to be safe. We don't like being lied to or played with. Simple as that. It all comes down to love and trust. That is all anyone wants from anyone else. So why are love and security so hard to come by?

I think that if we all make a pact, right now, to love someone else and to not lie to anybody some really amazing things could happen. If nothing else, we'd all be a lot happier. And who knows what could happen in this world if we were all happy. We could get over all the wars and petty fighting and bullshit and clean up our environment and whatnot.

I'm all for it. I am going to love people. And I'm not going to lie to people or play with their emotions. There. That was easy, wasn't it?

Though I will be the first to admit that I am not perfect, so I might need a kick in the pants every now and again, okay? Thanks.

Oh, a couple other happy tidbits.

Moby's new DVD is now available. I plan on picking up a copy very soon. I suggest you do, too. If for no other reason then because it has the cutest video ever made on it -- the video for "In This World." You will get misty eyed and go, "Awww..." It is that cute.

I looked at the label inside the boots I am wearing today and discovered that they are made from entirely synthetic materials. While this might not sound like anything particularly exciting, it does mean that I do not have to replace my already vegan friendly boots. And it also means I can wear these boots anytime I want to and be completly guilt-free. So I've been spending some time this morning trying to decide which aspect of my personality is more important to me -- the vegan part or the "I'm a girl who never wears heels" part. Because these boots have a little heel on them. They are still kind of ass-kicking boots, but girly ass-kicking boots and if I can get over the "wearing heels" bit, they could become my regular, everyday wearing shoes. I'll have to see how they look with the cords, though. But at least in the meantime, until I replace my other leather shoes with vegan friendly shoes, I can wear these boots and feel good about my life choices.

I have, as of late, been frequenting this semi-fast-food joint near school so that I can get a salad made fresh for me before I go to class. It's hard to sit through three hours of lecture on an empty stomach and as much as I don't want to visit a semi-fast-food joint, it is one of the only places in the area I can go to find something compatible with my eating habits that doesn't cost $67. The thing that amuses me, though, is that when I walk in and order by saying either, "I'll have a veggie salad, please" or "Could I get a salad that is just all of your vegetables?" the clerk invariably asks, "Do you want cheese on that?" Cheese is not a vegetable. Just like cinnamon is not a mint. Don't they teach the food pyramid anymore? How is that people are so confused about what various foods are?

I saw Liz Phair again last night. I hope that one day, I can be even one-tenth as cool as her. And I don't mean that in the derogatory way that people sometimes use that phrase. She is so incredible. She has really gotten comfortable with being on stage and with herself and her music and her music is so vital and poignant. I feel so inadequate.

Somehow last night's show was different for me, though. I'm guessing it is because fucknut was there. He is the one who introduced me to her music in the first place, oh so many years ago and for a very long time, I wished that I could see one of her shows with him. And now I have. Huh. I'm not sure what to do now. It's almost like getting some weird sort of closure with a part of my life, though what part, I'm not sure. The part that wanted to sing all of those songs to him maybe? "You've never been a waste of my time/it's never been a drag." "I can't believe you had a life before me/I can't believe they let you run around free/just putting your body wherever it seemed like a good idea." "And I never met a man I was so crazy about/it kind of has become an obsession to me/I hate him all the time but I still get off/when he knocks me down and he orders me around and it loosens me up and I can't get enough and I'd pay to spend the night with him some more." "It's been so long since you've been a friend to me/seems like I dreamed and now I'm waking up to daylight/what happened? When did you let go of me?/I miss you so badly." Or with the part of my life that remembers all of the discussions we had about her music, dissecting the lyrics, while eating pizza outside on a cold fall day or sitting in his car waiting for it to warm up with his fingers shoved into the vents to thaw them out. I don't know. It was wonderful and it was strange and something ended last night, but I'm not sure what.

I also came to the realization last night that the only way I am going to figure any of this shit out is to talk to fucknut about it. Nobody else knows him the way he does, right? Especially not my friends (the wonderful, beautiful, supportive people that they are). So as nice as it would be to be able to talk this all out with one of my friends who I know loves me and will still love me after I am reduced to a wretched, sobbing puddle of girl, that's not going to rectify the situation. It's time for the Battle Royale. Me versus fucknut. Three rounds. No holds barred. Hearts and souls on the line. Winner takes all. Wish me luck!

(If you're looking for a tip, the Vegas odds makers are giving me 3:1.)

So maybe it doesn't have to be the death of me. Maybe I can just enjoy it while it lasts, not try to make it anything more than it is, and then say goodbye to it when it goes away. Maybe that is exactly what I need. Or maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to enjoy myself.

Either way, as my Bostonian guy friend said, I do have you, my faithful readers, to help keep me sane. And for that I thank you.

And the phone rang. And I went. To be done with it once and for all. But it did not end. It picked up right where it left off. It felt good. It felt normal. It felt calm and right and it made my stomach feel better. It is far from over. And when it does finally end, I will be completely destroyed. But there's nothing I can do about that now.

So I come home to a message on my answering machine...

I'm too tired for this shit.

I think one of the most interesting things about writing music and sharing it with people is the things those people pick up on within the song. Which lyrics hit them. I'd always wondered if my songs were quotable and I have learned that in some instances, they are. And it's kind of cool to see which lines are deemed quotable. "Our lives were meant to just barely touch." "You're not the one the Reaper's coming for." That kind of thing.

Yes, I am a dork. I just think it's kind of cool.

I like being vegan. I really do. I had been feeling kind of weird about it for a couple of days there, probably because it was Halloween and I have so many fond memories of the sugar shock that comes with Halloween, plus I didn't really have any fun food in my house so I was living on soy dogs and not-very-crisp apples and stuff and I was looking wistfully at the pizza and things that my friends were eating. But I really do like being vegan.

I followed a link on Bostonian Guy Friend's blog to a PETA flash animation called "The Meatrix." It's a nice little piece of propaganda designed to tell people about the horrors of factory farms. It's not as bad as some of the stuff PETA produces. I have to say that while I really like the theories behind PETA (who can argue with treating animals humanely?), I don't necessarily like all of their methods. Telling people "You're wrong. You're bad. You're evil," will only make those people defensive and unreceptive. But there is a lot of stuff on the PETA website that is very positive, like the recipe choices and whatnot and the vegetarian starter kit. I was reading that stuff this morning and it made me feel pretty good about myself.

One of my friends remarked a couple of weeks ago that she had been describing me to another friend of hers who turned up her nose when she heard I was vegan. My friend stood up in my defense and said that I am not one of those pushy vegans who tries to convert everybody and the other friend was floored. I like being the kind of vegan that I am. Unobtrusive. And truth be told, I think I have gotten more of my friends to try vegan or vegetarian foods than I would have if I sent them all on guilt trips. Hell, even my theater friend who is a hard-core junk food junkie likes vegan chocolate. I think that if PETA or any other organization really wants to convert the entire world to a vegetarian diet, all they really have to do is show everyone how good vegetarian food is in a non-threatening manner.

That being said, I'm still not out on a mission to convert anyone and I will still go with my theater friend through a drive through every now and again so he can get what he likes to eat before I go home and get what I like to eat. But I'm not going to be partaking in any of the drive through food any time soon. I like being vegan.

So, um, how does one rise to the level of department manager without keeping copies of one's own work product? Just curious. I mean, if it is in attempt to switch to a paperless society, then that's fine, but what about all of the work one does then on one's computer? Does one not save anything? Is that a space issue? Because that's what floppy discs and zip discs and CDs and DVDs are for. So one can store large amounts of information in a relatively small amount of space. I dunno. It boggles the mind. Fortunately, I get to work in close contact with a person like this, so I get so experience the inanity first hand and study it.

And now for a list of things that make me happy because I really am sad and hurting today and I need to think about things that make me happy.

Moby -- he has a new DVD coming out next week that I will be able to pick up and enjoy. I just watched the trailer for the DVD online and it already made me smile. What would make me even happier would be a Moby concert, but a DVD will do nicely, too. There's live concert footage on there.

Napping with my cat -- he'll hug my arm sometimes when we nap together and I think it is just about the sweetest thing in the world. He seems a lot happier now that I've mellowed out about the whole "being in the kitchen" thing and that's good.

The sun is shining and it's really windy outside. There is something fun about sunny, blustery days.

It is Wednesday which means I don't have class tomorrow.

I saw the final installment of The Matrix last night and I think I get it.

Even though my hair is kind of unruly right now, it is getting longer. Yay.

Yeah, those are some things that make me happy. Focus on those and I'll be okay.

Day seven: no call.

And I want to ask why. I want to know. Are you afraid? Of what? You don't have anything to lose. You already lost me. What do you want? And why can't you leave me alone? Why can't I let go of you?

So of course when I go to see The Matrix, I'm hyper sensitive to the love stuff in it. "Love is a human emotion." "Love is a word." And then something about the connection that we associate with the word love and the fact that we will do anything for that connection. That's exactly what it was. It was an undescribable connection that I have not found with anyone else and I miss it. I am aware every day of the fact that I don't have that connection in my life. I do love people and I know that I am loved by people. But not like that. And that is a drug -- first one's free, after that you have to pay for it.

I'm sorry. I'm sounding jaded and cynical. Perhaps because I am jaded and cynical. I hoped my phone would ring. I honestly did. If for no other reason because I want to know why. I want to know what's going on. But my phone has not rung and it is not going to. And I have to be okay with that. I have no other choice in the matter. I have done what I can do. The rest is up to fate or whimsy or chance or whatever you want to call it. There is nothing more that I can do except move on. And so I will. Or at least I will try. Fortunately for me, I have enough good in my life that moving on shouldn't be too hard. Shouldn't be.

Day six: no call.

My honorary brother thinks I should stop counting and just forget about it. In my heart of hearts, I know he's right. But in my heart of hearts, I don't know if I can do that. I know I've spent a lot of time talking very logically in a nice even tone about the whole thing and just in general giving everyone the impression that I am mature and intelligent and logical about it. I'm good at doling out advice about just these situations. As a matter of fact, when I was talking with my honorary brother tonight, he was giving me the same exact advice I had been giving him just a few short months ago. But it's not that easy. It was never a logical situation. Hell, if it had been at all logical, there would have been no situation in the first place. It had nothing to do with thinking and everything to do with feeling. Completely unexplanable, except maybe in weepy chick music type songs. Which is probably why I write so many of those -- I can't let people see that I'm really just a stupid weepy puddle of girl, but I can let it out in my songs. I'm not supposed to be this weak. I'm not supposed to be affected like this. But I am. And as logical as I would like to sound about the whole thing, it feels like nothing else ever has. It was everything I ever wanted. Everything. All wrapped up in one fucked up little package. And that was okay. And when it went away, I felt like I was missing an arm or something. Now it's like somebody has showed up at my door and said, "Oh, hello. I've got your arm. Would you like it back? Maybe?" How can I say no? I know that I regrew my arm to some extent, but it just doesn't feel like the old one did. And yes, I know that for whatever it's worth, the old one might not feel like the old one anymore. But I want to know. I want to know that it doesn't fit anymore. I don't want to speculate. I want to mourn it once and for all and be done with it. So I can go back to being logical and doling out useful advice to other people and holding them while they cry (thank you, by the way). It is much easier for me to do that for others than have them do it for me, so wouldn't it be nice if there was no reason why they should have to do that for me?

I'm not making any sense now. I should just forget about it. I should get rid of it. I should get on with my life like I had been doing. But the number one thing I always tell everyone in situations like this is that you can't "should" yourself. You just have to do what feels best. None of this feels good. But the closest I can do right now to actually feeling good is to wait another two days, until the week is up, and then begin my mourning process. I hope I have it in me to mourn this again. For good this time.

And there was a day and it was known as day five and it passed without consequence.

Well, in one respect anyway. In another, my event finished up and I couldn't be happier. It's not that I don't enjoy dancing anymore, it's just not my life. I do other things, too, you know? So I'm glad that I don't have to be thinking about this all of the time any more. And I'm not going to do it again next year. This was it. My last hurrah at planning a lindy exchange. And for the most part, I think it went pretty well. So today, the day is mine and I'm going to go delete a bunch of e-mails. I'll check in again tonight to tell you how day six (today) goes.

Day four: no call.

But at least I have a jar of pickles to call my very own. And apparently I have big breasts. I always thought they were kind of average, but apparently, they are big. Who knew. I'm going to have another pickle.

Day three: No call.

So for the longest time, I have been keeping the door between my kitchen and my living room shut because my cat likes to go into the kitchen and break things. But the fun part about it is that the door doesn't close well by itself, so I have to wedge a folded-up piece of paper in there to get it to stay closed. This is how smart my cat is: he learned that he could knock the piece of paper out of the door, thus opening the door and allowing himself entrance into the kitchen to break stuff. Except he hasn't been breaking stuff. Yes, he knocks the occasional thing off the counter, but he's been much tamer than he had been in the past. And I've decided that even if something gets broken from time to time, so what? It's not worth getting all worked up over. And if there are paw prints on the counter, well, that's why I bought my eco-friendly orange cleanser in the first place, isn't it? So now we're both getting used to leaving the kitchen door open. And my little monkey head has the run of the entire house. I think that makes him happy.

Thank you to Sander Kleinenberg for playing exactly what my soul needed to hear. For a moment there, it didn't matter that none of my friends showed up. It didn't matter that we are now at the conclusion (well, past the conclusion) of day two and I still have not received a phone call. It didn't matter that everyone else in the club thought I was nuts because what girl goes to a place like that by herself and starts dancing alone in the middle of the dance floor? For a moment, I was the Guy in Orange. It didn't matter who was around me. The music was controlling me, moving me, making me feel things I haven't felt in a while. I almost had my cry tonight, just because the music was that good. So many people are so quick to discount techno music for one reason or another. It really is an art form that takes a long time to master. And when it is done well, it can take you on a journey you never imagined music could. You know what struck me about the music tonight? Techno is a universal language. It is all about sounds and rhythms coming together to produce emotions. Sander Kleinenberg is from Holland; I'm from the northwest suburbs of Chicago. We don't even speak the same language. But we both feel it when the music is about to hit, and when it does, we both have to jump. It is a release that is readily available to anyone who is willing to listen for a few minutes. Completely safe. Non-toxic. Semi-addictive. Pretty good exercise.

I know I'm rambling. It's late and I'm tired and yes, I did have a beer earlier, so it really is time for bed. I'll tell you tomorrow about how smart my cat is as a sort of front to keep you occupied while I quietly go nuts over the lack of a phone call in my life right now. But thank you, Sander, for making that all go away for a little while. I needed that very badly. Thank you.

I think a week is perfectly reasonable. And I am perfectly prepared to be a basket case for the next week, especially if it means that after this next week, I can forget about it completely. Get rid of that little thing in the back of my imagination that pictures everything working out okay in the end and substitute it with a different image of what "okay" is. Be strong if I ever get another "sun flare" again. Say no. I'm not saying this week will be easy for me, but it is something I am ready for. I have a lot going on to keep me from just sitting by my phone, so I should be okay. And this could be exactly the kind of closure that I need to put the whole issue on a shelf and never have to revisit it again.

I wish it was next week.

And I'm apologizing right now to all of you for the proliferation of "stupid puddle of girl" blog entries that I have been posting as of late and will probably continue to post for the next week. I know they're not very entertaining to read and I know some of you are even worried about me. I will be fine. I will survive. I always do. I'm just going to be boring for a week. Sorry about that.

Day one: No call.

Are we surprised? No. Are we going to keep a countdown until next Wednesday? Yes. Why? We need to feel like we are doing something, even if it is just venting into the nothingness that is the internet. Because if we don't do that, we'll sit and think and try once again to make ourselves cry and then we'll get frustrated once again with our inability to cry and we'll feel even worse.

Aren't we glad we're posting instead? Yes.

I use a lot of sentence fragments in my blogs. Sorry about that.

Eep. Lots of stuff going on today.

I'm getting this award at work today. A merit award. And to be honest, I'm not sure that I deserve it. Yes, when there is work to be done, I do it and I do it fast and I do it well. But I know how much down time I have and what I do with my down time. Sometimes I feel like I'm just barely squeaking by around here. But they really like me and they like the work I do and I thank my nominator and all of the people who wrote letters of support for my nomination. I think my problem with it is that there is a sizable cash award involved. If it was just a certificate or something, no biggie. But they're giving me money. More money. To sit on my ass half the time and wait for something interesting to happen. But the committee decided that they wanted to give it to me, so who am I to turn it down, right? It means I get to visit my friends in Europe, so that's a good thing.

And I found out today that Moby is releasing a new DVD on November 17 that is jam packed with all kinds of yummy Moby goodness, some of which you can preview online. So I did. And I was reminded once again exactly why I love and respect that man so much. He has a fantastic sense of humor. And then on the same day, he talks about the political state of our country. Not to mention the amazing music that he makes. I really would like to encourage more people to try to experience Moby outside of the context of his albums, be it by watching the funny tidbits on his DVDs or reading his journal entries. He really is a credit to the human race.

And today is d-day. As of today, I can expect a phone call to not happen. And I think that I have decided to give the phone call one week to not happen before I stop waiting for it to not happen. If that makes any sense. It's actually not supposed to make sense to you, but it makes sense to me. I have to keep telling myself that the phone call isn't going to come so I don't get too worked up about it when it doesn't. And one week from today, I will stop thinking about it entirely. Because seriously, what's the point? Why sit and beat myself up over it? I was fine with no phone calls months ago, why should it bother me now if I don't get one? Right? Yeah, I'll just keep telling myself that.

So I'm starting to get geeked for my event this weekend. How can I tell? I have had dreams about it two nights in a row. Not necessarily good dreams, but I've dreamt about my event two nights in a row. Yes, I am a dork.

I'm geeked for Thursday, too. I know I've said it before and I will probably say it again, but Sander Kleinenberg is my favorite techno-ish DJ. And he's spinning on Thursday night. What a perfect kick-off to my weekend! Why is it only Tuesday?

At least my Gilmore Girls are on tonight. That makes me happy.

And I promise I'll be more coherent and exciting soon. I can only really focus on simple, immediate pleasures right now. Thinking too far ahead just gets me into trouble.

It's almost here. My stupid event will be over with and I won't have to think about it anymore. That, in and of itself, is a really great thought. Kind of. I will be thrilled to not have to worry about my event anymore, but it will free up all kinds of time for thinking about other things. And most of you can guess exactly what I will be thinking about. The worst part is the waiting, you know? Something could happen on Wednesday or it could happen next week or next month or next year -- I don't know. And the question becomes, "how long do I wait before I give up entirely?" Though I still suppose there is a slight chance that I won't have to wait at all. Which would make me happy for several reasons. First of all, I hate waiting. Especially for things with no ETA, you know? Secondly, I'll be able to get this whole thing out of the way and not think about it anymore. (Are you also noticing a trend towards me not wanting to think? I have nothing against thinking or thought processes in general; I just have a lot of things on my mind that I wish were off my mind already, if that makes sense.) And third, I'll be able to get past this numbness and apathy that seem to have overtaken my body as a sort of mechanism for dealing with all of the unknowns in this particular situation. It's like I've gone into a state of shock and at this point, anything could happen to me and I'd be ready for it. And by "ready for it" I mean "it would just bounce off me and leave me completely unphased." I'm not in a very phasable state right now. And I like being phased. It's how I know I'm alive. So yeah, keep your fingers crossed for me that it all goes down on Wednesday. Monday at the latest. If I have to wait a whole lot longer than that, I'm going to go nucking futs.

Oh, and fourth, if it happens on Wednesday, you won't have to read any more bitchy, whiny blog entries like this one anymore. So there is something in it for you, too.

I keep meaning to tell you about this 'cuz I think it's kind of funny, but I keep forgetting. The other day on the train, I whacked my knee, my right knee, against the seat in front of me and it kind of hurt. So when I got home that night, I took a look at my knee to see if there was a bruise. And there was. ON MY LEFT KNEE. I have no idea where that bruise came from. My right knee, the "injured" knee, looked fine, but my left knee was sprouting a little bruise.

Further evidence that I am put together wrong.

And just for the record, I have some really, truly wonderful friends. You guys know who you are. I thank you and I love you.

I know I’ve said it before and I will probably say it again, but I love Halloween. Best holiday ever. There’s just something fun about a holiday that celebrates the id and that doesn’t require presents and cards and warm fuzzy sentiments. Plus, it’s fun to get to wear my vampire fangs to work and watch my co-workers discover them one by one.

But I’m kind of out of it this year. I think I’m still in kind of a daze from yesterday. I think if I could have a good cry about it, I would be okay, you know? I just need to break down and completely wig out for a minute and then I’ll be able to regain my composure and get on with my life. But I haven’t been able to do that. Even in talking to my friends, I have to let them know that logically, I know what to do, so I haven’t really been able to freak out. And if I was going to freak out any day of the year, today would be the day to do it, right?

So I’m trying to get into the spirit of the day but I’m really just tired. Happy Halloween, kids. Eat lots of candy since I’m not going to.

I can’t stop staring at it. I guess I keep wishing it would go away. I keep thinking that maybe this time when I go to look, it won’t be there and my life as I have known it for the past, I don’t know, year? two years? will be exactly the way it was when I woke up this morning. So I go look and it’s still there. And I want to dissect it and figure out what it all means but I know that to do so will drive me crazy, as if sitting here not dissecting it isn’t already driving me crazy. And this stupid song of mine keeps running through my head and its really not helping. It’s not worth sinking that much time and energy and thought into because it really isn’t going to amount to anything. But I can’t stop looking at it. I’m still trying to convince myself that it is real. Because seriously, how are you supposed to react when something you have always wanted but never thought you would see shows up at your door?

On jumping turnstiles/fences/short walls:

If you find yourself faced with a turnstile/fence/short wall that looks to you like it requires jumping as opposed to circumventing, stop and think to yourself, "If I was a monkey and somebody was filming me jumping this turnstile/fence/short wall, would said videographer then e-mail the short movie of me jumping this turnstile/fence/short wall to all of his or her co-workers with the subject line 'Your Laugh for Today?'" If the answer to this question is "yes," go through/around the turnstile/fence/short wall.

Holy fuck. I can't stop shaking...

I would like (you would, would you?), if I may (you may NOT) to talk for a moment today about carbohydrates.

DUN DUN DUUUNNNN!!!

I know, "carbohydrates" is a dirty word nowadays and that is exactly what I want to talk about. It makes me sad that our culture has become so anti-carbohydrate because there are a lot of really wonderful carbs out there waiting to be eaten. And I’m not even talking about pure sugar – I’m talking whole grains and fruits and nuts and soy. You know, the foods that come with vitamins and minerals in them. But thanks to the bastardization of a diet plan that was developed to help morbidly obese cardiac patients loose enough weight quickly so that they wouldn’t die under the knife, we now have low-carb mayonnaise and low-carb cookies and low-carb pasta. Come on, people this is ridiculous.

Yes, Americans consume a lot of carbohydrates. That is because Americans consume a lot of food. Period. We, as a culture, eat a lot. And eating too much of anything (except maybe celery or iceberg lettuce) will make you gain weight. When I was growing up, it was fat that made you fat, so nobody was supposed to eat any fat. Now its carbs, so nobody is supposed to eat any carbs. You know what? The only blanket statement that you can make about food is that too much of it is a bad thing. That’s it. You try to break it down any more than that, and you get into problem areas. If you eat nothing but protein, you’re missing out on some essential vitamins and minerals. If you eat nothing but vegetables, you’re missing out on essential fatty acids. If you eat nothing but carbs, you are missing out on essential proteins. See how it works? See why a balanced diet is the best option?

And yes, I know that all of this sounds particularly funny coming from a woman who eats no animal products or byproducts. The point of my little dietary experiment here, though, is I am trying to still get all of the nutrients I need, but from non-animal sources. I have not eliminated fat from my diet. I have not eliminated carbohydrates. I have not eliminated protein. I think you get the idea.

So I guess my point is this: we, as a culture, need to stop blaming outside influences for our collective obesity. It is not the fault of carbohydrates, or of fats. It is because we eat too much. Eat a moderate amount of everything and you’ll be just fine.

Next, I’ll tackle the media and how it warps what we think we are supposed to look like – women and men alike.

And the award for Best Usage of the Word Bronchi in a Song goes to the Crash Test Dummies for "Afternoons and Coffeespoons."

I love this song.

You remember how Daffy Duck used to go nuts in those old cartoons? He’d bounce around all over the place, screaming and just generally causing a ruckus? Do you ever feel the need to do that? I do. Maybe when I get home tonight.

It’s all just stupid anal retentive things, like all of my inboxes are way too full. And my computer at work is making this buzzing noise that is really getting on my nerves. And I have to click on anything seventeen times before it registers that I clicked there. And no matter what I do to try to set preferences for anything on this computer, they don’t get saved. I know I’m getting a new computer at work soon – we all are (upgrades) – but this is turning into Chinese water torture. I never know when I open a blank e-mail what it is going to look like. I never know if Word will work. I never know if I will have access to all of the calendars that I did this morning. I never know where my personal folders ran off to. And to be perfectly frank, it’s driving me batty. Good thing I get to go home soon.

I just watched the Radio Music Awards. At the beginning of the show, they said that this was a show to celebrate the best music on the radio right now. Which is why I was thoroughly unimpressed with the show. Save the performance by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Those guys played a song that was probably older than half of the nominees on the show and it was the best thing played all night. A handful of guys wearing suits rocking out playing their own instruments, singing a song they wrote that had real meaning for them -- it was incredible. And entertaining in a way because of the song "The Last DJ" which complains about the very state of the very radio stations that chose to honor him this evening with the Legend award.

I hope that one day, I am looked at as one of the artists whose works mean something and not as a flash in the pan, give 'em what they want right now artist. Music is a way of speaking to people. If you're saying someone else's words, what are you really saying to them?

Says the actor...

I haven't been getting nearly as much porn-related spam as I used to and I can't decide if I should be upset about that or not.

So, how distasteful is it that the vast majority of the still pictures I have been taking in the days since Ray joined my twisted little family have been of my cat? I can't help it, though. He's just so darn cute.

I'm also quite enjoying the movie taking feature on the camera. Fun possibilities run though my head. Mwahaha. (Not a very big evil laugh because it's not really an evil endeavor. But a little one because it feels a little evil. Or maybe that's the Halloween talking.)

So I have a new family member living in my quaint little house now. His name is Ray. I think. That’s the vibe that I’m getting from him so far, but we’ll see. His true name might be revealed to me later. Elfy is kind of a fun name, too, but perhaps a smidge too obvious, as Ray is, indeed, a Canon digital Elph camera. He is so cute. And so fun to play with. And so easy to use. And so light. I can (and do) carry him around with me in my pocket. I have a feeling I am going to become one of those annoying people who is always taking pictures of stuff. So far, I haven’t taken many of really interesting stuff except for my cat and dance practice last night. I’m really enjoying being back in dance practice. And what is really nice about it is that the troupe leader keeps telling me what a great job I’m doing (which I incidentally spelled “goind” the first time around. Normally, I don’t like to point out my little bouts of typing too fast or dyslexia, but that one struck me as funny somehow. Perhaps more of a Spoonerism than a bout of dyslexia (‘cuz I don’t even know if I am dyslexic), but still kind of funny. To me anyway). It’s nice to hear that I still know how to dance, even though I don’t do it very much anymore.

But yeah, pretty soon I’m going to have to stop telling people that I live by myself. I live with Owen and Simon and Ray and Charlene and Nigel. Six of us in a one-bedroom. But we all get along so it’s all good. And we have fun. And now I’m thinking I am going to have to actually start my website so I can post some of the pictures I’m taking with Ray. Not that they’re good, but perhaps it would be interesting to see the world as I do. I feel the need to document the world around me all of a sudden (maybe because I can), though not necessarily as it appears to everyone else. If that makes any sense. Eh, I’ll take some photos and show them to you and then you’ll know what I mean. Or not. Some things only make sense to me. I know this. I’m okay with this. I’m rambling now and should probably stop, even though you all already know I’m crazy. Is it lunchtime yet?

I’ve been working on the concept of blame recently and how we, as Americans, feel the need to place blame somewhere for anything that goes wrong. Maybe it’s a human need to place blame, not just one specific to this culture. And maybe this was all sparked by the talks about negligence we’ve been having in my paralegal classes. But whatever the reason, the concept of blame is an interesting one and one that I am trying to get away from. (Not to say I won’t still hold a grudge against the umpire for calling that third strike in game seven, but nobody’s perfect, right?)

Things go wrong. Take the fire in a downtown building in Chicago last week. Six people died, trapped in a locked stairwell. Six people who should not have died. But six people who were probably made aware of the locking mechanism on the stairwell doors when it was installed and who were probably behind the idea of locking mechanisms on the stairwell doors because such mechanisms would help keep them safe from terrorism or some such thing. And now the families of those six people want to blame the door lock manufacturers or installers or the fire department or somebody for the loss of their loved ones. I can understand the hurt. I can understand the confusion. I can’t condone the need to place blame and that makes me feel heartless.

The fire department did their job the best they could. The entire building did not go up in flames, which is a good thing. And hundreds of people got out of the building no problem, or with only minor injuries – another good thing. There were six casualties. Bad thing. So we’re all going to focus on the bad thing and pass new laws and regulations to try to prevent this kind of thing from happening again. You know what? That is the same exact reason why those locks were installed on the doors in the first place – to try to prevent some terrible catastrophe from happening ever again.

I don’t know really what it is that I am trying to say here. Maybe that in this particular instance, if we are looking for someone to blame, we should blame ourselves for being so paranoid. Bad things happen. To good people. To people who don’t deserve bad things. That doesn’t stop the bad things from happening, and some attempts to stop those bad things will only make other, worse things happen. That’s the way life is. I do think it is important to learn from our mistakes, but I also think that too much finger-pointing gets in the way of the learning process, if you know what I mean. Maybe what we need to do as a society is figure out a better way to deal with tragedy and death so we aren’t so antsy to find someone to blame.

That being said, my condolences to the families and friends of the six people who died in that fire.

And I feel like I should say something about the proposed partial-birth abortion ban that is in Congress right now, what with my becoming more political and so on and so forth, but I also feel like I should keep my mouth shut. But I’m not real good at that today, so here goes.

A partial-birth abortion sounds like a truly horrifying procedure for everyone involved. That being said, they are usually only performed when there are extenuating circumstances, i.e. the fetus is already dead, the fetus will die shortly after being born, to allow the pregnancy to go to term will permanently injure or kill the mother and the baby won’t live anyway, etc. The bill in Congress does not have in it a clause to make an exception to the ban on this procedure for medical necessity. Meaning that if a mother finds out her unborn child has hydrocephalus, there is no provision in the proposed bill to allow her to terminate the pregnancy and any doctor who agrees to perform the abortion for her could face up to two year in prison for ostensibly saving her life. This strikes me as wrong somehow.

I know that in a perfect world, all babies would be 100% healthy and would develop perfectly in the wombs of fit mothers who are prepared to love and support their children. But we don’t live in a perfect world. There are a million things that can go wrong with fetal development. Women get pregnant from being raped. Girls get pregnant from being raped. My point is that there is always an exception. There is always an extenuating circumstance that needs to be taken into consideration, which is why a flat ban on anything strikes me as a bad idea. Hell, even an outright gun ban – I think our military should be allowed to have guns. Maybe not machine guns capable of shooting through wrought iron, but pistols or rifles with bayonets on them. I think we would be a lot more hesitant to send our men and women off to war if we knew they would be fighting combat with bayonets as opposed to stealth technology. But I digress. There is always an exception to every rule and I am frightened and saddened to live in a country where those exceptions are not always acknowledged by the people in charge. Here’s hoping there is a regime change on the horizon.

So I think I have figured out exactly what it is that has had me in a funk for the past few days. Now I have to do something about it. I hate this part.

Michigan Avenue is a very interesting street.

Over the weekend, I was walking along one end of Michigan Avenue (well, not necessarily end. More of a section or area) where people only go when they want to buy things. Overpriced things. Things they will never actually use, but that will sit in their homes or places of business giving their owners a sense of posh-ness. Really, that’s all there is in that particular area of Michigan Avenue – stores. Stores selling everything anyone could ever possibly want and things that nobody ever really needs. I was there looking for a stuffed animal possum (case in point). It was kind of a trip.

And then last night, I was walking along another section of Michigan Avenue and it made me feel like a city dweller in that Euro-chic kind of a way. There I was, walking past the Art Institute and all of these various coffee shops and specialty stores, eating my apple, on my way to class. I felt very…trendy. But not in the icky way. Partially because I was wearing my glasses yesterday and I knew my hair was a mess and it’s really hard to feel icky trendy when you’re kind of feeling like a frump. But I felt very, I dunno, urban. Or something.

And then I saw him. I have no idea who he was, just that he was really cute. Light brown hair cut short. Denim jacket. Jeans. Funky sneakers that said, “I just jumped out of Trainspotting. Do you have any swag?” Carrying a black portfolio under one arm. Walking with purpose. Ears that stuck out just a little. He had an air of veganism about him, but that could have just been me. And we were walking in the same direction down Michigan Avenue; first him in front of me, then me in front of him for about three blocks. I had three opportunities at three different stoplights to say to him, “I don’t know if anyone has told you today or not, but you are a very attractive person,” and I didn’t take any of them. He even went into the same building as me. He took the elevator, I took the stairs. On the second floor (my destination), the elevator door was open and he was saying to the other passenger, “Yeah, five is where I’m going,” and he had a hint of an accent. Maybe Scottish, which would have made sense with the Trainspotting garb and the walk and the hair and the perfect skin. And that was it. That was the last I saw of the cute Scottish boy (who will, from this day forward be referred to as the cute Scottish boy). My friends in class gave me shit about him and about not talking to him when I had so many opportunities, but in all truth, I think its better this way. Now he can live in my imagination and be vegan and be artistic and sleep in a t-shirt and boxers and wake up all groggy until he gets his coffee and cigarette (though if he was a true vegan, he wouldn’t smoke because there is a pork by-product in cigarettes) and he has a mouth like a sailor and is short with his affections but is also my great good friend and a fantastic lover. If I actually met him, he could be a punk skinhead who tortures dogs for fun. I don’t know. But I kind of like the fantasy.

Is that weird? Do you ever do that? Build a fake life around someone you see walking down the street?

I would like to say for the record that I am not a stalker. I have never been and I never would be. We’ve been over this before. And if cute Scottish boy happens to be out there reading this right now, my apologies if anything I have said makes you uncomfortable. I’m just having a bit of fun, though I do find you to be very attractive. I don’t expect anything from you and I will not hassle you. But some part of you has now been incorporated into my imagination and once my imagination has you…well, there’s no telling what will happen in my head. I assure you, it will stay inside my head. I hope you have a lovely day and I wish you luck in your studies. Maybe I’ll see you again on Michigan Avenue and not talk to you.

If there was ever a day to be outside making music, it is today. It is warm and sunny and breezy and the trees are beautiful colors and there is a really wonderful feeling to the air. Today is a day to go outside and let your voice mingle with the sound of the leaves and float up through the clouds to some far away place where a stranger is suddenly reminded of the beauty that exists all around for no discernable reason. Today is a day to pump good things into the universe.

And I have to go to class tonight.

Admittedly, it makes me sad how little he knows me. I don’t think I am that hard to figure out. And especially in his case – everything that you believe in and hold dear, I believe the opposite. I don’t think it’s that hard. Well, maybe not everything, but a lot of the big things. And foisting your beliefs on me is not going to make me agree with you. If anything, it will only increase the rift between us.

I wonder how much of it is my fault. I know at least some of it is. I know there are things I don’t tell him, largely out of fear. The things that I do tell him about, I am judged very harshly on, which makes me hesitant to say more. And sometimes, I’m just at a loss. I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t know how to share my beliefs and feelings in a non-threatening way with him. I keep my tone low and even. I preface all of my statements with “I think” or “I feel” and they are still interpreted as attacks on his belief system. I don’t know what else to do.

I dunno. Maybe I’m just moody or PMSy or something. I know he loves me the best way he knows how. And I hope he knows that I love him the best way I know how. I just wish we were more in tune sometimes, you know?

Hate is such a strong word. In general, I don’t hate things. I think it is a destructive and self-indulgent emotion. I don’t even hate Fucknut. Well, I did, but only for about four days and then it passed. It just takes too much energy to hate. I’ve always said that indifference is much more painful to the target than hatred because hatred involves passion and still means that a lot of energy is focused on the target. Indifference is just a cold nothing. But to truly, truly hate something, one must spend a lot of time and energy focusing bad thoughts and bad karma at said target. And in most cases, it’s just not worth it.

But I hate the Florida Marlins, and I will for the rest of my life. I wish bad things on them. I hope that when they all got home, all of their dogs yakked on all of their carpets and leather sofas. I hope that they all suffer from bouts of impotence for the rest of their lives. I hope the Yankees kick their asses so hard they can’t take a dump until Christmas.

I know it is just baseball. I know it is just a game and in the grand scheme of things, it is really not important. I know that it is wasted energy to hate the Marlins. But they broke the hearts of millions of people over a silly game of baseball. Millions of people couldn’t sleep on Wednesday night. Millions of people didn’t feel like eating all day Thursday. Millions of people shed millions of tears and went to work like zombies the next day. Millions of people are depressed and useless because the Marlins missed the memo that this was the Cubs’ year to do something right. And we tried so hard to do something right this year. We tried so hard, which is why it hurts so badly. It hurt to drive past Wrigley yesterday. It hurt to see a guy wearing a Cubs jacket. It hurts to see all of the signs still in store windows reading “Next year is here!” and “Go Cubbies!” It hurts to know that the Cubs were so disappointed after losing on Wednesday that they wouldn’t even come out and wave to us, even though the entire ballpark was chanting “Cubbies! Cubbies! Cubbies!” while the Marlins flaunted their victory in front of thirty-nine thousand fans with broken hearts.

So for the pain and suffering that they have inflicted on millions of Cubs fans all over the country, I will hate the Florida Marlins for the rest of my life. May they spend the rest of their days reeking of donkey urine.

Okay, boys, you can do this. I’m serious. Stop laughing. It’s not over. You have the home field advantage. You have Wood on the mound. You have an entire city, hell, half of the country behind you. We all want you to go out there and play a good game of baseball. Preferably one that ends with a score of about 11-0 in your favor.

But in all truth, we love you. We always have. We always will. That is what being a Cubs fan is all about. We have loved you and followed you through 95 years of agonizing defeats; we will continue to follow you through 95 more. At least 95 more. So really, if you don’t win this game, we’ll be proud that you made it this far and that you put up a great fight. And we’ll still pack Wrigley Field next year and cheer our hearts out for you. Because you are the Chicago Cubs – the greatest baseball team in the world. Even if you never win.

So go out there and play a good game. Have fun. Relax. Do what you do best. You’ll do a great job. We have faith in you. And we’ll all have Marlin for dinner.

I listened to 18 on my way in to work this morning and it almost made me weep, which is oddly enough, exactly what I needed to feel today, though I’m not sure why. It is kind of an icky rainy day (that better clear up for the game tonight, gosh darn it) that makes you wish you could stay home and try out your fun new mugs that have these little contraptions that fit inside the mugs into which you can put your loose tea and then you just pour hot water into the mug and your tea steeps for you and then you take out the little contraption and you have your nice hot freshly brewed tea with minimal mess though you’d still have to venture out to get some loose tea because the only tea you have is still way too uptight for that kind of thing, thank you very much, but I’ve never been to a tea wedding so how frustrating would it be to have to wait for my tea to get married before I could enjoy some loose tea? Because as we all know from the bajillion pieces of spam we get every day, housetea gets really horny when it’s husbandtea is away and housetea is the best kind of loose tea because it’s not about commitment, it’s about tea and the pleasures associated with the consumption of tea and housetea is all about being consumed.

Man, how on earth did I go from being sad and dreary to tea porn in the same paragraph?

So a little bit of unpleasantness that I feel compelled to share with you this morning, if for no other reason than to dispel any beliefs you may have about my superhuman abilities. I am, after all, just a person.

So I wake up late this morning. Usually, I take the train to work on Mondays so then I can take the train to class and then home, but I woke up way late today, so I decided to drive in. Perhaps not the best choice, but at least it got me here at something resembling a decent hour. This is important to note because the unpleasantness occurred while I was driving. As in, had I taken the train, there would have been no unpleasantness and you all could have gone on forever thinking I should be the next Marvel Comics superhero. But alas, I must sully my own image in your eyes because of an act as seemingly benign as driving in to work today.

The expressway entrance that I use on my way in to work when I drive is a source of much frustration for me. It is a one-lane piece of road that drivers inevitably turn into a two-lane road, ostensibly making a big mess out of everything and delaying many many cars behind them from getting to their jobs in a timely fashion. I have gotten in the habit of driving right smack down the middle of the one lane to try to discourage people from pulling up next to me, forcing us to merge later on down the line. I’m not always successful, but it pisses me off that some people are so impatient that they would rather try to run you off the road than wait the extra three seconds behind you on a one lane road. Maybe it’s just me and yes it is something I should learn to deal with and just get over, but this entrance ramp pisses me off.

So this morning, I’m driving down the center of the lane and it looks as if I have succeeded in encouraging those behind me to realize that this is, in fact, a one-lane road and if we all just wait our turn like civilized persons, we will all get onto the expressway in a safe and timely fashion. Until Mr. SUV decides that he’s too cool for that. This guy in a white SUV comes flying up on the right hand side (which, to our European friends might not seem like a big deal, but passing on the right-hand shoulder in the United States is, I believe, illegal, or at the very least, frowned upon) and sits right next to my car. I stay close to the car in front of me, displaying the universally accepted language for, “Fuck off, you’re not getting in front of me,” just because I hate it when people do this. Mr. SUV does not back off. In fact, he starts inching closer and closer to my car as if to say, “I’m bigger than you, so if you don’t move, I’ll just run you off the road. I have no problem with that because I have a great lawyer who will argue that I had the right of way and you were interfering with my merging process and you’ll have to pay for the damage I inflicted upon my own vehicle.” So eventually, I let the rat bastard in. He did not signal. He did not even wave a thank you. He was chatting on his cell phone. So I gave him one of my fingers. The one which in some circles is considered offensive.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have given him a slightly less offensive finger. Mr. SUV presumably did not get to have morning sex with his wife or girlfriend and was therefore in a really pissy mood. He stopped his vehicle, told the person on the other end of his cell phone call to hang on, rolled down his window and proceeded to yell at me. Personally, I was more amused by this action than anything because yelling at someone who is in a vehicle with all of the windows rolled up and the radio on is, in fact, rather futile. I let him know that I could not hear him by playing my horn for him. He said his piece (and I’m sure then bragged about how he told off this crazy bitch who tried to cut him off on his way to work this morning to the person on the other end of his cell phone) and proceeded to crawl up the rest of the ramp before rocketing off onto the expressway.

Again, in retrospect, I kind of wish that I had gotten to talk to this particular man about my reasoning behind giving him the finger that I felt he deserved. I was not upset about him delaying my day by cutting in front of me. As we know, I was already late. What’s an extra minute? It was his rudeness. I drive a small vehicle. He drives an SUV (hence the name, Mr. SUV). First he intimidates and bullies me into letting him go in front of me by wielding his much larger vehicle and belligerent attitude. Not to mention the improper way in which he goes about getting around me. Then, by going in front of me, not only is he delaying my day (which isn’t really the issue as I passed him once we were on the expressway, but what if I had been in labor or something?), but he is obstructing my view with his mammoth vehicle (which I’m sure comes in handy when he is off-roading in the city). And to top it off, he does not use his turn indicators to notify surrounding vehicles of his intentions (probably couldn’t reach the switch what with one hand on his cell phone and all), nor he does offer a wave of thanks to show that he appreciates the fact that I gave in to his aggressiveness and just let him have his way (probably an only child). He was outright rude. And I hoped that by giving him a particular finger, he might stop to think about his actions and the way in which they effect the people around him. Well, he stopped, but I think self-examination might be a little bit beyond his grasp.

In summation, my bad for not wanting to give in to the socially accepted yet improper practice of passing on the right and bullying one’s way back into traffic. My bad for waking up late and driving in to work. And my bad for not using a different finger to communicate my dissatisfaction to this particular driver. But if we could all take a moment to consider our actions, especially when operating motor vehicles, maybe a lot of stupid accidents and whatnot could be avoided. Because in all truth, he cost himself more time than he would have had to spend if he had just played by the rules.

That’s all I’m sayin’.

So I started my tour of the Chicago City Park System today, right down the street from my house. I figured why not? It is absolutely gorgeous outside and there is no reason why I can't play outside in Chicago, too. So I went. It was fun. The people were supremely indifferent to my presence, but I had a good time anyway. I think it's good for me to play in public places like that. Helps me get over the playing in front of people thing. Gets me used to the absolute knowledge than people can hear me play. And nobody threw tomatoes at me, so I'm assuming I wasn't too horrible. And yes, there were a couple of picnics happening, so tomatoes were a very real possibility.

I consider it a good day when I get to use the word "moot" in regular conversation.

And one more random tidbit because it is painfully quiet here at work today and I need to keep my mind occupied somehow as I sit here at the front desk, for those of you in Chicago, WXRT's featured Friday artist today is David Bowie. So if you're sitting in your office and can turn on a radio, might I recommend WXRT. You're guaranteed to get some good tunes today.

So apparently, I am the kind of person who inspires people. It’s not something I would ever admit to, even if it was something I was readily aware of, but I guess in retrospect, it kind of makes sense. I remember a guy in college who dreamed of making movies, but declared business (or some such thing) as his major because it was safe and he would be able to make money at it. He eventually switched his major to film to pursue what he had always wanted to do and he told me on several occasions that he did it because of me. He saw the blind faith I had in myself to pursue theater even though I had no real background in theater (i.e. I wasn’t in any plays in high school) and was therefore inspired to a similar faith in himself. I always thought that was a really incredible compliment. And I have a couple of friends now who say they want to learn things or do things because they are things that I know or do and that look like so much fun. I don’t know how much follow through will happen on those things, but it is a really amazing feeling to have someone say to your face, “You have inspired me to do this.” I don’t know if anyone has ever said that to you or not, so you may just have to trust me. It is incredible.

So then one of my friends who has recently been inspired by me asked me in a kind of roundabout way who I am inspired by. I’ve been thinking about that for a couple of days and I think I have come to the conclusion that everybody, but not very many people inspire me. I know. That doesn’t make any sense. Yes it does. If you live in my head. Which fortunately for me, I do. Lemme ‘splain. No, there is too much. Lemme sum up. Buttercup is marry Humperdink in little less a half an hour. So all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, and make our 'scape. After I kill Count Rugen. Sorry. I love that part. Anyway.

I am inspired by everyone who I meet in one way or another. The way they hold their coffee cup, the way they walk, the way they view life and the world around them, all of these things are fascinating to me. They make me reexamine the way I walk and the way I hold a coffee cup and the way I view life and the world around me. I am fascinated by the minutiae of human existence. I think it is all worth experiencing and knowing. Yes, it makes me sound like a crackpot sometimes because I notice things like my senior year chemistry teacher has the same hands as my mom or my one friend smokes like John Travolta or this one woman who dances in Chicago keeps her heart aimed above her partner’s head and I am assuming she must be difficult to lead because of that. I don’t know if other people notice these things, but I do and I’m glad that I do. They give me the ability to look at things from a million different perspectives and formulate educated opinions. I think.

But when it comes to people who make me want to learn a new skill or push myself beyond the limits of what I thought I could be, there are only a handful of those and as much as I’ve been trying to think of who they are, I can only come up with one who I know personally. Maybe two, but in my mind there is a difference between the two. One is a kind of learning partner; the other could almost be qualified as a muse. The others are artists of one sort or another of whom I only have peripheral or third party knowledge. Is that sad? Is that bad? Should I be inspired in that way by more people who I know personally, because I know a lot of really wonderful, incredible people? Will all of the people I know now be offended when they read this? Should I be actively seeking out more sources of inspiration? And probably the saddest of all the thoughts circulating through my head right now, is it worth pursuing relationships with people who don’t inspire me in this way? I think that is the only question I have an answer to right now – yes, it is worth it. There is always something to be learned from interpersonal relationships. But the rest of it…when I get stimulated, it’s almost frightening the stuff that comes out. Maybe it’s better for the sake of the rest of the world that my creative capacities are somewhat stunted.

Sweet jebus, I think I just saw my own head grow three sizes. I think I’m going to go read some comics now to kill off a few brain cells and feel normal again.

And thank you to those of you who have been inspired by me. I can’t think of a better compliment. I only hope that I can continue to live up to your expectations of me and I will do my best to do so.

Maybe the knowledge that I have that effect on people is what inspires me. Huh. Something to explore.

I'm going to be in a parade, too.

So I’m going to go to Europe. For real. I won this award at work that comes with a cash prize, so I’m feeling kind of rich right now and seeing as flying to Europe right now is dirt cheap, I’m going to go. I haven’t been in ten years, so I’m going to go. I’m going to see places I haven’t seen before. I’m going to stay with my dancer friend (who at least used to be) from Switzerland for a few days (but now he lives in Germany. That’s cool. I’d like to see Germany). I’m going to dance in England for a few days. I’m thinking about day/overnight trips to Paris and/or Dublin. My mind is awhirl with possibilities and I’m so excited about it, I can hardly see straight. It has been a long time since I have taken an extended vacation. It has been a long time since I have been able to monetarily splurge on something like this. And you know what? I deserve it. I have worked hard. No, I am not out of debt yet, but I am in good with my creditors and the end is in sight. I haven’t purchased anything besides necessities in a very very very long time and it is going to feel good to treat myself to some wonderful experiences.

Of course, I’ll come home wanting to move to Europe, but hey, some sacrifices have to be made. And yes, I will take my laptop with me so I can keep in touch with all of you while I am there. ‘Cuz I know I’m going to want to blog while I’m there. The trick will be balancing blog time with living time.

So then last night is kind of overkill. Verging on distasteful. Twelve to three? I mean, come one. Yes, it was fun to see the Cubbies come back and whoop the Marlins’ asses, but save some of the good stuff for later games when you’re really going to need it, huh, guys? I am glad they won, though. I feel much better than I did yesterday. And that one catch by I think it was Alou that turned into a double play – that’s the kind of thing that I like to see.

So here’s another thing that makes the Cubbies cooler than any other team. Most sports team names end with an “s.” I think there are only five or six professional sports teams that don’t have names ending in “s.” So whenever you write a sports team name, you have to do the apostrophe after the “s” to make it a possessive. Marlins’. Braves’. Astros’. And while grammatically this is all well and good, not everybody out there knows this rule of creating the possessive form of words that end in “s” and you get a lot of, “The Cubs kicked the Marlin’s asses.” Which irritates me to no end. Almost as much as people who “try and do” things. “I’m going to try and make it there, but if I don’t, please try and get me the handouts so I can try and keep up with the homework.” It’s “try to", goddamn it! “I’m going to try to make it there, but if I don’t, please try to get me the handouts so I can try to keep up with the homework.” Saying “try and” is repetitive. You can eliminate it from the sentence and it still makes perfect sense. “I’m going to make it there, but if I don’t please get me the handouts so I can keep up with the homework.” Granted, either form can be removed from the sentence, but to “try and do” something means you will do it. To “try to do” something means you will try. “And” and “to” are not synonyms. But I digress. With the Cubs, you can very easily differentiate between the plural and the possessive by switching to the familiar – Cubbies. Or maybe I’m just smoking crack. What? I’m happy that the Cubs are doing well. And it’s early. And I’m tired. And I really just wanted to bitch about the “and” vs. “to” thing for a little while. Lemme lone.

I think I’m going to be one of those people like Bono who always wears sunglasses. Daytime, nighttime, inside, outside, I’m always going to wear sunglasses. Why? Because these frigging contact lenses I have dry out my eyes something fierce and make it almost painful to be anywhere where air moves around my eyes. So I would not be wearing the sunglasses to be cool, I would be wearing them to act as a windshield. With fewer bug splatters.

You know, I respect the fact that everyone in our country (supposedly) has the right to his or her own opinion and has the ability to voice said opinion. I respect the fact that we get to elect our officials into office (the most recent Presidential election excepted). I do not respect anyone who voted for the Terminator in the California governor's race. Sure, I like him as an actor and I will continue to enjoy his action flicks for the rest of my life. Governing the state of California is nothing like making an action movie. Two completely different skill sets. And I'm sorry, but he's never even played a public official.

I guess the only comfort that can be taken in this whole situation is that they voted for him so now they have to live with their own decision. And when they start whining and complaining about the crap hole California has become, well, then the rest of us can just sit back with our popcorn and enjoy the show. I'm guessing it's going to be even more fantastical than Total Recall.

For a while there, I was feeling all groovy and urban about the fact that I now take the train to work two days a week. I’m saving gas, I’m saving money, I’m saving the environment, I’m losing twenty minutes of sleep and two hours of commute time every time I take the train.

I know, I should be proud of the fact that I am taking advantage of the wonderful public transportation system we have here in Chicago. But when it means I have to get up a half an hour earlier than usual (which turns into twenty minutes and I usually miss the train I really should be on and have to catch the next one) to stand on an el platform on a chilly October morning when it is supposed to get up into the mid-eighties by the middle of the day so I’m wearing a skirt with no pantyhose and debated with myself all morning about whether or not I should bring a jacket and I didn’t but as I’m standing there on the platform, I start to doubt that I made the wisest choice in the matter, I start to bargain with myself about whether or not I can spare the eight dollars to park downtown at school, environment be damned. Of course, I always opt for keeping my eight dollars, but the debate exists. Good thing this whole “school” thing is only for a year.

To be a Cubs fan is to relegate oneself to a life of disappointments. Every year, they get our hopes up and every year, they let us down. But we still love them more than we love our own mothers. Why is that? What is it about the Cubs that attracts the most loyal of fans? Do we love them because we are losers or are we losers because we love them?

It really is a bizarre phenomenon. Wrigley Field is always packed, no matter how badly the Cubs are doing. And even if we are second to last in the pennant race, we still have hope that we'll get there this year. What makes Chicago northsiders so optimistic?

We lost tonight in eleven innings. It was a nailbiter of a game. Literally. I don't bite my nails, but I was chewing on them from the top of the eighth until I got in my car to go home. And yes, I almost cried. Why? This is only the first game of a seven game series. We could still win it. Prior is pitching tomorrow, and Wood the day after. It could happen. But I was devastated tonight. It's stupid. It is dumb to get so worked up over a baseball game, but I do. I've been a Cubs fan since before I could walk and I have been waiting for them to get to the World Series that whole time. I don't know which is worse -- to have a season well under 500 or to get to the playoffs and not the World Series. This is pretty heartbreaking.

I know its dumb. There are so many more important things going on in the world than baseball. But for right now, my team, my Cubbies, the boys I grew up with and who I have loved dearly my entire life are doing well. I want them to continue to do well. We, as Cub fans, need to win the 100th World Series to prove that we aren't completely hopeless. We'll happily go another 100 years without making it to the post season if we could just have this one. For us, it is a once in a lifetime opportunity. And for us, it means a lifetime of disappointments. Why do we do this to ourselves? Because Wrigley has ivy.

Okay, so fake meat products.

I know a lot of people who have problems with fake meat products and they cite this as a reason why vegetarians and vegans are crazy. “If you want something that looks and tastes like meat, eat meat,” they say. And to a certain extent, I agree with them. If you want to eat chicken nuggets, eat chicken nuggets. Chik’n is kind of strange and takes a while to get used to. Anyway.

I went to this one wonderful vegetarian Chinese restaurant in New York that served things like General Tso’s chicken, but it’s not chicken, it’s a soy substitute. That kind of thing. I tried of piece of this fake chicken and it was almost identical to the piece of fake calamari I tried a few minutes before. In this particular case, the substitute for calamari was a better substitute, I think, because calamari is supposed to be kind of smooth and rubbery. Chicken is not. But I digress.

With a few notable exceptions, fake meat products are weird. I love Gimmie Lean. I like Yves fake turkey slices. And in some cases, TVP in sloppy joes or chili is really yummy, but TVP isn’t really trying to be meat. But a lot of other fake meat products are just strange. The texture is off. Which got me thinking. Here was an entire restaurant making a business out of selling fake meat products to people. Almost every vegetarian or vegan restaurant I have been to sells fake meat products to people. Perhaps in an attempt to make omnivores feel comfortable there? Or to give their patrons the ability to say to their omnivorous friends, “Yeah, well, I had a burger for dinner tonight, too, with coleslaw and mashed potatoes?” I kind of want to say, you know what? You’re vegetarian. Celebrate the fact that you are vegetarian by not eating fake meat products. Make for yourself nutritionally balanced meals that don’t involve fake meat products. Or better yet, open a vegetarian restaurant that serves nutritionally sound meals that do not involve fake meat products, to show people how much variety and how much fun stuff vegetarians and vegans can eat without having to resort to pretending to be omnivorous. Isn’t that kind of the point of being vegetarian in the first place? Getting your nutrients from sources other than animal sources? So why do we like to pretend we’re eating animals? Why not do interesting things with grains, legumes, fruits, and vegetables that don’t involve pressing them into patties and adding artificial smoke flavor so you think you’re eating a grilled hamburger?

I know, I know, for a long time people though that all vegans and vegetarians ate was red beans, rice, and salad. I’m not advocating that we only eat red beans, rice, and salad. Because, as we all know, you don't win friends with salad. But for instance, my brother gave me a Mediterranean vegan cookbook for Christmas last year that has a million dishes in it that are completely vegan and don’t require fake meat products. Really yummy things, nutritionally balanced. If we look to ethnic foods, we will find a lot more vegetarian and vegan options that already exist there without having to put forth the extra effort. Why not explore that more?

I don’t know that I really have a point here except to say that I understand people who make fun of veggies eating fake meat products. I’d like to see more non-fake meat product options in veggie restaurants.

This rant brought to you by the letter E, the number 7, and the fact that I made some really yummy risotto last night.

So I may have to be a pescatarian for a week. But I'll only eat Marlins.

The train was eerily empty this morning. I’m not sure if it is because of Yom Kippur or if it is because too many people were out partying last night celebrating the greatest thing to happen to Cubs fans in ninety-five years (in case you live in a cave, the Cubs beat the Braves last night and took the series, three games to two, marking the first time since 1908 that the Cubs have won a post-season series), but there was nobody on the train. I kept having to ask myself, “Is it really Monday today, or could I have stayed in bed a few more hours to sleep off that third beer?” But sadly, it is Monday. I’m not a big fan of Mondays. I used to kind of like Mondays because some really great dancing happens on Mondays in Chicago, but now I really don’t like them. Why? Because I have class on Monday nights which cuts into my dancing time. Granted, class is over before dancing actually begins, but what with travel time and so on and so forth, on Mondays I leave my house before 7:00 in the morning and don’t get home until after 10:00 at night. That makes for a long day and I am usually tired by the time I get home and I have problems motivating myself to go out and dance. Which sucks because I miss dancing. But on days like today when I only got about three hours of sleep the night before (though I wouldn’t have traded going out last night for the world. It was really incredible to be a part of the mob in the intersection of Clark and Addison and then to go into the bars in Wrigleyville and sing “Go, Cubs, Go” a million times and drink with other Cubs fans and whatnot. Some random guy bought shots for half the bar, just to celebrate the win (yes, I was a benefactor of his generosity). And everybody was smiling at everybody else. Everyone was everyone else’s friend in Wrigleyville last night. It was really amazing), it’s a little bit hard to wake up and face a long, slow day at work (because it is Yom Kippur so a lot of people are not on campus today) in a nice, warm office and then a long slow night in class and then think about going out dancing afterwards. Call me a wus. Maybe I’m just getting old. But I’ll still poke you in the eye if you tell me I have a case of the Mondays.

I think I have officially run out of interesting things to say, so I'll just give you a random smattering of thoughts for today.

It is really nice to see the Cubs in the playoffs. I wish that Harry Carey was still around to see it, though. And whether or not they win today, they made it to the playoffs and they have played a season of really good baseball this year. They should be proud of that.

I like being a hippie. But I still don't feel like cooking.

I want to be a rockstar.

I love seeing old friends and knowing that they are doing well. I don't like seeing old friends and knowing that they are not doing well. It makes me sad to know that there are some destructive patterns that people fall into that they can't or choose not to get out of.

I hope I will get to talk to him again. I disagree with my one friend who says he still likes me, but I hope that I will get to see him and talk to him again. He's a good person.

I'm tired of wearing contacts that dry my eyes out so badly.

If you eat a superior salsa on an inferior chip, does it lessen the worth of the salsa? If you eat an inferior salsa on a superior chip, does it lessen the worth of the chip?

I think pickles need to take a more active role in the daily lives of American citizens. Citizens of the world, as a matter of fact.

I hope Arnold Schwartzenegger is not elected governor of California. I can't really support that emotion, I just have a gut feeling that he is not the best man for the job. I'd rather see him make more action movies than run a state.

Weekends when I have class aren't really weekends and they always make me want to call in sick on Monday so I get my two days off like the rest of the world does. I could use two days off. Maybe if I had two days off in a row, I would feel like cooking.

Thank you. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

I had dinner with my mom last night and as we were talking, I remembered a kind of interesting moment I had when I was in New York.

First of all, I know I’ve said it before, but I think it merits repetition – I love my mom. I am thankful every day for the relationship I have with her. She is one of the most wonderful people I know. It was really lovely to just sit with her for a few hours and talk and drink cherry wine and eat fried rice. Not many people that I know get to do things like that with their moms, so I feel really lucky that I do.

But we got talking about body image and eating issues and whatnot – she did the Atkins diet thing for a while and of course, I’m a vegan. For a while there, we couldn’t eat out together. But it reminded me that while I was in New York was the first time in a long time that I have felt really heavy. Maybe because I was staying with a tall, slender hostess, but I felt heavier than I have in a long time. So many of my eating issues and body image issues have simply left me in the past year. I eat when I’m hungry and I eat until I’m full. I don’t waste hours upon hours counting calories anymore. I don’t obsess about a pound or two. I’ve actually gotten to a point where I can look at myself in the mirror as I am getting dressed in the morning and think that I have a really nice shape. I look like a woman is supposed to. I have breasts. I have hips. I am not now, nor will I ever be a size two and that is okay with me. I have gotten to the point where I like the way I look. I’m not going to just let myself go now – I’m still going to work out and eat right and stuff, but because it makes me feel good, not because I think I need to lose weight.

But the strangeness in New York happened when two of my friends (on separate occasions) made comments about what they had already eaten that day and how much they were “allowed” to eat later because of it. Like they were counting calories or fat grams or protein/carbohydrate grams or something. And it struck me that that is not a part of my life anymore. I wasted years counting calories and it never did me any good. I wasted a lot of paper writing down everything that I ate and all it did was make me miserable and give me something else to hate myself for. And I’m done with it now.

No, I am not a scrawny vegan. I don’t know that I ever will be. But I have been released from the obsessive/compulsive battle with my weight that so many women (and men, too, for that matter) are still fighting. I feel for them because I have been there and I know how all consuming it can be. I’m just tired of it. I want to wear pants that are comfortable and if that means they have a bigger number on the tag, then so be it. I would rather be comfortable in my clothes (and therefore comfortable being myself) than spend twenty minutes trying to zip up my jeans in the morning and the entire day sucking in my stomach. It’s just not worth it.

So my question is why is Novocain not an illegal narcotic? My jaw was pumped full of the stuff about two and a half hours ago and I still can't feel half of my face. Granted, she gave me a lot of it because I had three cavities filled (check out my shiny, silvery mouth!), but seriously. I can't feel half of my face. From my cheekbone to my neckline, nose to ear. It's kind of cool in a way. I have to make a conscious effort to not bite my own tongue, though. And I'm kind of getting to that "okay, that's enough of that, thank you" stage of drug usage. But I can see a bunch of young kids shooting themselves in various body parts with Novocain just to see what it's like and then doing crazy things like, I don't know, branding each other and stuff. "Did that hurt?" "No, man, I couldn't feel a thing. They had to rush me to the hospital once we started to smell burning flesh, but it didn't hurt a bit. And then at the hospital, they gave me morphine. Score."

Anyway, I like my dentist, pusher of should-be-illegal drugs or no. She's cool and she does good work. I look forward to going back to see her again in six months.

I can hardly think of a lovlier sound to wake up to than the sound of one's radiators turning on. And despite my penchant for sarcasm, I am not being sarcastic in this case. I literally smiled and said, "Hi, radiators," this morning when I heard them turn on. Because for once, this means I won't have to hastle my landlords to turn on the heat. For once, I will be cozy in my little apartment when it's all nippy outside and stuff. Yay radiators.

And I have all of this food in my house to make things with (soup, risotto, etc.) and I have absolutely no desire to cook today. Drat it all.

I had one of those moments last night where I found myself thinking, "If I was a rock star, this would be my life." I didn't go to work yesterday and I didn't go today. I'm still kind of recovering. Mentally. So yesterday was a day of shopping and practicing my guitar (new song is called "Astoria Park" and it went over pretty well. It's short, but it's really fun and it makes people laugh) and just kind of taking it easy. And then I called up a bunch of friends and said, "Hey, you wanna go out?" and they all did. So we went out to what we thought was going to be an open mic, but turned into a night of watching the Cubs kick the Braves' behinds (Yay Cubbies!) followed by the five of us sitting in a corner of the bar jamming on our guitars and singing. It was fun. Nice and low key. I wasn't at all nervous about playing. And this random guy came over with a harmonica and started jamming with us when he could. And I thought to myself, "What a rockstar moment. To be sitting here with some friends, enjoying a beverage, playing my guitar in a bar. If I really was famous, this is the kind of thing my fans would kill to see and the media would be all over. But I'm not famous. Yet. So this is really nice."

So thank you to my friends who came out last night and made me feel like a rockstar. I'll see if I can comp you all in to my first big Chicago show.