And you become aware of a hand on your chest, directly over your heart. It is warm and soft and carries within it the very breath you didn't realize you were holding. And it reaches in slowly and takes your heart and caresses it gently. Somehow it knows where all of the little bruises are hiding and it finds each one. It touches each bruise and kisses it and says without words, "It's okay. I love you." And you feel your heart grow and heal and become something beautiful, something too beautiful to contain within the confines of your own chest. And you realize that your heart is in your own chest, exactly where it should be and there was no hand. It was the sound and the vibration and the melody and the voice that healed your every hurt and filled your soul with so much beauty, your own body feels too small to hold it. So you cry, because it is all you have left to do. And you think with your entire being, "Thank you," because you know that if you were actually to say, "Thank you," to the artist behind the sound and the vibration and the melody and the voice, it would sound trite and false. But you know your spirit has been touched and changed forever and that the best way to show your appreciation for that is simply to allow it to happen.

"Be still my love
Open up your heart and let the light shine in
Don't you understand?
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin."

-- the sound and the vibration and the melody and the voice

The complaints that I have about myself are complaints that I am willing to bet you will never hear another woman say about herself. For instance:

My hair has too much body. I wish it would just hang straight.

My nose is too small. Seriously. I think that's why I have sinusitis -- when my mucus membranes get inflamed and grow, they don't have very far to go in order to cause serious problems. Don't get me wrong, my nose looks fine on my face. But it is, in fact, too small.

I keep finding myself going out with two guys at once. I have two groups of guy friends who I have gotten into the habit of going out with on an almost weekly basis and it just occurred to me that in both situations, it's a group of three friends going out for drinks and I'm the only girl.

Either I was never supposed to be a girl in the first place, or I should just stop complaining, huh?

You've probably gotten the impression from this blog that I'm not necessarily into Western Medicine, yes? Which is perhaps an odd statement coming from someone who works on the administrative end of a hospital and medical center, and from someone who is blown away on a pretty consistent basis by her surgeon friend and another friend who is about to begin her journey to doctorhood. But you know how certain people, after working in a restaurant and seeing how things really work there, vow to never ever ever eat at that restaurant again? Well, it's kind of the same here. I get to sit in on the meetings where patients are identified by their disease or insurance carrier or ability to pay. They're not people, they're numbers and potential income. I sit in on the meetings where the higher-ups mandate things like each doctor has to see four patients an hour and so on and so forth. Its enough to make you sick and start searching for other curative methods.

But today, I must sing the praises of Western medicine in general, my doctor in particular. She is what a doctor should be. She takes the time to explain what's going on and what needs to be done to fix it. She takes the time to talk to her patients and know them as people, not as insurance policies. I went in there with a sore throat and a desire for it to go away by next week or tomorrow if possible. She looked around, asked some questions, and found the problem -- sinusitis. And then she scampered off into the other room to get me some sample medications so I wouldn't have to go get a prescription filled. And yes, she does scamper. She's adorable. I love my doctor and will sing her praises to the end of the earth. Though I probably still won't give up my homeopathy entirely.

I get so torn sometimes about what I am doing with my life and whether or not it is what I really want to be doing with my life. I was reading some cases for school this morning, one of which succeeded in proving that a horse is a bird. Seriously. A guy shot his horse because it broke it's leg and he was sued for shooting it under the Small Birds Act. The argument was that...I can't even tell you. It was ridiculous, but in a weird way, it made sense. It proved that this horse was covered under the Small Birds Act. And I think to myself, it is one day going to be my job to come up with bullshit like this, and to try to sell it to people in perfectly pressed suits in stuffy courtrooms. And I am forced to ask myself, "Is this really what I want to be doing with my life?"

I think the problem with the American judicial system is that it is a common law system. Meaning the more cases are tried, the more laws and rules and regulations we have and therefore, the more people have to work their way around such laws and rules and regulations in order to feel that some sort of justice has been served. I know that other countries are ruled by a series of statutes and whatnot and the whole case law thing doesn't figure in, and in a way, that system doesn't strike me as quite right, either. I think that as times change, it is okay for laws to change, too. Because as I have said a million times before, there is an exception to every rule and every situation should be examined on its own merits. But to live in a system where a man is sued for putting a lame horse out of its misery under the assumption that a horse is a bird and it is illegal to shoot birds...I think that's taking things a smidge too far, don't you?

And then, on the other hand, I have a page on the IMDb. I know it's not really all that exciting, but it's almost like a first step has been taken towards recognizing me as a legit actress. I am in the Internet Movie Database, the website everyone refers to as the ultimate authority on film. If you want to know anything about an actor or a film or a director, you can find it on the IMDb. And I'm on there. It's just kind of bizarre. I mean, there are even discussion boards there so people can discuss me if they want to. I have discussion boards! My own discussion boards. Granted, there's nothing there, but I have discussion boards. How did I get discussion boards? Certainly not by sitting around reading cases that prove that horses are birds.

I can't wait to go to Europe. I need some time away from all of this crap. Though I'll still be doing my homework while I'm there. Though somehow doing homework on a train between Amsterdam and Switzerland doesn't sound so bad.

I know it is really old fashioned, but I love buying CDs. I love going to the store and looking around and making a purchase and unwrapping the discs and reading the liner notes as new and foreign music hits my ears for the first time.

Yesterday, I was going to make the pre- and post- show CDs for my gig on Friday and there are a couple of very specific songs that I wanted to be able to include on them. Songs that make me happy. Songs that make me feel like playing music. And I thought to myself, "I could get those songs on iTunes for a dollar each, or I could go to the store and by the albums." I went to the store and bought the albums. I know, I know, so cost inefficient. but I found myself thinking, "What if there is a song on the album that is even better than the ones that I know? I'll never find it if I only listen to the 30 second preview available on iTunes. And I won't have the lyrics or liner notes in front of me as I listen to these songs, ever." And it is actually a good thing that I went to the store because one of the discs I bought was a special edition 2 disc set with six bonus tracks. And I found a really old disc that I kind of liked two songs on for two dollars, so I got it, too.

I did end up downloading four songs from iTunes, too -- one that is only available through iTunes, and three that I have heard before and I have heard parts of the rest of the albums they are on and I have not been too thrilled with those albums. So here's me, not only being legal about my music aquisitions, but old fashioned and ethical, too. Sweet jebus, I'm a square.

But I like my new CDs.

So apparently, I have a page on the Internet Movie Database website. Seriously. go there and look me up. I feel like I should give them more info and send them a picture to make the site more complete. And because I'm not sure how to deal with this odd tidbit of information other than to treat it like it's no big deal.

I know I am not the first person to say this, but you can't help who you are going to love. And you shouldn't have to. This is the number one most important thing that I learned from fucknut. He was totally not the right person for me to love, nor the kind of person I should love. But I couldn't help it, so I did it. I just loved him. And I learned a lot from that. So to hear someone say that he or she would cut him or herself off from loving someone because of what his or her family would say or what society might say...it breaks my heart. When you love someone, that person becomes your family. Not necessarily your family through blood, but your family through spirit, which I hate to say, is more powerful. Perhaps more important. And there are those with whom you are family through blood who you are not family with through spirit and it is usually those people who we try to please by doing things contrary to our own nature. Love isn't about making outsiders happy. It is about being happy with yourself and some other person and with the two of you together, regardless of what the outsiders say.

So does it matter that I love someone a thousand miles away? No. What matters is that I loved. What matters is that I had that feeling again. That instantaneous, "Wow. I need to know him," moment that I thought I would never have again. Because it means that fucknut is not the only one for me. It means that someone more suitable is out there somewhere, and he will come with that electricity, too. It's probably not this most recent encounter, and I may not meet my actual partner until I'm fifty. But he is out there. I've felt it twice already; I'm sure I'll feel it again someday when the timing is right. And when that moment comes, I'm not going to "should" myself out of it. I hope he doesn't, either.

A while ago, I posted a list of traits I would like to find in a partner so that I could read them regularly and try to manifest such a partner. I have a couple more things I would like to add to the list. Things that should be elementary, but I am realizing I need to add to the list so that I focus on them, too.

I would like to be with a guy who is geographically accessible.
I would like to be with a guy who doesn't already have a girlfriend.
I would like to be with a guy who loves Owen.

That's it for now. I'm sure I'll come up with more later.

My heart hurts.

I got my host assignment today for the London Lindy Exchange. This means it's really happening. I'm really going to Europe in just under two weeks. Wow. Yay!

I have to say that the knowledge that I am going to Europe in a couple of weeks made it a lot easier to say goodbye to my friends last night and today. Because I know I will see them again soon. They really are wonderful people and I love them very much. I hope they know that.

My stepmother's mother is not doing well. She is not a woman I know very well since my stepmother didn't become my stepmother until I was about 20 or 21, but the from few times I have seen her, I can tell that she is a good woman. And essentially, her heart is on the way out. She was taking blood pressure medication for years which started taking it's toll on some of her other organs, so they switched her medications and the new ones aren't working very well or some such thing. Basically, the options are to keep her on this medication that will send her into some very painful kidney failure or something like that, or to wean her off of it which will wear her heart out a little bit faster. They have decided to go for option #2 as it will be the less painful way for her to go.

I can't help but think that this is a really odd situation. Nobody is upset about the fact that she is dying and that't not the odd part -- she is 88 years old; this has been coming for a while. But to know that your heart is going to give out within, say, the next month, is a very strange bit of knowledge. She's not scared. She's ready to go. And when she does, she'll just fall asleep and not wake up, so it will be peaceful. How would you feel if you knew you were going to die a very peaceful death in the next month? She is alert and coherent and very aware of everything going on around her. I truly wish she was documenting this experience in one way or another. Keeping track of the physical feelings and their associated emotions. Is there ever a little moment of panic? What does it feel like to have your heart slow down and then just stop? I wish I could know these things, if for no other reason, so that in the future, I could comfort someone else in a strange position. Because yes, it is sad for us that she is dying, but what an amazing experience. She is getting a chance that I'm not sure many people get and I hope she is fully aware of and able to enjoy the whole thing.

Man, does that sound weird. Well, I told you it was an odd situation.

Here's a weird one for you. I've been enjoying being a girl as of late. What does that mean, you may be asking. Well, most noticably, it means I've been wearing slightly more girly clothing. Not to say I'm wearing pink ruffles all the time, but pants that fit and cute tops. Things that accentuate my figure (of which, I'm kind of proud right now -- I like the way I look). And I think I'm okay with my need to do girly things every now and again. Like rock out on sappy love songs. Or feel completely irrational emotions for brief periods of time. That kind of thing. It's not a huge change, but it is a change for me and I'm kind of enjoying it. That's all.

I have discovered the next generation of crack cocaine and it's name is Tings.

Seriously, have you had Tings? They are the vegan equivalent of Cheetos and oh so yummy. I have to stop buying them or my whole work-out-get-fit thing will be right out the window.

Oh, and a question for you. Why is it that I am only attractive to men who live very far away?

I actually have more to bitch about on this topic, but I have some work to do and I think I should go do it while I'm still on a sort of caffeine high from last night. Normally, I don't drink caffeine. I've cut a lot of the sugar out of my diet, too (except for the last couple of days, but even then, I haven't been going overboard). But yesterday, after getting very little sleep the night before and waking up feeling like total ass, by break time from class (7:35pm), I was hurting, so I had a soda. Man, it's amazing how not taking a drug for a really long time will make it have an impact on you again. I was hyper all night. I had a great night of dancing and a really good conversation with my German friend. And I think I'm still kind of buzzing from it, so I'm going to get my filing done while I still can. I'll bitch about boys later.

It was just a breast. It was a publicity stunt to promote album sales. It was not the end of the American system of morality (and yes, I am aware of the oxymoronic nature of that phrase). Get over it.

This is yet another reason why I love listening to WXRT in the mornings: yesterday morning, the morning show guy was talking about the whole incident and followed up his commentary by playing "One Headlight" by the Wallflowers. This morning, he said something to the effect of, "It was a publicity stunt. And it's a good thing we're not letting her get away with it." I love WXRT.

I don't think there is anything wrong with loving someone who can't/won't/doesn't love you back, as long as you don't let your love for that person consume you.

I have a lot of little random tidbits on my mind today, so please bear with me.

It struck me the other day as I was reading some Oscar Wilde on the train on my way in to work that reading poetry for the sake of reading poetry when you are no longer in a high school or college is a little bit odd. I got to the end of a nice, epic poem about a man who is hanged for killing his wife/girlfriend/lover-type person and I wanted to discuss it with someone. Examine the ryhme scheme and themes and repetitions and the importance of usage of certain words and so on and so forth. And I looked around the train and was smacked in the face by a very large grouper, telling me that nobody else on the train had probably ever read that same poem. Or even heard of it.

I don't know. Somehow reading poetry is different than reading prose, I think. Just like plays are not meant to be read, they are meant to be performed, I think poems are meant to be analyzed and studied in large groups. Poems are not a solitary art form, at least not for the audience. And after I had been hit by the grouper, I couldn't focus on the second poem in the book.

I'm sore all over. And I probably shouldn't have had that last shot of vodka last night. Especially considering I won't go to bed until probably 2am again, but it was all worth it. Completely worth it.

I am feeling better about myself again. I took a lot of the workshop this weekend as a lead, which, funnily enough, made me more confident about my own follow. As I was going around the room, I was kind of shocked at the number of women who weren't getting the whole "only follow what you are given" thing, and by how many women don't understand the concept of being responsible for their own weight. My right arm was getting tired from trying to hold all of these women up and forward so that I could move them in the first place, and then having to pick them up and move them. There were so many who would break their form or purposely not follow a lead or something. And I always find myself torn in a workshop setting between calling them on it and keeping my mouth shut and altering my lead. I usually opt for altering my lead, and I'll tell you why. I'm not the instructor. I always ask my follow how things feel to her to see if there are any adjustments I can make to ensure that my lead can be made clear to anyone. I want feedback. There are a lot of women who don't. And there are a lot of women who are unreceptive to such commentary. Hell, there were a couple of women in the rotation over the weekend who made it very clear that they did not want to be dancing with another woman in the first place (which was surprising to me because I thought we all got over that about three years ago). So how will those women take it when I say to them, "I need you to line your heart up with mine and put your weight forward, or at the very least in a neutral place so that I can move it forward or backwards as necessary. If I let go of you, you should not lose your balance. And when I start bouncing, using my whole body to make yours move up and down, you should start bouncing, too. I'm not doing the choreography right now; I'm just kind of screwing around with you to see what it takes to make you move. Then I can figure out how to do the choreography with you, but until I can make you move your feet without breaking your frame at your hips, I can't do the fun suspended frame stuff on my end." And the really sad part about it is that some of these women are instructors themselves. And some of them have taken private lessons with some of the best instructors out there and they still have no concept of frame. I'm sorry, but ultimatley, when I'm leading, and I step up to my partner, I would like to feel her frame in her shoulders even though I'm not touching them. I would like to lead someone with strong fingers and strong wrists and strong forearms and strong biceps and a strong heart and strong abs and strong hips and strong knees and strong toes. By "strong" I don't mean "muscle-bound thug." I just mean I want my follow to know where her body is, what her body is doing, and how to best communicate through her body with me. Is that too much to ask?

When we were first learning to lindy hop, a lot of us developed this bad habit called the "tick-tock." On the one-two, we would bounce our lead hand first to the left and then to the right as we would draw our partner in to us. I remember going to a workshop wherein we were lambasted for this practice because if your hands are doing the talking, your follow's heart can't hear what yours is trying to say. That probably only makes sense to the other dancers out there, but it is the only real analogy I can come up with. If my follow's frame is weak at any point, be it as seemingly insignificant as the tip of her index finger, my job as the lead is going to be a bigger challenge than it would be if my follow's frame was strong all around. Dig?

That being said, I know I'm not a perfect follow. I know there are times when I depend on my partner too much. I know there are times when I don't listen to what he is telling me to do. And I know there are times when my frame slips. And I will be the first to admit that I have no style. I try hard to fix those things, but at least I'm conscious of them, you know? I would almost like to go back to every woman who I danced with over the weekend and say to them, "Okay, here's what I need you to do as a follow. And if you can do all of these things, you will be able to follow any lead doing anything." But I missed my chance. I should learn to speak up more in workshops.

I'm still a good, intelligent, talented person, right?

I love learning things from good, intelligent, talented people, but it makes me temporarily feel worthless. I'll be okay in a couple of days.

I want more. I know I shouldn't. I know that not only is it distasteful, it is one of the seven deadly sins (when did Kitty become religious, you are asking yourself? As soon as I figure that one out, I'll let you know), but I can't help it. I want more. I know I'm capable of more. I know I could handle more. What I have trouble with is seeing more right in front of my face and not being able to have it or knowing it will disappear soon. So I harden my heart against the possible hurt. Not the best coping strategy, I know, but what else can I do? Sit and wish for more. And do everything I can to ensure that one day, I will have more.

Okay, so enough with the cold already. It has penetrated my home and my car and my place of business and that's taking it too far. I should not have to wear two shirts and my arm warmers and flannel pants and socks to bed under four blankets and flannel sheets in order to stay kind of warm enough. My poor houseguest. I hope he stays warm enough while he's at my house. Poor Owen's fur is cool to the touch. I hope he hangs out under blankets or by the radiators today.

You know, I hate to write a blog like this, but I kind of feel it necessary. I really feel for fucknut and people like fucknut. People who only seem to be able to find the bad things in life and the bad people. Because from personal experience, I have to say it's pretty easy to meet good people. People worth knowing. People who simply won't fuck you over. They're not that hard to find and once you do find them, they're not that hard to get to know or to hang onto. I really feel for people who can't seem to find a good friend, or even someone to hang out with who won't screw up their lives.

That's pretty much it. It's easy to find good people. And it's hard to understand people who either don't find them or don't recognize them when they do find them. I hope those people wake up one day and see what's right in front of their faces.

I would not survive as a homeless person. I don't understand the mindset of a homeless person. What gets you through a day? Are you trying to find ways to get money? Are you trying to eat? Is it all just about staying warm so you can live long enough to see tomorrow? And what's so great about tomorrow if all it means is that you are going to smell worse and some of the garbage you are carrying around with you will be beyond the point where it holds any sort of value?

There was a homeless man on the train this morning with a bag full of garbage. The bag was partially open and it reeked to high heaven. So much so, that most people would only stay on that car for one stop. I rode as far as I had to, sitting in the seat behind the garbage with my scarf over my nose because it smelled so bad. And I couldn't see what, if anything, in the bag would have been of any value. All I could see were some Gatorade bottles with a brown fluid in them. But this man was standing guard by his bag of garbage as if his life depended on it. Part of me wanted to give him my lunch. Part of me wanted to talk to him and find out his story. But I did neither as I'm sure either would have been an insult to him. I felt very...I dunno...worthless maybe, in my long coat and scarf and hat and gloves reading my book. Like he's the one with his priorities straight -- his number one concern is with survival, whereas I couldn't stop thinking about physical appearance and smell, trivial things. And where was he headed with his bag of garbage?

I don't know. It was somehow humbling to see that man on the train. He wasn't asking for anything. He had a plan. I wish I knew what the plan was, because I know there is no way I would survive if I had to come up with something similar.

I've been on this dried fruit kick as of late and I'm thinking it needs to end very soon. As in now. Because as tasty as dried fruit is, the sulphur is wreaking havoc on my digestive system. And I have a houseguest arriving in two days. No more dried fruit for me until he's gone.

I want snowshoes. Just because I think it would be fun to trek into work on a inch of snow wearing snowshoes.

Don't even try to tell me that's not a funny image.

I went shopping last night and came to a realization. I am never again going to buy clothing in a mall type setting. Why? Because the stores in mall type settings carry clothing to make us look how we wish we looked, whereas independent (though sometimes chain) stores carry clothing to accentuate how we do look. Lemme 'splain.

I went to a mall over the weekend and tried on some clothes. I had an idea in my head for what I wanted the outfit to look like, but when I got there and tried it on, it looked nothing like the picture in my head. Now, I'm not a big girl. Ask anyone. I do have big hips (though I do believe I have lost an inch off my hips since I started working out agan), but I'm not a big girl. I had to put on an extra large t-shirt in order to have it fit over my breasts. They're not that big! And I had to grab an extra large skirt to have it fit over my hips, which of course meant it was hanging open at the waist in the back (you all know what I'm talking about, here, girls). And I found myself thinking, "What do really large people buy if I have to buy the extra large?"

I remember the days when I would squeeze myself into jeans that were too tight, hoping nobody would notice the stomach bulge that created. I remember the years I spent walking around holding my breath so my stomach would look flatter. I'm tired of all of that. I want pants that don't ride up and that I can zip without the help of pliers. I want shirts that allow me to breathe. I want shoes that have some cushioning in them so I can wear them all day and still be active. Is that to much to ask?

According to the malls, yes.

But walk into a non-mall store. Not all of them, mind you, but some of them. Typically the ones that aren't branches of stores you would find in a mall. And you will find clothing made for women who are shaped like women. Medium-sized t-shirts for medium-sized women with medium-sized boobs and medium-sized waists. Pants and skirts that fit in the waist and hips without bulging or requiring a belt to cinch the waist shut. I walked into a funky, semi-vintage store in downtown Chicago yesterday and just about everything I tried on fit me. It was a matter of what was the most flattering, what fit with the image I wanted to portray. The t-shirt I ended up buying, I didn't even try on, but I knew it would fit because the tag said "Medium." I love that feeling.

So thank you to non-mall stores for making clothing that the rest of us can actually wear and be comfortable in. And I'm sorry, mall stores, but you have lost yourself a customer. Because I don't want to look like you think I should. I want to look like the picture in my head.

My Bostonian female friend posted a link to this article in her blog today. I have to agree with her that it is worth reading. It goes back to that whole, "there is always an exception" thing I believe in so strongly, but it says it much better than I ever could.

I love Meryl Streep.

I know, I know, it's Golden Globes night so Kitty gets all weepy about what her career could be if the people I have worked with would just finish up the products. It's distasteful and I can't help it and I apologize for it. But I see these people's dreams coming true in so many cases and I want that, too. I want people to call me for roles instead of having to go audition. I want to make a living from acting. I don't think that's too much to ask.

Though in the category of "steps in a positive direction," I should be getting a copy of Dancing with Gaia in about three weeks. And last time I talked to the director, she said she hoped to have Leftover Voices done by the end of February. And, Mix Tape was invited to be screened at a festival in San Francisco. And I'm doing my first musical concert in a couple of weeks. So things are still moving. Slowly, but they are still moving. And one day, I'll get to go up on stage and forget to thank my agent.

I love the great big fat snowflakes that just kind of swirl around in the air for hours, making it look almost blizzardy outside, but they never really land so there isn't any real accumulation to deal with.

Not being able to sleep sucks.

You know, I really truly believe that if you sincerely believe that everything will work out okay, it will.

My car was giving me trouble earlier in the week, so I had it towed out to a dealership (it's still under warranty) so they could take a look at it. Turns out, there was a faulty oil filter on it that was pumping air into my engine instead of oil, or some such thing. Which of course, is not under warranty, but that's beside the point. The dealership is out in the 'burbs and I had to figure out a way to get there to pick up my car.

I went to the handy dandy CTA website and used the trip planner to find out that I could take a train and a bus to my destination. I left work, got on the train, got off at my desired stop and could not find the bus I wanted. Not even a sign for the bus I wanted. And it was getting cold outside. So I decided to walk over to a major street and look for a cab. No such luck -- cabs don't really hang out in the 'burbs. So I kept walking. My legs got numb. I could feel the phlegm crystallizing in my nose. It was not really a pleasant experience, but I did some mental cheerleading and reminded myself of all of the calories my body must be burning in order to keep the blood flowing and I kept going. After about a mile, there was a gas station where I decided to stop and warm up for a minute. While I was waiting for the clerk to finish helping a customer so I could ask her if she had a guestimate for how much farther I had to go, I noticed a little map, so I picked it up to examine it for myself. As it just so happened, the station mechanic was just leaving work and he noticed my fascination with the map and asked if I needed help. I told him I was trying to figure out how much farther I had to go. He started giving me directions and asked, "Is this your car right here?" I replied, "I'm walking." He looked at me kind of aghast and said he would give me a ride. I know, I know, I shouldn't have gotten into a car with a strange man, but it was really fuckin' cold outside. And I only had about a mile to go. And he seemed like a nice guy. So I accepted. He drove me to the dealership, saying all the while, "I just hate to see people cold."

So a great big thank you to Eric who works at the Shell station in Park Ridge. You got me to the dealership in time to get my car before the service department closed.

Meaning I got to meet Mr. Hottie Mechanic. He probably could have sold me a new car right then and there and I would have gone for it. *sigh*

So yeah, I have a lot of faith in humanity right now. Partially because of the Avon Walk and the incredible amount of support I am getting for/from it. Partially from a couple of strangers helping me out for no good reason. And partially because I think I want to have faith in humanity, so I am finding reasons to do so. I wish I could impart this lesson to some people -- if you believe bad things will happen to you, they will; if you believe good things will happen to you, they will. So believe in good things. It's as simple as deciding to do so.

I got into a kind of interesting conversation with a couple of friends the other night about relationships. They both qualify themselves as persons who friends/partners try to fix and I guess I would qualify myself as a person who other people want to fix them. I could be wrong in my assumption, but I am the one that people come to for advice or a sympathetic ear or whatever. I am perfectly happy to give solicited advice. Sometimes I get ahead of myself and give unsolicited advice, but I usually apologize for that and tell the recipient that it is perfectly acceptable to tell me to fuck off. Because truth be told, I don't want to fix people. I am more than happy to help them fix themselves, but I don't want to fix anyone. What I love about the people around me is that they are real people with real problems and real thoughts and real dreams. Who am I to try to take any of that away from them? At the mention of this point of view, the people I was talking to asked if I would give all of their past lovers a seminar on how to not fix people.

Which brings me to my expectations of a relationship, be it romantic or otherwise, and for the sake of this blog, I am going to refer to both parties in one of these relationships as "friends." Because ultimately, your lover should be your friend, too, right? So anyway.

A friend is someone you can talk to. About anything -- good, bad, funny, politically incorrect, anything. And that friend will listen and offer (as appropriate) a sympathetic ear, a chortle, a hug, advice, a differing opinion, or some other reaction that suits the situation. A good friend will not judge his or her friend based on what is discussed in these conversations. And by "not judge," I don't mean "not form an opinion," but say you have a friend who went out one night and tried cocaine. A good friend will listen to the story and not write off the other friend as being a bad person for one experience. A good friend will keep in mind the whole person and the entire history that the two have shared and formulate an opinion based on that. Does that make sense?

I guess what I am trying to say to my friends is that I will not love you less if you call me up after you've had a bad day and you just need someone to talk to. I want to know about those things. I want to know if you were hospitalized. I want to know if you got a new job. I want to know if your baby is talking yet. Because you are my friend and I love you and I want to share in your life and let you share in mine. That's what being a friend is all about.

Or at least that is what it is all about to me, as an INTJ. If you buy into that crap.

I have to admit, I didn't watch the State of the Union address last night. It's probably better that I didn't, seeing as watching our current President speak always makes me want to vomit. But I did read a transcript of the speech right now and all I can really say is that I really, truly hope that he is not re-elected.

To the casual observer, it might look like a good speech. It might look like our country is doing well. He talks about economic growth and the creation of jobs and healthcare and education improvements. But if you look at his record in office for the last three years, you see that none of those things has been a priority for him. It's kind of like taking a small child wth bright hopes for the future, beating him to within an inch of his life, and then bragging about the fact that you remembered to put Neosporin on his band-aids to help him heal faster.

Yes, he mentions a couple of things that have nice, PC-sounding names that are supposed to help our country get out of the hole it is now in. Things like "Jobs in the 21st Century" and the "Leave No Child Behind Act" and stuff. But he didn't fund his own Leave No Child Behind Act in the first place. Now he's talking about increasing their funding. Which would be a lot more impressive if he hadn't cut it in the first place, you know? There is nothing in Bush's track record as President to prove to us that he will keep his word. I almost laughed out loud when he mentioned cutting our dependence on foreign energy sources. You know how he plans to do that? By destroying American wildlife preserves and national parks and forests.

His speech writers have the lingo down. They know this is an election year, so he has to hit all of the key points and try to make everyone believe that he is capable of running our country. Please, when you go to the polls in November, remember the fact that he has proven to us through actions, not words, over the past three years that he is not capable of running this country. He's not a hero because he remembered the Neosporin. He should be ousted for beating the kid in the first place.

So Kerry won the Iowa caucuses. Groovy. I think I could get behind him. And it helps narrow down my political research.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I watched "Average Joe" tonight. For those of you with better taste than 95% of the television executives out there, "Average Joe" involves a particuarly lovely lady trying to choose a suitor from a group of average men. Average looking, average intelligence, average occupations. I think what they are trying to prove or disprove on this show is how much physical appearance matters in romantic relationships. Whatever. On tonight's episode, at the very end of it, they brought in eight guys with six packs and excellent fashion sense. And all eight of these new suitors were talking smack before they arrived at the house saying things like, "These guys are in for the shock of their lives." I must express my disgust.

First of all, I will bet you a million dollars every one of the average guys has been in a situation before where they were chatting up a beautiful woman and some really hot guy came along and started chatting her up, too. This is not unfamiliar territory for the less than stellar.

Secondly, I don't know about the particular lady on that show, but men with attitudes like that and six packs are very unattractive to me. I'm not diggin' on guys who feel the need to belittle every other person who doesn't spend seventeen hours a day in the gym. And, to be perfectly honest, I'm intimidated by physically attractive men. Men who even other men will admit are hot. I'm not painful to look at, but I know I'm not drop dead gorgeous -- what on earth would a really hot guy want with me? I don't want to spend tons of time with someone around whom I'm always on edge. I would much rather be with someone around whom I am comfortable. Then I get to be me. Simple as that.

So yeah, if I was the girl on that show, things would not change in the least. I would find myself skeptical of everything the hot guys would say to me. Does this mean I am prejudiced against really hot people? Maybe. Is this something I should work on? Probably. Would this make me an interesting candidate for this particular reality dating show? Probably. Am I going to apply for this particular reality dating show? No. So does any of this matter? Not in the least.

So I decided to put together another blog to document my training efforts and fundraising efforts and whatnot for the Avon Walk so you don't have to read about it unless you want to. Or, if you are only interested in reading about that stuff, you don't have to muck about through the rest of my brain droppings to find what you're looking for. The new blog can be found at http://mkavonwalk.blogspot.com. I've put a link to it over on the side, too. Gasp! A link that has a proper name! Yeah, so have fun poking around over there. As I start training and stuff, I may even upgrade so I can post pictures of my blisters and stuff. Yay blisters.

I hate to say this because it's all sappy and everything, but I have to say this, too, because I don't want to forget it.

I am consistently amazed at the generosity of the people around me. I thought when I signed up to do this Avon Walk that it would be hard for me to raise the money to participate and whatnot and I am finding exactly the opposite to be the case. Everyone I have talked to knows someone who has or had breast cancer and they are thrilled to help out. They are thanking me for doing this. People I've never met face to face are pitching in money that they may not really be able to afford, just to help out. Because this cause means something to them. And because it means something to me, I get all misty-eyed when I get an e-mail saying I have received another donation. Yes, I'm a dork. But this whole experience is renewing my faith in humans in general. We're not all bad. We're not all selfish. We're not all out to screw each other over. There are a lot of really good, generous, passionate people out there and the knowledge of that fact makes me happier than I could ever tell you.

I'm so excited to do this walk. I'm so in love with the people making donations. Thank you, guys. I can't say it better than that. Thank you.

So how come people in movies never screw up what they are saying? Or if they do, it is a intentional flub and a big deal is made out of it? Seriously. Think about it. You see all these movie out-takes wherein people mess up a line or something and they have to do it over. But in real life, things come out wrong all the time. For example, I was in a meeting yesterday and I was asked about a deadline. I tried to say, "November 17th," but it came out more like, "Nizmemver 17th." Everyone in there knew what I was saying. Nobody laughed. I didn't fumble and try to correct myself; the meeting just went on as if I had been able to pronounce "November." So how come they always feel the need to correct that in movies?

One notable exception: documentaries/mockumentaries. In Dancing with Gaia, one woman (leaving in a huff) is trying to explain that she will do another woman a favor free of charge and she says, "It will be gratuitous." It's funny. It's sincere. It's an honest mistake. I'd like to see more of that in movies.

Thank you.

Okay, so like most people I know, I am currently working my way out of debt. I have two big things to pay off -- my car and my credit card. I am half-way through with the payments on my car -- only 24 of those puppies to go. And I had gotten a loan to pay off the credit card debt and I am down to only 15 payments to go on that loan. The end is near! Just over a year and I will actually be able to start saving money! What a concept, huh? To not have to scrimp for the week before payday. To be able to buy new socks whenever I want instead of having to wait for a good month. Ah, such a good feeling it will be to not owe anyone any money anymore. Yes, I still have over a year of this scrimping business to go, but it's just one more year. It's almost over. I can do it! And man, am I looking forward to being done with it.

It is 2004.

That just kind of hit me. Two thousand four. It was five years ago that the whole Y2K scare was going on and people were stocking up on toilet paper and bottled water. It was almost six years ago that I graduated from college. The movie 2001 is now referring to the past. The "present" in Twelve Monkeys is now the past. Two thousand four.

Yes, I know I'm a dork. I'm just amazed sometimes at how time passes when a million things seem to be changing, but nothing is ever really different, you know? Probably not. I'll shut up now.

Okay, I'm going to bitch about the swing scene for a moment because there is a discussion going on about what people want out of the scene and I know that if I write this stuff there, I will be lambasted for it. So I'm going to put it here where nobody can publicly respond to it. So there.

What do I want out of the swing scene? I want to be inspired. That is why I started dancing in the first place. I used to watch movies as a kid where people would just meet each other on the dance floor and create this wonderful, beautiful thing together and then go back to their normal lives and it was so magical. And I remember when I first got the chance to go out and see swing dancing in clubs, I was in awe of everyone else out there. In awe, but determined that I could do it, too, and that one day, I would have a partner who I could just meet on the floor to create something magical for three minutes.

So I danced my ass off for years. I was in a professional performance troupe, I competed with another troupe, I was on TV, I was in movies, I was in parades, I danced six and seven nights a week and hardly sat out a song. I watched competitions and determined that I wanted to dance with those people one day. And that day came and I had an opportunity to dance with those people and I set my sights higher and higher. Granted, I am not good at asking people to dance, and the higher the skill level of my partner, the more it freaks me out to ask him to dance. But the ones where it has really really mattered to me, I have asked them to dance.

But I started to notice something strange. Dancers of a certain level tend to only dance with other dancers who they feel are of the same level. I have been outwardly and rudely turned down by dancers of a certain level who then went on to dance the same song with someone else (read: major dancing etiquette faux pas). Or, on the few occasions when a dancer of a certain level has agreed to dance with me, he has spent the majority of the dance scanning the rest of the floor to see who else he could be dancing with, looking extremely bored and put out, and not paying the slightest bit of attention to what I am doing as a follow. I might as well be a coat rack on wheels. Call me a defeatist, but I stopped asking certain dancers or dancers of a certain level to dance with me because I knew I wouldn't enjoy it. I wouldn't be inspired. I would be made to feel like crap, even though I knew I could hold my own.

Now, here is where the problem comes in. When I go out dancing, I want to be inspired. I want to be challenged. Not necessarily in every dance, but I want to be able to have fun, too. Meaning that while I am not at all opposed to dancing with new dancers, I don't want to spend my entire evening fighting to keep my arm in it's socket, reading my partner's lips as he counts out the rhythm, and having any of my sad, pathetic attempts at styling be squashed because my partner doesn't have the concept of the dance as a conversation yet. I'm not saying these people should stop dancing. I'm saying these people should keep practicing and improving their skills. And I'm saying I can only take a certain number of these dances in a night. If that makes me a snob, then fine, I'm a snob. I've put close to five years into the swing scene, working on my skills, fundraising, helping out wherever I could. You just get to a certain point where you need a really good dance, you know?

And then throw into the mix the fact that I went back to school and it means I haven't been going out dancing much lately. Which means I have experienced yet another interesting phenomenon since I have gone out dancing a few times recently -- I am not asked to dance. At all. By anyone except maybe my one friend who always goofs off with me on the dance floor. That's it. Out of a scene of probably sixty or seventy people, if my one friend isn't there, I won't be dancing that night.

Yes, I could ask people to dance, and when I went out on Sunday night, I did ask people to dance. But I also took the time to watch people dancing and I found something really interesting. Nobody looked like they were having any fun. Nobody looked like they were inspired, either by the music, or their partner, or by the dance in general. It was bizarre. I felt the desire to dance, but there was only one guy there who looked like he would be fun to dance with -- so I asked him and we had a pretty good dance. Nothing to write home about, but still fun. Pretty much the rest of the floor was people with blank expressions all doing the same moves as everybody else, but maybe in a different order.

Why is this? Is it because dancers in similar situations as myself have given up and stopped going out dancing? Is it because old school dancers aren't newbie-friendly enough? Is it because the venues are too remote or the music not to our tastes? Is it because of the teachers we do or don't have in Chicago? Is it because of the laid-back attitude that Chicago dancers in general have adopted that prevents them from pushing themselves farther in the dance and makes every dance routine? Is it just me? I don't know, but it kind of makes me sad. I loved dancing. I loved dancing with my friends. I loved dancing with people I had never met before, yet somehow I felt as if I had known them for years after three minutes on the floor.

So what do I want from the swing scene? I want to be inspired. I want to look out on a crowded dance floor and think to myself, "Wow, I wish I could do that." I want to know that if I ask someone to dance, he will not only accept, but at least pretend to enjoy himself and/or pay attention to the dance for the three minutes we're on the floor together. I want people to ask me to dance and to not be afraid to just kind of go nuts. I want to look out on a crowded dance floor and see people dancing with the music that is being played, not just to the music.

I know, it's a tall order. But someone asked what we want, so that's what I want.

When I signed up to do the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer, I was all scared that I wouldn't be able to raise the $1800 necessary to participate and that people would yell at me for hassling them to donate money and stuff like that. What I didn't expect was all the support I am getting from both likely and unlikely sources. I didn't expect the people donating on my behalf to thank me for doing this. I didn't expect half-strangers to stop me in coffee shops and wish me luck and share their stories with me. I didn't expect a room full of applause when I mentioned at the open mic last night that I was participating in the Walk. It is stunning and overwhelming and really really wonderful. This is something I'm doing because I want to. And there are tons of people out there ready, willing and able to help me, be it through words of encouragement or participation in fundraising events or through straight monetary donations. I never expected to feel so much love from other people for doing this. I'm only five days into it and I'm learning things about myself and the community in which I live. It is incredible. Thank you, guys. Already this Walk is one of the best things I have ever done and I've hardly taken my first step.

The thing that really irritates me about politics is how stubborn people get when they talk about it. Especially in this country -- if you're a Democrat, you're a Democrat; if you're a Republican, you're a Republican; if you are anything else, nobody wants to listen to what you have to say anyway.

With the impending election, we have a lot of Democrats running around trying to illustrate just how horrible Bush has been as a President. And in response, we have a lot of Republicans running around saying, "You're a bunch of crazy ass liberals. The economy is getting better. And Clinton wasn't all that great, either." Yes, I have a tendency to lean towards the Democratic side of things -- I can't help that. I don't like what has happened to my country in the past three years. But there are times when I just want to say, "Look, here's what's going on. Forget about Clinton -- the 2004 election is not about whether Clinton was a better president than Bush. Take a good, honest look at our economy -- yes, it is doing better than it was six months ago, but it is still much, much worse than it could/should be. And now, with the statements made by Mr. O'Neill (one of Bush's former cabinet members) saying that Bush had it in for Hussein from the moment he stepped into office and that there was never any evidence of weapons of mass destruction, how much more proof do you need?" I guess it could be argued that O'Neill has it in for Bush for one reason or another so he is making these statements to spite the shrub, but think for a moment about the implications if his statements are true. It means we have a liar in the White House. Simple as that. The current most powerful man in the world lied to both houses of Congress and the American people -- something that should be grounds for impeachment. I'm not saying other presidents throughout history haven't lied about one thing or another. But Bush's lies have led to hundreds of American soldiers losing their lives needlessly. Bush's lies have lost millions of American jobs. Bush's lies have weakened the American dollar in the global marketplace. These may not seem like such colossal problems as previous generations have had to face, but when you think about the fact that they all could have been avoided if a) Bush hadn't lied or b) the man the majority of the country wanted to be president had actually gotten to serve his elected term, they seem to carry a little more weight.

So I guess in my mind, the only question left, then, when talking about the election in November should be, "Do you want a liar in the White House?" I'd have to say no. And yes, I hate my own stubbornness on this issue, but in this case, I can't help it.

So I saw this little article on the Apple homepage or some such place talking about what a woman's clothing says about her bedroom style. According to this article, women who wear tight, revealing clothing tend to want to be looked at, not touched, and may be boring in the bedroom. A similar story for women on top of every new trend. Women who wear jeans and t-shirts are comfortable in their clothes and usually with themselves, so they can be more fun in the bedroom (just don't let them break you heart). And women who dress in a more eclectic style tend to be crazy in the sack, but in the good way.

And I have to say, I kind of agree with this assessment, just based on what I know of my girlfriends and such. I have one friend who always looks sexy, but is unsure of herself in bed and is really squeamish even talking about sex or sex-related topics. One woman I know pulls of looks that nobody else could pull off and I've been to her apartment and seen some of the toys. And me? Well, I'm a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl and I have yet to get any real complaints.

So I'm feeling pretty good about myself. Too bad there is no boyfriend in the picture with whom I can celebrate.

I'm doing it. I am going to participate in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer this summer. I'm all buzzed and excited and happy and weepy about it and I feel the need to talk about my first stepmother for a few minutes.

If you look at my dad, you would never in a million years think he would be married three times. I'm sure he didn't think he would be married three times when he was growing up on the farm. But here he is, on his third wife -- all three lovely women. His first wife was my mother and after seventeen-ish years of marriage, they divorced. I was about twelve at the time and I remember being very scared and very angry about the whole thing. I had a birthday the summer while the whole thing was going on and I remember that all I had asked for was that my parents not fight for one whole day. And I also remember that at the time, I had these barettes for my hair that said "Daddy's Girl," and I was so proud to wear them. I loved being my daddy's girl. So the first time I saw him cry...well, I didn't actually see it, I heard it. He went into the basement and wept so that we wouldn't have to see him cry, but the sound is something I don't think I will ever forget. My heart really went out to him.

And just for the record, I would like to say that now, fourteen-ish years after the fact, I am thankful that my parents got divorced. I know that it was the better decision. I'm not angry about any of it; I'm not holding on to grudges or anything. I am totally cool with the fact that I have divorced parents. But at the time, it was really rough.

So when my dad met his second wife, I was thrilled. I remember him asking me for advice about which tie he should wear to a dance that he knew she was going to be at. He called her a "bathing beauty" and smiled when he talked about her. I hadn't seen my dad smile like that in a really long time and it was beautiful. Not long after that, the two of them were dating and my brother and I got to meet the woman who would later become my stepmother. She was not what I would have called a "bathing beauty," but she was nice and she made my dad happy. She was much more proper than my mother had been, but she always treated my brother and I nicely. While she was dating my dad, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She went through chemo and radiation and all of that stuff, and they thought they got rid of it. I remember her taking me to McDonald's one day after her chemo treatment because she said she always craved a chocolate milkshake after chemo. And she got strong again and she and my dad started making plans to get married. I remember her taking me shopping for a bridesmaid dress -- she wanted to make sure we would get something I could wear again. And in about March (I think), they were married. It was a lovely ceremony, the first in which I had ever stood up. She moved into our house without her crazy, smelly, but very sweet dog Elliot (he had been put to sleep) and things were changed around a little bit, but it was cool. I liked her. My dad loved her. And she loved my dad. And then the cancer came back. Hard and strong and fast. Granted, I was only at my dad's house half of the time, but it was enough for me to get to see her wasting away. They had to move a hospital bed into the den downstairs because she couldn't make it upstairs anymore. And her mind started to go. By October, she was gone.

I remember watching her suffer and wishing I could have done something or wishing it would all just go away. I remember watching my dad suffer as he lost his second wife and wishing there was something I could do to ease his pain. I remember how long he mourned for her. I would not wish any of that on anyone. Yes, I believe in the "don't knock it 'til you try it" school of thought, but I also think that most people could get through their entire lives just fine without ever having to deal with the pain of cancer or the pain of watching a loved one fight it.

So I finally get a chance to feel like I am doing something about it. On June 5 and 6, I will walk a marathon and a half (39.3 miles) and raise hopefully $2,000 (or more) for breast cancer research and treatment. I know it's not a lot, but it is what I can do.

And truth be told, I'm afraid to ask people for money in my fundraising campaign. But within an hour of sending out my first e-mail to let people know I am doing this, two people made very generous donations. My heart lept in my chest and my eyes started tearing up when I saw the e-mail notifications of the donations. Thank you, guys. I can't tell you how much your support means to me, and to the charities who will be receiving your donations. Thank you.

[shameless plug]If you want more information about the walk itself or would like to make a donation to help me reach my goal, please visit my Avon Walk Home Page.

So they got the first color photographs back from Mars. Wow. Kind of spooky. I can't imagine an entire planet with nothing but windtrails and wind polished rocks on it. Not even footprints. The photo is of just a huge, flat, red nothing. It's like being in Arizona without the foliage and without the knowledge that there is a town nearby with snacks and cold beverages. I can't imagine the feeling of isolation a person would feel, standing on the surface of Mars, taking a photograph. Good thing it wasn't a person taking the photograph, huh? It's just...immense. And empty. And would you freak out if you were there? Knowing that even if some horrible creature inhabited Mars and wanted to eat you, there would be nothing you or anybody else could do about it? Nowhere to hide. No one to help. Your family just deciding after x number of years to not worry anymore about when you might come home.

I've often thought that it would be really cool to see the Earth from above once in my life. As in if I had a billion dollars to blow, I might just pull a Lance Bass and try to get into space. Because think about it -- that is a sight that only a few people ever get to see live, you know? How incredible would that experience be? But truth be told, I think the solitude and isolation would kill me. Me. The girl who values her personal time so much it has killed any number of relationships. To be that far away from everything familiar would be really hard. I picture myself enjoying the view for about ten minutes and then wanting to come home and hug every person I know for about three hours. You guys know who you are. I love you. Thank you for being in my life. If I go to Mars, will you come with me?

My blogs have been really boring as of late and I apologize for that. I've been feeling kind of boring. I'm really enjoying spending time at my house, playing with my cat or just relaxing. I've started working out again, which is a good thing. And I think I have decided to do the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer Research this summer. Meaning if you are at all interested in contributing money to a worthy cause, shoot me an e-mail and I'll get you the details as soon as my registration goes through and whatnot.

Man, even this blog is boring.

I think I'm in a "reality" stage of my life. If you've seen Big Fish, you know that there are "reality" sequences and "tall tale" sequences. If you haven't seen Big Fish, shame on you. But anyway, I think I am in a "reality" sequence right now. Because if you sit and think about it, like I do, I have already done a lot of things in my life that most people never have or never will. I've been in parades. I've been in movies. I've been on TV. I've played my own music in front of rooms full of people. I've made two CDs and many music videos. I had my entire body airbrushed. I went to Australia. I've been involved in multiple fake marriages. I have a lot of good stories to tell my kids which will sound like tall tales to them, but that I know are true. So I guess I shouldn't complain so much when I'm in a little down slump. Things will get crazy again soon. I have friends coming to visit and an upcoming trip to Europe and concerts and ideas for fundraising events for the Avon Walk and all kinds of stuff. I guess that is the good thing about my life -- it never stays boring for too long.

Up until just about today (maybe yesterday), I was starting to think that global warming is a reality. It was fifty degrees outside on January 2. Fifty degrees. In Chicago. In January. This could only mean the coming of the anti-Christ. But sadly (for him, good for us), the anti-Christ is not on his way because it is now freezing cold outside. Literally. We are expected to hit a whopping fifteen degrees today. When I woke up this morning, it was minus three. And there is snow everywhere and blustery winds. If the sun wasn't shining, I'd say we're back to our typical Chicago winter. No more of the nice, mild weather that has been hovering over the city for the past year. We're in it good now.

Though as long as this means we'll al still get to wake up tomorrow and go about our lives as we always have, or perhaps as we have always wanted to, then I guess a typical cold, snowy Chicago winter is okay. It's only four months 'til April anyway.

Yeah, so it is hard to be back at work. Truth be told, I don't want to be a paralegal. I don't want to be a desk monkey. Maybe a spider monkey. They're so cute. And seriously, how cool would it be to have a prehensile tail? I'd be able to walk down the slippery, snow-covered stairs of the gangway with both bags of garbage, holding on to the railing with my tail instead of having to make two trips like I had to yesterday. I know, I know, the middle of a snowstorm is not the best time in the world to take out the garbage, but honestly, I was getting desperate. I am very good at procrastinating. If I did the whole New Year's Resolution thing, that might be one of them -- to stop procrastinating so much. Maybe that's why I'm not necessarily all jazzed about being a paralegal -- too many deadlines. Though I do work well under pressure. But I do not blog well when I am hungry, and for that, I apologize. I'm going to go eat my lunch now.

It feels like forever since I've been to work. Probably because it's been forever since I've been to work. It has been really nice to have some time off. Days to take care of my house and my life and my health and whatnot. It's going to be really weird to go back tomorrow, too. And really hard to make it through a full week. Wish me luck.

Time for the New Year's purge. That's right -- time to clean out the closets and get rid of things that are not vegan friendly or that I haven't worn/looked at in years. Time to get rid of the unnecessaries. It can be a very freeing process, and a very sad process, but I think I'm ready for it. Make space in my life for new things, literally and metaphorically.

And I have to say that it is really nice outside today. Maybe I'll go play in the park for a little while before I start purging.

So far, 2004 is kind of anticlimatic. Here's hoping that doesn't last too long.

Happy New Year, kids.

Okay, so I have an idea for a business. More of a service industry than a business, but I think it could work. It would be designed to help people stop smoking. Now, as we all know, one of the major obstacles in helping people stop smoking is the oral fixation. It is for this reason that a lot of people gain weight when they try to quit smoking -- they feel the need to keep their mouths occupied all the time. However, people can make out for hours without smoking, no problem. So the persons employed by my business would accompany smokers throughout their day, ready to kiss them whenever the urge for a cigarette hits. There would be a careful screening process for clientele as I would want to protect my employees to the best of my ability. But think about it -- give even the most adamant, hard-core smoker a choice between smoking and making out with someone and I will bet you that 95% of them will choose making out. And if that make out partner was available until such time as the nicotine cravings subsided...well, it seems to me we have a recipe for success on our hands.

Minus the fact that I could probably get busted for solicitation. Oh well. Nobody's perfect.

Happy New Year, kids. Please, whatever you do, have fun and be safe.

I don't even think I could describe it if I wanted to. I'm not sure I want to. It was very personal and very strange and wow. I'm hyped up like I'm on crack now. I have no idea where I went, but I didn't stay in that tank. I'm not sure I went somewhere external, though, I think it was an internal journey. And in a way, they knocked on the tank at exactly the right time and in a way, I wish I had another half hour in there. It was...wow. You can't tell someone else what it is like; you just have to try it for yourself. Which I will. Many times, I hope.

The massage was nice, too. I became very aware of my body and the fact that it is curvy where it is supposed to be and actually rather proportional. I found myself thinking that I have a great body. Which was odd. And that thought has passed now. I have things I should be doing -- research and stuff -- but I honestly don't think I can. I don't think I can keep a thought in my head long enough to concentrate on that. I have no idea what to do right now, except end this blog. Happy new year, kids.

I'm sorry, but I have to subject you to some very distasteful gushing for a minute. As we all know, I am a Moby fan. And every once in a while, he doesn't post a journal entry for a day or two, but then I go back to his site a few days later and find several yummy tidbits of Moby goodness waiting for me to read. Well, one of these "once in a whiles" happened today -- there were about eight new entries for me to read. And while some of them were political in nature (which I don't mind, they just don't make me chortle anywhere near as much as the non-political ones do), there were a couple that were absolutely charming. A holiday poem. And some thoughts on bowling. And they made me smile. I can't even tell you how happy it makes me to know that Moby exists. And yes, I know how sad and semi-psychotic sounding that statement is, but he is a credit to the human race. As is anyone who can bring smiles to the faces of millions of strangers. So thank you, Moby, for once again making my day. And if I have not yet convinced you, my faithful readers, to go read his journal entries, please do so. They really are worth checking out, even if you don't buy into all of his ideologies.

I have no interesting, pithy comments to make today. None. I spent lots of time doing nothing with my five days off from work. And truth be told, I could use another five days off of work to do more nothing. Or perhaps some something. I should clean out my closets. Purge my house of some clutter. Decide once and for all that I do not need to keep the 87 t-shirts I got from giving blood in college, especially since they, to this day, have never been worn.

I'm not coming in to work tomorrow. I'm going to get a massage and spend some time in a sensory deprivation tank. I'm so excited. I'm sure I'll have lots to write about after that so you won't have to listen to me prattle on about housecleaning. Fascinating stuff, isn't it? Housecleaning? Speaking of which, does anyone know of a good, preferably environmentally friendly way to clean the burners on one's stove? Assuming one did not have the forethought to line them wth foil before boiling too many potatoes in a too small pot, that is. Thanks.

I'd also like to take a brief moment to encourage you all to go see Big Fish. It really is just a sweet movie. I was teary-eyed at the end. I was laughing out loud at a couple of places in the middle. It was...charming. Go see it. You'll like it.

And if any of you happen to know Tim Burton and you happen to be talking to him one day about unknown actresses, if you wouldn't mind singing my praises for a minute, it would be most appreciated. You can even mention the fact that I have the round face, big eyes, porcelain skin thing going for me that he seems to find so attractive in his leading actresses. And the fact that I would do just about anything he asked me to for the opportunity to be in one of his films. But try not to make me sound desperate, okay? Thanks.

So blowing my nose has become, on average, a seven-tissue ordeal. Yet strangely enough, I feel like I am on the mend.

Another Christmas come and gone. And I survivied. Yes, that is saying a lot.

I think I figured out what it is that bugs me about church services, though. At least the ones at the churches I have been to. Nobody really seems into it. There are places in the service where the congregation is supposed to pray in unison or respond to something the minister/pastor/preacher is saying and you get a room full of people, speaking in an almost perfect monotone saying things like, "You are the giver of life [pause for three seconds] and the creator of all things good [pause for three seconds] and for this [pause for three seconds] we are eternally grateful." But nobody sounds grateful. Not even a little grateful. They all sound like they were just told their uncle's cousin died and they don't quite know how to take it. Same thing goes for the minister/pastor/preacher. I don't know if he/she/they get so caught up in trying to sound sincere that they lose all emotion from their voices or what, but I've listened to so many dull sermons full of so many "dramatic pauses" it's really sad. No wonder I don't buy into that stuff -- the people trying to sell it to me don't seem to buy it either.

That, and all the music is so freakin' slow. Yes, "Silent Night" is a slow song, but it shouldn't take three minutes to sing the first two lines, you know what I'm sayin'?

But I hope the rest of you had a lovely Christmas. I enjoyed my time with my family, though I am glad to be home again, in my little corner of the world. And now it is time to think about getting messed up on New Year's Eve.

It occurred to me yesterday at approximately 3:34 that it is the holiday season. Of course, I come to this realization when it is really kind of too late to take full advantage of it. Oh well. I went to a really nice holiday party last night and made a new friend. And today I get to spend time with my family. I hope. Assuming Grandma came home from the hospital.

And now it is time to make some really rank tea that comes highly recommended for cold-fighting (from Moby), watch my cat play with my breakfast (this cereal that looked yummy but turned out to be just awful), and wrap the rest of my gifts. Perhaps I will watch The Nightmare Before Christmas, too. That always puts me in a holiday mood.

So I went to an open mic last night and didn't play. Which was kind of nice because I didn't have to worry about my impending performance and because the cute guy who runs the thing said, "Kitty, why didn't you sign up?" Made me feel...good. But I sat and listened to everyone else play and I wrote in my paper journal. "You have a paper journal, too?" you are asking. Yes, I do. Not everything that goes through my head is suitable for the general public. But I was writing some stuff last night that I do think I want to post in here because it was a sort of a manifestation exercise. I have heard of instances time and time again where someone vocalizes or writes down what he or she wants, very specifically, and then ends up finding it shortly thereafter. I'm guessing it is because the act of vocalizing it or writing it down focuses one's energies on one's goals. Or because vocalizing or writing down one's goals wakes one up to what one's goals actually are so that when the opportunities come knocking, one is more apt to recognize them as opportunities and take advantage of them.

So recently I've been thinking about what I want in a boyfriend/life partner type person. I think a lot of it is brought on by the reappearance of fucknut and my increasing realizations that he really isn't what I am looking for. I deserve better and I want more. Some of it is communicative and emotional, some of it is common courtesy. So I decided last night to start making a list of the things I am looking for in a life partner and I feel compelled to share them with you. Maybe just so that I see them again and stay focused on them. This is by no means a complete list and it is open to amendment at a later date. These are just the things I came up with in my two and a half hours at the coffee shop last night.

I'd like to be with a guy who shaves his head. Or at the very least has the confidence to do so if he doesn't.
I'd like to be with a guy who looks at me when he's talking to me. Looks me in the eye.
I'd like to be with a guy who is artistic with good cause to be. Someone who can really sing. Or really paint. Or who acts so beautifully it makes me cry.
I'd like to be with a guy who understands that it is the time we spend together that is important, regardless of what we do with that time.
I'd like to be with a guy who is not materialistic, but has one thing that he will splurge on like musical instruments or video games.
I'd like to be with a guy who understands the value of comfortable shoes and clothes and the importance of being comfortable in his own skin.
I'd like to be with a guy who isn't afraid of interpersonal communication, be it positive or negative, happy or sad.
I'd like to be with a guy who will take the time to really ask people how they are and take the time to really listen to the answer.
I'd like to be with a guy who will make an ass out of himself in public.
I'd like to be with a guy who doesn't pass judgment on people who are different from him.
I'd like to be with a guy who has an in insatiable thirst for knowledge.
I'd like to be with a guy who eats vegan food not to humor me but because he likes it.
I'd like to be with a guy who eats.
I'd like to be with a guy who not only understands my need for time by myself but who needs his own time, too, and values it.
I'd like to be with a guy whose touch makes me feel safe.
I'd like to be with a guy who will call me on it when I'm full of shit without making me feel like I'm two inches tall, will talk to me about it, and forgive me for it.
I'd like to be with a guy who will talk to me.
I'd like to be with a guy who will totally geek out about something.
I'd like to be with a guy who instinctively knows when to hold my hand and when to let me do my own thing.
I'd like to be with a guy who does one thing better than anyone else in the world.
I'd like to be with a guy who thinks I do one thing better than anyone else in the world.
I'd like to be with a guy who laughs openly, freely, honestly, and often.
I'd like to be with a guy who has his own friends.
I'd like to be with a guy who knows when to be serious and when to kid around.
I'd like to be with a guy who can keep up with me in a battle of wits and a battle of words.
I'd like to be with a guy with the rhythm, confidence, and creativity to really dance.
I'd like to be with a guy who appreciates the wonder with which a small child views the world because to some extent, he sees the world that way, too.
I'd like to be with a guy who cleans up after himself.
I'd like to be with a guy who calls for no real reason, but not every day.
I'd like to be with a guy who would do drugs if he had the time but he doesn't so he doesn't.
I'd like to be with a guy who believes that in general, people are good.
I'd like to be with a guy who kisses me so that I can feel it in my toes.
I'd like to be with a guy who can just go nuts sometimes.
I'd like to be with a guy who believes in something.
I'd like to be with a guy who is actively trying to make the future brighter.
I'd like to be with a guy who doesn't think that commitment or marriage is a death sentence or a condemnation to a life of misery as it seems to be for so many people around us.
I'd like to be with a guy who believes in himself, believes in me, and believes in us.
I'd like to be with a guy who knows what errogenous zones are and how to use them.
I'd like to be with a guy who has a lot of errogenous zones.
I'd like to be with a guy who is a generous tipper.
I'd like to be with a guy who loves me anyway.
I'd like to be with a guy who will go see a live band he's never heard before.
I'd like to be with a guy who has learned from the experiences in his life.
I'd like to be with a guy who finds beauty in unlikely places.

And I'm sure I could go on and on for hours, but that's all I wrote down last night. And I think it's a good starting place.

So I'd like to propose a new idea for a Christmas tradition. Everyone is always talking about how great it is to let your loved ones know at Christmas how much you love them. Which is fine and good, but by the same token, I try to let my loved ones know how much I love them as often as I can. I don't need Christmas to do so, you know? (Granted, I'm not perfect and the holiday is a nice reminder to write or call those people who live a little farther away, but I think you understand what I'm getting at.) So why not take Christmas as an opportunity to just spread around good karma? Which is where my idea comes in.

Next person you see walking down the street, or perhaps in your apartment building, ask them what they want for Christmas. And assuming it is something you can get for them, give it to them. Even if you have to make arrangments to both be walking down the same street at the same time three days from now or whatever in order to do the hand-off. But yeah, give a present to an absolute stranger and let them know that they are a part of the world. You never know what kind of joy you might bring into their lives.

I am sure that somewhere in the world right now someone is suffering from dehydration. Dehydration is a terrible, terrible thing. And I, for one, would like to put an end to it. So I hereby offer my extra phlegm to anyone in the world who is suffering from dehydration and would really just like to be able to sniffle just once. Honestly, my body is producing enough phlegm for approximately 67 people and I don't think it is very fair for me to be keeping it all to myself. So this afternoon, I am going to visit my local hospital and see if they have a mechanism for harvesting my extra phlegm to send to poor dehydrated persons in the nether regions of this great planet. We all must do our part to ease the suffering in this world.

I was talking to a girl friend of mine the other night and she mentioned that she was on a new diet. Seeing as she is always on one diet or another, I decided to ask what one this was to see if she was once again being completely unhealthy about her eating choices. She's doing the South Beach diet and started telling me about it as if she was selling it to me. Saying things like, "It would be really hard for you because the first two weeks, you don't eat any grains," and things like that. And I found myself sitting there honestly thinking, "I'm not interested in going on the South Beach diet. My dieting days are behind me and I'm happy with the way I eat now." It was really weird. I know I've been talking about this stuff for a long time, but still, the little voice pops up in my head from time to time saying, "You should eat less because your ass is huge," or something like that. I occasionally wonder if there are any vegan-friendly weight loss options out there. But not this time. I'm done with it. I look like what I look like. I take care of myself, I eat well, I get exercise. I am not a stick and to be perfectly honest, I think I would be miserable as a stick.

It was just a weird moment for me is all. To have finally completely adopted one of the things I have been trying so hard to change for so long. And boy, does it feel good.

For the record, my mother doesn't hate homoeopathy. She's actually been using it herself as of late.

And also for the record, the cold remedy, immune booster, and tea I purchased from my apothecary yesterday seem to be doing the trick. I'm feeling better. And the really nice thing (if you'll allow me to be overly graphic for a second) is that I'm not peeing fluorescent yellow. You know how sometimes when you take a vitamin supplement or something, your urine is fluorescent yellow because of the over abundance of minerals in it? Yeah, that hasn't happened. Which leads me to believe (in addition to the fact that I'm feeling better) that my body is actually absorbing the two pills every two hours and three pills every three hours that I am pumping into it. Hooray for alternative medical options!

I like being a hippie. I like it that I have an apothecary at my disposal for when I am sick. Somehow, it makes sense to me to pump my body full of herbs and vitamins when I get sick as opposed to pumping it full of synthetic chemicals. I've spent many many years taking over the counter drugs like Sudafed and whatnot that don't really seem to cure the problem, they just postpone the symptoms. I'm ready for medicines that fix things. And even though I have to take two of one kind of pill every two hours and three of another pill every three hours, it's kind of nice to feel like I'm getting what I need while I drink my tea and rest. Maybe homoeopathy is all psychosomatic, but if it works, who cares how it works, right? I think I'd like to do some more studying of homoeopathy. Read up a bit, that kind of thing. Which I'm sure will amuse my mother to no end seeing as she was raised a homoeopath and hated it (just because it made her different from the other kids). So to watch her daughter going back to it...I'd be amused. Then again, I'm sick, so I am very easily amused right now.

So I watched our President's interview with Diane Sawyer last night. At least I think it was Diane Sawyer. And I watched most of it, but not all of it because I had to get to rehearsal. And let me just say that I was crying in my car on the way to rehearsal because I can't believe that man is allowed to leave his house in the morning, much less run the most powerful nation in the world. He didn't answer any of her questions. He would banter for a second while you could see him going through a list of memorized responses in his head until he found the closest to appropriate one to spew forth, and usually when the spewage began, it was in direct contradiction to the little bit of banter that had escaped. He is not a good speaker. He is a hypocrite and a liar. He was asked, "What would it take for you to admit that there are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq?" and he responded by saying, "You can ask the question as many times as you want; I made the right decision for America." Yes, the right decision that has gotten thousands of American soldiers, Iraqi soldiers, and Iraqi civilians killed. At the beginning of this whole "war" bit, he was saying it would be a swift operation and we would meet with little to no opposition. Now he is saying the war on terror will be a very long struggle. He was asked, "What about Bin Laden? Are we close to catching him?" Bush's response: "I don't know." I swear, there were six or seven questions in a row to which his answers were either "I don't know" or some form of "That's not my job." He says that the world is a safer place now that Hussein is no longer in power because Hussein was an evil dictator who would not listen to his own people. And by his own admission, Bush does not read the newspapers because he doesn't want to get the editorialized version of the news. He just wants to know what's going on without all of the opinions. He doesn't read anything by his critics because what good would it do for him to read that? Um, hi? That's called "listening to your people." You know, that thing you don't do that Hussein is a terrible leader because he doesn't do either. He sounded like Brittany Spears or something, avoiding her press because it just depresses her. Except Brittany Spears is not a public servant installed into office under the guises of being the person chosen to represent the nation to the rest of the world. I would say that the editorials are important things for the President to be aware of. He should know how his people feel about things. And he should be willing to answer our questions to the best of his ability. Hell, I would have been happier with him saying, "I cannot release that information because I cannot breach that confidentiality," than having him say, "I don't know." Though having him try to protect some confidentiality would be kind of funny at this point, too.

I'm sorry. I hate being political. I hate having to write entries like this. I hate that I get so worked up about this now. I hate that I have to pay such close attention to what is going on in my country. I loved being ignorant of the issues and I loved thinking that one President was just as good as any other President. Because in all honesty, there are a lot of things that I love about America, including the fact that I am allowed to publish crap like this on the internet. But this is something that has become important to me because I don't like the way our current President is treating the country that I love. I don't like how he is representing me to the rest of the world. And I really don't like it that he refuses to acknowledge that I don't like the way he is doing things.

This is something important for you, my beloved readers, to start thinking about. Those of you who live in the United States, anyway. As one of my instructors said in class a couple of weeks ago, "there has been more done to destroy the Constitution in the past three years that in the two-hundred-some-odd years previous." And we owe that destruction to the man currently in office. In just under a year, we will have a chance to remove him from office and elect someone who will not misrepresent the majority interests or abuse our natural resources or destroy our school systems and programs to take care of our elderly. If you care at all about the place where you live and the place your children will grow up, you will vote next November. You will pick yourself up off the couch and go vote. You will call your office and tell them you will be ten minutes late to work because you have to vote on your way in. You will make it to your voting location by whatever means possible and you will cast your vote to make sure the country you live in is one that you can be proud of. You will research your candidates and make an informed decision and let that decision be known by simply going out and voting on the second Tuesday of next November. You have no reason to not go vote and there is a lot at stake here. So please, exercise the rights that you have left and vote in the next Presidential election.

And please accept my apology for ranting. I know it's distasteful and dull to read, but this is important to me. Thank you.

You know, I find myself getting increasingly irritated with people who accuse artists of selling out and things like that. What brought this on, you may ask? I was talking to someone yesterday who said she no longer liked Madonna because Madonna isn't who she used to be. And I just about went off on this girl. Her point was that Madonna used to be all tough and ready to take over the world and now she acts all self-righteous and is into the Kabala and whatnot and therefore, she doesn't like Madonna anymore. While I agree that everyone has the right to his or her own opinion and moreover, has the right to express his or her opinion, I think that this is a courtesy that we should extend to famous people, too. I remember old interviews with Madonna wherein she said things like her goal in life was to take over the world and I remember kind of chuckling at her and thinking what a silly goal. And me personally, I'm happy for her that she has found things that bring her peace, whatever they may be. She's not hurting anyone. And honestly, she's a mom now. She has two kids, she's been married and divorced, she is in her forties. Do we really expect her to be the same person she was when she was twenty? Do we really expect her to be making the same kind of art? Because I'll tell you right now, if she hadn't adapted and changed and grown over the last twenty years, she wouldn't have a career anymore. She would be a washed-up has-been and we would all be pitying her for her narrow-minded worldview and her lack of ability to keep up with the world.

Same thing with Moby. Yes, he was one of the originators of techno music as it is known today. Yes, he has done amazing things for the techno genre. But he is a more ambient electronic musician now -- not so much techno. Yeah, he gets a great driving bass line or thumping beat every now and again, but he, as a person, has mellowed out a lot and so has his music. Does that lessen his worth as a human being? Does that make his art less valid? No. It just makes it different.

Same with Liz Phair. She just put out her second album on a major label. For that simple fact, we can't really call her an indie music queen anymore. We should stop expecting her to be one.

I'm sorry, it's just frustrating for me to see people passing judgment on artists for changing their styles or growing up as people. I've been thinking for the past couple of weeks that the problem with writing a song everybody likes is that everybody then wants you to play it. I have written stuff in the past that people really enjoy that really really meant something to me when I wrote it, but isn't so present in my life anymore. And people still want to hear those songs (which makes me fantastically happy), but it feels different to me to play them now. They mean something else. And I would hate to think that I would have to spend the rest of my life playing "That's What You Get" just so people wouldn't accuse me of selling out. My life changes, therefore my art changes. Simple as that. If you want to say you prefer my early work to my later work, fine. That is a valid statement. But please stop accusing artists of selling out or giving up on their fans or whatever because they try something new. Picasso didn't paint the same way his entire career. Neither did Greco. "But every time I try to do something new, all they want is 1973."

I'm not exactly sure what point I'm trying to make here. Maybe to please not throw out the artist with the artwork. Art is a very subjective, very personal thing and you are allowed to feel any way you want about it. I guess I would just ask that you really experience the art before passing judgment on it, though. And yeah, to not stop experiencing one artist's work because of one bad experience. Everyone deserves another chance.

So they found Saddam Hussein. Now what?

Honestly, I have no idea what to think about the whole thing. I don't doubt that it is him that they found. I also don't doubt that a deal was cut somewhere for him to let himself be found, even if it is just the $25 million dollar reward going to someone who is actually one of Hussein's cohorts and who will use the money to free him or to start a new terrible regime in Iraq. Men hiding out in spider holes just aren't miraculously "found." Is this part of Bush's reelection strategy?

I would really like to believe that the American public is smart enough to see the damaged that Mr. Bush has done to this country in the past four years and to not overlook that just because a secondary bad guy who we were looking for let himself be found. Because really, let's think about this. It was bin Laden who attacked the Twin Towers two years ago, right? It was bin Laden who turned Afghanistan into such a horrible place to live. It was Saddam Hussein (terrible dictator that he is) who hasn't really seemed to do anything against the United States, or the United Nations for that matter, in a long time. And we captured him. Yes, he is an evil man, don't get me wrong. Yes, he deserves to be punished for the things that he has done, though in what manner, I don't know. Death is not a fit punishment for him. Neither is torture. Perhaps confinement in a room fit for Hannibal Lecter until the day that he dies, but even that seems...not quite right. I don't know. How does one punish true evil? True evil will not ever feel remorse and nothing that true evil can do will make up for what true evil has done. But I digress.

My point is, we caught the wrong guy. Yes, we still caught a bad guy, but not the one I think we should have been looking for. Not the one we should have gone to war against. Yes, it is a military victory of sorts, but it would be like conquering Uruguay during World War II. Yay, we beat Uruguay, but the real battle is happening elsewhere. The real wrongdoers are not in Uruguay, you know?

It is just very unsatisfying to me to know that Hussein has been captured. I am afraid of what they will do to him and/or what repercussions will follow that. I am afraid of what his capture will do for Bush's campaign momentum. Please remember, Bush was not elected the first time around. He took our country from a record surplus to a record deficit in two years. He is an enemy to our environment. He is an enemy to our schools and our senior citizens. Please don't vote for him just because he did something his daddy couldn't do. That is not a good reason to put him back in office for four more years.

So I saw The Lion King last night. The theatrical production, not the movie. And I have to say it has the best production design. EVER. Seriously. I don't know how another stage show could even hope to look cooler than The Lion King. Acting-wise, it was okay. The music was incredible, even though I couldn't understand the lyrics half of the time (even when they were singing in English). But the spectacle of the whole thing...it's not often that I see a production wherein I can't figure out how something is done. I was dazzled and amazed by some of the things they did up there. I want to know how they did that, and yet I don't. And even the things I could figure out, I want to be able to duplicate because they were so frickin' cool. Meaning if you have not yet seen The Lion King on stage, please go do so. You will consider it money well spent, I guarantee you.